Trans Provence
Photo's Andreas Hestler
Day 6 - St-Dalmas-Valdeblore to Sospel 47.80 km’s
1430 meters UP
3358 meters DOWN
As I sit here in the courtyard of an old villa in Provence, the South of France and attempt to sum up the days events, it all seems so surreal. I know that this lack of mental clarity is one of the mystifying effects of multi-day events, but it’s happening again and I love it.
The last two days have really been the icing on the cake, everything I thought Provence would be and the Trans aspect of it has come to pass. I awoke before light this morning and a little before the kitchen staff kicked into full gear, the sun crept slowly over the hills and finally dropped it’s first light onto our humble camp. Camp located on the side of a hill maybe 4000 feet up from the river bottom below. Between the hedges and the beautifully laid out small vineyard were two long tables, our breakfast tables. Eating outside with a 1000 mile view over the brim of my coffee mug – not bad, and what did I have to look forward to for the rest of the day; a steady diet of alpine trail, singletrack and amazing views.
Day six would be laid out a little bit differently than the other days. Our shuttle would commence at the mid point of the day and because we had been lifted to our high altitude camp the previous night we would head straight out onto course.
It was a chilly climb along the paved road, through the unknown sleepy village and up towards the Col, but we eventually gained some warmth. The last group to leave the camp, the group I was ascending with were not in a hurry and this suited me fine. Eventually we reached the end of the road and we began an awesome singletrack climb, challenging but not too technical a true joy. Another 30 minutes brought us to the alpine, where we caught Weir and Sven shooting some pictures with Anka and Tracey. The scenery was 360 degrees of beauty, with trails branching off in all directions; we were awestruck and spellbound for more than a few magical moments. Following the big climb a large group formed up for the alpine traverse, though we all rode our own pace it would seem that there is a unifying sense of time to a group in the mountains. It would be nearly another hour before we hit SP 1 and SP 2, they were in truth one big DH broken into two sections. Sven managed to snag his rear derailleur on a rock and so we hunkered down to fix it amid the alpine thistles and long, late summer grass turned yellow.
Once onto SP1 it was pure bliss, trail ripping goodness and a bit of Mach Schnell. My hands and feet were numb, my mind was aching with the intensity of focus and that was only part one. SP2 would take us the rest of the way down into the valley to our lunch and to our shuttle.
Over lunch every one discussed the nature of the trail; the blocky square rocks and huge potential for tire problems. It was agreed that as we neared Nice the final two days would increase dramatically in rocky roughness, not to mention the ever-present ‘exposure’ as we ripped big pedaling singletrack around the side of the mountain. There were a few bumps and bruises at lunch, some bikes were a little worse for wear but in general half way through day six people’s spirits were high.
Riding like a tourist then ripping trail like a madman in pursuit of his lost marbles was beginning to take it’s toll. Everyone was fatigued and we discussed the particular aspect of getting ones energy up for a potentially gnarly special section and then relaxing back to ooh’s and ahh’s. The tachometer was all over the map nobody had done any type of event like this before, and definitely not this long.
Waking up after a nice lunch in a sun drenched shuttle it was hard to get going again, but the trails called and we had two more special sections to complete for the day. SP3 dropped into a forest and was described as ‘your favorite flow trail at home, but moved to the maritime Alps’. Not wrong at all this was everyone’s favorite, just a smooth burn through the woods, with plenty of dirt, leaves and loam under the tires, exhilarating to say the least.
Somewhere near the end of each day something changed, there was a sense of hurry, but no impetuous behind it. Like we were supposed to conclude something while in fact all the necessities were taken care of or would be but we weren’t ready for this day to end. We had been on our bikes for nearly 6.5 hours and the sun was shining, what else could possibly be more important?
The final special stage of the day, the ‘Rock Garden’ was gospelled to be heinous, un-rythmic and would favour only a lucky few - all the rest would feel the bite of the sharp, jagged rocks that littered the course. It was a love-hate section for sure, technical and gnarly this challenged me and I enjoyed it, but Matt Ryan usually a positive guy, was full of venom and hate for the last special (SP) of day six.
