Col de la Croix de Fer/ Col de Glandon - Mules Alps Tour day 2

After the euphoria of completing Alp d’huez we were back in Bourg d’Oisans after lunch and took some time to explore this rustic Alpine village.

You could not help to notice that the village was full of mainly English or Dutch speaking MAMILS who wondered around in a semi trance like state, with glazed eyes and a fixed smile.

Like some scene from the Midwich Cuckoos they operated collectively. 

They would visit the large assortment of cycle or cycle related shops where they would smile at the shop keepers and show them plastic cards or give them pieces of paper with the symbol‘€’ prominent

The shop keepers in return would give them assorted gifts from their shelves or hangers.

Personally I did not feel that I had been afflicted but when I got back to my Hotel room I had seemingly acquired some additional luggage to eventually take home.

Amongst the visitors we met two brothers (Greg and Richard Williams)

They had travelled all the way from New Zealand to ride the alps. Their delirium was clearly at a more advanced stage as their cycling Jerseys were inscribed with the words ‘The lost Boys’

Using Bourg d’Oisans as a cycling base offers a variety of different and challenging climbs right on your doorstep.
Within my personal bucket list I sought to complete as many famous Tour de France climbs that I could.

As a reward to myself I allowed myself the prospect of several beers and local wine tasting afterwards and the indulgence of purchasing a commemorative road plaque.

These are sold in most cycling shops and feature all of the principal Tour de France Climbs.

High on my bucket list was the Col de la Croix de Fer which allows you a bonus of completing the Col de Glandon at the same time. Their respective peaks are in close proximity.

The  literal translation of Col de la Croix de Fer is ‘Pass of the Iron Cross’

When I think of the Iron Cross I think of watching war films as a child and of the German SS Officers wearing cross shaped medals under their chin. 

Such awards has been around since the 1190, worn by the Teutonic Knights (Crusaders)  an order of Brothers within the German house of St Mary in Jerusalem.

Although I saw myself as a cycling crusader spreading the word of such inspiring two wheeled adventures, I was content enough with my yellow and white road plaques.

On day two we set off north west along the valley bottom (D1091) towards Rochetaillee.

This provides you with just over 4 miles of flat riding to wake your legs up before turning right on the D526 where you immediately pick up the signs for Col de la Croix de Fer.

The road continues to offer little gradient into Allemond where you are confronted with a large dam containing Lac du Verney. Two switch backs take you to the top of the dam providing you with your first glimpse of what lies ahead. 

Looking north towards the end of the lake, the valley narrows as the mountains push up almost vertically into the clouds past the curiously named village of Oz.

Although there were no signs of any witches or flying monkeys there was certainly a feel that you were cycling away from civilisation. 

After passing through Oz my progress was hindered by a rapidly multiplying gradient.

I felt as if my bicycle was now fixed to a front basket containing an oversized dog looking for a free ride. 

Reminiscent of the early stages of Ventoux the route provided long straight sections through dense woodland. The road stretched out in infront providing a constant reminder of its longevity.

At the small village of Le Rivier-d’Allemond the gradient eventually reduces and there is an opportunity to fill your bidon. You should do so as this is the last opportunity until the top.

Believing you are a significant way up the mountain ridge you question you practice your arithmetic.

If the average gradient is only 4.9 % and you have not yet dipped to that level, then how can you appear to making good progress to the top.

The answer is ..........you are not.
Well the truth is.......You were,

After solid climbing for the best part of 40 mins, you are now descending down a series of switch-backs to the bottom of the valley. 
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I shouted, and used a few other words too.

I felt a bit like a stock broker in a bear market, watching my recent investment fly pass me as I descended through the multicoloured trees.

After reaching as low as you can get both in altitude and spirit I was faced with a 16% wall of tarmac in front of me. 
Two other dispirited cyclist ahead of me had obviously made heavy investments too. They had both divorced themselves from their respective bikes and were cursing their reckless speculation.

Having such an audience prompted greater endeavour on my part and as I passed them I smiled saying in the plumiest of voices that this section was ‘A bit of a rib tickler’

Eventually the gradient reduced to between 7/10% which raised the value of my own emotional stock.

