With the DR350 down in the south of Portugal it was clear to me that any trip this summer would involve the 650. No way am I heading into the heat like last year. The original plan was to go on a grand northern tour, up through the Baltics. But it wasn’t to be – I wasn’t in the mood and there were things to do at home. So where does someone living in the south of Germany go? Obviously, the Maritime Alps – can’t go wrong with good old Bardo!
As in the other recent posts this is simple a copy/paste of the FB TET posts made along the way.
None of the Gear, Half an Idea
Original plan for summer, go north, see the Baltics. Not been there. Meh. I’ve been out on the trails every holiday this year, I couldn’t quite find the motivation. Plus summer at home is nice. Plus stuff to do. But because my autumn holiday is getting gobbled up with training I thought I’d get away for a week. Living where I do, in the south western corner of Germany, where else but the western Alps.
I’ve been down here before. So it’s no revolutionary idea, did Jaffreau about four years ago. Did Parpallion and the Alta via del Sale about two years ago. So it’s not going to be a revolution, but it’ll be cool enough to ride and good trails. Easy ones too, which is good, because the 350 is still in Portugal along with my proper riding gear. So I’m on the DR650 with street gear and shagged out tyres. So going to keep it simple…
I’ve not the TET down here and a few other trails I can follow that I’ve collected over the years. So, off I go over the border to Der Schweiz. Which is mostly frustrating. I mean, it’s beautiful, but there is very little in the way of dirt and that little bit of dirt is blocked by some silly bicycle race. Bicycles. Really. I never will understand road cyclists. Awful. Plus, you approach them in all their lycra clad glory, you think “oh, she’s got a nice bum” and then when you overtake it’s almost always a bloke.
Anyway. All that takes longer than expected, after one sleep I’m finally in Italy and I nip over the Finestre/Assieta track. Nice views, but it’s a fricking highway. The BMW crowd are out in force, one guy even has no less than eight fog lights. Eight. That’s four each side. He’s got two of those weird selfie 360 camera stick things and enough luggage to supply a cruise ship. To each their own.
I’m sounding pessimistic here. I don’t mean to. I’ve ridden glorious roads, wonderful trails, I’m enjoying myself. But it’s all a bit mass market. I think of camping by a lake and it’s literally chocca with vanlifers. Many of whom have – because the bit of trail that goes to the lakeside is full – have decided to drive/camp on a farmers field. Knobheads. Ok. I’m still sounding pessimistic. I ride a few km away and sleep on the terrace of a cable car station. Oh my own.
Pessimistic and grumpy/antisocial. I think I’m getting old.
Anyway. Onwards. I decide to leave Bardonecchia for the way back and make my way south towards the old salt road. I’m kind of remembering lots of road to get there, I’m kind of expecting it not to be worth it. I’m sounding like a pessimistic, grumpy, antisocial old man. But I’m wrong. Mostly following the TET and it’s grand. The passes remain beautiful, if not as high as the famous ones. But there’s nobody there. Literally not a soul much of the time.
But it’s tough going sometimes. Or, it feels like it is. I’m used to being wrapped up in my swish Leatt armour jacket and knee guards, my Tech 7s. My tyres that are not ludicrously worn. My bike that’s 30+kg lighter. My EPIRB. Climbing one long, lonely, rocky, steep trail coming out of some mines I give myself a small heart attack.
Bang! The bike jumps up in the air, engine stops. Somehow I catch it and don’t fall over. Which is good, because left is a near vertical drop and right are rocks – less than ideal with soft leather street boots on. Time for a breather. The impact was enough to kick the bars out of position, it was one of those freak rocks where it levers up as the front wheel went over. This is why we have bash plates. Time to let the pulse come down, cool down a bit, have a drink. With a hot engine at altitude I dread kick-starting, I expect I’ll have to turn around and bump it, but Boris starts first kick. Brilliant! Time to stop with the audiobook about Nazis and focus on this trail.
I’m having fun again! Between Finestre and Via del Sale life is good, I feel young again, I feel less grumpy, I get a hug from a flirty waitress, I’m back in the game baby!
Approaching the border with France and that world famous paid trail I find myself one third enthusiastic, one third worried about the weather and one third dreading the masses again. Last time I got to the start here the toll area was full of bikes, 4×4 people (weird, don’t get that either) and just the mass of humanity. Today – nobody. Not a soul. I pay my 15eur and head on up. I get to the traffic light. Still got the place to myself. I wait 15min for a green light, fix my bars from the day before, nobody – except three enduros and some “wheelers” coming the other way. The next human being I see is the lady that opens the gate at the end of the trail. I’m in heaven. This trail really is worth the 15eur cost of entry. When you’ve got it to yourself, doubly so.
Now I’m writing this, waiting for a two course meal that’ll probably be wonderful and costs less than a sandwich back in the Confederation Helvetica. There are trails and forts ahead of me. I’ll spend a day down here and then head back up north, see if Parpallion is passable, head to Bardo, nip up Jaffreau. It’s really a playground around here.
