Haute Alps

I have been riding the famous Haute Alps Route for the last couple of days, and I can tell you that it is every bit as spectacular as it is promised to be.

I headed north on the Haute Alps Route from just north of Nice, France. Nice, as you probably know, is on the French Riviera. I didn't want to get into that mad house of traffic and tourists down there on the Mediterranean Sea, so I cut across and picked up the Haute Alps Route above Nice.

Parts of the route have been in the Tour de France in the past.  They don't ride the same route each year, and I think they did not ride it this year.  Lower down, before the high passes which the French call "Cols," begin there are some pretty nice waterfalls.

But pretty soon the road gets up above tree line and the mountains are covered with flowers and heather. Those mountains up there ahead of me don't look all that high, do they?  Just wait.

There are many, many bicycle riders on this road. They come in all ages and both genders, but they all have one thing in common: they are trim, thin, and very fit.

This sign says that the road is 7%. Try to figure that out with your hand:. Straight up and down is 100%; flat and level is 0%. Now, try to tilt your hand above flat and level so it is 7%. It is steep enough that it is quite a climb. The sign also says that the Cime (the top) of the Co la Bonette is 13 kilometers away. That is almost 8 miles of hard bicycle riding. I am quite impressed with those people!!

The bicycle riders don't have the road to themselves. There are also speeding motorcycle riders, sport car drivers, and, from time to time, a camping trailer taking up a good part of the road.

There are very few places to stop and take a picture.

There were herds of sheep up there, and once in a while a cow, but I have yet to see any wildlife. There are sure a lot of people and their animals in Europe, but where are all the deer-like critters and the birds and ground squirrels? I did see one lonely marmot running for all he was worth for his den, but except for the pair of foxes I saw in Sicily, and a lizard here and there, I have seen no other vertebrates at all.  They have them in Europe, I am told, but I sure don't know where.

The shepard  you can just barely see in this picture was using a dog to herd the sheep. That was fun to watch.

The road just keeps getting higher----

And higher ---

This particular pass, the Col de La Bonette, is supposed to be the highest paved road in the world. I am not sure that is true, but it does take you way up into the sky.

I thought the guy who offered to take my picture with my camera would never get done. He was certainly a dedicated photographer, and I thanked him from the bottom of my heart. Here is the sign at the top in case you are interested.

After you top out on a Col, what is left?  Why, to buzz along to the bottom on the other side, of course. This is where the bicycle riders build up a head of steam. I don't know how fast they go, but more than once on my way up I met a rider going helter-skelter down and it made my heart leap into my throat.

When the road flattened out at the bottom I looked north and saw the afternoon thunderstorms building up right on schedule. They have done this every day for a week.

This time I was wise enough to stop and put on my rain gear before the rains hit. No getting soaked like I did yesterday when I was caught unaware just after coming out of a tunnel. But those bicycle riders in this picture are going to get wet, I think.

Although I put on my rain gear, I stowed away my gloves. I can live with wet hands, but I hate wet gloves. But this thunderstorm had hail in it. You can imagine, I bet, how much hail hurts when it hits bare knuckles. I went around a bend, and there was a short tunnel or overpass with another motorcycle rider and a four wheel rider both pulled over tight against the side. I stopped too, long enough to put on my gloves and rain over-mittens. I didn't like it in there though. Trucks came by in the storm barely missing us.Scary.

I tried moving on, but the storm got much worse. Motorcycle riders were sheltered under any overhang they could find. I found one of my own and waited it out for about half an hour. Brrr.

I found a cheap, with emphasis on the cheap, hotel for the night. I hated it, but it was dry. This morning, following the usual pattern, the sky was clear and bight blue. Today I will continue the Haute Alps Route.

I love this area. There is so much to do. People were kayaking and rafting the whitewater rivers, climbing the mountains, rappelling down into the canyons, hiking the trails, and, of course, biking and motorcycle riding. And, in winter, there are a lot of ski resorts here. I happened to find a price sign for the skiing. It is cheaper than in the United States. I think this is because they are not lawsuit happy here, and so the ski places do not need to carry tons of insurance. I don't know that for a fact, though.

The last time I was in the Alps with my wife, she took a picture of the two of us in an Alpine meadow. It is one of my favorite pictures. We were both so young then. She still looks young to me, but I have grey hair now and a lot more wrinkles. If you don't believe me, take a gander at this picture.

