Galloping Galibier

Schleck. Andy (on the bike). Galibier. Fast. Aggressive. Attacking. Brilliant. Last 3k. Payback. Hero.

Blimey that's Blightey

I'm coming home.  36 nights in a tent will end today. Dr James has been great company for a last week of Tour de France spectating and replicating. We've seen the decisive Alpine stages of the 2011 tour, and we've climbed Grand Cols.

But all good things have to come to an end, perhaps that's what makes them good. It's time to head home and start another chapter. Starting with George and Rick's wedding and a host of old friends. These are good times indeed.

Love and peas, James

Tour de Panniers, fini

After 4 weeks of cycling and relocating my home every day, I've found somewhere to settle for a week or so. To some extent my bicycle tour is over. And I've become a Tour de France spectator.

On completing stage 17 of the Tour in yellow by 5 days or more, I promptly disqualified myself from the race. No I've not taken to doping - though the other days' espresso intake may have contravened the UCI guidelines. The truth is that without the scrutiny of the world's media I cut short stage 18. Instead of cycling to Modane to the start of the stage, I simply went to the bottom of the first climb. I felt it was in the spirit of the early TdF pioneers who occasionally took trains between towns to tame the monstrously long stages on which they they were competing.

In my own Tour de France de Panniers, I also committed a second offence. I completed the first climb of the stage with only 1 pannier! Having camped in Valloire between 2 of the climbs on stage 18 I decided I could complete the first climb, the Telegraphe, before checking out time, then load up, and go onto tackle the Galibier.

Without panniers my bike came alive on that climb. That might sound good, but not when it was so wild that I could barely control it. With massive weight on my bike, inputs into steering and balance have to be strong and purposeful. With that weight removed those same movements made me ride like Bamby taking her first steps.

Brain re-programmed, I tackled the Telegraphe climb with the shadow of 4 cyclists in team formation about 20 yards behind me. Round every hairpin bend I saw them in the corner of my eye. What I had promised myself to be an enjoyable gentle morning climb had become a race! 52 minutes later the summit (12k and 700m climbing) saw one of the closest finishes in Tour history as 5 grown men sprinted to the finish, with the English guy with 1 pannier edging it. After recovering my breath I turned to my pursuers and discovered they were 4 Swiss friends on a long weekend trip, were equally knackered, and equally cross with themselves for racing up the first climb with a much bigger one ahead.

The second assent of the Galibier, this time from the north, was, I regret to say, equally competitive. I found myself overtaken early on (now fully laden) by the quicker riders of 'Team Bergamo'. One of them kindly shouted 'strong man' pointing at my panniers as he came past. Obviously, not wanting to disappoint him, I proceeded to race his slower team mates up the 20k, 1300m climb.  1 hour and 55 mins later I crossed the summit, just ahead if the largest, eldest, and last member of their team, to a wripple of applause from my earlier encourager, Mr Enthusiastic.

I dropped down into La Grave, found a campsite and here I have been for a few days. After a day of hibernating in the tent, away from the incessant rain, I managed to finish stage 18 on the 3rd day. The infamous Alpe d'Huez climb was manageable with my newfound light load, and I achieved a time almost double that of the world record holder and notorious doper, Marco Pantani. More noteworthy was the 6 year old I saw riding up, having to wait for his father at each of the 21 hairpin bends.

The Tour de France proper is only a few days behind now. The campsite is full of nerdy spectators, all of whom are visiting the local mountaineering shop to buy extra warm clothing. Dr James arrives in an hour or so. The solo touring draws to a close for a while and a new chapter begins.

Zut alors, James

Yellow jersey held on 4 day stage

Rounding the final turn on the Col de Galibier, the passing Italian motorcyclists noticed not the touring cyclist sprinting out of his saddle to the summit and finish of the epic stage 18 (at just above walking pace as he hauled his panniers). The assembled masses at the finish line, similarly, and incomprehensibly, did not rouse from their self obsessed narcisistic picture taking, to acknowledge a new record being set right in front of their noses. Never before in the 100+ years of TdF history had it taken 4 days to complete one stage. But this is what the grinning, pannier clad Englishman was achieving. The moment was marked by a German cyclist engaging the hero in small talk about the technical details of the record setting bike, a picture captured by the aforementioned German, and an entry on this almost unread blog. Ca ne fait rien, I will remember it to my premature senility.

So after the shocking weather of day 2 on Col d'Angello, day 3 was a relative ride in the park up and over Col d'Izoard. I rode the Col with the Kiwi couple I mentioned previously. Well I say rode with them, the truth is that Karl turned out to be even better than the French guy Marc I had met previously. In all the days touring I have done over the last few years I have met very few serious race cyclists on a touring trip, not so with Marc and Karl. Anyway, as he powered up the 10% gradient I made myself feel better by counting the number of panniers on Karl's bike, 2, then recounting mine, 4.

