After a feverish night, I have woken to find a dead badger in my chest, Bonnie Tyler living in my throat, and Keith Richards in the mirror. Covid test is negative so no excuses. As the only female in the trip it is important to remind all the males just how stubborn and foolish females can be (I think they might already know…), and we’ve had a rest day, so no complaining. In fact I think people are keen to get back on their bikes, if not necessarily back on their saddles…
Today’s route takes us north from the coast and 24km up over the, (average gradient 5%) Col de Turini at 68km. A second, similar climb over La Colmiane pass, a popular French ski resort follows at 104km. And a final push to Le Rabuons hostel in Saint-Étienne-de-Tinée. A not insignificant day, but at least the distance should have us all finished before it’s dark this time.
A bit sorrowful to leave the cool sea breeze, but we head north, our hills in the distance peeking through the town.
Once clear of the traffic, we settle into steady uphill rhythms. The morning heat is building, and I dodge into the shade whenever possible. It is a very long climb, ~1500m, and I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself. I settle into the oven-ready pain cave trying to distract myself with the sublime scenery.
While on Italian climbs, it’s not uncommon for an affable local to pull alongside. Always male, and with the appearance of the 1980s character from Magnum PI. He’s invariably wearing a gilet to fend off the inclement 28oC morning temperatures, but with a good rug of protruding chest hair. A friendly “Ciao”, then further lacy, curling Italian follows “dove vai oggi?”. My Yorkshire ‘Chow’ is all that is needed. He will immediately detect the twang, effortlessly switching to bouncy English and ask me where I’m from. Currently, I am from Manchester, this is a place in northern England they’re likely to have heard of, so offers no difficulties with further explanation. We can then confirm that yes it is too hot for me in Italy, and that yes I do indeed like rain. We part on friendly terms, with a “Buon viaggio” from him and a ‘Chow” back from me (I have no idea what he said).
At the Col de Turini summit there is, naturally, a café. And even better: we are now in France, I’m hoping for delicate French comestibles. There is Tarte Myrtille, a right result!!!!!
The pass is famous for its twisting hairpin bends. The road is dry (I am a sensible chicken descender in the wet), and people are itching to press their bikes into the corners like gliding down like Marble Run At the valley floor, there is no respite, we are straight up into the second climb.
Long climbs: If you’re not a pro, with your Director Sportif yelling in your ear to go faster (or else…), then a big part of successfully climbing hills is to find a pace that’s going to get you there aerobically, and distracting your mind from giving up. For keen naturalists, staring into the verge for botanical relief can be quite effective. Trying to pluck from my brain, the names of alpine flowers I should know. A second approach, and not always avoidable, is a repetitious mantra. Usually banal earworm lyric, on day 5, I was unable to rid myself of Cher ‘Turn[ing] back Time’ for the best part of 20km, and just the first four lines too.
Other distractions include messing about with Garmin settings (something I would be doing if my #poogarmin powermeter pedals had chosen to ‘pair’ on this trip); trying to improve pedalling action; stretching back/shoulders/neck, naming animals alphabetically, and obviously, enjoying the simply stunning alpine scenery.
Today, distractions are not working. Melvin Bragg joins the pain cave party (and it’s 30 oC), bringing his nasal twang. The climb to the summit is horrible. I think about disabling my Share Location, and going to sleep under a tree…
We ride through towns mostly destroyed by some epic event, biblical flood, or avalanche. The residents are slowly rebuilding, diggers painstakingly moving each of the millions of ~2m diameter stones that have surged through the towns, one at a time.
I make the second summit, and a kindly Martin supplies cool Fanta. The decent is a respite, but before long, I am back in the pain cave, hauling up an endless climb to the hostel. The dead badger is getting a bit fetid. Bonnie, Melvin, Keith and I all concur it is the hardest cycle we can remember. I go for another (negative) covid test, a shower, then collasp on the bed for some gentle swearing (I will tidy this blog up later…).
As I’m still repeating…(sorry) we’re raising money for Bolton Lads & Girls Club (BLGC) a provider of targeted Youth Support services. As always, we pay for everything ourselves so you know that every penny you donate goes directly to BLGC. Our Just giving page is here: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/blgcitalianclassics
Your support will spur me into even greater patisserie-fuelled endeavours. Thank You 🙂