Alps or Bust Ride Report

French Alps Tour 2012

Oddometer Start Mileage: 1071

DAY 1

I set off from Ferndown, Dorset at 03:15hrs on Thursday July 5th to commence my French Alps Tour. My ferry would be leaving at 06:40hrs from Dover to Calais.

Day after day the rains kept falling in the UK, certainly in Dorset and now the time had come to mount up and ride, regardless of what weather awaited me en-route. It didn’t take long for the rain to show an appearance , almost in a ‘bon voyage’ kind of way!

The rain started to fall just before Winchester on the M3 and so I pulled into the service station to put my waterproof over trousers on, change gloves and get back out on the road.
A fairly straight forward run to Calais saw me arrive with a little time to spare before boarding.

The night before leaving home I had approx 3hrs sleep. I had been working all day and due to the atrocious recent UK weather patterns I could not load up the bike until the rains had ceased, which was about 21:00hrs that evening. I checked then double checked I had everything I was supposed to have for the journey, timetables, routes, Sat-Nav programmed routes, basically the whole inventory and itinerary. To have such little sleep could hardly been recommended as good planning or even wise, however the situation was what it was and that’s how it would be.

This was to be my solo trip around selected places of interest within the French Alps with a possible visit into Italy, Switzerland , Austria and Germany before returning home, however, even the best laid plans don’t always work out , and these weren’t the best laid out plans!
The budget was ‘cheap skate’ , meaning I had little money to take and so my intentions were to wild camp at every possible opportunity excluding the first night.
Just a few days before setting off I had ordered a Khyam Nevis 300 3 person tent which cost about £60.00 including shipping and which arrived the next day.

I departed the ferry port of Calais and headed to my first stop over, a bed and breakfast in Saint Paul , just off the D13 and east of Neufchateau.

The weather was better than that from whence I set off from, though there was still much cloud about.
Some distance further into rural France I made a stop at a lay by where a 'truck stop' type hot food and drink van was set up.



'Pedro' pulled up next to the GS!



I was feeling a little peckish and settled for a portion of chips and a coffee. Another half hour had passed and so I remounted and put some good miles under my belt.

I was relying heavily on the sat-nav now as this was a very rural part of France. I pulled over at a cross roads to check my bearings with the road map whilst making the most of the opportunity to take on some water. It was extremely hot in the afternoon sun with no shade cover whatsoever. I managed to place myself on the map and could see had little more than maybe 15kms to my destination.

The road behind me , and to turn right was the direction of travel. I did the u-turn to park off the road to check the map.



I was very, very tired, the lack of sufficient sleep the night before meant I had been awake for about 21hrs in the last 24, not the ideal way to set off by any stretch of the imagination.

At last I had reached my destination – La Ferme des 3 Suissesses , in Saint-Paul.




The owner was a Swiss woman who had as much in common with the English language as I did with that of Swiss language and so began another challenge, the language barrier.
The GS was securely housed overnight inside a barn garage.



The B&B was cheap, no frills , a TV in the room but little else to make it anything other than a bed and rest for the night. The back garden resembled a building site , next door had a repetitively ‘ee-awwing’ donkey and the whole village was awash with cats. Personally speaking, I am a cat lover and said an English ‘hello’ to several of them!





The centre point of this little village could only have been the church as nothing other than neighbouring houses and several other B&Bs existed. One grave that caught my attention just happened to be the largest and had the names of several generations of the same family on the head stone.


The Church.


A view through this window was the point of most interest to me in the small village.



Though I had a whole evening to get through with little in the way of occupying my mind I decided it was as good a time as any to start blogging my travels into a notebook brought along specifically for that purpose. I chose not to sleep straight away because waking up in the early hours was not something I particularly wanted to be doing and so stayed up into the evening.
I turned on the TV, flicked some channels and saw that ‘Octopussy’ was about to start! I thought ‘perfect’… this will waste some of the evening until a suitable time to go to bed. It turned out not to be so perfect after all because a French speaking Roger Moore as James Bond failed to tick any boxes for me. I turned off and got my head down for the night.

Day 2

I was last of 5 guests to the breakfast table due to the fact that , and I’d only found out by chance, that I was still living in the past , an hour in the past to be precise! For some unknown reason , which became clearer why at a later date, my iPhone had not reset the time after the channel crossing and it didn’t occur to me to check either. It was far too trivial a matter for concern – I was on holiday at last after previously having to cancel due to lack of sufficient funds and that was all that mattered.

I paid up, checked out, fired up the GS and we were off again. Turning the GS around whilst fully loaded was a bit of a pig within the confined width and uneven surface of the barn.



I eased into the ride gently and progressively built up the pace.This is by no means a spectacular part of France and so I pressed on toward my first POI, Saint-Jean-en-Royans in the Rhone Alps.
I approached a small village called Martigny Les-Bains , about 15kms on from the B&B and on the D429 southbound , whereupon I caught sight of a fire damaged building.



This was once the premises of several small businesses , of which one was the seemingly fatefully named ‘Hot Trikes’! I stopped roadside to make the best of a photo opportunity. Nothing had survived the fire , machinery, vehicles, roof structure, nothing.











The vehicles and other equipment.










Two rusted and burnt out trikes were my first call of approach , one a VW based trike, the other a V-twin of some description , Honda perhaps!