Anyway, Izoard was a lovely climb and afterwards, Karl and I took a seat overlooking the final turn to encourage all the cyclists to the summit, and to bloody witness another accident! 2 cars rounding the corner simply collided into one another. My first thought was for the safety of the cyclists as I jumped up to clear the broken glass from the headlamp. No, seriously, I checked for the health and welfare... of my sandwich first, I didn't want it rolling down the hill, or ants getting at it. It was such a slow crash luckily, it was almost unbelievable it happened.

Anyway, the descent was great, as they always are, and given the time, I decided to utilise another day of my ever diminishing lead to find a campsite and watch my rivals tackle the Pyrennees on TV. As I made plainly obvious to the assembled campers in the lounge, I was ecstatic to see Geraint Thomas - who I have taught so much, and who thankfully, this year at least, is no challenge to my yellow jersey - in a breakaway up the Col du Tormalet. He's good, but put 4 panniers on him and he'd be great

Day 4 was a late start, this cyclist has to plan and book his own accommodation. And as the main peleton get closer, so do the hordes of Dutch camper vans and English lycra clad MAMILS (middle aged men in lycra) - oh, like me but within panniers - crowding the mountains and campsites.

Once underway, I felt strong and went on a solo breakaway from Karl, who was now 'sans' panniers, on the climb to the Col de Lauteret, the approach to the final climb of the day, the highest ever finish on the TdF, the Col de Galibier. Karl eventually caught up, and with Jez Loftus' coaching ringing in my ears, I realised I had gone too early as Karl powered past.

The headwind to the Lauteret turned a gentle climb into a testing one and at the summit I was glad of the opportunity to eat my sports dietician prescribed Camembert sandwiches, washed down with Haribo and espresso, as Karl and I waited for his girlfriend Lena. As it turns out she had carried on up to Galibier unseen by us, so as Karl returned to Briancon 700m short of Galibier, she was finishing the Galibier in fine form for an Alpine novice. Chapeau.

The Galibier is a spectacular climb, as my pictures will show in due course. My climb time was good, even despite the photography, and slightly repeating lunch. The pro team Skil Shimano descended passed me as I climbed, and despite my best efforts, did not respond even with eye contact to my inane banter as they sped past. Perhaps they didn't see me 80 kph!

Anyway, as I said too many redundant words ago at the start of this blog, stage 18 is now done. In all seriousness, it's a killer - the Queen stage of this year's tour and one not to miss folks. In recognition of my feet, my podiatrist, sorry, I meant my feat, my Directeur Sportif even allowed me to swap my regulation 3 beers for a small allowance (75cl) of red wine, and 3 chocolate mousses. Tomorrow, after all, is only stage 19, a mere 3 HC climbs starting with the Telegraphe, Galibier again but from the north, and then Alpe d'Huez.

I wonder if my now 5 day lead can survive? I wonder if my now 27 day old legs can continue? I wonder if my earplugs will manage to block the noise of barking dogs and car alarms  in this campsite? After all, good food (tick, if good is lots) and good sleep wins the TdF - Eddy Merckx. And he ate other human beings (le Cannibale), so he should not be argued with!

Col d'Angello, Stage 17 Day 2

Col d'Angello, Stage 17 Day 2

Well that wasn't in the script. Col d'Angello was always going be hard, but not that hard.

It rained overnight, and my hangover took a while to clear slowly in he morning. Unfortunately the clouds never really cleared. After about 20k of gentle climbing (around 5%) I stopped for coffee and a dry shirt in the last bar before the angels took over. The road immediately and rather rudely kicked up to 10%. And continued that way for 10k. Aside from, that is, the rather discouraging sign signalling that the next section was in fact 14%.

Now this would all have been challenging enough on its own, but by this point the heavens had truly opened revealing, not angels, but sleet and hail accompanied by a gale force wind. Occasional breaks in the cloud gave a sense of the stark beauty surrounding me as I climbed, slowly, but my main view was of 20m of tarmac in front of me disappearing into the cloud.

Given the relative visual blindness, the sounds of the Alps became heightened - those cows and goats must get truly driven mad by those bells under their necks.

Arriving at the summit was a huge relief, but by thirsting point my hands and feet were completely numb. This was worse than mountain biking in the Welsh mountains in winter. Had there been a bar I might have seen the funny side but at 2750m there's not too many customers - today there was no chance of being overtaken by lycra clad, carbon mounted cyclists!

After finding some semi dry clothes in my panniers, and managing to drop my underwear in a puddle, I started the challenging descent most gingerly. If the wind wasn't trying to topple me over sideways then it was trying to force me down the mountain at a speed that my numb hands couldn't slow me down from.

When the hail stones were rendering me blind by bouncing off my eyeballs (only a slight exaggeration) I took shelter under a tree outside a house in a tiny village. The kind owner called me over and gave me a most welcome shelter, tea and biscuits whilst the hail turned to sleet. Off I went again, teeth chatering, through rivers running across the road, this time ending up in a bar at the bottom it the valley.

