Day 11 – Friday 3rd June 2011
The ear plugs were getting uncomfortable. They had to come out. 5.54am and that blasted cow was still at it! With no campsite luxuries, there was nothing to do except pack up and be gone.
I still can’t believe how far I cycled yesterday, including going over half-way around Lake Geneva – and it’s a big lake. Chris de Burgh once took a boat over Lake Geneva, or so he says, back in the days when he said goodbye to it all. Well, I’m not saying goodbye to “it all,” but it is a farewell to the lake.
A quick stop in Martigny – by now it’s 7am – at a service station to use their toilets and freshen up, then head for the Grand-St-Bernard (as all the signs say). I had only been going 2 minutes when a car beeped me. I looked up to see him waving his finger (not his middle one, I hasten to add) at me as if to say, “No you don’t!” Ooops, I’m about to cycle onto autoroute... and I’ve done enough of that already! A quick about turn to cycle back up the slip road the wrong way on the hard shoulder. Well, what else could I do? I certainly wasn’t king of that road.
Back to the service station and I found another sign for the mountain pass, this time no autoroute. Then began the trek up the long and winding road.
In the UK there are signs saying, “Beware Bikers,” and, “Bikers Beware.” Well, in Wales, at least. The Swiss equivalents are fantastic. They say, “Slow down, take it easy!” with various pictures to accompany them. The best one has to be of a depiction of Jesus (a white man with long brown hair and a beard, dressed in white robes... who else is it meant to be?), although this Jesus has angel wings... anyway, he’s sat on a wheel with that classic “loving” look in his eye with one hand in a “slow down” gesture. I think you need to see the photo to see the true comedy/art/genius of it – writing just won’t do it justice!
On I go, past another sign that had a massive bee clinging to it. I wish I’d taken a photo of that: this model bee must have been (bee-n...?!) over 6 feet tall!
I remember those adverts on TV... for Duracell, I think... and there’s this bunny with a battery strapped to its back. Now, the later adverts have him running a race, but there’s an older one where, at the end, he plods across the screen, saying, “It goes on and on and on...” Well, that’s what this road is like.
The map says I’ll be going up to an altitude of 2,469 metres, but it lies – and I have photographic evidence to prove it.
The wheels on the bike go round and round, and I’m starting to wonder what made me think this was a good idea. Another sign: 18 km to the tunnel (where all the lorries have to go); 25 km to the pass itself.
Eventually, after lots of hard work, I reach the tunnel. Only 7 km left... it should only take an hour. My riding time so far is about 4 hours. Up I go, and the steepness has just increased... a lot. I take a break after only a few minutes, literally just around the first bend of this last section. The Alps still tower above me, but I’ve not come this far to turn back: there’s ain’t no mountain high enough!
For some reason it helps to count every step I take. Or rather, every stroke of the pedals: right, one; left, two; right, three; left, four; 5, 6, 7, 8... except I’m counting to 12, for some reason, before starting again. I just to be able to say that I did it; that I cycled the Great St Bernard pass. Not many people in the UK can say that, and even fewer can say that they cycled across Europe’s mainland to get there.
I take another break. I’ve not even cycled 1 mile yet since the tunnel. Another cyclist is behind me and stops for a chat. He’s full of encouragement, first of all by commenting that the cogs on my bike are rather large for hills this steep and that I’m not making it easy for myself. Well, I did buy those cogs specifically for speed, not for ridiculous hills! Then he comments on the amount of luggage I have... yes, it’s pretty heavy (hopefully I’ll remember to weigh it when I eventually get home), and no, I wasn’t thinking that clearly when I took all 3 of those gas canisters dad had for the little stove, nor when I packed the map of Morocco along with the rest, just because it looked the same and I didn’t read the country on it. But I’m not saying it in French and this guy doesn’t need any more reason to make fun of me. Just before he leaves, he says the road is this steep right to the top... 6 km more to go! Thanks mate. Anyway, a little less conversation and a little more action!
It’s not long after and I see a sign: 4 km to go! About half an hour later (probably a bit more) and there’s a sign with “2 km” on it. My lovely cycling friend is now on his way back down. As he shoots past me, he says, “One kilometre!” Well, that’s a lie, since the 2 km sign is barely 300 metres behind me! But he was telling the truth about the steepness – it ain’t gettin’ any easier.
A few more bends (another 20 minutes!) and I can see the top – surely I can make it without another break... well, I would have if, in my moment of excitement, I hadn’t wobbled, causing Ol’ Betsy’s front wheel to spin into some snow by the side of the road. No steering, all I can do is put the brakes on and walk myself out. Starting again is always the hardest part. I keep going. More motorbikes rocket past, one of them giving me a “thumbs up” for making it.