After 20 minutes or so I remounted and pressed on.

At one point along some rural roads it started to rain just enough to show tell-tale signs on my visor and so I looked for a stopping point to put the waterproof leggings on again as well as an extra top layer.

Coming down a hill I noticed a small roadside hut, of which there are many throughout France, which looked an ideal place to pull over.



In fact it was so good that I couldn’t resist the moment to try out the new mini camping burner, which cost £7.99, by making myself my first hot brew on the road. Inside the hut was a cut-out in the brickwork, much like a bread oven and which would serve perfectly for the sighting of my cooking facilities. It occurred to me that I could doss a night in this building if absolutely necessary as it provided good shelter in an emergency. I rested here for perhaps half an hour or so before moving on.








I entered Lons-le-Saunier on the D70 and rested a while for a map check update and some water. Shortly after the check I left town along the D1083 toward Bourg-en Bresse.





I do like these!


I was needing a fuel fill and so kept my eyes peeled for a service station en-route. Eventually I pull into a station , fill the tank, take on some water and set off again. There was no hurry on this adventure and so I drove through many a small village or town but not necessarily taking much notice of their names. Some of the mid-sized towns were quite heavy with traffic and I had no alternative but to peel off and re-route the sat-nav.

At one point , and I cannot remember the precise location , whilst negotiating traffic and then being able to pull higher gears I heard a sound that momentarily caught my attention. ‘What was that...’ I heard myself mutter under my helmet and took little further notice after checking my mirrors. This was ‘seemingly a big mistake on my part!
I continued on to Pont D’Ain whereupon all my miseries would descend upon me in one heap!
I pulled over to check my positioning again and of course to take on more liquids. I wanted to have one of my E-Cigs but to my horror my Kriega waste bag was no longer with me!
‘Where’s my Kriega’ , I asked , as if there were anybody nearby to answer , or even know what I meant. ‘No, I mean where is it’? I found myself questioning again.
You know how it is when you know fully well that what you are looking for isn’t even on the same map page as you and yet you still look high and low for it , well this was one of those times.
I didn’t hang it on the handlebar when I dismounted , I knew it wasn’t in the panniers, it wasn’t under the bike , it simply wasn’t with me anymore. I suddenly felt very, very low.
The contents of my Kriega , least those I can remember, were the following, and in no particular order of significance:-

Driving License – Passport – V5 – Motor Insurance – Wallet with 250 to 300 Euros – BMW Assist card – Bank Cards – E-Cig – Pain Killers – iPhone Charger and adaptor kit for other electricals and my diary notes for Day 1 of my travels. Today was not a good day!


I approached a passer by and asked in my best French (close to non-existent) language for directions to the nearest police station or Tourist Information centre. Nope!
She led me into the nearest shop and still no joy with breaking the language barrier.
A couple of doors along , an Hotel. At last , we could get a dialogue going.




Mr Pouchain, he of the Hotel, was made aware of my situation and understood that I had less money on me than I would normally have if I were skint! Nevertheless, I was offered a room for the night , or for as long as necessary until I could resolve the situation in some way or another. Mr Pouchain said I could pay him when I get back home to England. This was not the first time he would go some way to helping restore my faith in the human species , of which I have little!

Laurant Pouchain and Moi sharing a friendly moment.


I now had directions to the local Gendarme and set off the 1km or so to pay them a visit. They were reluctant to file my report or even document it as nothing had been stolen. Stolen and lost were two totally different things and only one of such situations requires an official documented report to be issued/filed.
Eventually I managed to persuade them to go with my way of thinking that if were to be stopped by the Gendarme anywhere in France, then some kind of document , even unofficial ,would at least indicate that I had reported the situation. A little while later I was issued an unofficial report document.

Madame Gendarme!


The Gendarme telephoned the British Embassy and put me on the phone to have a chat with them. I was advised that I could get an emergency passport at either Marseilles or Paris for my eventual return to the UK. I was also advised that if I knew anybody in the UK that could perhaps wire me some money through Western Union to cover my homebound costs.
This was fast becoming a disaster , much like last year for myself and Jo on the previously owned F650 on our initial Alpine adventure. That too ended very abruptly in Italy which resulted in us both flying back to the UK whilst the bike was being repaired in Italy.

After much ‘lowness’ and many text exchanges to Jo at home she managed to set up the wiring transaction through Western Union for me to collect from the local post office in the morning, on Day 3 , a Saturday.

Not having any I.D on me now, in any form whatsoever , and yes , I realise now the importance of duplicating everything and keeping all duplicates separate from the originals , I would not be able to collect the funds on my own. Mr Pouchain would have his associate accompany me in the morning to the post office and he would sign for collection.
There are times when modern technology really grates on me , there are other times when you can marvel at its value , now was the time for the latter.
I sat out front of the Hotel with a beer, sulking in silence at not only my great loss, or Jo’s financial inconvenience , but also the thought of heading back to the UK with my Alps or Bust adventure looking very much like in full Bust mode!

I had a few moments to myself down by the riverside.







Mr Pouchain came outside and over to my table wearing a friendly smile and said "if you need some money for food it is no problem for me to give you 20 Euros". I accepted his kind offer and walked a short way down town to the Pizza restaurant.