As I drank coffee and ate panini, the bar kept filling up with customers taking refuge. As it turned out, they closed the road up the Col d'Izoard, my next destination, due to a landslide. I met up again with a Kiwi couple touring the Alps and we spent a couple of hours warming up and allowing the rain to empty the seas.

So there you have it, my lead in the GC has been somewhat impaired by the weather, and perhaps the little Col, (and perhaps my panniers). Indeed, I still haven't finished stage 17, and have the not to be ignored task of climbing 2 more HC climbs before the finish. Given the need to dry clothes, tent etc tomorrow it could be that I take 4 days on this stage, losing up to 3 days of my lead. The Tour will complete stage 17 in less than 8 hours I suspect. Given today's weather though, I bet the commissaires would have cancelled the stage. I think that is what I have to hope for if I am still to take yellow to Paris.

Dormez bien, James.

I'm leading the Tour de France...

(To avoid confusion note that the above profile is stage 18, not 17)

Yesterday I entered the TdF. In order to compensate for the weight of my panniers (have I mentioned that yet?), the lack of team mates, and other handicaps (talent?) I started 2/3 of the way through the race, midway on stage 17, at the base of the 1st category climb from Cesana to Sestrierre.

It was 3.30 pm before I rose from my park bench to start the race official, having already climbed 2 Cols and ridden 80ks to that point yesterday. With Chorizo and Camembert sandwiches fuelling me I made it up the 700m, 12k climb feeling a little fatigued.

At the feed stop at the top, instead of being passed a bag with everything in it, I popped into a supermarket and bought provisions including beer and wine. Such was the brilliance off my climb to Sestrierre I also had time to visit the Gelateria for a picolo cafe and chololati copo (the Tour is visiting Italy).

I then flew down the descent towards the finish of stage 17 in Pinerolo about 45ks away. With a decent gap to the chasing pack - they were on a rest day awaiting the start of stage 10 - I decided to soft pedal for a while, and take an overnight stop in Fenestrelle.

I continued Stage 17 this morning towards Pinerolo. It's a steady and long descent from Sestrierre, relatively easy for a chasing group to close to any successful climbing attacks. Luckily, I had a good lead of about 8 days, and I took this onto the 2nd category climb only 14k from the finish.

It's only a 400m, 7k climb, but I found it really tough. The gradient keeps changing, the road surface is rubbish and it's very steep in parts. And then the descent.... It's similarly badly surfaced for the first couple of k, and tight and twisty throughout. This climb, Col la Pra Martino, is where someone could do some damage to my lead when they come through in just over a week.  A lead which would have been bigger today if they had bothered to put the finishing signs out for me in Pinerolo. I must have lost a good 10 mins in the GC looking for the finish...

Anyway, like a martyr, rather than take an overnight break in Pinerolo like the TdF boys will, I had an espresso and kicked on to stage 18, perhaps three most brutal and decisive of the TdF 2011.

Remembering too late that shops shut for most of the afternoonin Italy, I also went into stage 18 on an empty stomach! Ice cream, coffee and coke kept me going for the afternoon, but it massively affected my chances in the overall race, meaning that I took probably 4 hours (with stops) to do the 75ks to Sempeyre that my competitors will probably do in not much more than 1.5.

I stopped in Sepmpeyre, ready to tackle tomorrow the 2000m climb from here to the top of the Col d'Angello and then the 1000m climb of the Col d'Izoard. Believe it or not, despite the fact that I will probably take an overnight rest at that point, this still isn't the end of stage 18. I'll tackle that the day after, the climb to the finish in Galibier Serre Chevalier.

So to prepare for this daunting stage, I chose to forego the massage and pasta on offer and instead took up a kindly Italian couple's hospitality of wine, genapi, and more coffee. Then at 9pm I remembered to eat and here I am at 11.30 still typing away.

I think I need the attention of a team of strategists, nutritionists, masseurs, sports scientists and a mattress. That is surely the only thing holding me back from converting this massive lead into a race win. Oh, that and the panniers. Did I mention those?

Bon note (good night in Italian I think), James

Les Alpes parfait

It's late, and my ability to write good English has been destroyed by my fluent French, so here's a few snippets if a great couple of days I had in the Alps...

In La Thuile I had my first day off the bike in 18.

I managed to pull a hamstring walking to the laundrette.

Said laundrette cost me nearly £20, perhaps including a stench tax, but certainly the folding and ironing was unnecessary.

I ate a lot and watched Bradley Wiggins break his collar bone.

The next day, with good form I flew up Col San Bernardo, and then up to Val d'Isere.

Only the offer of beer from my new French touring cyclist companion stopped me attempting Col de l'Iseran that afternoon - and the thought of the 1000m climb to the highest Col in Europe perhaps.

The Frenchman and I met on the ascent to Val d'Isere and within 20 minutes we were witnesses to an accident on the road, caused by one car being too cautious overtaking us, and the other being too aggressive - the result a rear end shut 100m ahead. Scary.

The next day, the authorities kindly shut the road for us up to Col de l'Iseran, well they might have been planning it for a while, and we had an amazing hour and a half climbing 14k and 1000m.