Just as I near the hotel at the top, I see a sign indicating the pass is 2,473 metres high, and I’m thinking, “That’s not what the map says!”
The feeling of having made it is simply the best. A man at the top is so amazed that I’ve done it with such a large load that he takes a photo! I prop the bike up against the wall and take a few photos of my own. There’s a bit of cloud, but the view is still stunning, and I think to myself, “What a wonderful world...”
A quick stop for a hot chocolate and a fruit tart – one of the best I’ve ever had! After all that work I can barely walk, but I’m still standing. I walk back outside again and notice that raindrops keep falling on my head. It’s not heavy so I pop into the souvenirs shop to wait it out.
I’ve been up here over an hour: it’s time to get back down to earth. I wrap up warm and shoot off down the mountain like a speed demon (or a rocket man).
After taking 6 hours to get up the pass, it only takes 1 hour to get to the town of Aosta in Italy, about 25 miles away... and that includes a couple of stops to let the wheel rims cool down.
As I get to Aosta, the rain starts up again, heavier this time. (Why does it always rain on me?) Maybe it’s because I’ve just had 20 or 25 miles of road to myself, but I start to get a feeling of not really being “welcomed,” if that makes any sense. I knew Italy wasn’t the best for cycling, but cars just don’t seem to care and it just seems very different to France and Switzerland.
It’s just after 4pm and I find my way to a Tourist Information centre to ask about supermarkets and campsites. I’m aware that so far I’ve been overspending on my budget and €18 for a night’s camping won’t help. I figure that this trip is basically a tourist trip: for me to say, “I’ve been there,” and, “I’ve done that,” so I’m not too fussed about cycling. For €30 I can get a train to Pisa, which would take at least 4 days of cycling and spending more money. If trains are that cheap, I might get the train again just to cover the distance quickly.
I decide to get a late train so that I can sleep one night at a station (for free!). That gives me 1 and a half hours to see the sights of Aosta... off I go!
Stats
Mileage = 56.61 miles
Riding time = 7 hours 40 minutes
Average speed = 7.3 mph
Top speed = 36.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 686.2
The ear plugs were getting uncomfortable. They had to come out. 5.54am and that blasted cow was still at it! With no campsite luxuries, there was nothing to do except pack up and be gone.I still can’t believe how far I cycled yesterday, including going over half-way around Lake Geneva – and it’s a big lake. Chris de Burgh once took a boat over Lake Geneva, or so he says, back in the days when he said goodbye to it all. Well, I’m not saying goodbye to “it all,” but it is a farewell to the lake.
A quick stop in Martigny – by now it’s 7am – at a service station to use their toilets and freshen up, then head for the Grand-St-Bernard (as all the signs say). I had only been going 2 minutes when a car beeped me. I looked up to see him waving his finger (not his middle one, I hasten to add) at me as if to say, “No you don’t!” Ooops, I’m about to cycle onto autoroute... and I’ve done enough of that already! A quick about turn to cycle back up the slip road the wrong way on the hard shoulder. Well, what else could I do? I certainly wasn’t king of that road.
Back to the service station and I found another sign for the mountain pass, this time no autoroute. Then began the trek up the long and winding road.
In the UK there are signs saying, “Beware Bikers,” and, “Bikers Beware.” Well, in Wales, at least. The Swiss equivalents are fantastic. They say, “Slow down, take it easy!” with various pictures to accompany them. The best one has to be of a depiction of Jesus (a white man with long brown hair and a beard, dressed in white robes... who else is it meant to be?), although this Jesus has angel wings... anyway, he’s sat on a wheel with that classic “loving” look in his eye with one hand in a “slow down” gesture. I think you need to see the photo to see the true comedy/art/genius of it – writing just won’t do it justice!On I go, past another sign that had a massive bee clinging to it. I wish I’d taken a photo of that: this model bee must have been (bee-n...?!) over 6 feet tall!
I remember those adverts on TV... for Duracell, I think... and there’s this bunny with a battery strapped to its back. Now, the later adverts have him running a race, but there’s an older one where, at the end, he plods across the screen, saying, “It goes on and on and on...” Well, that’s what this road is like.
The map says I’ll be going up to an altitude of 2,469 metres, but it lies – and I have photographic evidence to prove it.The wheels on the bike go round and round, and I’m starting to wonder what made me think this was a good idea. Another sign: 18 km to the tunnel (where all the lorries have to go); 25 km to the pass itself.