From this point you realise that you are in the wilderness with little sign of life. The valley opens up as you get to the magnificent Lac de Grand Maison where you climb above the tree line.

This day was warm and sunny with scattered clouds which now seemed to be in touching distance as they skidded across your eye-line.

I welcomed this open landscape and rugged beauty despite the fact that our destination was now visible upon a very, very distant and elevated horizon.

In all the books and articles I had read it warned me about this last section. Although the gradient reduces further to mainly 6/8% this section is often cursed with strong headwinds.

It was not so this day.

The conditions were perfect.

At about 2 miles from the summit there is a cafe at the left hand junction to Col de Glandon.

We discussed about which Col we would finish first until I overheard that Glandon was actually only about 200 meters away.

'Instant gratification'-  I thought as I jumped back on my bike - not really letting the debate continue.

We then rode the final section up to the Col de la Croix de Fer where there was another cafe which provided our lunch. 
At 6,781 feet the view was breathtaking along with the ‘Gipfelkreuz’ Iron Cross.

I later found out that these religious placements were actually a Bavarian influence placed on the most notable peaks and passes. They would often be accompanied  by a ‘Gipfelbuch’ - a leather bound register within a container to record the passage of persons travelling through.

Our arrival was recorded on Strava, Facebook and Istragram - Oh how the world has changed.

Alpe d'Huez - Mules Alps Tour Day 1

After a hard days cycling I am predisposed to spending time watching TV for an hour or two. I especially enjoy the spring and summer months when I can usually find cycling on some channel.

If somebody told me 20 years ago that I would enjoy watching folk in Lycra riding around the countryside, I would be questioning their perception of me. 

At that time of my life, such an exposure to this type of viewing would be akin to me watching Love Island or Cheshire housewives in the present time.

I am not decrying the appeal of manufactured wannabes  showing off in search of celebrity status - the viewing figures would clearly rebut any logical argument I might present. 

I think as humans we have developed a vouyeristic pleasure

Rejoicing at the achievements of others and also wincing at their pain in failure or defeat.

I generally gauge the quality of my viewing by its ability to draw my attention or in some cases keep me awake.

When watching cycling it always grabs my attention especially the multi stage Grand Tours.
These provide a glut of vouyeristic delights with success, pain and failure served up in dramatic daily portions.

Amongst those there is one stage that towers above the rest the famous - Alpe d’Huez.

With a length of 13.2 km  and an ascent of 1071 meters at an average of 8.1% it is certainly not the biggest, longest or most challenging.

It is however one that attracts the most attention with spectators, film crews and journalists.

Often called the The Holywood Climb, it is one that always attracts my attention.

Seeing riders pedal through parting crowds of drunken dutchmen with thick orange smoke and collective hysteria is more impactive than any scene created in southern California.

The pain and suffering need no sub titles or introductions and the glory is palpable.

As a cyclist such exposure leaves a lasting effect, pushing you away from spectator to dreaming of entering this alpine arena.

This process is is similar to riding down hill without breaks. The momentum builds until you speedily arrive at your destination, not really knowing how you got there.

In my case I was joined in Bourg d’Oisans mid September by some other club members who also had brake issues.

I remember the morning that I first embraced Alpe d’huez.

It was in the same way that I remembered my first kiss, the day my children were born, and when I got married.

I remember the weather, what time it was and what I was wearing.

Like the afore mentioned events I had been offered lots of free and mostly welcome advice, but nothing can really prepare you for such memorable times.

After leaving the village you head towards what looks like a cliff face as you try and fathom how there could possible be a route upwards. Before you get too close, you can faintly make out the ski resort by forcing your head far back into a contorted position.

Each of the 21 switchbacks are provided with a sign numbered in descending order and also feature names of stage winners. With more winners than bends some contain more than one name. 

By the time the time that I had caught up Fausto Coppi at the first hair pin I needed no signs to remind me that I had started a legendary ascent.

The road was adoringly adorned with riders names, good wishes, humour and satire.

The artistry forced me to smile but sadly was not enough to distract my legs from protesting about the double digit gradient.

I had already encountered ‘Deadmans click’
The abject dissapointment when you tap for a lower gear and nothing happens.

You pray that it might be a quick fix mechanical issue, but soon realise that its because you have no gears left.