Today's Col is even more impressive than the Col du La Bonette. It is not as high maybe, but I think it is steeper.

I love these mountain roads with all their hairpin turns. And, not a guard rail in sight.

Look at this guy going up. He makes it look effortless.

And there he goes------------

It was even easier for this guy coming down.

Here it is, the proof that I made it to the top

So did a lot of bicycle riders. Good for them. They should be proud. Two that I could not understand though was the man and woman on a tandem bike. I passed them on their way up, and they both looked like they were ready to die.

Now to head down. That is always a fun thing to do.

Time for one last picture. Thanks, unknown motorcycle friend from Italy.

Once at the bottom I came to a small town. I had to stop and take a picture of the winners of their recent "straw art" contest.

These boys from Grenoble, just over the mountains, were very friendly and wanted to know all about where I lived and how I got my motorcycle here. That is an owl they are in front of.

There were a lot of other Cols on the Haute Alps Route today, but they were smaller so I didn't take their pictures. And, in the afternoon, I found myself in this beautiful valley. I can tell I am getting close to Switzerland.

 I have a nice friendly campground for the night, and tomorrow I will start working my way around the west and north side of Geneva as I make my head back to the Black Forest in Germany.

Life is good.
Ron

Riding the French Alps

I had been told by some other motorcycle riders that something  I must do is to ride from Grenoble, France, down toward the city of Nice on the Mediterranean Sea. It is the route they often ride in the Tour de France, and it goes up and over some impressive mountain passes. 

The first thing I had to do is get from southern Switzerland to Grenoble.  The road took me smack up against Mt. Blanc, the highest mountain in the Alps.

The mountain is called "Blanc" because it is white with glaciers. The only way to get by it these days is through a very, very long tunnel. I wish there had been some way to take pictures in that tunnel, but I couldn't do that and ride as well. I can report that it is truly an engineering marvel.

Here is the mountain seen from the Swiss/Italian side.

The mountain is every bit as impressive from the French side.

And just on the western side, down in a valley in France, is the famous resort town of Chamonix. I went into it and drove around a little, but I didn't even get off the bike. It reminded me a lot of some of the ski resort towns in Colorado: pretty in their own way, but they have nothing to hold my attention.

These French Alps though --- I am loving them.

I knew I needed to get to Grenoble, but I tell you I would not want to ride through that city again. It is very large, and very torn up with road construction and detours. My GPS had a nervous breakdown trying to figure out why I would not take the streets it tried to send me down. I felt very glad when I got out of that place and safely up into the mountains again.

As I wandered around on my bike I came to a high mountain valley. It was beautiful.

But, it was starting to rain again. I passed a sign for a Bed and Breakfast for 43 Euros. Sounds good to me.

I liked riding around up there in that high valley, but I liked even more the twisty road that took me back down out of it the next morning. It was a fun ride.

And then I looked down, and there was Grenoble again. I did not want to go there. No way!

Fortunately, I just caught the south edge of it. That wasn't too bad. And then I was on the Route Napoleon, the road that Napoleon followed as he returned from exile to begin the 100 days that finally led to his defeat at Waterloo. This is quite a road, with gentle, well banked curves and nice little towns. It is very famous among motorcycle riders.

One can get mesmerized riding a road like that. If I am not careful the road becomes the Raison d'etre, and the scenery fades to the background of my  mind, overcome by the unceasing swoop and sweep of the curves. and the dips and bounds of the hills. It is easy to get caught up in the lean of the bike; the shifts of my body; the baritone beat of the exhaust as I slow down for a particularly sharp curve. Gotta be careful! No day-dreaming allowed.

There are a lot of picnic tables to stop at along the Route Napoleon.

But I have to get across the mountains before the evening rains come again. They are beginning to make a habit and a nuisance of themselves at about 3 p.m. each evening.

Look at this route across the mountains. Fortunately, it was not too high up.  It wasn't too bad, but it was not nearly as good as the Route Napoleon.

Just before the rains I found my campsite for the night. I waited the rains out. No wet tent in my plans for tomorrow. But it sure wasn't much of a campground. It was by far the worst I had been in throughout my entire European trip.

