Blog

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.

The tailgate of the Burniewagon eased itself open against the soft hiss of the gas springs and the new Boardman 650b floated out on a fluffy cloud of pride. It was a million times lighter than his previous steed, and damn was it clean. Steve was super keen to be involved in this years Welsh Ride Thing.

Steve had done ‘cycle touring’ but was fresh to multi-day off-road bikepacking. He needed luggage and we had it. Before he had a chance to strip down to his base layer Jim and myself had fitted him out with a full set of Alpkit bike luggage. Not a sniff of a pannier in sight he was clearly impressed, which was a good distraction because none of us had planned the ride.

The maps had arrived on Friday morning, my bad for not being organised, and we didn’t get around to looking at them until Friday night in Newtown chippy. We were starving so the maps didn’t get that much attention then either. We didn’t have the most efficient route plotted out but at least we would be at the start line with enough stuff for a mini expedition.

There was the usual faff Saturday morning but that was ok, it is never an early start and why should it be? The Grand Depart couldn’t happen until the bikes were weighed which probably just stimulated further faffing.

Jim and myself were riding Genesis Caribou fat bikes and we were going slow and comfortable, lots of luggage space meant we didn’t have to cut everything to the bare bones. Having gears was a new experience for me on the WRT, fortunately it was geared 1/10, even I could get my head around that.

The tyres gave great traction on the gravely climbs and floated over the tusky grasses where Steve was obviously having a tougher time of it. It was also noticeable just how much speed and momentum they generated on the downhills. Even though they were fully rigid the bulbous tyres soaked up the bumps with glee.

The campsite provided us with a few comforts including a log fire made from a recycled washing machine drum. It looked terrific but most of the heat went straight up into outer space. We downed our beers and looked at the stars.

By morning we were still in the same place. Steve had brought along a full on spare chain, unfortunately no chain tool!

I am just back after completing my link up of the 3 Peak District Killers: Lord of the Loops, Bleaklow Loop and Killer Loop to give a 230km ride with 5400m of ascent. I made a tentative attempt last November but only managed to complete Lord of the Loops in a time 2 hours slower than when I did it with Col so I am really chuffed to have gone all the way.

Starting out with a full day of light definitely helped and the ground was dry. The night was clear with a beautiful moon, cold as well and I really regretted not taking full gloves with me. I was counting on sun to warm me in the morning but it remained overcast and it took me an age to warm up. On my feet I had the 45NRTH boots Col had bought me for Christmas. These worked really well although my feet did get a bit chilly overnight due to my sweaty socks.

Riding my El Mariachi 29er I switched from a 34/20 to a 32/20 ratio making the hills a lot more ridable… well most of them! My actual route took in the full course of Lord of the Loops starting and finishing from Castleton. From here I then rode the first half of Killer Loop to the Hagg Farm junction and joined the Bleaklow Loop. I continued all the way around to join Killer Loop back at Hagg Farm and followed its second half back to Castleton.

All in all a 25 hour, 230km trip taking in 5400 metres of ascent. Download the GPX file. There sure are a lot of hills in the Peak District!

Lord of the Loops, Killer Loop and Bleaklow Loop are all featured in Vertebrate Publishing’s Peak District Mountain Biking – Dark Peak Trails guidebook.

4.30 AM is not unusual for an Alpine Start however hanging around in a cemetery car park felt a bit strange.

I had arrived first and there was not a living soul in sight.. I waited 10 minutes.. nothing, maybe I was the wrong side of the cemetery, or even worse at the wrong cemetery! I drove around to the other car park, no one there either so I returned back to the first car park. In the space of 5 minutes a bus had arrived and 54 people had appeared from no where and were eagerly loading their skis in to the hold. Fortunately they had left some space for the only snowboarder on the trip, and it was goodbye Lecco and hello Chamonix.

The bustle of the Aiguille du Midi téléphérique was efficiently navigated under the direction of Joel and our Alpine Guide Marco, before I knew it my number was up and I was being swept up to 3800 metres with the promise of sun, glorious views and wide open slopes.

