An idea is born
The idea for an alpine snow biking trip came from a chance encounter at the Nottingham Climbing Centre. Rob worked as a guide in the Ecrin Alps and mentioned a high level cross country skiing route, a bit like the famous Haute Route from Zermatt to Chamonix, but obviously a lot softer. At the time I was looking at giving the Rovaniemi 100 a crack but when I started working out the real costs of going to Finland, and with no guarantee of making any of the timed cut off points, the idea of the alpine route starting to grow in strength. The decision was firmed up when Jim showed some interest, the mission was set, if not in stone at least in discarded beer bottles.
The prep
From that initial decision to the day of departure nothing really happened, apart from one small detail we could not avoid, we needed bikes. Snow bikes, fat bikes, adventure bikes what ever you want to call them, are niche in most countries and not the kind of thing you find on eBay. Fortunately both Ed Oxley and John Ross had returned from the Rovaniemi and were prepared to lend us their On One Fattys. Jim had already made a frame bag for John, and we knew we would get some hot tips from the guys.
We prepped the kit the Saturday before departure, Jim quickly knocked up a second frame bag and two cradles for the handle bar mounted dry bags whilst I scavenged Alpkit for anything that looked like it might be useful, down sleeping bags, torches, Nick’s snow shovel. The fact that our ferry had departed 9 hours earlier was something we would learn later.
The snow
If we discount yellow snow for a moment, there is a general consensus that snow is white, however that’s not all there is to it. The differences can be making slow progress at 1km hr, knee deep and busting your guts out, to a pleasant 20km / hr steaming over hard packed trail. The determining factors include time of season, recent snow fall, wind, what kind of traffic has passed on your route and time of day. Our tracks consisted of pisted cross country ski tracks, snow shoe tracks, unpisted tracks, melt water and tarmac. Some were more pleasant than others, and you learnt to read the differences, wether at night or in the full glare of the sun. I had expected snow mobile tracks to be good, but the grooved tracks just softened the surface of the snow. The subtleties of riding on different snow surfaces justifies a separate article to be sure.
The route
Considering the route was the basis for the whole trip, it was also the thing we knew least about. We had found some french blogs that mentioned it, even one great article about a family doing it with a polk and kid in tow! But in general there was not much info around. We were pretty sure where it started and where it finished so assumed when we arrived we would find at the very least a paper pamphlet or at best a guide book. We were wrong.
We took to asking locals at the end point in Nevache and at the start in St Veran. Some of the elders had heard of it, and we began to put together the pieces. Some crucial information was gleaned from a guide who just happened to be in Vallouise, who showed us where the route went over the Col du Bonhomme. We now felt better prepared.
Weather window day 1
Cutting straight to the action we were in France. There had been recent snowfall which we knew would be bad for the route, but sure did make things pretty. Our first port of call was ironically the end of our route. We had hoped to glean some information about the conditions of the route, and to find out where it went exactly. But no route map, even the name of the route was met with confused looks. We had come too far to give up now, so we called in at the ski shop in Vallouise where we knew there was an English speaking guy. Turns out he had sold up and it was now being run by a French family, but funnily enough had an english speaking girl called Anne, who just happened to know Paul Swail one of our sponsored climbers. Small world. Anne knew a little about the route as she had done some of it in summer by mountain bike. She really could not have been more helpful, getting information on the internet and giving us contact numbers. Our biggest break came from a Guide who happened to be in the shop, he showed us how the route traversed from Cervières to Claviere the section we were most concerned about. We now felt slightly better, we were piecing together the jigsaw, but we couldn’t dillydally as time was short.
Discounting travel time we had 5 days. Our research showed that 4-5 days is the norm on skis, longer on snow shoes. From our extensive knowledge of snow biking we estimated 2-3 on bikes. We also knew the weather was breaking, high winds and more snow forecast from mid week, so we had to get straight on it. By the time we got to St Veran we were both thinking ‘that is going to be a long ride back to get the van’. Sitting in the shadow of Mt Viso it is Europe’s highest village. It was already mid day and the sun was beating down, of course we were not aware of the consequences at the time. Coming from the UK we were sponging it up and more occupied with working out what kit to leave behind and how to attach the rest to our bikes.
As should now be clear, there were no big signs saying ‘travellers of the Haute Traces des Escartons start here’. In the first 5km we saw 2 small signs, and that my friends is as good as it got. In addition to our blue French maps we had 2 ski du fond maps, both at different scales and drawn from different perspectives that indicated at least a partial existence of our mythical trail. With this in hand we set off getting a feel for our bikes which considering what was on them felt light and agile. We felt smug, we had got here, got everything we needed on our bikes and we looked like we were going on an adventure.