Despite my snail like pace by turn 20 I had caught up with Iban Mayo and had Lance Armstrong in my sights.

Despite his indiscretions I was not annoyed to see his name on Hairpin 19. He had been involved in many dramas on this slope which only enhanced its legendary status.

One such incident occurred at stage 10 of the 2001 Tour de France (an Alpe d’huez summit finish). Earlier in the stage Armstrong appeared to be struggling inducing his great rival Jan Ullrich power away at the front with his Telekom Team. 

As they got on Alp d’huez Armstrong moved up to join Ullrich before attaching him. After creating a gap of about 20 meters he turned and starred back at Ullrich in a look that has been interpreted as a challenge.

Armstrong always denied this saying that he was trying to locate a team mate.

I remember watching it on live TV at the time which was repeatedly played.

I thought ‘the look’ was a fantastic piece of gladiatorial drama from the uncompromising Texan.

As I got closer to Frank Schleck my fellow Mules who were by now further up the road looked back at me too.

I smiled. It was the look that Armstrong was trying to portray, an authentically sympathetic one. 

As I drew level with Pierre Rolland on hairpin 16 the gradient only had one digit to concern me and I was able to move up a gear.

My head was drawn away from the the road in front of me and my grip on my bars loosened as I was able to adopt a more comfortable upright position.

What struck me most of all was the elevation gain in such a short period of time. The switch backs had propelled me up the cliff face and Bourg d’Oisans now looked like a model village over a thousand feet below me.

The switchbacks continued with a symmetrical regularity where I observed and passed Sastre, Winnen, Hinault and Bugno.

After the switchback 7, I passed  the famous Notre Damme des Neiges church at Dutch Corner. I could clearly hear my own heartbeat and the sound of an Alpine spring. 

The Air was pure and the road clear.

I needed no reminder that all things change at this location on Tour day.

Resident Dutch priest Jaap Reuton rang the church bells when Joop Zoetemelk won in the1960s.

In more recent times the vestry is turned into a bar and you can find ashtrays in the Nave.

A resident DJ attempts to raise the dead by pumping out cheesy pop songs and dance music next to the graveyard.

On this day the only sign of the flatlands was the orange paint and the names of Dutch riders filling the blank tarmac canvas.

Alpe d’huez often joked as the highest climb in Holland because 8 of the first 14 winners were from this land.

Knowing that the majority of Holland sits below sea level, made it particularly ironic.

With the ski resort and summit now in view and the numbers on the switchback corners moving downwards, my spirit rose with the elevation. I finally knew that this particular script would have a happy ending.

After reaching the summit we substituted are usual coffee with Beer. I don't usually drink beer mid ride but this was no ordinary ride as Geraint Howell Thomas so eloquently put it.

Its Alpe d’huez man

The Copper triangle

Long before cycling, in fact long before the wheel itself was invented, man entertained himself through song. The subject matter was varied. Initially recounting tales of heroic acts, or local stories. In more modern times that developed into songs of emotion, of love and loss.
Not only of each other but of places too.
Frank Sinatra brought New York to our gramophones, George Ezra streamed Budapest to our Apple devices whilst various artists sung about Amsterdam no doubt influenced by its green leaf culture.

In 1970 Singer songwriter John Denver got into deep water with the US Federal Communications Commission after singing about The Rockies.
Remitted by a legal ruling to censor music deemed to promote drug abuse,  they were concerned that his song Rocky Mountain High could have only have been making reference to stimulation of Narcotic consumption.

With their offices based on 445 12th Street in Washington DC close to sea level, they may have felt inclined to hold an alternative view if they had paid a visit.
Colorado is High all the time.

With its high plains set flat as a 'frame' for it's surrounding mountains, Colorados lowest point is a staggering 3,315 feet above sea level at the Arikaree River in Yuma County.

To put this in perspective its lowest point, is higher than the highest point of 18 other US States.

Even if they had visited they would have been wrong despite such an apparently obvious reference.
What John Denver was singing about was not the elevation but how it made him feel.

A sense of euphoria and Majesty.

As a child I spent 3 years living in America and although many years ago now I do remember holidays in the Rockies with great fondness.
Returning as a cyclist in 2014 I was blown away by the magnitude and natural beauty of this largely uninhabited terrain.