I had already descended the Vallée Blanche from Point Helbronner on the Italian side but the Aiguille du Midi was altogether a different experience. There are big drops right from the start, we saw some guys abseiling down the gully below the bridge and others jumping from helicopters circling above. A little surreal but once this had been taken in, the first challenge was to descend the knife edge ridge to the shoulder. The téléphérique guys put up ropes to help you descend, but still it is a bit of an exposure shock. On a busy day you will be in a queue, there will be people descending in slippery ski boots, some with skis in their hands, some attached to their guides by ropes. The prudent will have crampons with them!

The weather was perfect, Marco had planned it well and below there was 25km and 2700m of descent waiting for us! Away from the Aig. du Midi the crowds get swallowed up by the immensity of the massif. Even our group of 55 soon split in to sub groups, bumping in to each other, stopping to take in the views and strip off clothing on the way down.

And so we swooshed under Mont Blanc du Tacul, hung a wide turn left around the Gros Rognan and motored down the Glacier de Géant. A picnic on the Salle à Manger plateau beckoned but the Requin icefall stood between us and it. It is a little steeper here, and with a few more crevasses opening their hungry mouths I was rather keen to get to lunch rather than to become lunch.

From the plateau we watched other parties descend the icefall, soaked up the atmosphere, took photos, made a snowman which the birds took as a bird table and got tucked in to our picnics. A full stomach was crucial to build enough momentum to glide across the Mer de Glace, the largest glacier in France with just enough slope for a snowboarder to make it through unassisted.. much to the surprise of my non believing skiing companions.

I felt pretty smug but the end of the descent holds a little surprise. First of all you have to fall off the end of glacier, a short steep icy section leading to a slope which you must ascend on foot to the refreshments kiosk. Yup, it’s just got a little surreal again. Here you can get a beer and enjoy a good view of what remains of the Dru. The giant ghiro otherwise known as Jason would still be there now if we hadn’t of woken him up from his slumber.

The story should end here, it had been a great day out and we were sitting in the sun by a bar, but Chamonix is still hundreds of metres below. The descent can be a bit hit and miss, the path is narrow and if it has not snowed in a while it can be icy, littered with stones, and can have whole sections where you are obliged to walk. After the thrill of the glacier it is a bit of a chore.

The board has a few more dings but nothing that can’t be patched up. We all arrived safely and celebrated in suitable style with a glass of fizz. A small slideshow of the descent can be found here, and Jon Griffith has written an excellent recount of a moon lit descent of the valley over at UKC

Digging deeper into the world of extended rides there was one route in particular that whooped back ‘hey look at me!’ Tracing a line along the very spine of England the Pennine Bridleway had my number and it had me on speed dial.. my days out were about to get substantially longer.

The Pennine Bridleway (PBW) is a variation on the better know Pennine Way (PW) and takes a route that is cool with bikes and horses. Ticking the route on a horse sounded romantic but it would take forever and involve so much complicated logistics. I was sticking to my bike.

The challenge of the time appeared to be the Pennine Bridleway double, that is starting at its southern end, riding north and then returning back south to where you started. 193 miles with about 7,700 metres of ascent. At first it was really confusing because the northern point of the PBW was just north of Hebden Bridge when everyone knows the PW ends on the Scottish border at Kirk Yetholm.

It turns out there was a northern section to the PBW that was still in development, so for now the recognised challenge was the southern section from Middleton Top to Summit, a giro around the Mary Townley loop before returning to Middleton Top. Now that was clear all I had to do was ride it. Conveniently Harveys made a map that covered the entire outing so I didn’t need to go through the palaver of splicing together screenshots of OS maps.

The first section follows the High Peak Trail, it is flat and a good way to ease into the ride, it wasn’t until the 25km point that things started to get interesting. The first obstacle was short and sharp, Chee Dale cut a deep gouge through the landscape and it was down one side and immediately up the other. Muscles now proper warmed up.

My first stop was about 6 hrs in, a small shop in Charlesworth on the outskirts of Glossop and boy it was much needed. Up to this point I had been conserving water, not physically if you know what I mean, just discreetly supping from my drink bottle, but now I could drown myself without repercussions. The next session involved a lot of road work before heading back out on to the moors north of Tintwistle.

Knowing that the route had been done in under 24 hours gave me a frame of reference for the trip, well not really, just because Mo Farah can run a sub 30 minute 10,000 metres doesn’t really indicate what I can do it in! Ideally I wanted to get just over half way on the first day, two thirds would be great and coast home on Sunday. I was carrying bivvy gear and food fully expecting to be sleeping out.