Une Quattre Fromage Pizza.


Laurant (Mr Pouchain) was immediately promoted to a Silver Star person in my eyes after having previously been awarded a bronze star for his understanding and kindness earlier that day.

Most of the evening had been spent sitting out front of the Hotel taking photos of anything that moved, some things that didn't and getting up to date with the blogging notes for Day 2.












I retired to my room at 22:00hrs and put the TV on for a bit of background whilst the notes continued. For a moment I glanced up at the TV and saw a woman that I thought was , shall we say ‘interesting’! She had a manner in her walk , flirtatious I guess and her clothing suggested that this was going somewhere , not that there was anything particularly outstanding about her attire , but just a kind of something that said keep watching , so I did. In another 30 seconds all became clearer in the next scene , which included the programme sub-title in the scene!





Total distance covered - 665 miles.

Oh dear. Maybe you left it in the hut.

Gutted for your loss, but it'll all come good. Laurant sounds like a true gent.

Day 3

Sitting outside the Hotel with a green tea on a beautiful Saturday morning I couldn’t help but think about my loss. It would still be on my mind for some time to come.

I was hoping to be one of the converted to E-Cigarettes but as my new electronic device was also in the Kriega bag I resorted back to my weaker side and bought tobacco. Actually that isn’t entirely true! I had stopped at a small Tabac shortly after the first accommodation as back up just should any unforeseen circumstances occur during my adventure – that time came upon me sooner rather then later.

The first rolled cigarette from the newly opened pack of GV nearly blew my head off!
The contents of the pack were dry , despite being sealed , and so these were going to be a little on the well seasoned side. In my experience dry tobacco has always had a bit more kick to it than a normally freshly opened pack.

I hoped that some following driver would have seen my Kriega fall from my waste , probably that sound I’d heard the day before whist riding , and perhaps send it back to me even after pocketing the cash. The other contents were of no , or very little, use to anyone other than a fraudster!
Retracing my steps was out of the question as the bag could be anywhere up to 60 miles back. I had it at my last fuel stop and hadn’t seen it since. I hadn’t needed to see it since!
The Kriega is just too big for someone to miss and it was hardly likely it would still be where it fell by the following morning , or even within minutes after it fell.

My only explanation is that either the fastening buckle had broken, which I think unlikely in such a short time of ownership/use, or that it wasn’t fastened correctly about my waist. It wouldn’t be the first time with interlocking plastic fastenings on these type of strapped items that the buckle can be accidentally offset but still clasped together. I feel it was perhaps an offset fastening on my part that caused it to fall from me. At least that’s how I prefer to assess the incident whilst giving the Kriega quality the benefit of the doubt. I cannot fault the Kriega equipment generally and this waist bag was no exception.

There would be no early set off today as I had to wait until at least 10:00hrs before we could go to the Post Office to collect my wired funds.
I had told Jo that I will be heading back home but she suggested I would perhaps like to continue a little further, at least to Marseilles and see a little more before returning home. Jo had wired a total of 355 Euros for my collection and so after a little more thought we both agreed that I do as much of the planned route as possible.
The Alps were back on again!

I’ve never been a particularly lucky kind of person , in fact quite the opposite. I’d asked Jo when we met ‘ are you sure you want to be with me – your life will change from ‘lucky’ to ‘shit happens’?
Jo is a very optimistic person , again, I am quite the opposite – we are still together over 6yrs later.

It was 07:37 , I kept clock watching , tick-tock – tick-tock – tick-tock…

At 10:00hrs , Morel , Laurants associate would accompany me to the P.O to collect my wired funds on his ID. The heat in the P.O was quite extraordinary, sweltering in fact, as we stood our place in the queue.
Eventually we reached the cashiers counter, she copied the Western Union transaction number from my iPhone, typed it into the relevant field on her computer and said there were connection issues. We were advised to go back to the Hotel and await their phone call for further instruction. The P.O would close at noon , it was Saturday.

11:45hrs and still no call from the P.O so we set off down the street again, only at a quickened pace.
In France everybody that knows somebody is stopped in their tracks whilst handshakes takes place and so ‘hurry up’ is not something that is likely to sit too comfortably with them. Unlike the UK where everything is a mad rush.

A friend of Morel turned up on his Kawasaki Quad with his daughter on the back. They had a short chat before Quad man wheelied away up the road!



By the time we had reached the cashiers counter it was 11:55hrs. We tried again and again there was no joy. I tried to call Jo but her phone went to answerphone mode. I frantically text Jo for her to ring me immediately she gets my message , which luckily she did within moments.
Jo was put on to the lady cashier because amongst many of Jo’s qualities she can speak fluent French! Jo was in turn passed to Morel whereby it was at last discovered there was a discrepancy between the transaction number Jo gave me and the number the cashier was punching into her computer!
With the now correct number being used I had 355 Euros sitting in the palm of my hand at 12:28hrs.
No time to waste , back to the Hotel , pack up , check out , mount up and ride south.



The sat-nav tells me one thing but I tell it something else – the sat-nav was right , I didn’t want to be on this road. This time behave JayC and just head toward Grenoble and get some lost miles under your belt.
I keep following for Grenoble until joy upon joys I see the BIS sign for Cote d’Azur.
Finally back on track to my first POI, Saint-Jean-en-Royans.