The Frenchman lives near Mont Ventoux, is therefore a good climber, and like me, enjoys racing lycra clad men on carbon race bikes up hills whilst hauling panniers on a touring bike.

It was an amazing climb, with great scenery and NO cars. hopefully the pictures will do it justice.

At the top, free coffee and cake were laid on and Nirvana was achieved.

I had a smile on my face all day.

I know I was fully relaxed and chilled out because I did not get annoyed when someone took a less than perfectly framed picture of me at the top with my camera.

This conclusion was reinforced when I gave up the opportunity to watch the British GP on the telly in the campsite lounge, to instead enjoy the Tour de France (not such a loss I have to admit). Ah yes, I was also talked into dancing a jig with the Madam of the Bar at the top of the Col de l'Iseran (no not that sort of madam).

It was also a day of meeting inspiring older people: a 62 year old man on a bike tour of the Grand Cols; a 75 year old British couple on a walking tour of the Alps - and he was 5 years into Parkinsons too, and; a 76 year old French amateur cyclist (now retired from racing) who raced with Jacques Antequil (amongst other famous French cyclists).

Et mon Francais est aussi pas mal - je peux avoir un conversation en Francais sans l'autre person frowning a moi...

Slug fest

Last night the heavens opened on me in my tent. Luckily I had eaten the most hearty of €15 fixed price meals at my rural bar / camping site (about 6 courses and including beer) and I slept through most of it. But I woke to about 20m visibility and some very wet washing that I had put out to dry. After checking the forecast, wet for the next week, I decided to crack on anyway. I packed up all my wet gear and put my wet shoes on, and I got this strange sensation that my shoe was perhaps wetter than it should be. On closer inspection 2 slugs had made their own overnight shelter in my shoe and were now absorbed into my sock. Good morning.

Anyway, the warmth of human kindness soon took away any feeling of ill luck as a kind gentleman insisted on directing me personally in his car to the next town for which I was seeking directions. I felt obliged to absolutely motor as fast as I could behind him, perhaps the fastest and most tiring 10k of the trip so far.

Anyway, the wind was on my back all day, and I ate up the miles towards Monte Bianco, or Mont Blanc. Warm rain came and went and came again, but a great day's riding ended up in the quiet winter resort of La Thuile, and the kind campsite owner even gave me a €5 discount, possibly for looking rather drenched. As I removed my shoes to shower, I discovered some friends of the slugs in my other shoe! Remarkably tricky things to rinse out of socks too I might say! I may have to take the day off riding tomorrow just to solve that problem. And to rest 18 day tired legs. And to potentially avoid the worst of the oncoming down pour.

Ciao, and now, a bientot, James

Haute cuisine (don't know the Italian for that)

There's no ice cream like Italian ice cream from a Gelateria. I am trying to ration myself to 1 double scoop per day. Current favourites, limone, frescha, cafe, chocolato.

I am still living off random bread, cheese, meat, and occasional fruit / vegetable combos. Current favourite is ciabatta, gorgonzola, Napoli salami (a little like chorizo), capers (yes), and tomato. It's a wild mix of flavours, but it works - says the man who likes peanut butter and horseradish sandwiches.

Continuing the food theme I do not recommend indulging in a coke, 2 espressos, a banana and a peach, half way up a steep 1000m climb. Within about half a mile of restarting my heart was rushing at about 200bpm and I felt so light headed it felt good.

This is not a drink free trip. I have really enjoyed cold Croatian and now Italian beer at the end of the day, bit never more than 3. In the last few days I have also taken to drinking red Italian wine, from a carton! It's not too bad, bloody cheap and you can re-seal it. I'm sold.

On Italian cycling culture, banter, and being overtaken

Wow, I have just experienced the very heart of Italian cycling culture, I think. The Dolomites and the Groupo di Sella (group of saddles) in particular were rammed today (Saturday) with thousands of cyclists climbing and descending the various spectacular mountain passes in the area. Sometimes I like my cycling to be out in the (seeming) wilderness, all alone. Today I was happy to be a part of something quite Italian, and perhaps unique.

There was endless lycra and carbon on show. Most were riding as part of a team or club, out training in team colours, often with a support van waiting at the top of the pass for refueling and encouragement.

I think I got over excited by it all. After a 'journee sans' yesterday (a day without any energy) and only 60ks or so, I was fully rested this morning and feeling good as I hit the first climb. Within half a k, I was overtaken for the first of many times. (Since Dubrovnik I had only been overtaken twice before). Being a competitive chap, at the start I would hold onto the wheel as someone came past. But as I got used to it, I learned to hold my own pace. Instead I indulged in my usual gooning around and banter in such situations, trying to engage the overtaker with a simple 'ciao' or 'race you' or even 'can you carry my bags for me'. The language barrier seemed to get in the way and I mostly got a polite nod in response. I guess I was also breaking several of the unwritten rules of Italian cycling coolness, both with my attempted banter and 4 heavyweight panniers.