This section up to Summit was about 40km and was an area where I had never ridden before. The views were vast and impressive, the terrain was constantly up and down, the course profile testifies that there were very few flat respites. I passed many reservoirs and very few habitations, it really felt I was away from it all.

The pub was the perfect spot to take on board a cola, it was crisp, sparkly and refreshing. I filled up my water bottle and stashed another behind a rock before setting out around the loop.

I knew how steep the hills were around here from driving up to Ed Oxleys place so I wasn’t relishing the thought on a bike.

Widdop reservoir was serene in the evening sun, it marked the end of my northward direction of travel, from here I would turn west and then south back home. It was a great moral boost, and infact the section after Hebden Bridge had not been quite as bad as I expected.

The track traversed west, I was enjoying this. I passed the point where the bridleway will eventually continue northwards.

My bivvy was improvised, just shy of Waterfoot. It wasn’t searched out, it was right where I stopped on the path. I figured no one would be passing now, except perhaps another Pennine Bridlewayer, and I would be gone early in the morning.

I slept soundly for around 6 hrs, although I had hoped to finish the MTL before bivvying it was a good choice. I was moving slowly in the dark and this section was probably more technical than the rest of the route. Anyway it had started to drag.

It took a while to warm up my legs, striking camp before everything dries out is the worst thing about divvying, balancing on your mat trying not to get everything covered in mildew.

Still, there was a terrific cloud inversion on the Top of Leach, it is always a joy to experience the wonders of nature, and here I was alone at 8 in the morning soaking it all in.

The hill was completely covered in flagstones and quite the bumpiest descent I had done. With no suspension I did my best to absorb the pounding.

With the loop completed I was back on familiar ground. I just had to retrace my steps. In my head the route was broken down into sections which deducted the final 30km of the Peak Trail as it was flat!

In my enthusiasm I missed a right turn on the crest of the hill. It took me a while with the map to relocate myself and understand my error. I hadn’t travelled any less distance or even made a short cut, but I sure wasn’t going to climb back up the hill for the sake of purity. I rolled down the road to rejoin the bridleway.

Hayfield was a welcome break, I dove in the corner shop and got some supplies, a couple of pints of cool milk and a cheese and onion pasty. Regeneration time. The climb out of Hayfield is steep, I knew I wouldn’t be able to ride it so I took my time, sitting in the sun and watching the tourists enjoying a lazy Sunday.

The constant beating had really started to take its toll. Fatigue was creeping, every rock was felt. This was turning out to be a true boneshaker of a ride.

This is a section I have ridden a couple of times and never really enjoyed it, even when fresh. In either direction there is a long shuddering descent followed by a long stoney climb, still I was getting closer to home.

It was actually a relief to get back on tarmac, I whizzed down the hill thinking it was all downhill from here. I had obviously forgot the next section was also downhill coming the other way, it was a bit of a slog, but hey, I was closer to home than the previous paragraph!

And then I had done it, I was at the end of my challenge, at least all of it apart from the final stretch of the High Peak Trail, but who counts that bit even if they were the most stretched out km’s I have ridden!

My holiday consisted of 3 ingredients: Melloblocco, Climbers Against Cancer and the Italian SingleSpeed Championships.

Melloblocco was my thing, 100% pleasure, the rich sauce tying together all the other elements in harmonious union.

CAC – Unless you keep yourself locked in a box you will have at least heard about John Ellison. I didn’t know the guy, I will have first heard about him from Beth and Alan Monks, maybe Dan Bradley.. one of that crew anyway. Everyone in climbing seemed to know him and I felt an idiot because I didn’t..

Finally I did meet up with John at the Climbing Hangar in Liverpool. We had a long chat – you don’t have a short chat with John – and of course he had been following Alpkit since it started via Dan, Beth, Ashleigh and others in the junior climbing team.. I sucked it up, trying to ignore the fact this was a man dying of cancer but had more energy than a dog on heat.

CAC was still in its early stages, T-shirts were printed and being sold, but his web site was yet to come online. Going away from that meeting something was wedged in my mind.. what could I do? Of course I could buy a T-shirt, and I did, but what else. What could Alpkit do, should it do anything? No I had to do something as me.

I told John I was going to Melloblocco, he was aware of it but had never been. I suggested I could take a few T-shirts and sell them for him in the evenings, it seemed like a good balance… the spaghetti not too tangled, just nicely twisted around the fork.