Eventually, after lots of hard work, I reach the tunnel. Only 7 km left... it should only take an hour. My riding time so far is about 4 hours. Up I go, and the steepness has just increased... a lot. I take a break after only a few minutes, literally just around the first bend of this last section. The Alps still tower above me, but I’ve not come this far to turn back: there’s ain’t no mountain high enough!
For some reason it helps to count every step I take. Or rather, every stroke of the pedals: right, one; left, two; right, three; left, four; 5, 6, 7, 8... except I’m counting to 12, for some reason, before starting again. I just to be able to say that I did it; that I cycled the Great St Bernard pass. Not many people in the UK can say that, and even fewer can say that they cycled across Europe’s mainland to get there.I take another break. I’ve not even cycled 1 mile yet since the tunnel. Another cyclist is behind me and stops for a chat. He’s full of encouragement, first of all by commenting that the cogs on my bike are rather large for hills this steep and that I’m not making it easy for myself. Well, I did buy those cogs specifically for speed, not for ridiculous hills! Then he comments on the amount of luggage I have... yes, it’s pretty heavy (hopefully I’ll remember to weigh it when I eventually get home), and no, I wasn’t thinking that clearly when I took all 3 of those gas canisters dad had for the little stove, nor when I packed the map of Morocco along with the rest, just because it looked the same and I didn’t read the country on it. But I’m not saying it in French and this guy doesn’t need any more reason to make fun of me. Just before he leaves, he says the road is this steep right to the top... 6 km more to go! Thanks mate. Anyway, a little less conversation and a little more action!
It’s not long after and I see a sign: 4 km to go! About half an hour later (probably a bit more) and there’s a sign with “2 km” on it. My lovely cycling friend is now on his way back down. As he shoots past me, he says, “One kilometre!” Well, that’s a lie, since the 2 km sign is barely 300 metres behind me! But he was telling the truth about the steepness – it ain’t gettin’ any easier.
A few more bends (another 20 minutes!) and I can see the top – surely I can make it without another break... well, I would have if, in my moment of excitement, I hadn’t wobbled, causing Ol’ Betsy’s front wheel to spin into some snow by the side of the road. No steering, all I can do is put the brakes on and walk myself out. Starting again is always the hardest part. I keep going. More motorbikes rocket past, one of them giving me a “thumbs up” for making it.
Just as I near the hotel at the top, I see a sign indicating the pass is 2,473 metres high, and I’m thinking, “That’s not what the map says!”The feeling of having made it is simply the best. A man at the top is so amazed that I’ve done it with such a large load that he takes a photo! I prop the bike up against the wall and take a few photos of my own. There’s a bit of cloud, but the view is still stunning, and I think to myself, “What a wonderful world...”
A quick stop for a hot chocolate and a fruit tart – one of the best I’ve ever had! After all that work I can barely walk, but I’m still standing. I walk back outside again and notice that raindrops keep falling on my head. It’s not heavy so I pop into the souvenirs shop to wait it out.
I’ve been up here over an hour: it’s time to get back down to earth. I wrap up warm and shoot off down the mountain like a speed demon (or a rocket man).After taking 6 hours to get up the pass, it only takes 1 hour to get to the town of Aosta in Italy, about 25 miles away... and that includes a couple of stops to let the wheel rims cool down.
As I get to Aosta, the rain starts up again, heavier this time. (Why does it always rain on me?) Maybe it’s because I’ve just had 20 or 25 miles of road to myself, but I start to get a feeling of not really being “welcomed,” if that makes any sense. I knew Italy wasn’t the best for cycling, but cars just don’t seem to care and it just seems very different to France and Switzerland.
It’s just after 4pm and I find my way to a Tourist Information centre to ask about supermarkets and campsites. I’m aware that so far I’ve been overspending on my budget and €18 for a night’s camping won’t help. I figure that this trip is basically a tourist trip: for me to say, “I’ve been there,” and, “I’ve done that,” so I’m not too fussed about cycling. For €30 I can get a train to Pisa, which would take at least 4 days of cycling and spending more money. If trains are that cheap, I might get the train again just to cover the distance quickly.I decide to get a late train so that I can sleep one night at a station (for free!). That gives me 1 and a half hours to see the sights of Aosta... off I go!
StatsMileage = 56.61 miles
Riding time = 7 hours 40 minutes
Average speed = 7.3 mph
Top speed = 36.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 686.2
The challenge is... how many song titles (or lyrics) can you spot in this entry?!
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