Nothing can stop me and the GS now – except for a road blocked off due to a local motor race meet several kilometres down a very twisty and winding road. The couple on the Harley were facing my direction after having just been turned back and I asked if they speak English. The rider said ‘A little…’ , I asked a route to St Jean-en-Royans and he replied “follow me, you don’t want this road”, so I did , ‘Merci’!

The HD rider led me for some 10 , maybe 15kms before I sounded my horn at a bridge to get his attention. I saw his brake light come on at the other end of the bridge, L'Isère à La Sône (D71) as he went out of sight around a right hand bend.







A minute later he was back to where I had pulled up. I told him I am ok from here but wanted to stop for some photo’s as I am on a touring holiday. This guy had ridden well out of his way to get me this far and turned back to go past the road where I’d met him.
I do find the French to be very obliging people , I would find out just how much further into my travels.




Next stop, St. Nazaire-en-Royans, where I would have a double scooped strawberry ice-cream and ice cold water to be followed by an Expresso. I didn’t necessarily want the Expresso but I was playing for time after asking the kind waitress if there was any possibly of putting some charge on my iPhone.





A look over the bridge in St.Nazaire...




A view from my ice-cream rest point.


and my much enjoyed ice-cream...


...and the kind lady who also contributed to charging my iPhone.


Jo informed me that the local forecast in the UK advised of 1 months rain would fall during the weekend that I had just started in blazing sunshine and heatwave temperatures.
I wished she were here with me.

I spent an hour or so at St Nazaire checking my route whilst planning for the detour to Marseilles for my emergency passport which in turn was doing no harm to the charge rate time for iPhone.
The route through St Nazaire-en-Royans , St Thomas-en-Royans , St Jean-en-Royans, and along the Combe Laval road to Col de la Machine takes you along the D76 and onto the D2. This takes you all along an incredibly spectacular route, the Combe Laval road. I continued along the D2 to the D54 and then the D518 to the Grand Goulets to La Chapelle-en-Vercors.

After St Nazaire I rode on to St Jean-en-Royans , a relatively short distance for another stop in the small village.



No bustle going on here , it was almost sleepy in this passing through type village of little more than a population of 3000 inhabitants but nonetheless beautiful for it. Given more funds I could have happily spent some extra quality time in this area but the day was pressing on and I would soon be looking for a place to camp.
I parked in the village square outside Le Place de la Marie, the Town Hall, which was preceeded in the car park by a War Memorial as the centre feature.





Across the street the Crepiere Glacier Snack Bar. I walked over to the snack bar to ask if anybody had an iPhone charge lead to top up the battery life beyond that of which had been previously been charged at St.Nazaire.
There were four people sitting around a table playing a card game of which one of these people was the owner , or part owner , husband/wife team. I almost felt I was intruding when I interrupted their game but the Bangkok lady was very willing to try to assist and understand my English language , which was primarily a language that I had to translate into descriptive motions with my hands and phone.

I couldn’t help but feel that I had just walked onto a filming set for something like The Good, The Bad And The Ugly, or perhaps A Fistful Of Dollars – it had that kind of stranger in town feel to it and yet charming at the same time.
The snack bar had a good motorcycling connection which was portrayed by many images upon the walls as well as a photograph of the Bangkok lady in Chapter attire in the foreground of a Harley Davidson shot. The walls also had many helmets hung upon them as well numerous ‘world clocks’ displaying times.





Not a place that many Power Rangers appeared to have visited!


When a charger lead was finally understood and sought out the phone was put on charge and I sat outside for a few smokes and an orange juice. Having iPhone charged was very important to me as it was my only connection to Jo whom quickly became my guardian angel looking after me from over the other side of the channel.
None of the villages were of a good enough size to warrant having a telephone shop for accessories and so buying a new charger had to wait some while yet.

The Bangkok lady spoke some words to me from her table whilst I sat outside but I lost her completely with my native tongue. The problem I have when overseas and having found a person who can speak English is that I automatically feel it is fine to speak at my normal pace , which isn’t particularly rushed but too fast for foreigners to keep up with and so I find myself repeating at a slower pace. Even so, she still could not understand my words.
Her husband came outside , a weathered looking man , perhaps in his 60s and asked “what do you want?”
I paused a moment, his tone and expression caught me off guard. He enquired “you speak English”?
I replied “Yes”.
Again “ what do you want?”
I raised my glass of orange juice and simply said “ I buy orange”.
The owner then said “You were talking to my wife , what do you want”?
I said “Your wife is charging my phone” – I had no idea what else would satisfy his curiosity. This he accepted and smiled before walking away saying “That’s good, that’s no problem”.

Half an hour passes and I mount up and ride on toward the Combe Laval road in search of Col de la Machine on the D76.






I came to a left turn , looked at the sign posts and headed down this road.





A few bends later and then a right hander up a gradual incline lined by trees and then there it was , the most spectacular sight I had ever laid my eyes upon!



I pulled up here to take in this phenomenal sight!


This is Col de la Machine , breathtaking , incredible, unbelievable and dare I say utterly awesome! That last word is not a word I use generally and in fact find it overly used in modern times to the extent I have built up an immunity to its meaning. This was a rare occasion indeed and ‘awesome’ was without doubt the word of choice, in fact there simply aren’t enough superlatives to describe seeing this place with the naked eye. Internet images are one thing, reality is something entirely different. Each time I speak and write of this place the goosebumps come visiting again and again and again.