I have to say I love the fact that I am carrying an unknown handicap on these climbs. People always look at me a bit stangely, sometimes they say 'bravo' in recognition. As people pass I like to imagine they are calculating how much weight I am carrying, and whether my weight corrected effort is more or less. I know I do. Whereas everyone else is using pretty much the same equipment, and performance can be compared, with me and my weight handicap, no one can tell how well, or badly, I am doing. It is the perfect cloak of (performance) secrecy.

Special mention to Italian 'Raymond' who, at the end of a long day, without prompting from my ridiculous banter (too tired), overtook me, then slowed for me to sit on his wheel (in his slipstream) into a headwind for about 20ks. Bizarrely we conversed in German, a very poor alternative language for both of us. Now I am in Sud Tirol, I think I will be sprechening Deutsche a little more. German banter, now there's a challenge.

Great day overall. The Dolomites are spectacular, climbing has become fun, descending is a joy on perfectly surfaced switchbacks, my humour is making me laugh if no one else, and I've got more tomorrow...

Mit freundlichen gruchen, James

Zoncolan, La Portal Per L'Inferno

Today I rode the Monte Zoncolan with panniers, one, if not the, hardest climbs in the Giro d'Italia. I think it averages 15% for about 10km. Luckily I went down that side, and up the other. Still I climbed 1200m in 13km, and 500m of that was in the last 3.5km through ski fields. It felt, and actually was, like cycling up a black run.  Great fun, in rose tinted, beer stained, spectacles. Like riding in the wheel tracks of all the greats, with panniers.

Ciao, James

Slovenia big tick

What a day: 170 kms from sea level to 1200m and back to around 250m; 2 mountain passes; endless low Alpine valleys; a bar owner who loved cycling and whose cousin won the Race Across America 5 times; strong legs - no cramp; great food including lovely salty anchoivies on a pizza Romana; and now, free camping in Italy, albeit without a shower - it was getting dark, that's what I'll tell the Carabinieri.

I've really enjoyed my day in Slovenia - well about 6 hours of the day.  I'd like to return one day.

Ciao, James

Croatia, tick

Ok, I've just been stopped by a Croatian campsite security guard. I suspect he took me for a vagrant - not surprising given the evidence facing him: long beard; sat on the floor round the back of the laundry; plastic bags, maps, other paraphernalia strewn around me; bread crumbs all over my shirt, etc etc. I have now found a chair, cleared up a bit, and am now feeling a more 'legitimate' member of this campsite, if not yet society.

Today is my last day in Croatia. To celebrate, I am doing my laundry, writing this post and downsizing my travelling clobber. Despite trying to travel lighter than California, I ended up at much the same weight. After meeting a lovely Italian-Spanish couple on a tandem carrying less than me, and realising over the last 8 days that I was only using items from the upper 50% of my panniers, I am going to send some excess baggage home.

So what of Croatia? Well, it's hot, but then again so is the UK this week! Cycling in this heat however, over big hills (no mountains) has really been tricky. On one particular hill, I stopped near the top, feeling a little dizzy, and my heart didn't slow a beat for about 10 minutes. I guess my body was still trying desperately to cool down, like a fan on a car running on at the traffic lights on a hot day, but more scary.  Anyway, my body seems to be adjusting slowly to the heat, but suffice to say I am still sweating buckets, as anyone who has seen me exercise can well imagine. The good news is that fresh water is pretty plentiful and I am consuming more than 6 or 7 litres on the road each day. As for my drink to urine ratio.... enough.

Croatia is a pretty beautiful country. The landscape itself is pretty barren on the islands and coast, but the dramatic coastline, clear warm sea and plentiful historic buildings make it very attractive. By the way, I think I've been a little spoilt by the time I spent in the amazing variety of scenery of California.

The locals here are pretty friendly and relaxed, especially in the more off the beaten track places. I seem to have mastered the critical words, hello and thank you. Spending time with the Italians and Spanish however is throwing me, and there's even some German creeping in. I will pass into Slovenia and Italy tomorrow so I'll probably adopt French.

Swimming in the sea at the end of the day had been thoroughly fantastic. If you were a keen open water swimmer like my good friend Sonja (hi), you could do some serious island hopping. I just about make it out to the bouys and back.

Having spent a few days with a couple on a tandem I've noticed a lot of differences in the performance of the tandem couple vs solo, this could even turn into a metaphor for relationships, but that would require more thought than I have time for now.

By the way, cycling in my sunglasses is definitely faster. Well it was up until I stood on them. If ever I feel tired and need a boost I simply slip my glasses on. The lenses have the effect of making me feel about 2 foot taller on the bike, around 20% faster, and exactly 8% more hip (yes it is possible). I'm gonna start wearing binoculars strapped to my helmet for an even greater performance effect, and to help with he strange looks.

