Raid Alps 2024: Day 7 Barcelonnette – Nice

Day 7 Barcelonnette – Nice – 171 km – 2 500m D+ 

"Welcome to the last day of your Raid Alps adventure. The Mediterranean climate of the Var region means more arid terrain as we pedal along the Med. You will confront one of the highest-paved roads in Europe, your legs will face the long but paced Col de la Cayolle rising above 2 000 m in altitude. The rest of the ride has no significant or extremely long difficulties, but the day will be long, but most of the time downhill, as we make our way to Nice on the beautiful French Riviera, otherwise known as the “Côte d’Azur”. 

Difficulties: 

-Col de la Cayolle (25 km at 4,2 %) 

-Col de St.Raphael (7,4 km at 6 %) 

-Ascros (4,3 km at 5,4 %)

From the 14 cyclists who shared this Raid Alps: “Allez! Alez!”

A bittersweet day: relief to have completed the physical challenge of this Raid; sadness, to have a twice-in-a-lifetime adventure draw to a close. Looking ahead to today’s ride, it looks a lot like Day 7 of the Raid Pyrenees: most of the climbing early in the day, then a long downhill rollout to the coast, as we leave the mountains and head for —what else?— sea level. Like last year it will be the longest in terms of mileage, and steepest, because all of the elevation gain was compressed into the first third of the distance. 

The note above written before the day of cycling began, but very prededictive of the wonderful last day of cycling we had on this Raid Alps. 

Spoiler: do not fail to read to the end of this long post for a shoutout to my fellow Raiders.

We were all so happy, after the previous day’s cold and rain, to have Monday, the last day of our tour, dawn dry and clear—woo-hoo! Most of us found a dry kit, had our breakfast together, did the final “boogy check” (as Carrie and I call the search for left-behinds) of our rooms, and mounted our bikes for ultimate, and longest, day of riding. The day started cool and I thought I had underdressed with only a jersey and  arm warmers on my top half, but our climb started within a few kms of our hotel, and I was quickly warm.

The first climb, 25 km sounds long and was long, but the grade never extreme, which was a good thing because the scenery was spectacular: a long gorge carved by a rushing river, each turn in the road revealing another stunning rock formation or cataract of falling water. There was so much to look at— and so many miles ahead of us, 107 in total. 

We topped out on the Col de la Cayolle, and it was windy and cold, but the sun was shining. Ewa made us a windbreak with the van, we grabbed fuel and water, and I was eager to get descending and out of the wind. But today’s descent did not have the drama of the previous day, except for the scenery: plus ultra, more water, more gorge, amazing folded rock formations. (where was Dan, our resident geologist from the Pyrenees when we needed him?) There was so much to see. 

We leveled out high up above the watercourse, and Ewa had found us the perfect lunch stop at a bend in the road overlooking the gorge.

 

I was uncharacteristically spent, perhaps from the physical and emotional toll of the previous wet and cold day, but the lunch, the view, and the camaraderie revived me for the 2nd and longer half of the day. 

It was a fast and bendy descent, no switchbacks, but a real treat: in a few short kms of road we passed through 19 tunnels!

 

Some were wet, some dark, all echoey.

 

People would pay big money to have a ride like we did. —Oh, wait, WE paid big money for this ride, but the value was . . . . Priceless. 

Our road continued onto a relatively flat valley, although “flat” here means no rapid elevaton change, but a steady couple of percent down, enough that our line of bikes, pulled from the front by our domestique Constantin, maintained a steady 40-45kph for a few dozens of kms— a real rush.

I said it last year and I’ll say it again, there’s nothing like flying behind Constantin in a paceline, through beautiful country. 

He was telling the truth when he told us the final linked climbs, St. Raphael and Ascros, weren’t overly steep, and we all topped them together. Let me add that we were at full number for the first time in many days, Mike having recovered enough from his stomach bug to ride with us this final day. I would not have wanted any of our number to have missed it. 

After topping out at the Col, we started our dash to the sea with what felt to me like a valedictory ride: we were all together, we were rolling fast, there was no traffic, and it was following a “balcony”—a road cut into the mountainside roughly following the contour lines, such that we wove in and out of the cuts in the mountain, first surrounded by forest, then with a view of the sky, then our first glimpse of the Mediterranean. 

Soon after, the big descent started, down, down, many switchbacks, fast, lead once again by Constantin. Down nearly to sea level Ewa met us with our last feed stop, and I was surprised that we still had 10’s of kms to go, first a long flat alongside the river that meets the sea at Nice; then once at the shore, many more kms past the airport, along the promenade, the beach nightlife perking up at sunset as we approached the neighborhood of our hotel. It’s shocking for me to leave the relative tranquility of the mountains and suddenly be in traffic with its noise, hazards and smells. But I had—and still have—a mother lode of images, sensory impressions and memories from this marvelous week on a bike. We had arrived!

THE CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Mike, the man whose idea it was to ride the Pyrenees last year, but had to cancel because of a broken foot, made the grade this year, and is always a fun, talkative—verbose, even— companion. He succombed this year to a GI bug that made the rounds through 5 of our group, but put on his jersey and rode the final miles into Nice. So good to have his smiling visage with us after missing him last year.

Pat, a returnee from last year, is a beast, usually first to finish a climb, and always to cheer on the others, including on the previous Wet Day From Hell. Eucher, anyone? 