SSIT – After living in Milan I moved to Lecco because that is where the mountains start. During my time there one of the characters I met was Paolo Zorloni aka Explorer. He had opened up some boulders in the local area, popularised them with an annual bouldering meet and published them on the website of local activists Paolo Vitali and Sonja Brambati. After I moved back to the UK he got more involved in mountain biking, and as a metal engineer started to produce his own mountain bike components, Zeta components. My own interests in mountain biking, especially singlespeed were developing concurrently, so when he emailed me to invite Alpkit to the Italian singlespeed championships, one week after Melloblocco, just 30 miles away it seemed the ideal sauce.

There is no way Alpkit could have justified attending this event, but as I was there, on holiday anyway.. damn it, i just wanted to do something and that is all there is to it.

The Italian Singlespeed championships took place last weekend in Sovico in Northern Italy. Alpkit had been invited by Paolo Zorloni of Zeta Bike Components, a local company that designs and machines it’s own components.

I rolled up Friday evening, had a beer placed in my hand, my chainring swapped over, a light strapped to my bike and before I knew it I was joining a group of 25 geared and singlespeed riders for a night ride through Parco Lambro. Of course we had to wait for the rain to start before we could set off.

There was food and drinks ready for us when we got back around midnight and it was a good chance to meet some of the other riders. I was sure out of all the participants no one would have driven further than me, but it was a close call.. a pair from Sicily had driven just 200 fewer kilometres.

Saturday saw the fine weather return and 30 riders headed out for a tour of Brianza following a route that connected the small villages via footpaths, gravel tracks and steep slopes. We stopped at the Parco di Montevecchia for lunch and sampled the locally brewed Assiria beer and cheese. For those who still had space ice cream was offered courtesy of the house.

The return to Sovico followed a slightly more mellow route giving our bloated stomachs a reprieve. The terrain was lush and green, heavy rainfall in the days prior to the event meant that the trails were also muddy. No stranger to a patch of mud I hoped it would give me an advantage on Sunday!

Sunday was race day and the atmosphere in the ‘area spettacoli’ had changed noticeably. People were making last minute adjustments to their bikes, incredibly of the 80 or so competitors I don’t think I saw 2 bikes alike.

The start line was a short ride away and we set out together quickly passed by the bustle of a local road race. Serenity resumed near Rancate and as we stood around waiting for everyone to arrive we began to wonder what little surprise the organisers had in store for us. Luckily it was nothing as severe as hidden bikes or front wheels hanging from trees.. the mass start simply involved removing helmet and one shoe.. we had got off lightly.

We set off around the 8km loop. There was no obligation to do more than one lap, but those taking it a bit more seriously did the full 3 loops. The team on a tandem retired after one, failing to make it past the fully stocked beer tent, refuelled I think they continued on single bikes. The course was undulating, comprising of gravel tracks, singletrack, grassy paths, muddy descents and slippery climbs. I was feeling strong after lap 2 but by the third the power had been drained from my legs and I was struggling to keep up with the small group I had been lapping with. The finishing line finally reappeared lined with a small group of smiling faces, waving hands and cheering calls.

As I sat in the ambulance getting the mud and sweat cleared out of my eyes, beer in hand, I was glad I had been here to experience it.

Returning to Sovico the organisers provided food and drink for all. The ‘winners’ were presented with their awards and the proposals for the location of next years event were made. We had our very own presentation – the ASS Award to see who would win a Stingray framebag.

A really well organised event by a truly passionate team of friends.. and a great place to have experienced my first race. Next stop the worlds in Cogne?!

I met John properly for the first time in December last year at the Climbing Hangar in Liverpool. We had a long chat – for John it was just a chat!

CAC was still in its early stages, T-shirts were printed and being sold, a facebook group had sprung up but his web site was yet to come online. However the was already a movement, a sense that this was going to get bigger, much bigger, than even John could have ever imagined.

Without thinking I blurted out I was going to Melloblocco and suggested I could take a few T-shirts and sell them in the evenings. We left it at that, but come May I had 200 tees in my van and heading towards sunny Italy.

