The Alpe
Orro bike part way up Alpe D’Huez, France.
The Alpe
I sat at the dinner table, staring at my small plate of white fish, a little rice and some lettuce. I was too tired to start eating it, pushing around my plate instead.
“That’s a proper fucking climb!” My mate and colleague said, slightly outraged and surprised at what I’d just done.
“I know…” I said, picking at the fish.
“How long did it take you?” he asked.
“Fucking ages!” I replied.
As luck would have it, I was down in Annecy competing in an Olympic distance triathlon and had some time to kill afterwards. Alpe D’huez was only a few hours drive away.
I booked a campsite at Bourg D’Oisans which was conveniently right at the start of the famous climb.
Lake Annecy from the air. Shot on Insta 360 camera.
But, not before I took to the air and went paragliding in Annecy – something I had always wanted to do ever since I started visiting France as an adult in my early twenties.
Wherever you go in the French mountains, you see colourful canopies, dots in the sky, circling the thermals and gently, like leaves falling from a tree, spiralling slowly down to earth to land in some field somewhere.
In my youth I simply couldn’t afford it. Other times, I just ran out of time or couldn’t motivate the people I was with to come with me.
Free of all ties, I booked myself onto a tandem flight. Just 20 minutes, in case I didn’t like it!
View from the best seat in the house. Lake Annecy. Flights by Takamaka.
I rocked up at the flight school and a few of us piled into a minibus, packed out with parachutes and harnesses and our pilots.
We drove up the Col de Forclaz, which is one of the highest points above Lake Annecy. It looked like a half decent cycling climb until the hair pins ramped up to a ridiculous gradient and I thought better if it. We climbed higher and higher.
As we walked to the take-off ramp, the views were spectacular, and the height made you feel a bit dizzy.
My pilot was Mitch and he spoke better English than I did French. He was good looking, smoot and impressed that I worked offshore. We chatted easily and he fitted me out on my harness and helmet. We didn’t faff at all. There was no time to even think, really. I felt a tug of the parachute behind me and we took a few awkward steps back.
Then very quickly, those words again: “Allez allez, go, go, go….”
We ran a few strides then whooomph! We were up in the air very quickly. I wasn’t really ‘in’ my seat, so he quickly showed me how to lift myself into the seat properly and get comfy. He’d kindly allowed me to bring my Insta 360 camera and I started filming the incredible views as we flew up and down the tree line chatting and laughing.
Eventually we crossed the lake and after he’d let me have a go at steering, he was keen to show off his aerobatic skills.
I’m up for pretty much anything and away we went. After three big swoops where my stomach almost fell out, I had to stop. I was the kid who clung to the top of a death slide, hating that ‘dropping’ feeling. I hate roller coasters and theme parks and it’s the reason I won’t do a bungee jump or jump from a plane.
It might have been easier if I’d known what to expect or was controlling the chute myself, but either way, I decided to park the aerobatics for another day.
We had a gentle landing. “Just stand up” he said. I did, and that was it.
Encroyable!
I had also recently bought a mini drone and had lots of fun learning to fly it. I was looking forward to getting some classic shots of the Alpes.
It was a wonderful way to round off my week in Annecy and to be honest, I didn’t really want to pack up and leave, but I had plans and set off to Bourg D’Oisans.
The mountains got bigger and I could see snow on top of some of them. Then I saw some road signs ‘Alpe D’Huez’. I couldn’t believe I was really here.
Chateau Duingt, Lake Annecy. Shot with DJI Mini 4k Drone.
The campsite wasn’t as posh as the one in Annecy, but it had everything you needed and a pool, which I wasted no time jumping into. As I relaxed on the sunlounger, I could see, rising above me, the first few bends of the Alpe D’Huez before the road disappeared out of sight into the mountains. The first few bends are the steepest, averaging about 10% and it looked intimidating from my seat by the pool.
I knew I could climb it, but I also knew that real climbs are also much, much harder in real life than on the Watt bike indoor trainer.
Still recovering from the Annecy Triathlon, I decided to give myself another rest day and go for the climb on the Friday.
View from my van
Instead, I took a gentle womble around a flat route by the river to find places to fly my drone and, as ever, it turned into a complete epic!
It started out fine, passing stunning glacial lakes with unreal turquoise colours and little picnic areas. It was beautiful but I didn’t feel confident flying my drone around people, so I moved on a bit.
A little further along I found an empty parking place which was quiet. I launched the drone and captured some amazing shots of glacial lakes, rivers and mountains.
I rode on along the river and the track became covered in several places with deep sand. I wobbled to a halt and ended up ‘hike a bike’ on and off for quite a few kilometers.