My breath was simply ripped away from me. The sight demanded my attention, demanded I stopped, dismounted and took some time to absorb what I was witnessing. This place really grabbed me and it will be a very long time before I see anything better. I question myself ‘does it get any better than this’?














I rode on up to the next left hander and dismounted for more views.





My heart raced as I pulled up to the wall that was probably no more than 12-14” wide that separate me from a sheer drop of close to 1,000ft to an unquestionable cause of death!
This would be the place of nightmares for the squeamish and in fact this road has been known to be closed to vehicles in certain weather conditions due to numerous deaths over the years.
If you take liberties here it will be your very last mistake!
A fall over the edge here and you are history in the time it takes to free fall nearly 1,000ft ,or more , and if that didn’t introduce you to your maker then the quickly pursuing GS would certainly finish the job off!


The wall that separates life from death!




A view over the wall.










A little further up I pulled in at a tunnel to take a closer look at a cave entrance to my left. To get to the cave the pathway narrowed to a ledge about 2ft wide and down a slope about 4ft lower than where I was standing. 40yrs ago I would have been stupid enough to attempt the ledge to the cave but now is 40yrs later!






I stopped the other side of the series of hollow drive-thru rocks and took some more photos. Many bikes were using this route today and probably most other days.

I started looking for a place to set up camp at a gentle pace. I had enough daylight on my side to not need to rush and besides , this is not an area for dropping your guard.

I came across numerous secluded areas including a woodland thick with trees and an easy access route in immediately at the roadside. All I would need to do is to ride a small rise and I’d be in the wooded area away from headlights, though I doubt too many vehicles use the Combe Laval road after dark. I parked up and walked a short way in to the wooded area but quickly decided against. Far too many biting things in flight for my liking.
On the other side of the road another woodland with a steep narrow path that ran downhill deeper into the wooded area. This looked a bit too challenging for the morning exit and again, would have been an infestation of critters.

Some of the switchbacks were nearly as tight as those at the Stelvio and upon entering one right hander I was faced with the aftermath of one driver who had got it wrong for one reason or another.
I came across a Mercedes Camper that had gone over the barrier and come to a rest in clear view of any passing motorists. It lay on its side, broken windscreen and numerous contents of no significant value strewn about on the grass. One such item was an empty beer can. Could this have been a clue or perhaps just an item of litter from some separate occasion – who would know?







At the base of the descent I took a turn that showed on the map would lead to a dead end , but I was curious to see what may be down here of interest. A passer by said that a church is at the very end of the road but I didn’t see a church , I saw something far more interesting!
After a quick scan around I decided that this would be camp for the night. A river was within feet of my pitch area behind a building that housed some kind of electrical /hydraulics generator.






There were a few cars parked just up from here and one young lad on a dirt bike but other than this it was quite remote and very quiet. I noticed a man had seen my arrival and was watching me briefly from the house across the way and about 100 or so metres in the distance. For a moment I felt my cover had been blown but nothing would come of his sighting and I made my camp for the night.







I knocked up some supper which was pretty much my food intake for the whole of this day.



This part of my blogging would come to an end at 22:00hrs as I chose to put my pen and pad down and listen the running river near by.

Distance covered 124 miles.

Great stuff mate, it reminds me of my solo trips no end

Not the best sleep I've ever had, added to that the first night of rain.

I tried to pitch as discreetly as possible although there's very little discreet about hi-viz guy ropes!
It was 06:00hrs and in the distance I heard a kind of rhythmic percussive sound, up near the house where I was spotted when I set up camp. It had a sort of hollow wooden instrument sound to it and it sounded right on the hour.
I wondered if it were some kind of morning alarm clock to ready the villagers for the start of a new day.

I awoke to the sound of both heavy rain and a strong wind and did wonder about the security of my new Khyam as it was only pinned by four corners but she stood her ground well.

A short while later the rain had ceased and the clouds had blown on by by the once strong wind, which too had died down. I took myself down to the river for my freshen up.



The Hornet that was determined to make my life hell for a half hour whilst pitching up the night before had gone - for a long time - a very long time - in fact forever!



Down by the river and upon opening my wash bag I was greeted by a white creamy mess! Not trusting my sense of smell at that time in the morning, or any time for that matter I went for the reliable taste buds route, afterall it could only be toothpaste - couldn't it?



Or perhaps it was Factor 30 Sun Cream ....yuk , gross!
For several moments I was spitting feathers before I could get on with my duties.



The water was very cold but a great way to awaken the senses. I went back to camp for a coffee and pack up ready for the day ahead.
A gentle start to the day led to much camera work. I was where I wanted to be and time was something I had in abundance.

I continued along the D518 in the direction of Die , the next town on from La Chapelle-en-Vercours.















Heading toward Col de Rousset eventually brought me through a tunnel to a different kind of scenery altogether, often the way in the Alps. The naked eye can see for miles from this point and almost possible to follow the whole route down the snaking twisting road to Die.

Top biking road and one of the few that I used the GoPro for video footage.







Direction Die...