By the way, I don't think I was the most prepared cycle tourist for this trip. I managed to pack only 1 spare inner tube, and when I discovered it was the wrong size (26 inch) at my first puncture I threw it away - big mistake. The next day was a bank holiday (Croatia had 3 last week) and no shops were open so I had to plod on, running my old inner tube with about 5 old patches on it. I had about 3 glueless patches with me and a nice Dutch guy cycling to Beijing (respect) lent me a couple more. At 2pm the next day, my first puncture hit, and at 6pm I managed to get going again! The problem was the glueless patches couldn't deal with the heat, and were just melting, (both old and new), the Dutch guys patches turned out to require glue, and when I walked to a petrol station and bought some patches, the tube was literally perished. When the Italian-Spanish couple caught up they kindly lent me a spare 26 inch inner tube (with a slow puncture) which I damn well made to fit - oh the irony! It only took a beautiful campsite, sunset and ice cold beer to laugh about it.  Following the punctures, my loose rear hub that had been threatening to disintegrate itself (now fixed) paled into insignificance.

Some other random observations...

Crotian history is very complicated.

Beach culture is big, speedos are small.

I took a wrong turn yesterday and ended up in a different country.

I love putting olive oil and salt on my bread, to go with the obligatory European travel food, cheese, chorizo and tomato.

I am currently bleeding from a mossie bite!

Since starting this, I've done my laundry, downsized, sent parcel with 5kg excess pants to my mum (thanks), ridden through Slovenia (not quite all of it), arrived at a great little campsite north of Trieste in Italy, enjoyed a beer, eaten a feast, and yet again been eaten by mossies. Nothing changes...

Cheerio, James

Dubrovnik ahoy - destination Alpe d'Huez

West coast coastin this I not, but it's easier than a new blog site....

Lucky old me, I'm on my travels again.  This time I find myself in Croatia, destination Alpe d'Huez (and the Tour de France), via the Adriatic coast, northern Italy and the French Alps. 5 weeks I've got, and being typically unprepared I'm not too sure how many miles it is,  but it looks easily do-able once you've zoomed out sufficiently on Google maps.

I landed at Dubrovnik airport this morning after a horrendously early start.  No one waiting for me this time, so I had to spanner the bike back into one piece. As it has taken me 2 hours to take it apart and pack up yesterday at my mum's, I wasn't surpised it took me 2 hours to get ready. And off I finally pedalled...

Approaching Dubrovnik from a jolly distance, it looked picture book beautiful.  However, the rather touristy city centre was not what I needed with such bad jet lag (ok mild lack of sleep), and only 15 miles under my bely.

I got got back on the road, and immediately got lost. My 1:500000 Croatian map may helpfully make Slovenia look just round the corner, but that's not good if I keep going round in circles.

I met a nice group of cycle tiurists in Dubrovnik... going the other way as usual!   And once I managed to navigate my way out of Dubrovnik I met my old friend Mr H. Wind (a Northerner).

By now it was 2pm and looking at the thermometer in the string shop (for tying my tent to rocks in case of anticipated stony ground) I discovered it was 29C.  Not excessive but a lot warmer than the wet and windy June in the UK.  I felt slightly smug though as I drank water from one of my 3 bottles I have now, but that was short lived as a touch of sun stroke and lack of food made the 30 of so miles I did today seem like so much more.

Anyway, I found my campsite in Trsteno (not misspellt), pitched my tent, wandered round a rather random but lovely arboretum and then hit the beach.  They call it the beach but it was in fact a harbour with a series of concrete platforms surrounding it. Not too much sand in Croatia.

Dinner of about 25 squid, a mixed grill with 15 varieties of meat, chips, boiled cabbage and a pint was impossible to finish, and I swear the waitress chuckled when she took my order.

I lie here at 9pm ready for the advancing sleep to take a hold of me.  It's good to be back on the road.

Sierra Cascades Route - Lake Tahoe to Los Angeles

So after a week in Los Angeles (with Pete and Suzi)A, a week riding the Pacific Coast Route to Santa Cruz, 10 days riding, walking and hanging out with Lisa and Richard in Santa Cruz, and a lovely long weekend in Lake Tahoe, it was time to get back on my bike.

My aim was to get back to Los Angeles following the Sierra Cascades route developed by the Adventure Cycling Association. The aim of this route is to follow the highest route possible through the Sierra Nevada mountains.  As it was early spring and there had been 170% of normal snow over the winter, the route over Tioga Pass was not possible so the first part of the route from Lake Tahoe to Yosemite Valley was pretty much freestyle.  I chose to go over Carson's Pass on Route 88 as this was the only scenic highway available.  However, at 8,600ft it was still pretty challenging, very spectacular and quiet enough (the ski season now over).

For the record here is the first half of my route back to LA.

Day 1 - 48 miles from Tahoma (Lake Tahoe) to Nevada Beach Campground (A to B)

Day 2 - 40 miles to Grover Hot Springs Campground (B to C)

Day 3 - 82 miles to Indian Grinding Rock Campground via Carson's Pass (C to D)

Day 4 - 78 miles to Moccasin Point Campground (D to E)

Day 5 - 36 (+14 detour to shop) miles to Hodgdon Meadow Campground (E to F)

Day 6 - 27 miles to Yosemite Valley Camp 4 Campground (F to G)

View Larger Map

Arriving in Yosemite, stunned by its beauty, I decided to hang out there for a few days, recharge the batteries, do some washing, hike some waterfalls, and, as it turned out, avoid some bad weather.

