Torino - Nice Rally 2017

Fiat Pandas¹ and Rapha man²: two things that you are nearly guaranteed to find on a Alpine col.

I felt right at home 2000 metres up an alpine col surrounded by men (and women) in full colour coordinated Rapha strip. Sitting on the short grass in groups, gazing out over the valley discussing the merits of various obscure cycle frames, I had found Rapha man's mountain habitat.

In truth, we were all grateful for a break from the seemingly unrelenting loose gravel climb of the Colle Colombardo: 6 miles of climbing at an average gradient of 8.7% interrupted only by an oncoming Fiat Panda with a bale of hay strapped to its roof. This was a tough start to the second Torino-Nice Rally.

The night before most riders had met in the centre of Turin (or Torino in Italian) for pizza, beer and bike spotting. The Piazza Giambattista Bodoni was littered with gravel bikes, cross bikes, classic steel tourers, full sussers, hardtail mountain bikes and all the weirdness that lies in between. We talked route options and swapped tales of similar events until the beer tokens ran out.  A late night tour of Turin's cycle lanes ensued, dodging tramlines and relaxed revellers.

Back at the Piazza for the start of the rally the next morning, the atmosphere was laid back and we didn't leave the square until nearly half an hour after the planned 9am start. Rolling out of the city towards the distant mountains under a clear blue sky, I remembered why I loved riding in Italy. Hectic city streets gave way to fields of golden corn punctuated by traditional villages, each with their church, tricolor flag and troughs of colourful flowers. A section of ancient cobbled roman road was our first encounter with the rough stuff; a good opportunity to see how our fully laden bikes felt off road. My Cannondale Slate felt fine on the flat but the 10kg of luggage I had strapped to it made its presence felt as I started the 1000 plus metre climb to the Col de Colombardo.  I started to doubt whether my standard 52/36 and 11-32 gearing would be suitable. I stopped at a roadside fountain for respite from the midday heat; a welcome chance to refill my backpack with water and cool my head in the chilly mountain water. Little by little, I inched up the loose gravel of the Colombardo to be rewarded by increasingly spectacular views with each gravel switchback. Nearer the col the gradient eased, before I plunged down into the next valley round blind hairpins to the sound of overheated brakes and G-One tyres skating over tarmac .

I was riding the rally with Mick, another rider from Yorkshire who I'd run into the night before. He was also excited by the massive descents and like me had no itinerary for the event; eat - sleep - ride should do it. That night we found a good bivvy spot next to a water fountain several hundred metres up the Col de Finestre.

climbing into the night in search of a bivvy spot

What we didn't realise was that French rider Benedicte (one of several woman riding the rally) was trying to take a shower in the fountain as we showed up with our torches blazing. Torches were swiftly turned off in the interests of international harmony.
The next morning we were at the Col de Finestre by 9am for a breakfast of sheep’s yoghurt, cappuccino and fried eggs.

gravel switchbacks on the Col de Finestre climb

Just what we needed before the famous Strada Assietta3 which snaked along the side of the mountain ridge before climbing to the Col de Assietta at 2474m. Motorbikes and 4x4s kicked up clouds of dust as they squeezed past on the Assietta, unsurprisingly we weren't the only ones to seek the cols and abandoned forts along this old road. At one dusty col three Italian old boys on electric bikes inspected my Cannondale Slate and asked questions about the bike, the single-sided fork proving particularly perplexing.

The descent from the Assietta was a riot of scattered stones, vague lines, dust trails and the occasional crack as rocks hit my downtube. Unfortunately it was too much for my front wheel which gave up a spoke to the descent, the rest of the wheel relaxed and bends became more than a tad unpredictable. Mick tweaked the remaining spokes and I restrained my descending to make it to Briançon where a independent bike shop fixed the wheel for an amazing five euros whilst we had coffee.

Progress so far had felt slow, the Strada Bianca4 were more fun than tarmac roads but progress on them in the mountains seemed pedestrian. The smooth tarmac of the 2360m Col d’Izoard was a welcome change, we enjoyed the views switchback by switchback until we made the col just in time to see the sun retiring behind a ridge far above us. The scenery on the far side of the col was more dramatic; razor sharp ridges, limestone pinnacles and scree dominated our view, it was difficult to take in whilst repeatedly gunning for hairpin apexes on the fast, smooth hairpins of the descent. The next morning we climbed the Col Agnel, an idyllic meander up a lush valley to reach the eleven percent ramps of the final kilometres.

climb to the Col Agnel

the border stone at the Col Agnel 

The col was already busy with motorbikes and cars so we soon dived down the Italian side overtaking a BMW motorbike on the descent. Near the base of the climb we stopped for a plate of penne pasta and cappuccinos in a traditional village. The elation of the descent was soon dampened by news of a road closure ahead followed by a puncture on my Slate which took forty minutes to sort out. Whilst some rally riders obeyed the road closure for cycles we rode through it  and onto the Colle di Sampeyre climb, granted the road was rough in places but no worse than most of the roads back in Yorkshire.

