Sometimes things just work out... (or, How to ride an alpine climb)

The night before last I was looking for a place to stay and reached a crossroads; to the right, the most direct route to Italy (the next place on my itinerary); to the left, the high alps and a less direct route to Italy. I chose the right; it looked to be the easier path, and where I would more likely find a place to stay without dying of heat exhaustion. (I swear the sun is at its hottest at 6 p.m. around here...)

As luck would have it, there was, just a hundred meters from that junction, a campground with "chalets" available (actually tiny little cabins that are little more than bedrooms with a stove; I could barely walk between the bed and the wall), but it suited me perfectly, and, most importantly, was available. There had been no room "at the inn", so to speak, at the town that I had just passed.

And thus began a chain of coincidences that led to a spectacular day.

In the "chalet" I found a pamphlet (in English! what are the chances?) about road biking and mountain biking in the Haute Alps, the area just to the north that I had decided to ride around. It included a basic map and described some of the bike routes. (No pictures, mind you, but the altitude of the passes gave me an idea of what it might look like). The map also pointed out the 5 passes that were the "high eagle passes"; apparently you could get some kind of reward from the tourist office in Briancon if you biked up all of these passes within 7 days.

And there's nothing that gets me excited like the idea of a challenge.

However, I didn't intend to climb all of those passes. But it, along with another few passes that were highlighted in the pamphlet, convinced me that I should see more of the Alps (I had already caught a few glimpses during the day's ride) before heading over to Italy. So I charted a more northerly course that would take me over a 2700+ m pass and called it a night.

The next day I went back to that junction, starting out at a mellow pace that was dictated by a rather stiff climb up alongside the nearest lake as much as my desire to save my energy for the big climb later in the day. This stunning lake is a product of the damming of the Durance, a river I have crossed several times on my trip. I reflected on my previous day's decision to forego watching the Dauphine Libere go up the Mont Ventoux. In hindsight, I wished I had stayed around Sault for an extra day to watch the racers. When would I next have a chance to watch a professional bike race in Europe? It might be years... or decades!

After a few hours of good riding, as I was approaching the town of Guillestre, I saw a road information sign. One concern that I had was that there was the possibility that the pass I was going to climb would still be closed due to snow, unlikely though this seemed in mid-June.

It took me a few minutes to figure out what the electronic road information sign was saying as it rotated through its three messages. I couldn't believe my eyes, so I read again. What luck! The road in Guillestre would be closing soon... because the Dauphine Libere race would be arriving there! And then the race would head up the Col d'Izouard...

A few minutes later I spotted another sign, listing the passes in the area. They were all open... except for the Col du Agnol... the one I had been planning on tackling for the day!

At Guillestre, I decided to stop and have some lunch and ponder. It seemed that I had 3 options: first, to try to get over the pass that had planned on, despite the snow, perhaps after waiting in Guillestre to see the race go by; second, to take the shortcut around the Col d'Izouard to the finish line to try to beat the pros there; or third, to try to get at least partway up the climb to the Col d'Izouard and watch the pros there.

At this point I should mention that watching a pro bike race on a climb is the ideal location; instead of seeing the entire peloton whiz by in a few seconds, the group tends to spread out, sometimes separated by minutes... or a dozen minutes. On serpentine alpine roads, you can see the riders approaching from below. It's a great opportunity for photos and for picking out your favorite rider.

And thus, I chose the third option.

For the first dozen or so kilometers of gentle climbing through an amazing river gorge, I saw just a few spectators. But once the real climbing up the windy switchbacks began, I saw the caravans and cars parked alongside the road. They had been parked there for hours, since before the road closed, waiting for a chance to see the racers. Some of them supported a specific team, rider, or country; some had signs from various races that they had gone to watch posted on their caravan. Flags from France, Belgium, and Italy were flown with pride. The most unusual form of fan-dom I saw was the man who had done large paintings of various professional racers, many of them signed by the racers themselves.

A few other amateur riders, wanting to watch some of the action like me, passed me along the way. With my baggage and relatively heavy bike, I was surely the slowest rider on the road that day. But here's the thing: since I was one of the last people up the road before the pro racers, the spectators were excited to have someone to cheer for! I got many "bravo"'s... and other words of encouragement (I think) that I couldn't necessarily translate.

But it gets better: the spectators weren't the only ones bored with waiting.

I knew that at some point I would need to get off the road to let the professionals pass by. I thought, but wasn't sure, that I had read at my lunch stop, that the pro's were expected to reach the top around 4 p.m., but I didn't know when spectators like myself would need to shove off to the side of the road for them. Would I need to get off the road at 2? 3? I expected any one of the dozens of gendarmes that I passed along the way to tell me to pull over.

So when a motorcycle approached me from behind and then started to slow down, I assumed it was a police officer... but no! It was a cameraman from a local news station. Bonjour! I greeted him...

When he responded with a question in French and I made clear that I had no idea what he was saying he asked in English "Is it hard?"

"Yes! It's very steep!"

I went on to explain that I was making a big bike trip across Europe and told him I was from Seattle in the United States. It was my first ever TV interview, and my first interview of any kind while riding a bike! After a few more seconds of him filming me suffering up the climb, he zoomed off. So who knows, I may have been on the local French news last night!

Two other great things about riding the Col d'Izouard the day of a race were that the road was mostly clear of traffic, and towards the end, it was very clear how much further I had to ride. Even I could translate the French for "one kilometer" and there were signs for the race indicating 500 m and 200 m to go.

At last! I reached the summit, just 20 minutes before the pros were anticipated to arrive. I took some pictures, parked my bike (I figured that locking it wouldn't be necessary considering the number of police officers that were hanging around), and found a good place to settle down.

A few rounds of goat cheese and crackers later, anticipation was high. I thought I heard "5 minutes"... and indeed, just a few minutes later, the lead cars arrived, followed by a pack of 4 riders. And then a few more riders, and more... and then a whole crew of them... and then a few more... sometimes there were so many riders that they took up the whole road and I, camera to my eye, almost got in their way.

Eventually, after 15 minutes or less, the "Fin de Course" truck drove by... and it was over.

People who had been camped out for hours quickly jumped in their vehicles and onto their bikes, men started deflating the finish-of-climb markers, and we were off. By "we", I mean the cyclists, for we enjoyed about 20 minutes of glorious car-free descending before the cars were allowed on the road.

What a day! I even managed to find a cheap hotel in the town of Briancon, where the teams and officials were staying the night, since the next stage started here this morning. My hotel was home to about 25 French motorcycle police officers for the night (and at least a few race officials). Scattered throughout the town were team busses, trucks and cars. It was exciting to be in the middle of it all!

And it all started with the luck of finding that pamphlet...