I'd set my alarm bright n early so grabbed an early shower then walked into town to the bakery to pick up breakfast. My more lethargic travel companion needed slightly more coaxing to pull her from her slumber. As usual, the waft of coffee did the trick. By her third cup of espresso she's able to talk about as much sense as you'll ever get out of her. It all goes downhill rapidly as the caffeine wears off though.
There was a helicopter overhead, flying construction materials back and forth from one mountainside to another on a huge winch. We watched it for a while over breakfast then made tracks.
First stop after breakfast was Col de la Bonette - the highest road in Europe.
Although that's not strictly true. The pass actually peels off before the summit but there's a tiny loop that takes you up a further 87m to the summit (Cime de la Bonette). I felt a bit cheated. It's like that tower in Malaysia (I think) that secured the title of the worlds tallest building for a while after they stuck a massive great aerial on the roof.
This little loop road to the summit (or cime in French) is more accurately the 'highest paved through-route in Europe'. Not quite so catchy now, huh? It's also the highest point reached by the Tour de France. However, there are several higher passes around here, including the Stelvio and the Col de l'Iseran.
Catherine also bestowed the Col the honour of the coldest road in Europe. It was certainly a bit nippy up there. Apparently she gets as grumpy in the cold as I do in the heat. I wouldn't have believed it, as I can get pretty damn crabby and short tempered when I'm too hot, but I can now confirm that she's a right miserable bugger unless she's super toasty.
We passed a Lotus Elise that was very gently winding up the mountain. Strange for such an agile little car, but it all became clear when we saw the Belgian plates.
We returned to Barcelonnette but alas could find no trace of any marmot sanctuary so we rejoined the Alpine route.
UPDATE - there is a marmot sanctuary in Montreux, Switzerland at the eastern end of Lake Geneva. Rochers-de-Naye Marmottes Paradis. The TripAdvisor reviews sound very promising! It's definitely on the list for next time.
As we moved on to Col D'Izoard the heavens opens. It was the first rain to hit us while we're riding this year but it more than made up for the previous long and very enjoyable dry spell. It proper hammered down.
We skipped a couple of sheltered spots under the trees and pushed on to the summit. We expected to find a nice restaurant but it was pretty sparse up there. Nothing but a tat shop selling marmot related memorabilia and expensive Clix drinks. We both opted for a nasty hot chocolate, but it was hot and we appreciated the shelter. The tiny gift shop soon filled up with French cyclists who all stripped out of their wet lycra and emptied all the Kronenberg from the fridge. The place started to smell of wet dog, and I know we contributed to that, but was just too many semi naked French men getting pissed for my liking so we moved on.
We threw on our hi-viz rave vests before setting off. A legal requirement in some countries now. You look like a learner rider again but after our incident in Geneva a few years back we felt far safer in a bit of garish day-glo.
On the way up Col du Lauteret a marmot ran across the road in front of us and dived into a hole in the stone wall. Catherine had jumped off the bike before I'd even stopped and went running over with her camera. He was kinda tucked up in his little hidey hole but she was happy to get a few snaps of his backside.
Quick supermarket stop in Briançon, where I mistakenly walked up to a complete stranger who looked a little bit like Catherine. In a bad light. Perhaps.
On to Col du Galibier the clouds descended. It was near zero visibility and freezing. If Catherine wasn't wearing her disco vest, I wouldn't have been able to see her sat right behind me in my mirrors. Then, to really keep us working, we hit the loose gravel. About 15k of freshly laid loose road surfacing on a hairpin mountain descent into St-Michel-de-Maurienne. It was awful. I spent the entire time educating Catherine with some news French words. Although they were more of the 'oops, excuse my French!' variety.
Riding through Modane I remembered camping here a few years back. Then I remembered the campsite was right next to a freight train line that ran all night. Sat nav guided us to another site 10 mins away in Aussois.
It was brilliant. A proper municipal site. Super cheap (it was only €12.40 when we settled up in the morning), free wifi, free piping hot showers, super clean and massive pitches. It restored my faith in French campsites. It was even hammock friendly. We chose a quiet secluded pitch surrounded by trees. There was nobody near us, apart from a French bloke who offered to help me take the bike down to the pitch. As our pitch was down a steep grass bank I thanked him but declined. The bike would spend the night sleeping above us.
We sparked up the stove, lit loads of citronela tea lights and dotted them around our pitch so it looked like some kind of satanic ritual would be taking place.
Catherine then polished off my red wine, despite the fact she doesn't normally enjoy red. From the little bit I managed to get, I could tell it was a mighty fine bottle though.
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