Retracing my tyre tracks

It was sadly time to leave Barcelonette and the Col de la Bonette was still closed. Merde! That meant riding over the Cayole again which, in itself, was no great disaster; it was just frustrating that I’d be covering ground already travelled, albeit in the opposite direction.

Happily, ascending the Cayole from Barcelonette was even better if that’spossible. The journey was no doubt helped by the climbing kilometres I now had in my legs. Despite the bike being loaded with my gear once more, I no longer needed to reach for the lowest ratios of the Rohloff. My labours now had a rhythmic quality that had been sadly lacking at the start of my trip.

I reached the summit in a cold breeze and a friendly Dutch rider took my photograph once a rather determined German roadie had barged to the summit marker ahead of me and then unceremoniously left his bike propped against the stonework once his picture had been taken.

Dropping down the other side I popped into the gite for lunch, a substantial slice of cheese quiche and a coffee. There I met Paul, a lawyer from Seattle on an organised trip pedalling the cols. He’d rented a bike rather than leaving his brand new titanium steed to the mercy of the baggage handlers and he wasn’t best pleased with his loaner. ‘It has a triple!’ he told me, and ‘normal’ brakes. Obviously a convert to road disc brakes, he felt callipers had no place on wet descents or the high cols.

At lunch I considered what to do for the next couple of days. Given my change of plan, I had a day to kill and a number of options of where to spend it… although I quickly rejected the Nice option as I had no appetite for the city. I then remembered a campsite a few km down the valley that had a pool. The idea of a languid couple of days reading and swimming appealed so I made a beeline for Le Prieuré and what a good call that proved to be.

The grounds of the substantial gite are given over to small cabins, but dotted among them are an array of well-sized, flat pitches for campers. The pool is small and cold (!) but provided a welcoming alternative workout for stiff muscles. However, the true delight of this place is the food. I should confess here that I was ravenous after my days climbing mountains and happily devoured a sharing salad and main plus desert both evenings I stayed… much to the amusement of the effervescent and welcoming owners.

On my day off from the bike, I decided to go for a walk… yes, this Northern Walker walking again. The gite has a small biblioteque of trail maps to follow and I opted for a circuit in the hills above. It was sublime… I was so tempted to try and bag an Alp or two but the need for a better map and better gear eventually persuaded me otherwise. The older I get, the more common sense I exhibit (I hope)… and an early navigational error hardly inspired confidence either!

Back on track, I followed an exquisite balcony trail through fragrant pine woods with wonderful views to my left of the opposing valley wall. Feeling fit and strong after my days on the bike, I decided to up the pace… a rare fell running outing for me. But my usually cumbersome and ungainly frame felt up to the task and I sped along happily unencumbered. Of course, the effort made room for more delicious food that evening!

A very wet night made me grateful for the hotel Id booked in the ski station of Valberg the following evening. This was a short ride away in terms of simple kms, but it did involve an ascent of the Col de Valberg a steep and stifling climb in the afternoon sun. But charged again with miles in my legs, I made the ski station in good time and grabbed a couple of beers before I was able to check in. This was my kind of hotel… the owner immediately offered that I should take my bike to my room and I dutifully crammed the Ogre into the tiny elevator, much to the chagrin of my fellow guests.