I miss the wonderful suspension and reduced weight of my 350. I miss my big boots, they make standing comfortable and falling less alarming. I’m loving normal riding gear, even if my leather jacket doesn’t really breathe at least stripping to jump in a lake doesn’t require a planning meeting. Life is good.
West Alps, Part Two
This report comes a fortnight late and a dollar short, no doubt. But I got home and got busy. When I last left you, oh beautiful TETlings, I was expecting a glorious meal at the end of the Alta via del Sale. Turns out it wasn’t quite as glorious as my hopes, but meh. Full stomach.
Back up towards the tollhouse and to the picnic site I had already picked out for camping I go. Here was my only drop of the trip, I’d aimed for two trees that looked right for the hammock but they were not – heading towards the two trees that were the right distance apart I hit a slippery rock at some speed. Front jumped up, I fell down and instantly missed my proper enduro boots more than ever before. I hit the inside of my leg, just above the boot, on the footrest. Skin torn and a bruise that’s still there two weeks later.
I count myself lucky. This was a hit on the skyward facing side, I could have dropped the thing on my other ankle and… I dread to think. Because it was “just 50m across the picnic site” I didn’t have my helmet on. I wasn’t far from bouncing my head off of a concrete picnic table. Picked up the bike, sweated and swore a bit trying to kick it over. Gave up, set up camp angry and fell asleep. Thoughts varying between “ouch” and “could have really hurt myself there”.
I was up early with a decision to make. At the end of the salt road the TET goes one way and my other trail loops up towards the north. It looked like the TET took in some old forts and then got a little dull, also it was much longer to the next fuelling opportunity and I was already on reserve. Acerbis tank, big reserve, but still… pushing a DR650 isn’t fun.
Bumped my way down a ludicrously rocky trail. Wasn’t particularly hard going, but I was vibrating more than a Rampant Rabbit spliced into a mains socket. That fuelling opportunity came along and I put 24.something litres into my 25 litre tank. Looks like I picked the right path.
I was in France and had a couple hours on the road to get to Parpallion. Yes, yes. I know it’s partially collapsed and officially closed. I’ve heard that bikes can still get through quite easily and thought I’d take a look – it’s not like there’s anyone living there to annoy. But nah, it’s closed. I’ve never seen so many road closed signs in my life – they really mean it. Plus I was told by someone going the other way that there is now a wall to stop people going in. So that’s that for Parpallion until they sort out the funding.
Onwards to Bardonecchia!
The skies opened and it was getting dark soon, so I thought I’d grab some fast food and find a place to sleep. Nice thought, didn’t work out in practice. This was the slowest fast food ever and after two hours it was dark and lashing it down. On with my trusty Decathlon waterproofs and a quarter hour later I had a spot to sleep. That’s the nice thing about a sleep system designed for rainforests, it’s good in the rain. Stomach full of Poutine I had a great night of sleep.
Got to Bardo at about 10 and judged that if anywhere was cloud free it was Jaffreau. Now, I’ve been up years ago and couldn’t recall which is the easy ascent and which the tricky one. I cast my mind back. Last time we did the hard one. We rode some distance and then went up. So it must be… whoops! I found myself climbing the ski slope again, it feels a lot steeper and rockier than it did on the 350! But I made it up in one go easily enough. There wasn’t a soul up there, the clouds parted and I had a second breakfast with Jaffreau all to myself. Not bad.
Down the long way, the little fort, the tunnel, all very nice and into Bardo for a late lunch. Next up, Sommelier. Last time I’d been up as far as the refuge and camped there, but my colleagues decided the next morning to go back down so after the refuge it was all new to me. All cloudy too.
But I timed it right. Just add I hit the summit here, the cloud broke. I didn’t quite have the place to myself, there were some lads with a “Fiatapillar” raised, with knobbies and painted yellow. But other than that, it was mine. Very nice.
Riding back down with blue skies and clouds raising into the sky was beautiful. It really is a spectacular trail, this toll model is definitely the way to go for some of these trails. It’s gorgeous, you really do end up so very high that it’s a different world.
A quick coffee in town and it was 1700, where the other more obscure trails open for business. So I went up them as well. Back in town again and it was decision time. Bad weather was coming. I could camp, go up Punta Colomion the next day. But in predicted torrential rain?
I decided it was time to head directly home. It wasn’t quite dark, taking the autobahn I had about five hours ahead of me and I felt fresh. So, onwards. To my final heart attack of the trip. That damn tunnel costs 36eur for a MOTORCYCLE. Out the other side it was raining. On with the decathlon kit, on to the motorway, on to home – arrived at 0300 and crawled into bed.
An excellent trip all round. Normal riding gear was nice, but the advantages don’t outweigh the advantages of layered tail riding gear in this context. The bruise on my leg can vouch for that. The 650 remains a capable beast, I appreciated the highway legs on the return journey, but the 350 is just so much more agile and the suspension on a different level.
My next post will be from the Trans Morocco Trail, if all goes to plan. Which will, I suspect, be a little bit different!