Bourg D’Oisans valley. Shot by DJI Mini 4k Drone
Bourg D’Oisans valley. Shot by DJI Mini 4k Drone
Then, to my horror, I really was stopped in my tracks as the road just ended! It had been swept away by the river which crashed past in front of me.
Nope!
This meant going a little off piste and following a track mostly covered in deep sand and then a grassy path with rocks in it.
Orro Venturi does not like grass, nor lumpy tracks and I completely agree.
I ended up carrying Orro most of the way back to tarmac, boulder hopping yet another dry riverbed, sans road that had collapsed.
Back on terra firma and bumped into some Americans who had been up Alpe D’Huez that morning and were looking for an easy route to do in the afternoon.
I diverted them away from my hike-a-bike trail and they were super grateful.
I chose a Friday to go up the Alpe. Weather looked sunny but not baking hot, so blue skies were promised and I guessed there would be far fewer cyclists midweek.
After breakfast and lots of nervous faffing, I set off on the very short lead-in to the start of the climb, which was pretty much round the corner from the campsite. Not much of a warmup then.
As I started plodding up the first few bends, the steepest of the route, it became apparent that a Friday was a bad idea.
Lorry after lorry came trundling past, belching out black stinking smoke and it was relentless. There seemed to be some sort of quarry works going on up in Huez and heavy plant and vehicles passed at regular intervals.
They were respectful and clearly used to cyclists and I never felt in any danger. It just spoiled the experience somewhat.
A few other cyclists plodded by in their own time not going crazily faster than me. One set off just behind me but never passed until I stopped briefly for a breather on bend 19.
I kept plodding and the heat of the day set in. Fuelled by jelly babies, Nutella biscuits and water with dioralyte, I enjoyed the views as the hairpin bends offered views of the snow-capped Alpes. It was quite humbling to see that some of the lower bends were adorned with very high mesh fencing. These were clearly designed to catch cyclists who descend too quickly and risk plummeting off the edge of the mountain, literally.
Each of the 21 famous bends on the climb has a plaque naming previous winners of the Tour De France stage involving the Alpe.
The Alpe D’Huez climb ends at 1860 metres altitude, climbing from Bourg D’Oisans cyclists ascend 1143 metres elevation, over 14.5km distance.
The average gradient is 7.9% and the maximum, 14%.
The first landmark was the pretty church, Saint-Ferréol, on a sweeping left-hand bend 7 with a stunning mountain backdrop. There are also some facilities opposite, with fresh water to refill bidons, toilettes and recycling bins.
Climbing ever higher, you pass through a small village which gives some respite as the gradient backs off for a short while. It then picks up again as you head into the upper bends, with a little more shade and luckily, during lunchtime the road was quieter as the lorry drivers took their siesta.
Saint-Ferréol church, bend 7. Image: DJI Mini 4K drone (Christine Grosart)
I passed beneath the ski lift station, as if I needed any reminding how high I was. Just 3km to go then….
This is where the cowbells start and the marmots begin chirping. I’m not fast enough to outride the flies that seem to go for slow moving cyclists, as a refreshing change to the cattle that graze the higher slopes.
There were a few stings in the tail on the last part of the climb and I finally finished conveniantly close to a bar that was something of an anticlimax after such a classic ride.
I had a pint of lager and messaged my friend who had got me into cycling 3 years ago. I spotted some guys standing on what looked to be a podium that had been set up for anyone to have their photos taken.
Some nice ladies from New Zealand obliged and we had a laugh as I enjoyed the moment. What I was really looking forward to was the descent. Mostly facing the right way on the way down to enjoy the mountain views and with a dry road, I went as fast as I dared without needing the cyclist-catcher nets.
On top of the world
I chilled out the next day in the pool and the bar, with a quick drive up to the Alpe to shoot some video with my drone and do some jersey shopping. I rounded the day with a fabulous steak frites and rosé wine in Bourg D’Oisans, watching the world go by.
I didn’t really have any plans after that, but didn’t want to waste a day. Despite an upset tummy, I decided to cycle in the evening up Col D’Ornan. Not steep but quite long, I ignored the thunderstorm warnings and set off. Thunderstorms were usually short lived. Except this one.
A few hundred metres from the Col I couldn’t take any more. It had been steadily raining and now it was a steady, torrential downpour. Thunder clapped, water cascaded down the road and I still had quite a long descent home. It had set in for the evening. I decided that as I was alone and out on a limb, with hypothermia a reality, I’d head home. I was trashed and didn’t feel an sense of achievement at all. Lesson learned. But probably not…
