Raid Alps 2024: Day 2 Bonne – Praz sur Arly

"After yesterday’s verbal introduction to your Raid Alps cycling challenge, today you will enter straight into cycling folklore as you confront the first mythical climb of this trip, the Col de la Colombiere, steep in its second part. Then the rolling ascension of the Col des Avaris will bring your first day in the Alps to a close." So says our ride guide, and consistent with our experience last year. Gotta love the thought of entering cycling folklore.

Our daily route plan, like the one at the right, shows a map of our day's route and a summary of its features: total distance, total elevation gain, and a topographical profile showing the elevation gained relative to distance traveled. The significant climbs of the day are included, and look different than a profile from SW WI: while we may climb a total of 5000 feet in a daylong ride at home, it's rarely more than a mile or two continuous grade at a time. By contrast, today's Colombiere was 15 km continuous climbing at an average grade of 7.2%--steeper than nearly any street you'd find in Madison—with a “pop” of 10+% for the last km. The distance of that single climb: about how far Tenney Park, on Madison's east side, is from Middleton, the far west suburb. 

Again, from the guide: 

Today's major climbs: 

-Col de la Colombiere (15 km at 7.2%) was last included in the Tour de France in 2021. The steepest section is near the summit, at 10.2%. (Fun fact: In 2015, U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry broke his leg near the start of the climb while cycling. He was 71 at the time. Glad I'm not that old, for the next 11 days, at least.) 

-Col des Aravis (7 km at 6.2 %)

As this tour approached I was curious--and a little anxious--about how well prepared I would be physically for the demands of the routes. Last year as I anticipated the challenge, I vacillated between thinking "I'm gonna be toast," and "I've got this." As it turned out, even though it was easily the most difficult physically feat I've ever completeed, I was better prepared for the climbs than I expected, and there was no day in the Pyrenees when, at the end of the day's ride, I thought "I'm SO glad to be done." Rather, I usually thought, "that was tough-- now how about a shower, a beer, and dinner?" And ready to get up and do it again the next morning.

But the Raid Alps ups the challenge a notch: the distance, at 420 miles for the week, is about the same as the Raid Pyrenees, but the Alpes includes 55,000 feet of climbing, vs the Pyrenees' 40,000; the tour company lists the difficult of the Pyrenees ride as 4.5/5, and the Alpes as 5/5. This first day, on paper and on the road, was a warmup, and likely the easiest riding day of the. Better to dial it up gradually, than to slam us all at once. 

Our guides explained a significant difference between the Pyrenees and Alps routes: “the Alps roads are better engineered,” they explained, meaning that the grades are generally less steep, making it easier for agricultural traffic, and the ski traffic, which is big in the Alps, to travel from town to town. So although the numbers look a bit intimidating, they assured us that it’s all very manageable for our group. That was reassuring to me, putting my in the “I’ve got this” column.

A few notes about our cycling kit, or "costume," as Carrie calls it. Here's what I put on each day before I ride:

Clockwise, from the right: 

--bibshorts, with padding, or "chamois," for all parts that touch the saddle. Bibshorts are to bike shorts as overalls are to jeans: comfy, if a little more awkward on extended nature breaks. 

--gloves, with a bit of padding in the palm to cushion the bumps and vibrations, plus an absorbent patch for wiping your nose. Seriously. Don't shake hands with a cyclist who has their gloves on.

--sun sleeves (pictured) or arm warmers (not pictured, usually fleecy inside). To protect arms from sun, or from colder temps.

--sox. Some cyclists fly their club or brand on their ankles. I pull from my endless supply of running sox. I stopped running 20+ years ago.

--cycling shoes, with cleats that clip into pedals. A positive connection with pedals keeps your feet in the ideal position, and allows you to pull up as well as push down for a more efficient pedal stroke. I wear "touring" style shoes that have the cleats recessed between treads to allow you to walk easily, rather than skating on protuding cleats and ruining the floor finish.

--head cover or headsweat. My first significant cancerous skin lesion was in the exact shape and position as one of the vent holes on the helmet I was using at the time. I've worn a head cover ever since. They're good at keeping sweat from your eyes, too. 

--shades. They're good for lookin' and for lookin' good.

--helmet. I was recently in the market for a new one, and Murray advised, "don't spend more on your helmet than you think your head is worth." I like to say, "the only people who don't wear a helmet are those with nothing to protect." Don't leave home without it.

