Day Six

The Italian like their hairpins. Stupid way to put it! I mean they like their ramps/switchbacks. The Colle de Tende is reached by the busy E74. For that reason we'd taken the train as far as Limone the previous night. But we had no choice but to use the E74 today. There is a handy supermercado in the town for stocking up with carbs before you get going.

Just north out of Limone Piemonte are a set of Stelvio-style ramps. As with the Stelvio, there is a steep ramp then a flat reverse, each built up with neat brickwork, then another steep ramp followed by a flat reverse etc. This set took us up to a valley, at the end of which is the tunnel through the mountain to France. Cyclists have to take the road that doubles back on the right, beyond the lights. Once up and away, there is very little traffic on this road; the reason for the absence of cars is a clue to why this Col isn't widely used by cyclists...

This is a beautiful ride on a narrow road up through tiny ski resorts. As with the Izoard, the pass could be seen from miles below. The valley is incredibly quiet - though that may have something to do with it being a Monday and the motor-bikers were back at work.

The Nevesol bar/café just after Panice Soprana has fantastic cappuccino and a water fountain. There are a few steep hairpins, verging on 12%, to negotiate here and there so although its summit is just 1887, Colle de Tende is no walk in the park. Once at the top, there is a large café but no real indication that you are at the top. But the reason for the sparse traffic is abundantly clear: the road turns into a bumpy gravel strewn, pot-holed track. We went off around to the eerie derelict Fort Central above the café in search of the summit and in doing so we were cycling along the border. We came down from the fort to find the EU flag and the job ahead of us: the rough track sped down a very steep mountain - with hairpins just like any other col. - 49 in fact - one more than the Stelvio. But, first up we had a landslide to get over.

The journey down was cautious with tough bike handling to avoid all manner of pratfalls. I compared the palava to that of dressage with horses but without the fancy hat. Stones were flying out from beneath the tyres with a strange rubbery sound; the wheels were shuddering and clunking and jumping on the rocky surface. My fancy-dan wheels! There is no way you could take a road bike down here. The touring bikes were not at home either. This would be fantastic for fat wheels and mountain bikes - none of which we saw. In fact, we were the only people on the French side of the Col.

 

Once off the gravel, the road is not more than a wide path, albeit paved with coarse aggregate.

 

This took us down to the smooth tarmac of the tunnel road, the D6204. We had to wait while the traffic that had queued for the single lane tunnel passed us on their way to the hole in the wall and Italy. This is a great bonus for cyclists going in either direction as you have twenty or so minutes of absolutely nothing coming at you from behind: the road is yours - at least the right hand side is. This is h=just as well as there are is a hairy tunnel or two.

 

Eventually we got to Tende where we stopped for pizza opposite the freshwater drinks fountain. Great food but much dearer than Italy.
Towards Briel sur Roya, a handsome looking river with deep blue pools, we took a right to head up what we thought was a walk in the park kind of col, being only 854m, but it was just as much of a monster as any other at this very hot time of day and having already done some hard climbing in the morning. It topped out at 11-12% to boot. The Col de Brouis was, yet again, a beautiful ride through green forested valleys and it was our last of the trip - our sixth.
What goes up must come down and the descent into Sospel was fantastic. My superb Canon A2500 battery wasn't having anymore of our shenanigans and called it a day. D got ahead, as always, and was waiting on a bench with an ice cold Orangina.

Sospel is an eyeful to behold and tonight it was gearing up for its eve of Bastille Day celebrations. First up we nipped into Spar for the usuals and cycled the 200m to the municipal campsite by the sports ground. Nice little place with good facilities and hook ups that the guvnor didn't mind us shoving our various devices into for recharging.



















Spruced up and our stomachs appeased, we went into town to enjoy the brass band and a firework display and a great vibe of families having a night out. We don't have anything like Bastille Day - I guess that is because we didn't have a revolution.