The first few downhills were our proving ground. Everything was untested, anything that didn’t work now was going to plague us for the next few days. I lost my gloves within the first 1km.
Info: Tires
What tire pressure to run was our biggest unknown. Ed Oxley advised running them so that you could see a crease in the tire when riding. On the other hand Shaggy got two punctures on the Rovaniemi, one from the valve popping as the tube rotated within the tire, we decided to run them slightly higher countering the risk of puncture with slightly less traction but better rolling speed on the road sections and reduced risk of puncture. With just one spare inner tube between us this seemed sensible. The rear tyres had significantly less tread than the fronts. I don’t know enough geek to understand the differences, but it did feel like in the softer, slushier snow there would have been some benefit in a more aggressive rear. The bikes, even with no suspension, absorbed the bumps easily, it was like riding on a cushion of air.
Info: Gearing
We had no idea how the bikes were going to handle, but one thing we sure were happy about was the low gearing. Controlling power on a climb was super critical, and with such a variety of snow conditions the gears allowed us to fine tune that. The bikes were set up with 2 gears on the front and 9 on the rear. I would be lying if I said I used them all, a lot of the time I switched back in to a single-speed mentality. In the main I probably used the front small:large rear, front middle:large rear, front middle:middle rear. So something like a 10 speed could have been ideal.
Despite the perfect blue skies we made our first (and only) navigation error. Between the two similar but different piste maps Jim and myself had got our wires crossed, extracted completely the wrong information out of each other, put the two together and headed merrily up the wrong side of the valley. We were joined by a dog who seemed happy to be out for a walk and showed no signs of turning back, we wondered if he would be with us for the duration.
By the time we realised our error we were high on the flanks of the mountain side and looking down on the track we should be on. We had already been pushing for over an hour and not getting anywhere fast, so we took the difficult decision to retrace our steps. Our dog followed us faithfully to the point where he had joined us, he had energy without limit, and bounded off up a track until out of sight.
So it was just the two of us once more and we were back on route. But it was no easy ride, our hopes of fast, hard packed track were scuppered. The midday sun had melted the surface enough to make progress even on the most gentle of slopes a challenge. There really is nothing quite as frustrating as seeing a beautiful winding track stretching out in to the mountains and knowing you can’t ride it! We were duped in to believing our fat tyres would float over even the mushiest snow but alas, this is where it started to sink in how important snow conditions were, and how factors such as time of day should be key to any route strategy just as they are with any alpine activity.
At this point it may well sound like we hadn’t done any riding, but that isn’t entirely true. Truth is when we started we didn’t know what a snow bike trip would involve. If you go out for a weekend ride you might expect it to be 95% rideable, if you go bikepacking you might expect it to be 70% rideable because the challenge is broader, it is in the adventure. Before we came out my training consisted of some flat water kayaking in my Topolino – a short stubby kayak designed for bumping down rocky alpine rivers, it proved effective! Undeniably we had got off to a slow, late start, but justification for our mode of travel would come later.
A fast descent restored some belief in what we were doing. The distinctive hum of the fat tires on the pisted snow was a pleasure to behold. The crispness of the snow was transmitted up the fully rigid forks, along the carbon fibre bars and in to our bodies. Diving fast in to the corners the bikes would slide, the rear yelling to the front ‘give it up old timer i’m coming through’, this wasn’t biking, this was akin to snowboarding!
Ski track gave way to road and bewilderment. If you were on skis, which is the traditional way of following the route, what would be the mostly likely direction you would take? The main highway would certainly not be mine but we had fallen off the edge of our rudimentary ski map and the next point we knew for sure was through Chateau Queyras and up a long tarmac climb to Souliers. Even in the harshest of winters we could not imagine this being snowed over. With our options limited we took the road, the mountain voices whispered quietly.. are you sure about that, what if you are missing out on the true route, you won’t be able to say you did it!
Trying to stay on the snow we sought a route on the left of Le Guil running parallel to the road. This was fine until the track ran out and our expected bridge was no where to be seen. The choice was a 15 minute ride back up to the bridge, or an icy wade across Le Guil. Shoes off and trousers rolled up we ventured out one at a time in to the fast flowing knee deep torrent. The river bed was lined with a slippery green carpet, pleasing on the toes which for the first few minutes still had feeling. I went first so I could film Jim coming across and was instantly aware of the current tugging on the fat wheels. I twisted the bike to face upstream and the buoyancy in the tires encouraged the bike float. Guiding my floating steed safely across I could warm my feet in the fading sun and enjoy watching Jim go through the same experience, this was turning out to be quite the adventure.