A brief stop at a bus stop near Die and to decide whether to re-route to Marseilles or continue with the chosen route and drop in on Paris on the way home for my passport.

Paris won the day.



I continued on through Le Claps , situated between Luc-en-Dios and Rozieres on the D93. The rock formations and sheer mass are quite incredible and the road has been routed very nicely.

























A most welcoming looking cafe/restaurant awaits travellers right on this bend.


I was glad to have made the decision to call in to Paris rather than Marseilles, for one - I'm not a beach person and two - Paris has a great lump of metal sticking out of the ground and I like metal! Besides, a passport is of no use to me right now and didn't warrant the diversion further south.

That sorted I headed for Gap and set the sat-nav as back-up.

Gap was nothing short of a pigs ear! Routing under construction made a mockery of the sat-nav and it took me a half hour and 12 miles of wasted fresh happy juice to find a way back out and on toward Savines-le-Lac, near Embrun- this place is the Hotel California right now (July 2012).

I took the time for one photo in this place , and a worthy one too I felt!

Really enjoying this triumph over adversity...

Excellent

Eventually, and after crossing the bridge, I arrived at Savine-le-Lac at 13:00hrs and felt a compulsion to stop for a beer, I was feeling hotter than a pig on the spit!







Savine-le-Lac , whilst great on the eyes and with fabulous approach road scenery, was unfortunately 'speedo' territory! That was my impression at least, with males of all ages in skimpy dress code and wobbling their...well, wobbly bits!

With my beer now 'hatched' I set off to follow the lake route toward Barcelonnette alongside the L'Ubaye river through La Sauze-le-Lac on the D954.















On the approach to Barcelonnette I came across this little piece of aviation history. I have no idea what it is but it was far smaller than a plane of this shape would normally be expected to be!



I entered Barcelonnette and exited the other side to reach Jausier. On the approach into Jausier I clocked a sign saying 'Free Camping 100 Metres'. Signs like this are not to be sniffed at when you're wild camping and so I pulled in to the right turn, virtually opposite the two out of town restaurants, to check out the groundings and suitability for chocolate guy ropes pegs!

It was perfect for my needs with the river L'Ubaye running right through. I would have a bed for the night and running water for no cost - as I said, perfect!



I sat for a good while chilling out with my recently acquired FM Radio/Ear Defenders courtesy of Lidls before I set off on my adventure.




There were a number of motorhome campers on the site and so I pitched up about 50 metres or so from the nearest to me for that extra bit of privacy.

After settling down in the mid-afternoon sun I went walkabouts to check the area out a little more thoroughly. Over the back of the roughland behind me a track led through a small stream crossing and onto here...



Whilst none of the vehicles could have been test driven I did find something more useful to me on the walk back... a log!



My newly acquired log would be known only to me as 'loggy', and served as both a stool for blogging and a table for the gas burner.

Today we are having barbecue beans and sardines...



I also found a little something whilst clearing my pitching area of rocks and stones and other debris. Jo being of the tree-hugger sentiment would surely appreciate the 'au naturale' gift?



I settled down for the evening and planned out my next day on the road , or off the road to be precise - the route to Tunnel du Parpaillon.

Day 5

The previous day followed the same pattern as those before in so much as I was once again on the scrounge for iPhone charging. I tried several of the campers until eventually a family pulled up next to me in their motorhome, and after giving them an hour to settle I took my opportunity to pounce!

He looked a decent fella to me – he was , and kindly put my phone on charge for several hours. Hopefully this would last until I could find a town large enough to have a phone shop where such devices could be purchased.

I was up early as usual and freshened up at the river after a morning brew and before closing down camp.

My intention was to seek out and ride the Col du Parpaillon route to Embrun from the Jausier side before doubling back on myself and heading further south to Col de Tende. I also wanted to include Clue d’Aiglun in my plans en-route to Tende, then head back up through Italy, Switzerland and over to Paris before booking a ferry back from Calais to Dover to start the last leg home.

I took a slow ride through the valley of Jausier whilst keeping a keen eye for the Parpaillon route.

Looking ahead and into the hills I could see a number of buildings that appeared to be built into the rock face.



On the approach to a small town I then caught sight of a building with the name ‘Parpaillon’ on its gable end.



and a little further up and outside some houses a sign I studied for a moment or two.



Things were looking good and I felt a new thrill begin to take over me. I headed up the twisting route until I reached a small Chapel , St. Anne if I remember correctly. Opposite this was a picnic area with more signage, which included a painting of this very spot!









Being relatively inexperienced off road , certainly with two wheels, I had little idea what to expect or even what lie ahead of me.

I used the fresh water stand pump to fill up my now empty bottles but not before taking some fluid prior to the ride ahead.
At the foot of the Chapel was a surprisingly large amount of Butterflies, some fluttering and some just bathing in the Sun whilst clinging to the wall. There must have been 30 , 40 , perhaps more.



Flies …. I remember the flies so clearly! The moment I stopped they would home in and surround me , flying in dizzy patterns immediately ahead of my helmet visor. These ghastly creatures would still be with me until I reached a speed of perhaps 20mph.



A few kilometres along the track would see a small bridge crossing into the valley.



All along the track and up to this bridge there was an astonishing amount of these black/orange Butterflies – and then the penny dropped! Butterfly-Parpaillon , this was why Parpaillon is so named.

