Leaving Menton along the D2566 |
On a stifling day in
July, we were back in France again, in Menton, and I had a bit of climbing to do. The same feelings returned-apprehension and uncertainty about cycling along unknown roads through unpredictable weather. Nevertheless, these were
more than countered by the sheer excitement at the thought of pedalling my way
along once ancient routes, surrounded by 600 kilometres of hard granite rock called Le Grand Massif.
The view north up
Menton’s D2566 was ominous and stunning at the same time. It was a hot Saturday
morning down at sea level, the warm air trapped by the giant fortress in front
of me. Today was to be my first day in the Alps and I remembered my brief
conversation with the cyclist I met the last time I was here. There was
something about my 34/29 gearing he was skeptical about, or perhaps it was more
about the body that was going to use it. I consoled myself with the fact that
I’d climbed some pretty massive mountains and cols already, and covered some
long distances. Now I just had to combine the two.
Rather than encounter a
Roman army of unknown size, Hannibal chose to march north up the Rhône River
valley towards what is now Grenoble. While his exact route to the northeast is
a source of great debate, some historians suggest that he took a mountain pass
somewhere near the Col de Montgenèvre, which lies south of the Mont Blanc
Massif. His Carthaginian army experienced snowstorms, landslides and attacks
from hostile tribes in the two and a-bit weeks it took to complete the journey.
The cost was a little over one-third of Hannibal’s army, but it didn’t prevent
him from winning his first victory over the Romans just a few weeks later.
* * *

What Arthurs becomes
during these three weeks, so it seems the Col de Turini is most weekend
afternoons. The climb winds, at an average gradient of 5.2% along stretches of
perfectly zigzagging road. It is an absolute mecca for cyclists, and evidently
for car enthusiasts as well. But invariably, the two don’t mix.
Little more than a few
minutes into the climb, the stillness and serenity were broken by the sound of
reverberating car engines below me, about 20 of them. They looked an ominous
sight, each one hot on the heels of the one in front. You could hear each
vehicle’s acceleration on every straight, followed by the synchronised screech
of brakes as it hit the corner. I’d avoided trucks, traffic jams, motorbikes,
mopeds, cattle, barricades, just about everything you could imagine. The last
thing I expected was a speedway full of petrol-heads. There was nowhere to hide
and little I could do other than simply swallow my pride, get off my bike,
stand as close to the side of the road as was humanly possible, and cringe as
each one sped past.
Gone in 60 seconds, the
cars were soon nothing more than a bad memory. I was again riding along a
tranquil road. The lacets had disappeared, and with them the severity of the
gradient. Soon I was standing outside our evening’s accommodation at the Hotel
les Chamois, right at the very summit of the Col de Turini. Like the genie out
of the bottle it literally appeared out of thin air.
* * *

![]() |
The Cime de la Bonette's summit, with its additional 80 metres of landfill. |
![]() |
The view from the summit. |
Cime de la Bonette is
not only the highest mountain I’ve ever climbed; it is also the most difficult.
I found it even more arduous than Angliru. Having reached all but the last few
hundred metres, I simply couldn’t stay on the bike. The strong buffeting wind
led me where it wanted and there was no barricade offering protection from the
barren vertical slope. Unable to control the bike, even at such a slow speed, I
tried walking a few metres in search of some protection from the wind, but to
no avail. It was a major let-down to climb almost to the very top and not be
able to stay on the saddle.
The story goes that the
French weren’t content with having the second-highest road mountain pass in
Europe so they added an additional 80 metres of landfill to make it what they
thought was the highest. Whether or not it is is a matter of conjecture. To me,
it’s simply a bloody dangerous circular road, with as much as a 16% gradient,
that ends back where it starts, at the mountain road to Jausiers. All I can say
is, “Bravo” to all those riders who
have made it to the very top. For me, just getting to the summit, on the back
of the bike and finally on foot, was a wonderful moment, again one I’ll never
forget.
![]() |
Views down the other side, towards Jausiers.
Books by Mark
Krieger:
‘High Spain Drifter’ is available on Amazon , Barnes and Noble, Booktopia and other online bookstores. ‘Lycra, Lattes and the Long Way Round’ is available on Amazon, Book Depository, Barnes and Noble, Kobo Books Both books are also available at local bookshops on the Mornington Peninsula: @ Rosebud Bookbarn and @ La Brocante
“I still must abide by the rules of
the road, of biking, of gravity. But I am mentally far away from civilization.”
US author and poet Diane Ackerman |
No comments:
Post a Comment