Tour of France, April 2009 - The report

[Whealie]

plus an unfortunate hiccough for the mighty Tiger.

They're supposed to roar, not hiccough

[StumpyFingers]

Great report
Keep it coming.

[phil w]

Nice stuff James Wheres the sunshine

[steveR]

Tiger = leader of the pack!

Oooh, I don't know, I have one classic shot that will be uploaded when I can liberate a card reader!!

Did we get a shot of Tigger on a String??

[Meesh]

Really enjoying this James... is there more... please?

[stanbloke]

an unfortunate hiccough for the mighty Tiger.

Whats up with the tiger James??.

[Jacqueslemac]

Okay, so where were we?

After lunch close to the Med, we headed north on a route that would take us in the direction of Millau, where we would rejoin our original route.

Here we are just above Bédarieux (I think):



And here's the town we were just about to navigate:



The sharp-eyed will have noticed the hills looming in the background. Well, they were all they promised to be. Far tighter than the ones in the Massif, but still lovely, smooth tarmac and still no traffic. Mile after mile of lovely smooth bends gradually climbing until the "Col of the 13 winds" and then descending into the valley. And then up again. Glorious.

Theriding was the most fun any of us had had for ages and for me at least, the best couple of hours ever.

We spotted a campsite, but decided that we could do just one more col before we stopped. I volunteered to race on ahead, choose a corner and then take a few photos. It took me a while before I'd found a nice, tight corner with a parking space just after it so I could leap off the bike and take position. I could hear the burble of two V-twins heading my way.

My mistake is that I chose a tight right-hander. When you're riding on the right it means, of course, that you can't see round the corner. At least, that's the excuse Steve and Geoff gave when I showed them the photos and both were disappointed they hadn't got their knees down:





Oh, and it had started to drizzle a bit too. Anyway, we decided that rather than waste a perfectly good cold by riding it in the wet, we'd head back down to the campsite and hope it was open.

We struck lucky. It was and once again we were the only ones under canvas. This time we even found a pitch with a picnic bench and table so we could eat in comfort and style:




After our meal, Steve and I took a walk up the disused railway line that ran beside the site (although virtually empty now, the valley had been a hive of activity less than 100 years ago). We spotted something I've never seen before. I ran back to fetch my camera, but the light had almost gone. You should be able to spot what we saw, though:


It was dark by the time we returned to the site.

And so to bed.

[steveR]

Far tighter than the ones in the Massif, but still lovely, smooth tarmac and still no traffic. Mile after mile of lovely smooth bends gradually climbing until the "Col of the 13 winds" and then descending into the valley. And then up again. Glorious.

The riding was the most fun any of us had had for ages and for me at least, the best couple of hours ever.

We spotted a campsite, but decided that we could do just one more col before we stopped. I volunteered to race on ahead, choose a corner and then take a few photos. It took me a while before I'd found a nice, tight corner with a parking space just after it so I could leap off the bike and take position. I could hear the burble of two V-twins heading my way.

My mistake is that I chose a tight right-hander. When you're riding on the right it means, of course, that you can't see round the corner. At least, that's the excuse Steve and Geoff gave when I showed them the photos and both were disappointed they hadn't got their knees down:

We wos trying, honest Guv!!

James' comments hardly do justice to the afternoon and the roads, both were superb and enormous fun. Heaving a top heavy lump like the Transalp laden with gear round some serious nadgery was hard work, but oh so rewarding!

I wrote the following on a BB (Cix) in the Francophile conference...

Impressions? France is BIG, really big. The hills and mountains we
experienced are beautiful, and the riding even better, I still shiver when
I remember how knackered I was after 6 hours of almost continual twisties.
Top Gear and books I have read, rave about the Stelvio Pass.... for a bike, the narrow twisties that we had in the Cevennes will take some beating anywhere in the world for the sheer length of quality riding that was available. The constant brake, change gear, lean left, brake, change gear, lean right for mile after mile, climbing and descending all the time on the well surfaced empty roads was even with an overloaded bike, quite astonishing.