In this heat the camera work was fast becoming a bind but being aware that this isn’t a place one can visit as and when they please I stuck with it for my own recollection purposes no matter how much it interfered with the riding experience. By now I estimated the temperature inside my clothing to be close to a tormenting gas mark 7, and the day had only just begun!

The single biggest problem, for me at least, with stopping , was the immediate invasion of flies. The ‘Fly’ , that common creature we all know only too well , the only creature on Earth I truly detest…damn those little blighters!

I crossed the bridge and came to a fork in the track. Straight ahead had a sign with an exclamation mark. To the left, and an easier looking route that actually looked like it went somewhere, changed to grass with two lanes of tracks where four-wheeled vehicles had been. The straight ahead track seemed to come to a dead end less than 100 metres ahead – I turned left.

The track I was now on changed from easy looking to more challenging the further along I rode. A building ruin stood ahead of, me but to my left , well I’d never seen so much cattle in one place before. So many beasts with a seemingly intentional direction of travel and yet no shepherd , dog , or anything else to lead them…extraordinary!





The track gradually became harder to ride with small rocky stream crossings and a boulder strewn landscape getting increasingly more difficult whilst the track itself was fast fading. Something didn’t feel right , something wasn’t right! I negotiated the boulders to do a large 360 turn and headed back to the fork near the bridge.

Upon reaching the fork I did a left turn in the direction of the exclamation sign. The track dipped and all made sense now. The track didn’t simply come to a dead end as I’d previously thought but instead dips out of sight before the long climb up the mountain side. Even from down in the valley the mountain climb could not be made out as it was in a state of almost perfect camouflage against its own background. The only way to know this was a continuation of the track from the valley would have been to see somebody else riding/driving/walking it.

Some way up the slow climb I took a moment or three for a breather and to take in the panoramic view, not to mention to take on some water.





It was whilst up here I decided to shoot some video footage and narrate a short piece about my adventure to date. The mind works in mysterious ways when in total solitude and I found myself recollecting the Col de la Machine experience two days previous and started to become a little emotional and unnecessary!
I guess it’s the difference between mental thoughts and actually speaking those thoughts aloud , the speaking version always seems to heighten the emotional state. I like to think also that part of the reasoning for this emotional disposition I found myself in was that in the back of my mind I hadn’t forgotten our Alps 2011 Tour de Disaster, coupled with the events of day two and the realisation of what I’d lost and fearing yet another disasterous adventure only to result in a 360 turn back to the UK without having seen or done anything that I’d planned to , and of course the fact that Jo had saved the day.

The climb so far had been a challenge. I am not particularly fit , have limited off road experience , am a lightweight and was alone with a very heavy bike to haul up this mountain track.

Taking up the challenge under such circumstances didn’t exactly surprise me , though turning back was out of the question. I had to continue to prove to myself I could ride this much talked of POI in motorcycle and 4x4 circles. Of course, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend such a challenge to a lone rider for obvious reasons , such as in the event of a heavy fall , mechanical breakdown or any other state of emergency then there is no telling when the next person would be along. On top of that there is no mobile phone signal up here!

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/hFSudRUcufM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

I turned off the video glasses and continued on up the climb. I found the climb to be a very slow process , rarely out of first gear and frequently checking the oil temperature reading. The rocky surface was becoming more and more gnarly with occasional cross path ruts just where you don’t want them – right in the middle of a tight switchback. The GS was heavy going, full luggage on board , but sure-footed. Each tight switchback was a combination of fine throttle and clutch control backed up with the rear brake to keep things moving smoothly and as stable as possible up the seemingly never ending climb.

I am not sure whether or not the rest was a good or bad decision because I had a slight feeling of ‘am I ready for this again?’ It was as if my rhythm had been interrupted and like starting all over again.
I had to get the rhythm back and quickly because stopping on awkward switchbacks mid-turn for three-point-turns was not something I was particularly keen to undertake , especially as many of the turns were of the negative camber variety. I maintained the throttle/clutch/rear brake approach which allows for very good control of such a heavy bike whilst even on such awkward terrain. The GS felt positively planted.





On the approach to some of the subsequent switchbacks all that could be seen was blue sky. There was no indication of what was over the right hand side of a left hander, how gradual or steep the drop and so a cool and calm approach was adhered to at all times.

Then came the moment that caught me off guard , a Marmot sprung up from my right and made a B-line to the my front wheel. In a moment, and with several hundred kilos bearing down it, the Marmot chose wisely and turned back to whence it came. Unfortunately he had left his mark with me for 100 metres or so after my initial audible yell , something like “wherooaaha…” as I suddenly felt my sphincter muscle tighten!

As my rhythm had been gate-crashed and a wobble from one side of the track to the dangerous side became the way to travel. I stopped and grabbed my breath whilst telling myself “come on now , get a grip , you’re nearly there…”



A little further and I had reached the top of the track and pulled up alongside two German riders who had come from the Embrun direction.





My first ‘off’ of the adventure to date was just moments away!