The narrow road was quiet but dark clouds closed in overhead and we saw our first rain of the rally so we didn’t hang about at the top. The famous Death Road beckoned far below and we were looking forward to riding it. We could soon see why this stretch of tarmac, gravel and landslides had become notorious. A ribbon of narrow tarmac clung precariously to the side of a steep ravine, diving under rocky overhangs and burrowing through rocky outcrops leaving rough stone arches which were generally damp, potholed and pitch black inside.  A rusty steel rail served inadequately as crash barrier, in some places it had been ripped through by unlucky cars leaving the ironwork flailing in the breeze.  We stopped to peer down a hundred metres to the final resting place of the road’s victims on the rocks below.

Just one more climb, one more climb; one more climb to the Rifugio Ristretta where we were promised beds for the night. Unfortunately that one climb was around 1500m, initially along the valley bottom and past a couple of villages to open ground. Once past the villages I gazed up at the spruce trees clinging precariously to the steep mountain sides that surrounded us but I could not see where the road went. We knew though that it must climb up there for us to reach the hidden gem known as 'Little Peru". Following the road round tight hairpins it kicked up and had both of us out of the saddle wrestling handlebars through the hairpins to make the crest of the climb. Meanwhile the clouds closed in again and thunder rumbled in the distance; dusk beckoned. I wondered whether we had stumbled into  a horror film where we would be the unwitting victims.





The tarmac road ended at the Colle del Preit but we kept moving up a gravel track following signposts for the distant rifugio, we did not know how far but we had to be there for 7.30pm or we'd be going hungry tonight. Finally a flag was glimpsed and we rounded a corner to see a collection of old stone buildings with bright red painted doors and window frames, most importantly we’d made it in time to eat.

sunrise in 'Little Peru'

The next morning I was up early to wander over frosty grass under a deep blue sky before breakfast, the feeling of tranquility up here away from roads and villages was sublime. After breakfast we rolled off after through the breathtaking beauty of Little Peru along the old military road. Limestone pinnacles punctuated the skyline and far below cows grazed golden meadows between steep scree laden slopes, it was a dramatic landscape. So dramatic that we were soon retracing our tyre marks after a missed turn. A steep shove up to the highest point of the track at over 2500 metres revealed a panorama of peaks stretching far into the distance.

cows grazing in 'Little Peru'

We would have hung around longer but the descent looked like fun and it didn’t disappoint, the track continued to the tarmac road head where we could have turned off to the Pantani memorial at the Col dei Morti however we were keen to press on so we'd be in Nice the following day. The descent into Demonte seemed endless, we passed shepherds, a cafe and a group of Lada Rivas on the rollercoaster of a road. It twisted and turned through blind gravel strewn bends until we ran out of gradient in Demonte. A quick stop at a bakery for focaccia and pizza fueled us for the next two minor cols but the big one was coming up at the border. The  Col de Tende, although tarmac on the way up would be more of a challenge. There is an unwritten rule though that before leaving Italy via the Col de Tende you must buy gelato and fortunately we found the best gelati in Piemont-Limonte. The lemon sorbet and fruits of the forest ice cream that we indulged in were out of this world, bursting with crisp natural flavour and just what we needed after a thousand metres of climbing in the midday heat.

Col de Tende

The Col de Tende was fortunately well graded, it was the old road over the border until a 4km tunnel was built far below us through the base of the mountain. We spun cranks to the col where the road ended, the French had long since stopped maintaining their side of the pass and it had deteriorated to loose gravel with drainage berms every few hundred metres which made for interesting descending at speed on fully laden bikes.

It was now late afternoon and we had no plan for where we’d stay or how we’d get to Nice the next day. We bumped into French rider Benedicte once again and decided to ride together as far as we could make it that night. Following a pizza at a nearby bar we set off up a remote valley towards the biggest dirt climb of the rally - more than 1500m to the top. The pace was relaxed but intent as dusk fell and we turned left onto a forest road that zigzagged up through the trees above us. The track climbed slowly to a ridge by which time it was pitch black apart from a blood red moon rising in the distance. Spinning our way along the ridge we could see valleys far below filled with mist in the moonlight whilst distant streetlights to the south reminded us that we weren’t far from our destination. Nights like this reminded me why it’s so good to get out and ride at night or in the early morning, it was a different world up here in the darkness high above the civilisation of the valleys. The three of us continued up into the cloud and towards the ruins of the Fort de la Forca. Winter gloves and leg warmers were hastily found and wrestled on to numb limbs at the summit just after midnight. It was too cold to bivvy up here so we descended quickly past the Col de Turini to find milder air at 800m. After a few hours sleep by the side of the road we free-wheeled round the remaining tight bends of the Col Turini and along the base of a spectacular limestone ravine towards Nice.