In 2016 I returned to take part in the Courage Classic Tour.
Founded in 1990 its a charity event to raise money for 'Children's Hospital Colorado'.

The two day tour takes place usually on the third weekend of July each year and is based in the Copper Mountain Ski resort about 1.5 hours from Denver on the I-70W.

It offers a variety of routes and family rides for those wanting to ride, and a beautiful base for hiking, fishing or just absorbing the atmosphere with some local wine.

.

For the more adventurous the 77 mile Copper Loop or Copper triangle on Day 1 is a must for any visitor.
Considered one of Colorados classic alpine rides it crests three of Colorados Mountain passes. Freemont Pass at 11,318', Tennessee Pass at 10,424' and Vail Pass at 10, 662'.

I was privileged to be invited to ride for the ARC Thrift Classic Team arranged by John Sladek, Eric Larson and James Simpson who with many others work tirelessly each year for not only their team but for the event as a whole.

 We set off just after sun up.

Anticipating a scorching hot day I was dressed accordingly, not realising that the thermometer would not start rising until an hour or more after the start.

It was like being in Yorkshire on a summers day 'without thy coat'

My fingerless gloves were just that - 'fingerless' I could see the numb protruding digits, but there was very little feeling.

The route headed south on Highway 91 with an ever increasing gradient up over Freemont Pass.
The climb was long and unrelenting but it at least generated some inner warmth.
I stopped at the top where there was a feed station. I needed no food or drink but just the opportunity to warm my hands before the descent and to allow the sun to get above the mountain tops.
The descent into Leadville came with a cocktail of terror and exhilaration in equal measure.
With the road being wide with good visibility and shallow bends there was no excuse, not to let gravity take its course.
When the Garmin reached 45 mph I got a bit nervous from not being able to trust my numb fingers and reluctantly started to feather the brakes.

Being surrounded by Medics I am sure I would have been ably assisted if I had embraced the Tarmac, but I was there to help raise money, not to ruin their weekend.

From Leadville we climbed steadily north west up towards the Tennessee pass.
The landscape changed with open wide plains, where the now more elevated sun had no problem exploiting with much needed warmth.
I found this section quite strange with such a gentle incline it felt more like a false flat and had the feel of a more rational lowland coastal plain. It belied the fact that we were still over 8,000 feet, surrounded by Peaks close to 14,000'.

Following on from Tennessee Pass we approached Battle Mountain crossing the magnificent Red Cliff Bridge which shadows the Eagle river below.

It seemed that at each lay-by or Junction many locals had come out to cheer us on shouting out with the same gusto and enthusiasm for each rider.

From there its downhill again, descending into Minturn the lowest point of the ride at 7,861'.
You would not think so surrounded by giant peaks all around you.
From here the only way was up.
I got to this point at about mid day and the valley floor acted like a heat conductor. It was hot.
With my breathing already effected by my introduction to altitude riding the heat was trying to get in on the act.

From Minturn you pick up a bike path that takes you through Vail, up and over Vail pass and back to Copper Mountain.

With the combination of the altitude, gradient and heat it looked like a procession of slow moving ants inching towards their destination.

After 6,000 feet of climbing you are ready for a drink.
The beer was great and the company even better.

Day 2 offered various options with a shorter route around the Dillon Dam to Keystone and a longer route adding an extension up to the top of the Ute Pass.

Not forgetting the previous mornings 'frostbite' I took an extra pair of gloves following the fast cycle track down the valley towards Silverthorne and then writing the Dam

The route then headed North on Highway 9 following the Lower blue River for ten miles.
From there we turned east on Colorado Route 15 up Ute pass Road.

From there its all up hill for 5.3 miles. The first 1.2 miles averages about 4%, the next 3.4 miles about 5.6% until it flattens off at the top.

Its then an an about turn facing the imposing Gore Range to the West and a heart thumping descent.

On the way down I was listening to Music on my headphones and had to smile to myself as Mr Denver sung of the virtues of this magnificent playground. Leaning into each corner Imaintained both my speed and the ecstatic grin on my face.

'When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hanging by a song'

'He climbed cathedral Mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see'

There was no Censorship up here