The climb which followed was steady, a twisting tarmac road, our soft tires scrunched eagerly in to the gravel deposited along its sides. We paced ourselves slowly but surely regaining all the height we had so enjoyably lost.
Reaching the highpoint was a relief, it had been tedious, but by now we knew we were not going to be back to the pub for last orders. This is the point at which an air of serenity usually kicks in, it’s not that all hope has been exhausted, it’s just that you have committed 100% to the task. We could now look forward to more pisted track and the contour lines promised enjoyable riding. And so it was, this was exactly the kind of riding we had been hoping for. We ran to the side of the ski du fond tracks where lowly snowshoers are resigned to tread. Hidden all day from the sun the surface was hard packed and the tires grasped at the surface like a dream. The riding was smooth, the sun set behind the jutting profile of Mt Viso close to the point at which we had started that afternoon. This was reward for the effort we had put in thus far. Stopping for a snack at a view point we tried to park up our bikes in the handy bike stands but they were far too thin for our oversized tyres, and then we were heading down to La Chalp for tea.
Although we were carrying full bivvy kit and food to last us the journey, we had every intention of using the local facilities where convenient. Pulling in to the restaurant, it felt like we were tying up our horses outside the last chance saloon. We wandered in to turning heads, and ordered a whiskey.. well two cokes and a couple of lasagnes, the locals were friendly in these parts.
We were now at the foot of the climb up the Col d’Izoard the highest point in our journey, and a climb on the radar of most enthusiastic cyclists. It was something we were both looking forward to and marked an important psychological point. Conditions were good, so we decided to press on in the faint moonlight. We knew we could climb if the snow was crisp and cold, if we left it until the morning we might be pushing. Counting the switchbacks we slowly climbed higher, each turn giving us a different view of the valley lights below. High on a hillside a piste basher went about its nights work. We played around with our lights, white, green and red were our options. Green was just sufficient to be able to pick out the ruts on the surface but I had a silly excuse for a light and wished I had brought my Gamma. We stopped 3/4 of the way up and Jim dug out a bivvy, Jim always digs the hole, it’s his thing. We had hoped there might have been some kind of shelter but it wasn’t to be. Fully fuelled we didn’t have to mess around with stoves, so as soon as the tarp was stretched over our pit we were sound asleep.
Mechanical disadvantage – day 2
Breakfast consisted of hot soup, it was as delicious and watery as a breakfast needs to be in the winter mountains. We loaded the bikes as two skiers skinned past. By two switch backs we had passed them proving that our choice of transport was not, in the right conditions, totally inappropriate. High spirits were gashed by a gate barring our path, ‘Danger of avalanches’. The mountain sides rose up steeper here, their topographies channeling their potential energies into a single point. We proceeded with caution, the weather had been stable, there were no signs of recent snow slips and as we were still riding we were soon through the danger zone and climbing the final switch backs, catching another group of excursionists at the col. They must have made an early start.
A dark monument crowned the Izoard standing tall in contrast to the buildings sunken below the snow pack. There were also people in abundance, a novelty for us after a day riding. They had come up from the refuge on the northern side, a popular ski tour but we were the only ones on bikes. It was now time to get back in to downhill mode, Jim went first making the most of the smooth run to reach speeds a recreational skier would be happy with, but still couldn’t resist stopping in the refuge for a hot chocolate!
The descent from the col was fast and exciting. The switch backs through the trees were new terrain for us. There is no doubt that downhill snowbiking has great appeal however I doubt it would mix well with skiing. Although the fat tires float relatively well on the surface there is no doubt they cut in on the corners. If the sport takes off I can see dedicated cross country runs in the ski centres, but if the tracks are unpisted I can’t see many people attracted to hours of pushing their bikes as a leisure pursuit. Our average speed of 4km/hr had taken a much needed boost and it was with high spirits we joined the snowshoe track descent to Cervières. It was then that a distressing clunk emanated from Jim’s bike. The only sound that could have been more terrifying at this point would have been the thunderclap of an avalanche. Jumping to action the bike was upended revealing his rear brake pad to be worn down resulting in its retaining spring getting caught in the mechanism and bent out of form.
Info: Poggies
At first I was undecided. They looked cumbersome, something that would just add weight and would get in the way. I could not have been more wrong. Poggies are insulated mittens that go over your handlebar grips and brakes. Our poggies turned out to be a revelation And we ended up riding most of the route without wearing gloves. The integral pockets were great for keeping the little things like compass or sweets close to hand. They didn’t interfere with the ride at all, and I would definitely consider using them in the UK.