Continuing my route, I was now back on the Sierra Cascades route proper.  This was truly an amazing route through lots of National Parks and National Forests, and skirting seemingly endless lakes.  The last day back through Los Angeles was pretty interesting, coming from chaparral country into a mega-city!

Here's the route for the record - the route through LA itself is only rough.

Day 7 - 54 miles from Yosemite Valley Camp 4 to Bass Lake Campground (A to B)

Day 8 - 62 miles to Pine Flat Campground (B to C)

Day 9 - 45 miles to Grant Grove Village Campground (C to D)

Day 10 - 60 miles to Horse Creak Campground, Lake Kaweah (D to E)

Day 11 - 56 miles to Camp Nelson Campground (E to F)

Day 12 - 58 miles to Kernville Lodge, Kernville (F to G)

Day 13 - 67 miles to Brite Lake Campground (G to H)

Day 13 - 78 miles to Monte Cristo Campground (H to I)

Day 14 - 82 miles to Shady Vista Road, Palos Verdes (I to J)

View Larger Map

Long Haul Trucker - 'Best Of'

Here are some pictures of my Surly Long Haul Trucker on its Californian adventure...
(Click on slideshow for better access to pictures in Picasa).

Home James

I was up nice and early on this, my last day on the road for a while.  For the last time the faithful roll mat was rolled away, the blow up pillow deflated, the warm sleeping bag stuffed down to about 1% of its normal size, and the old tent folded up and squeezed into the appropriate pannier. For the last 3 weeks I have been on the road, the longest stretch ever for me, and I am completely in the rhythm of touring.  For a messy devil like myself I have been surprisingly organised with my kit on this trip - everything has its place.  On my last day the packing is slightly easier.  I don't have to be quite so strict about separating the very dirty from just dirty clothes, and with food rations now completely depleted there was more space for casual packing.

After the incendiary map incident last night, and down to half a water bottle, I soon found myself in the middle of this dry mountainous scenery.



127 hours this was not however, and I soon bumped into a local forest ranger at a crucial junction. I don't think he'd ever been asked 'which way to LA?' before, but he pointed me down another quiet mountain road, and in another half hour I had popped into the LA metropolis, and the safety of liquid refreshment and WiFi!

All I needed to do now was get across to the south of LA from the north and I'd be done. Chevy Chase Drive was the best and funniest starting point, as memories of Caddy Shack came rolling back. The manicured driveways, security fences, gardeners and lack of random rusting old farm equipment was a stark contrast to the last few weeks.

Soon enough I had rolled into Hollywood and soon after that I wished I was elsewhere. Riding through Hollywood had seemed like a funny thing to do, but the reality was heaving with tourists, bad drivers, commercial tat and potholes. I hit Santa Monica Boulevard and headed for the safety of the bike path down the west coast.

LA is not a cycle friendly city by any stretch of the imagination, but every once in a while they have enough width in the road to fit in a psychopath, I mean cycle path...



And so I reached the Pacific coast again. With only 20 miles or so left to travel down the coast a celebratory burger, beer and people watch at Venice Beach was in order. Venice Beach is home to almost all of the LA eccentrics that aren't comfortable in in Hollywood. An hour spent here makes you feel incredibly normal, even if you've spent 3 weeks on a bicycle riding up and down mountains.

Fueled on ale, burger fat and excitement I whizzed along the beach side bike path until it came to an end. I paused for reflection, looking back across LA bay. Lake Tahoe was many hundreds of miles, and perhaps millions of pedal revolutions up the road now. It's amazing how a simple bicycle, the basic design of which is unchanged for over 100 years, can enable such endeavours by normal people like myself. Surely the bicycle is the best and most enduring invention of modern times?

20 minutes later, and half a mile from Pete and Suzi's house I was cursing the unchanged design of the bloody pneumatic tyre however - I'd picked up a puncture! Not to be defeated, or delayed, I continued up the steep road, approaching my destination on the rim (luckily it was a front puncture). I cycled up to the house, which didn't have a welcome banner on it strangely, and much to Suzi, Zara and Charlie's surprise I cycled through the French doors (open) and into the dining room! Suzi fetched a beer from then fridge, I jumped into the pool and my adventure through the High Sierra mountains was over.

Windy Miller

Well I survived last night's storm, just. It really hammered down for most of the night and the wind kept howling. I took the advantage of an early morning lull in the rain to pack up my wet tent, wrap up warm and hit the road.

I suppose the Tehachapi area is famous for its wind given the literally thousands of wind turbines on the hill. That wind blew me for most of the morning as I hammered towards Palmdale. Only when it turned into a cross wind did I slow. The Sierras are well and truly left behind now, and the landscape is now chaparall, much drier, but still high. It could be much warmer too but it's become unseasonably cold and wet for my visit.

