We had crossed the border, but that was by no means the end of the climbing. With the edge of Claviere marking the end of Italy, we had another 2 kilometres to push before making our summit in the town of Montgenevre. A ski station most of the year, we stumbled into a wine bar to toast our latest border crossing, and after a little exchange with the barman, we found a plate of cheese and charcuterie thrust under our noses – it was hugely welcome. Coupled with the delicious red wine, we had no doubts we were in France.
After paying, we got back onto our steeds, and pointed them downhill – this time towards Briançon. Having organised a Warm Showers in a village near town, we made slow progress downwards, spiralling towards the valley floor and the Clarée. After making rendez-vous with Fabrice, we hopped into his van for a tour of town, and a scout out of the local peaks including the Col d’Echelle in the Val de Névache. Crowded by soaring peaks, the most incredibly clean and clear water weaves down from the mountains, and is of such quality that you can scoop it straight down your gullet. Getting a relatively early night after a delicious dinner prepared by our bike enthusiast host, we woke at a reasonable hour but without the intent of making much progress.
We had a few definites that needed to be covered. Primarily, we needed food and gas, which we found after a brief pedal into Briançon. Exploring the streets and taking in all the medieval mortice work that we could, we sat down and contemplated our options. Either we were to start our next assault on the mountains by making a start on the Col du Lautauret, or, we could be sneaky and return to the Val de la Clarée, to a little wild camping spot that sat us right next to the river…
Scooping up a bottle of Arrogant Frog in the supermarket, we made our way to the river.
Whilst tackling the little slopes that rose back to the valley, we spotted a number of posters advertising a screening of France’s semi-final world cup match against Belgium. Taking place in a fire station, this was the sort of thing that couldn’t be missed. After paddling, swimming and generally larking about in the river, we raced up to the fire station to see the place packed out. The entire village gathering around, drinks were insanely cheap, and food was aplenty. Jeers, cheers and not enough chairs, we stood and took in the pantomime atmosphere as the kids called out Belgians and cursed at the referee with a mob mentality advanced far beyond their years. It was brilliant.
France winning through, all was celebration and car horns as we left, retreating back to our quiet spot on the see through river.
And so another dawn greeted us. Having no intentions of making this one quite so lazy, we pointed our bikes towards Galibier. Swooping first to Briançon to get some supplies, we carried onwards, up the valley North West and to the town of Monétier-Les-Bains. Just 14km from the base of Galibier, we found a small camping site that offered good rates, and a safe place to stay in the mountains.
After setting up a tent and cooking up a late lunch, we were just tucking into another pasta alla Genovese when – PSSSSTTTT. Will’s bike decided to puncture. The rear wheel having popped, we went through the usual motions, but without a track pump, we struggled to get the tyre to seat properly, meaning the rear wheel provided a little bit of a merry-go-round effect, leading to a bumpy ride. The prospect of a huge mountain climb the next day making this an unacceptable state of affairs, Will resolved to ride back down the valley to a bike hire shop, some 9km further down. Wheeling down, sorting the issue and pedalling all the way back, the 18km round trip concluded just 200 meters to go to the campsite with another whoosh of air.
What. Bloody. Luck.
By this point, we were now running low on inner tubes. We did our best to patch up what we could, and in the meantime, asked around for a track pump. Finding one of the manager’s frame pumps to hand, we gave it a go and managed to get our wheels ready to roll the next morning. Checking over Stef’s bike, we found a bulge in the tyre, resulting from a cut that had gone straight through the rubber, leaving a perilously large gap. Bodging a repair with a strip of used inner tube, we managed to get things back to a rideable level. All the same, it was a frustrating situation, and one that required a cool head in hot conditions. We were still in a position to take on the mountain. For that night though, we made sure to sit down and watch England loose to Croatia. Normality restored.
Taking advice to climb in the mornings, we woke early, and set our sights on Galibier. Leaving the bags at the tent, we set off. 14km away from it’s start, we rather overlooked the fact that first we would need to take on the Col du Lautauret – which rises from 1400m at the campsite to 2000m in all. Getting to the base, we were surprised to find ourselves flailing already, but after a pause and scrounging a Co2 canister, our tyres were fully loaded and ready to go.
The climb starts relatively sympathetically, although with steel machines beneath us, we certainly weren’t the fastest on the mountain. Rising up and above the valley, you’re soon privy to a snaking road, and soon enough, snow. Engaging in the odd snowball fight, we steadily peddled on, making it to the top for midday, at an altitude of 2600 meters above sea level. The views were simply unbelievable.
We rushed downwards, with a flap of jackets and caps in the cold air alerting other riders as to our progress downhill. Overshooting the campsite only to get some supplies in the town two kilometres below, we settled in for a second night in our same spot relishing not having to pack the tent.
And so, fresh the next day, we prepared for an easy day. Down the valley to Briançcon and then down the Durance valley to Embrun. Were it only so simple. We quickly made it to Briançon, and upon getting into the Durance valley, we were soon passengers on the swoosh of a main road. With impatience the order of the day, a few near misses put us in less open minded moods, and when an almost inevitable puncture occurred, we were once again constrained to finding ourselves a heavy duty bike pump to get the tyre to seat correctly. We found one, and with a patched inner tube, we made the wheel round once more.
Yet, within 2 kilometers, things were feeling soft once more. Yes – the patch hadn’t held, and we had a slow leak. Frustrated at having to take off the rear wheel AGAIN and go through the motions, we checked for the nearest bike shop – 15km, in Embrun, down the main road. Not prepared to chance it, and not prepared to pump perpetually every 500 meters, we looked at train times, and soon found ourselves on the train for the entirety of those 15 kms into Embrun.
In the knowledge that we would arrive after the opening hours of the bike shop in question, we sent out an SOS on Warm Showers. Happily, this was received by Jean, and soon enough, we were pushing our bikes through the streets to his flat. With open arms, and an understanding of what a bit of mechanical malfunction can do to your outlook, we talked about tours and trips all the night, whilst chomping on a delicious home made pizza and enjoying a bottle of red we’d brought with us by means of eternal thanks for helping us out at the most short of notices…