We limped back to the local bar to consider our options. Continuing on with one brake would not be ideal. We hadn’t imagined the ride would be so demanding on the brakes and putting added pressure on the one remaining mechanism may have caused it to fail also. The custodian kept a set of pliers by the till, presumably it was temperamental, but despite bending the spring back in to shape the situation was terminal, we needed to get down to Briancon. There were no buses, so it wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly, it would most likely be the end of our challenge.
Info: Spotted
Another piece of kit we were carrying was a SPOT tracker. I had used this a few times, yes it is sold as an emergency device, but I knew that being able to track our progress was a great source of entertainment to those at home interested in our journey. I knew my dad would be following with great interest, double guessing where we would be heading, and it was just nice to know that in some small way others would be sharing our ride.
Locating a bike shop in Briancon proved more difficult than expected, apparently we were out of season. A text to Nick back in Alpkit got him on the internet and his reply sent us to a shop that appeared to be in liquidation. We called Anne in Vallouise who sent us to another, which proved to be the first with a different name, but was now open! We were back in the game.
But it was raining, we called Rob and he confirmed the weather was worsening, so we decided to call it quits, cycle down to stay with Rob in L’Argentierre and retrieve the van. It was a bit demoralising, but the right thing to do. Rob kindly offered to give us a lift back to the van, at 30 miles and 700 metres of ascent it would have been a long ride or an expensive taxi trip.
Back on track – day 3
The following day was not as bad as expected. We decided to head back up to Cervières, load the bikes and head along the valley. If the track over the col looked ok we would take it. The wind was blowing, but it wasn’t snowing, or worst raining. The whole environment felt much more hostile than we had experienced up till now but we were revelling in the ‘out there’ feeling. The trail was also riding well so at the point we had to make our decision we headed up. It wasn’t pisted, we couldn’t ride it, but at least we weren’t sinking in to our knees. Pushing on seemed like a good idea and the full route was still on.
The route was way marked with bright orange poles. Just below the surface we could feel the remains of what must have been a pisted track. With the accumulation of wind blown snow a thin crust had developed, not enough to support our weight, but just enough for a bike to stay up and use as a flotation device. Jim faired slightly worst sinking in further than me, and the higher we got the softer it got.
We got to that point when going down would be just as difficult as going up, the point of no return if I were to over dramatise it. Conditions were also deteriorating, as the bright orange poles came in and out of cloud cover we started leap frogging, taking bearings when the cloud cleared briefly, wondering what difference the large air bubble in the compass housing was making to our readings. The crest was now beneath our feet and we approached a disused building for shelter. There was something about the topography that didn’t quite fit. And curiously the scale on the italian side of the map appeared to be different. If you think the French side was drawn with precision Rotring drafting pens the Italian side was drawn with Crayola crayons. Not way out, but the consequences of descending a snowy slope, and having to retrace our steps was unappealing. A brief clearance showed we had climbed too high along the ridge, but at least we could easily get back on track.
The descent was slow, but not as slow as the ascent. On the lee side of the ridge snow had accumulated in the bowl, and although we appeared to be following a snowshoe track, we were forging our our own trail. Some ski buildings began to appear as the light was fading, this would be so fast if we could only ride! An Italian flag appeared over a rifugio where warm faced clients tucked in to their food. We resisted for fear of not being able to leave and pushed on to what we hoped would be easier going on the road.
Although less steep, and less deep the going was still out of the saddle. The snow was soft on the forest track, and the only evidence of people passing was the parallel tracks of a cross country skier. It had been a long hard day, and energy levels were now depleted, we needed rest and something to eat. We continued until the steep wooded banks flattened out slightly. Jim started to dig out a bivvy spot, it’s his thing, as I got dinner sorted. The snow here was wet and didn’t take to packing down well, its large crystals rolling around like marbles. We stretched the tarp over the top and buried the ends in with sticks. There was no way pegs would hold. Job done, although I had my doubts it would support a heavy load of snow should it continue snowing through the night.
Escorted off the mountain – day 4
The groaning tarp signalled it was time to get moving. I went first, trying not to dislodge its full contents on to Jim. It had continued to snow overnight, our tracks had been covered in and replaced by the parallel lines of an early morning skier, the bikes propped up in the deep snow were heavily plastered in fresh snowfall. Our precision made stove lit like a faulty bunsen burner, we had got water in to the jets, so breakfast was skipped. After a few hundred yards we came across the village of Sagna Longa, abandoned in the winter some of its houses large porches would have made a luxurious bivvy. The infrastructure of the Claviere ski area started to impose itself, and we were soon stood outside a bar and the promise of breakfast.