Being a wearer of prescription glasses , primarily for reading but which can be comfortably worn whilst driving/riding with no impairment on vision, I had forgotten I had them on. To make matters worse they are of the react to light variety. In the clear and sunny day I had become accustomed to the dark tint I was now looking through. When asked about the tunnel length etc the English speaking of the two Germans said “you can see the other end from this end but keep all your lights on and be careful – there is ice inside!”

I positioned the GS for my ride through , headlight on , the forgotten prescription ‘shades’ in place , I could see bugger all! There was a little water upon entering the tunnel and then it was pitch black. I had travelled no more than a couple of metres before thinking ‘sod this, something ain’t right!’ and went to apply the brakes but a sheet of ice measuring approx 1 metre wide by 3 metres long by 15cm deep applied the brakes for me! “What the fuck was that?” I shouted! I think the Germans understood this version of our language and if I didn’t know better they were having a barrel of internal belly laughs!

Suddenly everything became clearer , literally! The impact and fall had displaced my glasses and there it was in the distance , the light at the end of tunnel.
I asked the German guy whilst trying hard not to laugh myself “Couldn’t you have told me I still had my glasses on”?

He replied “ I did wonder why you left them on”!
I then said “ I bet you will be telling all your mates about this one”?
“We always tell our friends” he said.

Lesson learnt , we all picked the GS up as they reassured me they would stay put until I reached the other end before making their own descent on the side I had previously climbed.

Half way through the tunnel the ice slab was even bigger , covering almost the full width with just enough room to get the GS through but with the right bar almost touching the tunnel wall.

A slow gentle ride through saw me reach the other end with no further issues.











The descent was far easier this side with nowhere near the same amount of gnarly rocks on the track. Occasionally there would be the odd boulder than had found its way to a new resting place after being dislodged by gravity or some other cause.



A fair way down the Embrun side the scenery and lay of the land was taking on a different leaning as I approached a nice green area for a top up of water and a light snack. I opened a fresh carton of fruit juice by piercing the foil with the supplied straw and moments later it started venting and quickly did its thing over my HG trousers, thanks!







I took a look behind me at the track I would be continuing along and heard a couple of approaching riders.







A half hour break and back on with the trail.



I finally reached a bridge at the end of this route where the gravel had now changed to a tarmac surface. In fact the trail does continue for another few kilometres or so to Crevoux en-route to Embrun but I’d had enough for one morning , was feeling tired, hot and hungry , not to mention very thirtsy. I took the road route onto Embrun by a winning vote of 70% against the devil upon my shoulder.



The road from here to Crevoux/Embrun was a good smooth surface with fast sweeping bends that did wonders for rider air cooling!

I arrived in Embrun , a good sized town and not too busy. I pulled up at one of the first restaurants I clapped eyes on. Today would be a day for a mighty fine salad.



Embrun


The orange juice didn’t last long and neither did the 1 litre bottle of water. The salad was a masterpiece but by the time I had eaten it all I had no room for the baguette cuts.
No way was that going to waste as I secretly placed them into my portable bread bin in the form of a Caberg Trip and placed a dolloping of gloves over them before heading into town to purchase my much needed iPhone charger lead at the phone shop directly behind the restaurant.



After my time in Embrun I picked up the route back toward Jausier with the intention of picking up the next route , Col de Bonnette.

Fuel was running low so I decided to ride on through Jausier and back toward Barcelonnette before finding a service station. By the time I had ridden the 12km back to Jausier I concluded I was as good as to take up a second night at the free site I was at the night before. Had I known I would be doing this I could have tackled Col du la Parpaillon with a considerably lighter GS by leaving everything at camp.

My previous spot had been taken by a family but it wasn’t too long before I reclaimed ‘loggy’!

I pitched up again and set about making myself comfortable for the evening before my last meal, beans and the baguette cuts from Embrun.





The bottle carriers had taken a bit of a bashing up the mountain and had broken in identical places. I remembered packing my soldering iron but stupidly no solder wire! I resorted to a campsite bodge with insulation tape.





The adapted plate from the F800GS was standing up to the travel perfectly.



In the evening, amongst activities such as map reading and blogging, I did a check through the finances. It was decided that with just 130 Euros left I would not be able to continue any further with my planned route but instead to start the long ride home via other POIs. These included Col d’Iseran , Val d’Isere and of course Paris for my emergency passport. It was a disappointment, though I was grateful to have seen what I’d seen, done what I’d done and had the fabulous experience overall, all made possible by Jo after the initial loss of all my money and other valuable documents so early in the adventure.

Great stuff - I really felt like I was riding that track too...

David Nimrod said:

Great stuff - I really felt like I was riding that track too...

Click to expand...

Thanks David and the others who have shown an interest in this RR, your encouragement is appreciated!

A few typos I have noticed and have had to ask Admin for permission to put right. Despite proof reading it several times I still managed to miss the errors in type.

Brilliant trip - thanks for sharing & good luck
FF

great rite up mate and some nice pictures as well

Its been a great read thanks for posting!!!

Great report, your about as lucky as me, i hope you do the rest of your journey without to much drama , ps. are you aware an emergency passport costs around 50 euro, and you will need passport photo's, i found all this out in Barca a couple of years back

Just remembered it cost 56euro and that was in 2004.....

Stunning scenery and roads to die for... thanks for that - inspiring stuff!

Great stuff

Keep it coming
A great read
Thinking of something similar for next year !

Excellent stuff.