descending the Col Turini

The last few miles into Nice were something of a shock after days in the mountains; trams, traffic lights and the noise of the city all serving as reminders that we were on our way back to normality. Reflecting on our journey at the Cafe du Cycliste I felt privileged to have ridden to the places we’d been in the company of like-minded individuals. James Olsen was absolutely right in his event briefing, it’s a rally not a race; a dram to be savoured, not a shot to be downed. Find out for yourself next September.

¹Fiat Panda- small Italian car which doubles as tractor, shepherds dog and spare bedroom.
²Rapha man - Discerning 30 or 40 something male who prefers a garment hand crafted by artisan seamstresses. Seeks adventure
³Strada Assietta - 34km military road dating from the 1800s connecting Sestriere with Pian dell’Alpe, used in the 2015 Trans-Continental Race. Most of the road is at an altitude of more than 2000m
⁴Strada Bianca - Gravel roads

Gear

Cannondale Slate Ultegra with Hunt Wheels
Apidura bags (Specialized handlebar roll)
Navigation by Komoot on iPhone
OMM Sleeping bags and waterproofs
MSR Shelter

Thanks to James Olsen for the route, Jen@Velofondista for bike prep and Mick for laughs along the way

#Festive500 in Five

Christmas isn't just about tinsel and a long Doctor Who suggests Philomena Cunk in her own Christmas special for BBC2. No, the cycling cognoscenti take advantage of quieter roads and time off work to get a head start on preparation for a new season of sportives, sprints and crits. It's a great opportunity to have a social ride and the perfect excuse to leave the house on those days when staying in bed might seem like a better idea. 

#1

Christmas Eve falls on a Saturday in 2016 so I'm off work and can get a good length ride in with the fast boys at Holmfirth Cycling Club (HCC). It's one of the windier days left in 2016 so the company of a group ride is appreciated. The HCC fast group have a ride planned pretty much every day for the #Festive500, today's will lead east towards Pontefract with a stop for cake at the Womersley Blue Lagoon dive cafe.  The strong westerly is down to winter storm Barbara and she blows us up the climb from New Mill to the Sovereign crossroads and rapidly east past Barnsley and Wintersett. It's only when we reach the A19 and turn north that that we really notice the strength of the wind, and on turning west towards Womersley we are working hard in pairs to make progress across the exposed flatlands.  

RAF plane at the Blue Lagoon

The Blue Lagoon is a dive cafe in every sense, it sits in a Portacabin in a car park next to an uninviting pool of grey water presumably frequented by scuba enthusiasts on days warmer than today. Today the cafe is occupied by a couple of dogs, a large ginger cat and the aroma of stale cigarettes. Still, it's the first time I've received change from £2 at a cafe stop and there is soon smoke pouring from the grill in the kitchen as cooked food is prepared for our table. The cat is polite enough to wait until we've finished before jumping on the table to tidy up bacon scraps. The return home is a slog into Barbara's teeth, we only manage a couple of miles each on the front before retiring to catch our breath at the back. We haven't been looking forward to this part of the ride, riding out on a tail wind is a bit like riding down a massive hill in the knowledge that you've got to ride back up to the top to finish your ride. Everyone gets stuck in and eventually we've made it back to the Sovereign junction from where it's downhill to home. 132km done, 368 remaining.

Christmas Day is a busy one so I do Park Run in Huddersfield, this doesn't count so I'm now dreaming up ways of making sure I ride the distance (ride to Scotland and back anybody...?)

#2

Tandem action - hands free stoker

By Boxing Day Barbara has given up and been usurped by winter storm Conor, he's not much better and appears to dislike tandem teams. I head out anyway with my eldest boy who is complaining of sore legs after giving it the berries at Park Run on Christmas Day. It's only our second ride on the borrowed Cannondale tandem but we're getting it together as a team and the traffic light track stands are impressive. Arran's sore legs subside as we keep it easy on the Calder and Spen valley greenways although we are forced into an emergency Costa stop for hot chocolate as he runs low on fuel and enthusiasm. 
Post hot chocolate we've picked up a couple of mph and smiles have returned. Another 55km done, 313km remaining. 