Only it wasn’t sunny Italy. The weather gods didn’t seem to care that it was a special 10th anniversary edition and had been extended over 10 days to suit. The organisers had anticipated this possibility and had acquired some impressively sized tarps to cover most of the new hard boulders the top climbers would be trying. Unfortunately the mortals amongst us were confined to the climbing wall in the Centro Polyfunzionale and cursing the view out of the window which we had expected to leave well at home.

But boulderers dont mind beating there heads against a seemingly hopeless cause, if nothing else they understand perserverance. The event carried on, and those who weren’t strong enough to climb the covered boulders, either helped to dry them or drank and danced hard led by DJ Phill and John in an effort to appease the gods.

Well whatever happened it worked, because come the weekend the rain had appeased the tarps were being pulled back and the crushfest commenced.

Back in the tranquillity of the Centro Polyfunzionale I set up the first (as far as I know) European CAC retail establishment. After sorting the tees into first sex, size, then colour, there were an impressive array of permutations, i realised i would be needing a bigger table. i improvised up a quick sign, the typeface was wrong, but after my second attempt at least I had spelt it correctly. Giuseppe from the gazebo next door introduced himself. He had formed Climb for Life, an organisation set up to encourage people to donate bone marrow. Giu himself has been waiting for a transplant since 2010. As well as informing climbers about this important cause they were also testing bone marrow types of volunteers over the weekend. Between the two of us we had bought yet another new dimension to the melloblocco festival.

The tees trickled out, I was disappointed because I was so sure they would fly. By Saturday morning no more than 10.. and these were all to either people I knew or british people already aware of the Campaign. I started working out how much it would cost me to buy the job lot and give them away, would that do the campaign more good… I sure couldn’t just return them all to John after sounding so confident!

Sales of the tees picked up through Saturday and Sunday, the more people who were seen waring them, the more were sold. Some people donated more than the asking price, some bought 2, others needed advice from their friends or partners on the choice of colour!

The weekend climaxed on Sunday with the prize givings in front of a few hundred climbers. Pietro dal Pra introduced Climb for Life, Sportiva had supported them since they started, and I had the dubious honour of explaining Climbers Against Cancer, and to make the draw for the mat. It was somewhat intimidating, but an amazing opportunity the organisers had given us that it would have been criminal not to have taken it. Even if not everyone there didn’t buy a tee, or get their bone marrow tested at least they would know who we were and what we were doing there, and the next time they see our logo maybe the will, or at least pass it on to their friends.

The first day of Melloblocco in its classic sense as a weekend event. This year the festival has been extended over 10 days, 1 for each of the 10 years it has been running, that’s just one more than Alpkit! but I remain unconvinced that it has been better for it.. admittedly the weather has been poor.. but looking on the bright side it appears to be picking up some.

It was time to get the CAC machine running, not a problem, with only 200 shirts I needed a gazebo and a large table. The gazebo I had, the table I borrowed from Chiara, and after sorting the multitude of colours and sizes I was set up and ready to trade.

Time passed and climbers came and went, mostly went, great for them as they could go climbing. It wasn’t the flood of business I was hoping for. Giuseppe from next door introduced himself. He had set up Climb for Life with the aim of getting more people to give bone marrow. Giuseppe himself has been waiting for a transplant since 2010 when ironically he went to donate bone marrow. Tests showed he was in the wrong queue. Getting a good match is difficult, really difficult especially when your parents are from different countries which is why it is important for more people to get themselves on the international register, it gives someone like him a chance.

The shirts proved popular with the English contingent, but the Euros weren’t biting. I think it calls for a change in strategy tomorrow, because at this rate I can’t look John in the eye.

I have never been on this side before.

Saturday had arrived and the sun was shining. The guys has been waring their CAC tees during the evening and pulled the evening back from the freakish death metal episode. I was hoping for more sales today, everyone who should be attending should be arriving this morning.

It was a more sociable affair, Paul Swail turned up taking a few days out of his high mountain routine, grabbed a pad and headed up the valley. Loz and Jill stopped for lunch and bought a couple of tees. Some Italian friends turned up just as I was digging in to my chips

On to SSIT

The first night Lorenzo lent me a light and we all went for a night ride close to Sovico.

The area of Brianza is in the alpine foothills just north of Milan. It is a tightly woven network of small villages, parks, industrial areas.

Around 30 bikers set off in the morning, there was a programme, but it was flexible, more like a guideline so that nobody forgot anything.

We stopped at Monte for lunch, superb food, a really great location.