The Sixth

The hill we had to do was the Col de la Bonnette, the highest tarmac pass in Europe - though only because of a pointless loop around a further bit of hill. Still, it was very high at 9192 feet.
We hurried around the bakery and the allimentarie for bananas and french buns, and had a cafe au lait while we watched the village notables arranging Tour De France bunting in the tiny town square. The cafe had some big posters of grainy shots of Tours from way back - wrought iron bikes, cycling boots, Gauloise hanging from a stage winner's mouth.

8.40 and we were on the case. There are no towns or villages at all until you are well down the other side - so sort your water and power food out in Jausiers. The hill has three stages. The first - the D64 rises very quickly over some choice hairpins and contour crushing bends to take you along the ravine.

Pretty bit.

The vegetation thins out and you're on the next stage, and you are really in the Alps. The hill is relentless. The weather was slightly overcast so the sun never really had a chance to do its thing. A ridge appears ahead and you breathe a sigh of relief as you approach the acme, the summit, the zenith, the peak but, instead of having anything to do with the Col, its just the beginning of the last stage - the desolate, inhospitable landscape, the firing range and military manoeuvres, the massive towering ridge with seemingly no way through except over surrounding the vast vastness of a bowl shaped valley like feature and the road just going on and on. Round about this point the weather was closing in and thunder rumbled here and there. There was a spot of rain. Our action plan for rain kicked in. D, like some magician, pulled out all this hitherto unseen warm, wet weather gear from a pannier and wrapped up warm. My blubber was doing its job so I stuck with the T shirt but whipped out my hitherto unseen bright yellow pannier covers. We continued through the land that time forgot - the huge silence and that darn road just snaking around, mesmerisingly, mot knowing where it was going next. Snow drifts lay like dead sheep by the road.

Bleak bit.

This bleak stage just went on and on and on. We passed a small lake the fish clear as day, Then an army encampment - fortifications to keep an eye on the border. This is a Col - the Restefond and there is a brief plateau. There are more fortifications on the road - huge concrete bunker type things - part of the Maginot Line. Then finally the road straightens and activity can be seen at the Col.

Top bit.

A couple of weeks later the Tour went over this Col with some spectacular coverage from the air. One thing ought to be mentioned. We had all our camping gear with us - sleeping bags, mats, tents, the whole kaboosh yet we were heading from Geneva to Monaco, not from Monaco to Geneva - the Col de la Bonnette is one thing going North to South, South to North looked tough.

That's the way up. For a white knuckle ride, there's the way down.

The descent starts as a ride along the ridge with the road's rapid drop way below you. In no time we were flying around bends and pulling up at impossible hairpins, the brake block fizzing - hands beginning to hurt from the vibrations and grip. One false move and you're over the edge - as that rider in the Tour did on the other side as he went towards Jausiers.

There is a spooky village in ruins on the way - even spookier were the parked cars but no-one to be seen. The first sign of life was at St. Etienne-de-Tinee, 30 miles from Jausiers but we carried on down to the pretty St. Sauveur sur Tinee and its one bar, one restaurant and one very small campsite. We decided, as a treat, to mix our drinks - Ricard and White beer - and have a big fat dessert to follow the big fat meal. The one-bar-one restaurant-one small campsite very small pretty town also had one helipad, which, as Sods Law would have it, was needed that very night as there was an accident up in the valley and the chopper had to go up and down half the night flashing its lights - just like home in London.