It could have been the best OJ I had tasted, so good a second was called for. Out little coffee house on the edge of the ski slope was a welcome stop after the previous nights bivvy. A policeman stopped by for his morning coffee, he played it cool but he had obviously seen our bikes. We played it cool as well, because we knew he had seen our bikes, and he had to be thinking where this fitted in to the narrow laws of the slope.
This was the one place where we were most likely to come in to direct contact with skiers, the descent down to Claviere was unclear, maybe there was a cross country run, but as we got chatting to the policeman it was clear we could not avoid going down the piste, and on bikes we were certainly not going to blend in. He offered to meet us at the next station and escort us off the mountain. His advice was sound and it seemed wise to accept!
He wasn’t joking either. The route went directly down a blue run, and although we were trying our best to stay to one side we would inevitably end up in the middle coming out of a wide corner. Wiping out in front of the cop with his blue flashing light would not have been cool, but we also didn’t want to go slow and look incompetent. He was a good guy.
From Claviere we passed back into France, following the road for a short while before dropping down onto the walkers track to the side of the ski du fond piste. Rolling into the bustle of Montgenvere we stopping for a sandwich and a beer. The sun beamed down, it was the first sun we had seen in a couple of days and it felt so good to soak it up. The bikes, propped up on the pavement raised some interest, just as they had done the entire journey. We tried our best in our non existent French to explain what they were, and what we were doing. There were a lot of smiles.
The next stage promised to be fun descent through the forest to the valley floor. Pisted track soon gave way to unpisted track and we struggled to find the compacted snow. Veering to one side the front tyre would plunge down, followed by a foot out to the side and over you would go. It was frustrating, we were still peddling a lot more than we hoped we would have to on this gradient, but also a lot of fun when you got a good run.
We caught up with the sun as we wheeled in to Val Claree. It was hot as we circumnavigated the melting ski du fond loop, expecting to get a bollocking from the guy in the hut. In fact what we got was an invitation to a cup of tea and we told him of our adventure. He had a go on the bikes and seemed impressed.
Info: The tracks
One thing we had been weary of for the entire trip was cycling on the pisted tracks. Most have some form of shared use, snowshoeing and ski du fond. Where possible we would take the former, and in many cases it gave us the firmest surface to ride on. Our tea drinking piste guardians view was because it was so late in the season it should not be an issue as long as we rode responsibly and avoided the parallel ski tracks.
To ride the trip out it was now just a case of following the valley to Nevache. In our heads this section was flat, but as we found out by the amount of freewheeling we did on our return it was anything but. The track was good, and if it had been colder would had ridden well. We were also tired, it had been an easier day than the previous but legs were now tired and the pain killers that were keeping Jim’s knee going were running out. The final stretches of forest were beautiful and quiet. A skier occasionally passed going in the opposite direction, there was no conflict just a real interest in what we were doing. Those fat tires were quite a conversation starter.
The village was now insight, we had put behind us 100km of mixed terrain and had got an adventure out of it. For us it was a step in to the unknown, ok we were not 100km from the nearest homestead but we proved you can have an adventure closer to home.
We were, as we had feared, too late for the cauldron of van chaud. The local bar, played host to our celebrations, a solitary beer each as we worked out just how to get back to the van still high up the mountain.
Alpsun
On the final night of our trip we stayed with our friend Helen Laudon of AlpSun. We put on an impromptu slideshow, described the route finding issues and how we were unsure if we had missed out a section which is when she pulled out the official pamphlet! Oh Helen, if we had only have asked you beforehand! The bonus was it confirmed that we had done the full route, which on skis involves a sneaky transfer by car.
Info: Packing it in
We pretty much knew how we were going to carry our kit, just as we did for summer bikepacking trips.. A frame bag occupying the triangle of the frame, by now a tried and tested method where we would put food and cooking equipment and maps. A dry bag lashed to the handle bars, but slightly larger than we would use in summer to hold the larger sleeping bag bivvy bag, tarp and sleeping mat. A small tank bag sat on top of the frame to hold snacks for the day. The only thing we didn’t have in our range was a saddle bag to hold spare clothing and other items of convenience. I bodged mine using our DIY technique, which wasn’t really satisfactory and ended up cramming more in to the handle bar bag, while Jim wore a rucksack. We were both carrying SLR cameras, jim in his pack, me in a case around me waist. The flexibility of the drybags came in to their own over the push over col, where we could easily unmount them and turn them in to simple rucksacks.