The ride out along the river was itself challenging and beautiful. A short jaunt up the road took us to our campsite where we found warm showers, a nice swimming pool and few cold beers. One more day and the TP would be coming to an end, my head is already fuzzy with the mega-infusion of awesome memories and images – good times on the bike, once again and great people to share it with. I’m glad I have a camera and some pictures to help document and remember all this for the future.
Day 7, and on the 8th Day- Monaco
I can’t believe we have made it this far and seen so much along the way. The crew has been awesome, my experience on and off the bike has been stellar and now it’s coming to a close. Well, every great adventure must end, but we don’t have to be happy about it, do we?
Some things I would like to explain- Each Special Section has a small box about the size of a walkman attached by a short piece of rope to a tree or a rock, this is what one must swipe their personal chip across, to start the time and to finish the time. The finish is extra fun because invariably one is cooking down a trail trying to make some precious seconds and there is a TP staff member with the unit in hand. While the timing chip on our bodies is located on a lanyard around our necks or attached to our Dakine bags (opposite shoulder to the spigot) we racers come screeching to a halt in a strange fashion thrusting our chests out and wiggling about hoping to get ‘swiped’ as quickly as possible, quite a comedy really, and quit a few near collisions.All week we have been cruising about the mountains, hammering sections of trail, then liaising to the next hammer section. The battle at the front has been fierce; Nico, Fabien, Jerome, Weir, Matt Ryan and Beaumont – but within each race section and each day we find small tete at tete’s shaping up or more to the point rooster scratching, posturing and name calling. What I have noticed is the different types of terrain change who one matches skill against. I am terrible at high speed and fast, but do ‘ok’ in the techy forested sections or the sections with some up. When I am pointed down I match up very well with Stephen Jones aka Jonesy, when pointed up with Matt Ryan and in between Ian, James, Tracey, Anka and sometimes Sven. Invariably there is a competition, but it changes day to day and it truly forces us to look at our own strengths and weakness as a rider.
Then there is the timing of the departure. Does the code, the ‘man’ code dictate that you shouldn’t follow lines or drop in right behind your closest competitor slash buddy. I say poppy cock (Euro euphemism for BS), my best runs were simulations of ripping trail at home or basically dropping in behind good buddy and slashing the trail together. It’s all new territory for us; this enduro thing is so new that rules don’t really exist. This week it was rumoured that the UCI would be adding Enduro to the World Cup circuit, but what style and what format. Some people are great at ITT (individual Time Trial, like DH) and others need the mass start for motivation, I fall in the later, I like to chase and need a rabbit to hound after for best results. At any rate I truly felt like a different racer on day 7, my head was in the game, my face and teeth were beginning to look and feel like Mark Weir – a full grill, stomping the trail into oblivion, torturing my cranks with focused aggression, you know what I mean.
We had two awesome runs on this the last day, the second coming within spitting distance of the legendary World Cup Cap Die course. I started to put together the significance of the area, the terrain and the local riders – Nico and Fabien, multiple world champion each and I finally figured it out; Monaco isn’t for casino goers or James Bond fans it is in fact the hub of French downhill power.
The last few kilometers took us winding down staircases and narrow alleys between streets and beside residences all on a mission to the beach. We were navigating our selves through the maze of Monaco/ Monte Carlo trying to find the official finish. A motely crew of Media, Sweep, Guides and Riders finally hooked up with the rest of the event all on a pier jutting out into the Mediterranean. Could you imagine a better finish, could you imagine a more elated crowd than this one? We had journeyed far in a fashion never done before, and like a pioneer it felt good to be one of the first.
My first swim in the Med, followed by an awesome banquet at our base camp overlooking the night lights of Monaco- sooo sweet. Emotions ran high and the champagne flowed, but there weren’t any unexpected changes to the GC. Some of the grudge matches had closed in on a definitive winner and it’s all on paper for everyone to see, so until next year – what is written is the final truth, until it can be re-written – in late september at the Trans Provence 2012 – See you there.
Cheers Dre
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