Stopping in Palmdale for internet and directions for tomorrow's route through LA, I got a coffee, sandwich, lots of questions but no supplies. Idiot. I thought here would be one last shop on the route out of town. There wasn't and stupidly I didn't turn round. Instead I made a decision on my full stomach rather than the empty one I have now.

The final leg of the day was a long one up and over a mountain pass, dropping into a remote campground. Remote enough to have no water!

So I am on serious water rations tonight. I had 2 bottles to get me to the next water source in LA itself, and after my dinner, a small pack of noodles and a sip of water, I have 1 and a third. I have a few peanuts left over but am afraid to eat them as they make you thirsty, don't they?

Anyway, I had a pathetic attempt at making another fire tonight. Aided by meths from my cooker I had a good start but a lack of logs let me down. Just as the sun went down over the hill, the wind picked up drastically blowing down the mountain. As I chased my rubbish flying down the campground I didn't notice my map take off and land on the fire, not so pathetic now that it couldn't burn the relevant section of the waterproof, tearproof, but not fireproof map.

Here's to a still day tomorrow, with few hills to dehydrate on, and clear sign posts to LA in the middle of these last desolate mountains. Wishful thinking I guess. Should be fun.

Tehachapi Loop, di loop

Like some boyhood designed trainset, the Tehachapi Loop is a stunning piece of ingenuity and engineering. In the 1870s the railroad company needed a route through the mountains from Bakersfield. The problem was that the steam trains could only climb a 3% gradient maximum. Near to the town of Tehachapi (where I am hiding from a storm in my tent tonight) the valley was too steep. The solution? A 1/4 mile section of track that looped 360 degrees over itself. This was just enough to gain the 50 feet or so in height to allow the train enough puff to get up the hill. Brilliant.

I puffed and wheezed up a few hills too myself today. I've developed a bit of a bronchial fluid on my chest, which makes me sound like I've been smoking too many Woodbines. Don't worry, I am very brave, I'll be ok.

It was a day of 5 climbs culminating in the road alongside the Tehachapi Loop, by far the most interesting and enjoyable, aided as it was by a nice tail wind. As I climbed the road approaching the loop I heard the classic US train whistle as a train approached. I put the hammer down (OK I sped up a little) and found myself at a lookout point just as the massive goods train with 4 (yes 4) engines, entered the loop. What chance that, I asked myself, feeling like the 8th luckiest man alive that minute, as I got my pictures for the album. 15 minutes later as I continued my climb however, I heard a whistle from a train just behind entering the loop, perhaps it wasn't that rare after all. Anyway, it was a great sight, and apparently it took 3000 Chinese labourers 3 years to build.

My arrival in Tehachapi itself was swift on a rare tail wind. Then, just as the rain started falling, I realised I had overshot my campground, and had a 4 mile slog back into the teeth of the driving rain and wind. My reward for persistence, rather than curling up by the side of the road, crying, and dying of exposure, was to be greeted at the campground with hot (well more like warm) showers - a feat of engineering to rival the Tehachapi Loop in my book.

Campground heaven

Arrived today in Camp Nelson, in Sequoia National Forest (again). Beautiful spot right by a river and for the first night whilst on my own, I made a camp fire. And a good one too.

California is really blessed with campgrounds, most of the ones I have stayed at have been publicly run. You get your own pitch, picnic table, grill fire, and fire pit.  Most nights I have made use of the picnic table only, to lay out all my shite, and cook up noodles - I've been so tired and focused on bed.

Today I was tired too bit the beauty of my pitch, the abundance chopped wood, a half read newspaper, and temperature approaching freezing made the difference. It took all my cub scout skills with old leaves, small twigs, pine needles, and newspaper to get it going but it's roaring now.

Today was a cold and slighty wet start as overnight rain cleared. Then a lovely ride past citrus fruit farming land into a beautiful cattle valley - hopefully the pictures still capture the light.

As I started the inevitable first stiff climb of the day, I saw and got overtaken by another cyclist! Shock horror. He was in lycra, looked to be in a hurry, and continued for a mile ahead, about 1/4 of the total climb then headed back down. He was about the 6th cyclist I've seen in 2 weeks. Lycra clad riders rarely stop to speak.

First 2000 ft climb of  day completed, I rolled into a small town for fuel. No I've not attached a moped engine, it's what I've come to see food as.

Then came a wonderful 4000 ft climb up to Camp Nelson. The sun came out, the wind was at my back, the road surface was good, the club sandwich was burning well in my stomach and the road really interesting with switchbacks and little sharp inc lines. I really enjoyed it, and I find it really cool to see myself writing that. I've found a climbing mode and speed with all my gear that really suits me. Weird.

Anyway, as I await the sun to go down tonight I have the company of this literally roaring fire and gentle white noise of the river to enjoy. No need for ear plugs tonight.