Have you seen these French toilets before. I will let you figure out how they work. But I can tell you that they used to be all over a big part of the world. They are left over from the time when France had colonies everywhere. Now, they are mostly a thing of the past, and, like the Dodo Bird, are not really missed by too many people.

Here is something else you see a lot of, at least in Southern Europe.Toilets seldom have seats, at least not in campgrounds. It kind of solves the age old male/female argument of the proper position for the toilet seat, up or down:  "Ya know, Bubba Jo, I married that sister of your'n cause I luv her. But if she don't stop her gripen' ever time I leave that dad-gum toilet lid up, I'm gonna take the gol-durn thing off. That'll shut her up!"

And a little later:  "Rubie Mae, I luv that brother of your'n I married, but he plumb made me mad when he took that toilet seat off. I got even with him though when I cleaned the thing."

"How'd ye do that, Ruby?"

"I cleaned it with his toothbrush."

Another thing that is very common in Europe is a big squeegee to scrape the water off the shower floor.  That is kind of a good idea, I think.

When I got up this morning, I got back on the Route  Napoleon. I rode it down to a town called Castellane. Castellane is a very nice town. And the circus is coming ----

I had been seeing these signs along the route, so I was not surprised when I went around a curve and found five circus trucks ahead of me. And what trucks they were. Each of them was a truck train made up of a panel truck with three trailers behind it. There was no way around them that I could see -- not on that twisty road. I, and all the cars, just had to settle down and prepare for a slow drive. The particular "truck-train" I was behind had a four-wheeled farm type wagon as its third vehicle. That wagon would get to swaying from time to time, especially on curves, and would flap the trailer behind it back and forth like grandma's nightie on the clothesline. I thought for sure it was going to come flying off and go over a cliff. No passing that thing for me.

I heard a roar and a whine, and six motorcycles went around us. Lane splitting is legal, and I do it some, but it scares me on these mountain roads. What if there are rocks in the road? What if another truck is coming around the bend. No thanks. I am not in that big of a hurry.

But when I got to Castellane, the motorcycles were there -- they, and dozens more.  I guess they made it safely. Whew!

I liked Castellane. I had to stop and scout it out because they had a big yard sale going on.

 I would have bought this tea set for my wife if I had anyway to carry it. Less than 20  Euros. What a bargain.

I have a little niece who might like one of these dolls. Can't carry dolls on a motorcycle either.

"Lady -- you look beautiful in that hat. Here -- let me show you in my mirror."

After all that shopping, I need to eat my Sunday lunch. A sandwich sounds good. But look at this thing! It is full of chicken and french fries and salad -- How do the French stay slim eating like this? I couldn't choke this thing down in a month of Sundays.

Something I've noticed here, especially in France, is how popular smoking is. You seldom see it at home these days, but here boys and girls seem to start about the age of 12, and most everybody seems to do it.

From Castellane, the thing that I, and about 10 thousand other riders did, was to head to the Grand Canyon of France named Gorges du Verdon.  What a ride!!

Lots of good swimming holes down in that canyon

Picnic in the shade anyone?

I was having a great time until I almost ran out of gas. There are no gas stations in that canyon. I had a lot of gas going in, but I was running on fumes by the time I got out.

As I was filling up my tank, two guys on sport bikes stopped to warn me that the police had a speed trap set up ahead, and they were after bikers especially. This didn't concern me because the speed limit is plenty fast enough for me. I don't like to ride 100 miles an hour on mountain roads anyway.  I sure got a lot of warnings as I headed back toward Castellane  and got closer to the trap. Cars were flashing their lights at me; motorcycle riders were waving in a slow-down motion.  And sure enough,  there it was around a bend in the road. The police had about a dozen bikers stopped.

A mile or so later I went past a sign for a campground. It was getting late and camping sounded like a good idea.  I turned around, went back, and checked in at reception. A nice girl there told me to look at site four and decide if I wanted it. It would only be 45 Euros. What!!! That's like $50.00. I have never paid that much in my life to sleep in my own tent. I told her I could get a hotel room for that.

And sure enough -- I am back in Castellane; I have a nice, although small, hotel room for 39 Euros; I've had a good 7 Euro meal (love these cheap prices after terribly expensive Switzerland). I even went to a free concert (It was good, although I did not understand a single word).

Tomorrow, I head for the famous Cols that they ride in the Tour de France. I'll be going north again through Switzerland toward the Black Forest of Germany.

Ron