#3

 Tuesday sees Arran and I up early for a trip to the Llandegla MTB trail centre to meet up with friends for a couple of laps. En route we collect regular mountain biking accomplice Andrew before driving west across the Cheshire plain to the wooded slopes of Llandegla. I'm looking forward to a second ride on my Cannondale Habbit, I normally ride without suspension so I'm interested to see if the trail centre will be more fun with suspended wheels. It always takes longer than expected to hustle the large group of adults and kids in the direction of the trails but we get there and drag everyone to the trailhead. Hoar frost adorns the grass and the normally grippy hardpack trail is made treacherous by the water turned ice dropped by the wheels of the early bird riders. I'm also trying to scrub in a pair of  new Nobby Nics which is tricky riding on ice, needless to say it's a bit steady until we reach the wooded sections which have been saved from the previous night's frost by their heavy green cloak of needles.

It's rare to get a clear run at a section of trail on a day as popular as today but when I do the Habbit flatters, messing up the landing from a jump or drop off ceases to worry, the suspension and lazy geometry lap it up without drama but it's on the climbs where I'm surprised by the ease with which it flies upwards. I'd always been under the impression that full suspension bikes don't climb well, not this one. Arran gets a ride on the Habbit after an al fresco cafe lunch of beans on toast so I take his single speed which is no hardship, fortunately he returns the Habbit in time for the big drop offs of the final free ride section. By mid-afternoon he is exhausted and it's time to head home to clean the bikes by torchlight. Today's 28km may not sound like much but there's more to the #Festive500 than pure distance, it's the people and places along the way that make the endeavour worthwhile. 

#4

285km remain and my cunning plan is to ride most of them today on a long loop out to the Humber Bridge and back. I wake up before my alarm to get a fifteen minute head start on the day but opening the bedroom blind reveals a familiar mosaic of thick ice; it's going to be one of those deep winter base layer days. I have the roads to myself at this hour and spinning up the Holme valley towards Honley I'm glad to have made the effort today. The temperature lifts towards the positive as I climb out of the Holme valley but it soon plunges back below freezing as I pass Barnsley. This part of my route is familiar having ridden it last July to reach the Humber Bridge on the first leg of a 400 miler. Today I'm aiming for the south side of the bridge rather than the north so I veer away from the familiar near Doncaster to slog out what feels like a hundred miles on the straight as an arrow A18, it's actually only ten miles before I can turn off on to some back roads to dodge Scunthorpe. Dodging Scunthorpe is definitely a good plan, instead I find quiet back roads winding through picturesque villages and there's even a bit of climbing to break up the grinding monotony of the flat roads I've been stuck on for a couple of hours. 

Eventually the twin towers of the Humber Bridge come into view and I'm soon stopped mid-span for some homemade flapjack and a few photos, the scale of the bridge still impresses on this, my third crossing on two wheels. On the north side of the bridge I negotiate the cycle ways to find my route north past Beverley. I've haven't ridden much in East Yorkshire and I'm pleasantly surprised by the scenery and gently undulating lanes. The sun lazily skims the horizon at this time of year, the payoff is dramatic light at every turn, the photo opportunities are many but I need to keep these wheels turning if I'm going to make it back home this afternoon. Turning right down a steep lane between dense hedgerows is the surprise highlight of today's ride, the lane follows the base of a narrow, steep sided valley. The scenery reminds me of the South Downs, only minor panic as my back wheel locks up on the hoar frost mars the serenity of the moment as the lane winds down the dale. Eventually I climb up to follow more lanes towards Pockington where I stop at the Co-Op for a croissant and a water refill. From here it is nearly flat all the way to Rothwell, but I am treated to a beautiful sunset south of York. When I finally reach Dewsbury riding through the late rush hour traffic is in stark contrast to the empty roads I've enjoyed for much of the day but these local roads are the quickest route home. Today's 280km take me within 5km of completion. One more ride remains.

Sunset near York

#5

New Year's Eve dawns as I return to Holmfirth for the final Holmfirth Cycling Club ride of the week. This time we climb south out of Holmfirth towards the knarly ten miles known as 'Strines'; the steep twisty descents and climbs of the Strines are frequently strewn with gravel and require full concentration. Riding them in the southerly direction is easier, a popular choice today as it's been a big week for the time of year. A cafe stop at Tideswell is followed by the return ride which skirts western Sheffield through Stocksbridge culminating in a slog past Penistone into a strong headwind. Turns up front are brief but everyone pitches in to get us home for the evening festivities. Another 117km completed, my Croix de Fer is rinsed, lubed and racked in my shed for another day. By midnight I've resolved to ride another #Festive500 in 2017. Now where's that bottle of Ardbeg, I'll drink to that.

Dusk near Rothwell