Tom, the man who can’t pass a sign without ID’g its type font, is another climber superbe. Most of his training miles this year were indoors and on a trainer, but he chose the right type and number of miles. He’s the kind of guy who’s anticipating others’ needs and jumping in to offer what he can. And this with the handicap of being the tallest rider and thus with the most wind resistance.

Murray, newly nicknamed Gizmo, has every mile he’s ever ridden, dating back to the invention of VisiCalc, recorded on his spreadsheet. Ask him how to load maps to your Garmin. But don’t try to draft behind him, he’s the only one (besides Linda) smaller than me, and doesn’t punch a very big hole through the wind.

Scott was recruited by neighbor Pat, and he “upped it a notch,” as Pat put it, as the week progressed. The strong, quiet type, and a welcome new addition to the Euroslackers—if he’d just get rid of that pesky day job of his.

I mentioned Linda— she and husband Bill joined our group last year from Reno, not knowing any of us. I’m not sure what’s more remarkable, that they’d jump in with a bunch of unknowns from godforsaken WI— or that they’d return for another year after getting to know us. In the months leading up to the tour they would note our posts on Strava—the social media platform for athletes—commenting on our rides and encouraging our good efforts.

They proved on their bikes that cyclists from warmer climes are tough, too.

And speaking of foreigners, Andrew and Amanda joined the group from South Africa, knowing none of us. Affable, friendly, hard as diamonds, and just good people, those two are troopers. Amanda rode an eBike, but make no mistake: pushing that heavy machine up the climbs, even with e-assist, is no free ride. She’s the only member of the group I caught smiling after the Wet Day in Hell. Andrew just doesn’t quit, and always with a smile and a story when back in civies around the dinner or drinks table. Although it seems a longshot, I’d love to mix wheels with them again, anytime, anywhere.

Mark, a man after my type: physically small, thoughtful and goodnatured, and climbs like he’s got pistons for pegs. Last year Pat topped most climbs first, with me often shortly behind, but this year Mark bumped me down a notch on the leader board. Chapeau!

Chip’s a veteran of European bike tours, but none with Eschapée before this one. Last year as I admitted to him my anxiety about being fit to climb the Pyrenees, he told me two memorable things: 1) “you know how to ride smart; you’ll be fine;” and 2) “whatever your expectations of this trip, they’ll be exceeded.” He was right on both counts, and a cheerful, knowledgeable, encouraging and consistent rider to have with our group. I’m so happy for him, and for us, that we could exceed expectations together.

Dave is a regular member of our Tuesday Slacker rides, being a few years post-employment, lean, and mean only in physical strength and endurance. He’s a retired engineer, and is quick with an explanation of how things work.

 

His wife Jennie is in Nice doing her final preparation to compete in the World Ironman competition about 10 days from now. She rode her sleek but heavy time trial bike up every climb. And I kept reminding myself she was riding the Alps as another step in training for her Iron competition. She is an Ironwoman!

And our guides:

 

I’ve written before about Ewa and Constantin, newly-enough married that you can’t help but see them smooching often. Constantin climbs like a mountain goat with a bike: strong, strong, encouraging, cheerful . . . I can run out of superlatives. Ewa biked with us a day or two this year, but most days drove the support van. She can get a full lunch spread for 14 hungry cyclists set up and served in the time it takes me to get off my bike and doff my helmet. She selected and prepared foods thoughtfully, creatively, and nutritionally. And she has a sixth sense about who needs what and how quickly. She and Constantin live many months of the year on Gran Canaria in the Spanish Canary Islands— when they’re not doing their first loves, touring or leading tours on bicycle. She hails originally from Poland, he from Ireland by way of Germany.

 

Finally, David, new to us this year, is from Northern Spain. He’s another who can set up or break down feed stops effectively and efficiently, can fix a bike, haul a bag, and intuit when a cyclist is struggling with a climb or needing a word of encouragement. Did I mention how he (and Ewa, too) can reverse a loaded cargo van into the smallest parking spot next to a rock ledge  urban traffic with aplomb?

Carrie, my wife, signed on as a non-cycling member of the tour. She said, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world! I knew John was dogged and strong, but I had no idea of the determination and fitness it takes for someone to ascend many steep miles day after day. I'm amazed and proud. (And I feel better about my personal fitness, even though I'll never be able to keep up with him.)"

She loved sticking her head out the window of the support van as it passed each rider, calling out "Allez-allez!," "Bon Courage,!" and "Vamos!”

 

Mid-way through the week she stepped up for extra duty when Ewa took a turn with the stomach bug and set up and broke down our lunch stops. But that’s just like her: she sees a need and never says, “that’s not my job;” rather, steps right in and does what needs to be done as thoroughly and cheerfully as she can. 

Being here in person gave Carrie the priceless experience of watching a group of similarly minded and physically tenacious cyclists doing what they love. And, excellent judge of people that she is, she reminds me how lucky I am to have these people as friends. For all the unexpected parts of the week for her, I’m SO glad she witnessed first hand this adventure that I love. 

And me— if you’ve read this far you’ve already decided it’s TMI. But I am again grateful past words that I could do this thing—the discretionary time and money are two prerecs, for which I’m so thankful— but they aren’t the only qualifiers. It takes a body that can and a mind that will get on a bike day after day to do hard things. To be able to do it, in spectacular scenery, with such a group of friends, is now a TWICE-in-a-lifetime experience. 

Last year Constantin asked me, “are you SURE you’re almost 70?” This year he said, “I think you forgot to age a year and just got stronger.” I can’t take that for granted and I won’t forget his words. I hope I’m inspiring to my much-younger mates.