--HRM, or heartrate monitor strap. (See my post on managing effort by monitoring HR.)

--jersey (center). This is the shirt issued by Echappee, our tour host. Polyester, light, cool, wicks moisture (read: sweat), has pockets across the back to keep essentials: phone, nutrition, arm warmers or jacket. 

Not pictured:

--butt butter, or chamois butter. Prevents saddle sores or hot spots where the saddle meets the nether parts. I prefer Bag Balm, originally marketed to keep cow udders from getting chapped and raw. If it's good enough for Elsie, it's good enough for me.

--sunscreen. If it doesn't have at least two metals in it (titanium and zinc), don't bother.

--rain jacket. You hope to not need it. I hope if I don't picture it . . . .

--knee warmers. Fleecy, stretchy, they're tubes that pull over your knees and keep them (wait for it  . . .) warm.

That's it. When I start heading for my bike or begin to pedal away I'll sometimes get the feeling that something's just not right. That's usually my signal that I forgot something important:  phone (occasionally), water bottles (sometimes), helmet (rarely--but it's happened). 

Today I remembered it all, even in the rush to get packed and downstairs for our scheduled 9a départ. We actually did roll out at 9a, prepared for wet weather— it had rained overnight, and although the streets were wet, none was falling as we left the hotel. 

We were fortunate, too, about our day’s route, which, as you can see from the profile above, started with mostly level or rolling for the first 20km or so, a nice warmup, before hitting the big climb of the day, the Colombiere. It was long, but not too steep until the end. Climbs, or “cols,” are marked with stone markers at each km from the top, in descening order, of course, giving the current elevation and the average grade of the next km. 

Depending on how your ride’s going for the day, you can experience those markers as encouraging or discouraging. I like to regard them as emblematic of how widespread and popular cycling is in Europe, that not only do a lot of cyclist use these roads and routes, but the culture and the infrastructure supports them. 

Today as we rode out of the town of Bonne at the start of our ride, there were sections wherre autos had to troll behind us at our speed until there was an opportunity to pass. It’s too common in the US that a driver who had to wait behind cyclists would, when finally passing, flip off the group, and honk and/or yell. In Europe, it’s a patient idle, then a toot and a shout out the window of “Allez! Allez!” the universal cheer of encouragement. 

Carrie rode along with one of the support vehicles today, and stopped often to offer her “Allezes” as we passed, and to grab photos, too. She caught me as I ground my way up the Colombiere:

The weather was humid, cool-ish, and mostly dry, but the long climbs are sweat-producing. Once at the summit, which was usually pretty exposed, we chilled pretty quickly, so on with the extra layers, important for the “what goes up must come down” descent. It’s all about the windchill: downhill at 30 to 65 kph (my computer topped out today at 66 kph)

without the effort of working against gravity leaves us CHILLED— thus the windjacket, ear covers, neck gaiter, and warmer gloves. And so at the bottom of the descent we peeled layers again and tossed them in the sag wagon (my son christened it the “sorry lorry”— even though we’re not in England) before the next and final climb of the day, the Col des Aravis. The second was shorter and less steep, and a confidence builder— although I had to admit feeling the 1st climb in my legs while pedaling the 2nd. 

As we started the descent from the Aravis, we saw the dreaded sign— no caption needed 

The road was under construction and there was gravillon in patches for most of the 11km downhill. Cyclists tend to equate gravel with ball bearings, for obvious reasons, doubly dangerous while rolling downhill and around the harpin curves that characterized this descent. All made it safely down, then the few remaining kms to our hotel, through intermittent rain. I arrived just before it let loose with a shower— about when I was in my HOT shower.

Les Chalets Griyotire is lovely, and cozy, more comfortable than the slightly more upscale Hotel Baud that we left this morning.

My view over my shoulder as I type:

It would be tough to dream up a more beautiful setting.

My summary take on the day: I had to keep pinching myself on the ride to make sure I wasn’t dreaming: to be biking, in such stunning scenery, to be healthy and fit enough is not to be taken for granted, and I don’t, with such a great group of mates, AND with my mate: 

When she shouted “Allez! Allez!” out the van window as she passed me, I yelled back, “I’m so glad you’re here!” She replied, “I’m so glad I’m not riding!” Happy wife, happy man 💕.