I say overladen as my 'alp has an "interesting" patter on the front wheel at between 25-30 MPH, let go of the bars and the Mother of all tank slappers is waiting to bite! This means corners are best tackled with a hard braking late into the corner and loads of welly coming out Horrid in the wet mind...

[Jacqueslemac]

Next morning the sun greeted us, vindicating our decision not to "waste" the col. We had a leisurely breakfast (at least Steve and I did, not much more than two or three hours after Geoff had his) and were able to pack in our own good time and not rush it for fear of getting everything even wetter:





And then it was time to head into the hills again, working our way north towards Millau. This photo shows one of the long straights we encountered:


This part of France may have been warm, but Spring wasn't really any further advanced than back in the UK. The trees were still mostly bare of leaves, so the views were good:



Gratuitous shot of bikes at rest:


The col we'd partly ridden the evening before was as good as we'd hoped and so were the following ones. Soon we were nearing Millau. I've seen the bridge before, but although I was leading, I had assumed we'd come upon Millau first. When we first glimpsed the bridge rising above the horizon I thought to myself "What on earth is that?" before being struck once again by the sheer scale of the thing.


It's very difficult to capture on film, but suffice to say the highest pillar is taller than the Eiffel tower. And that's before you add the road and the bit above the road:


We had a quick look at the exhibition (can you believe they don't sell stickers to go on panniers?), declined to pay five euros to look at it from the other side of the fence before cutting to the other side of the valley to see it from a different angle:






From Millau we headed east and into the Gorges du Tarn:


It was getting hotter now and every stop involved stripping off more layers.




The Gorge is one of those rides where you're torn between enjoying the road and wanting to stop at every bend to enjoy the view. What a dilemma to have to suffer from!


We stopped for lunch in the Gorge. It was so hot we took ages, just soaking up the warmth.




Eventually we had to tear ourselves away from putting the world to rights and get back in the saddle. This is what we had to tackle:


Needless to say, it was as good as it looks. More miles and miles of bends, each one revealing another superb vista. Every now and again we even saw a car!


By mid-afternoon, we were suffering from that rare condition of too much of a good thing. Our arms were tired, fingers sore from braking, accelerating and changing gear, toes tender from the gearshift and necks rubbed raw from taking in views left, right, above and ahead.

So it was time for another cuppa:





"Unfortunately" there were more miles to cover before our scheduled night stop.

The bends went on and on. The views kept on appearing, the road continued as smooth and as twisty as before.

We left the Gorges du Tarn soon after St Enimie, but after we'd crossed the N106 onto the D998 and then - I think - the D315 and then D51, the great roads continued.





By now we were almost sated and decided we had to stop. Again, we found some campsites shut, but after following a sign through Bessègas, we found one with the gates open.

We were still sitting on our bikes, wondering if the site was indeed open, when a lady approached us. I asked - in French - whether the site was open and she replied in French that it was. I translated the good news to the others and she immediately switched to English.

I noticed her accent and asked if she was Dutch. She said she was and would we like a cold beer before we put our tents up?

How can you answer that when you're exhausted, you've had the best day's riding of your life, it's hot and you're thirsty? The debate lasted a nanosecond or two:


The sharp eyed among you will have noticed the lack of a glass in Steve's hand. Disaster had struck. A new keg had been connected, the pipes and pump were all freshly serviced but no cold beer was coming out! A couple of frantic calls were made to the Netherlands to avert an international incident and soon we were sipping much-needed cold drinks.

Before we decided to just carry on and let the tents wait until the morning we dragged ourselves away and pitched the tents on the first spot we could find:


Note sweaty bike gear hung out to dry:


Next morning we discovered a river not 50 yards away, with plenty of pitches beside it. On the other hand, our pitch was close to the facilities (toilets, showers, bar, that kind of thing).

We were sung to sleep by the sound of dozens of lovelorn cigales. Steve had wondered off to make a phone call and after he'd held the phone up so his daughter could hear the noise, he realised that the biggest concentration of them were on our pitch! Anyway, the buzzing lasted well into the night, a fitting soundtrack to the end of the best day's riding in my life.

More soon...

[Frad]

What a great trip you guys have had very envious

Millau is on my to do list