Air Pressure and the Highest Road in the Alps
Wednesday 8th October 2014
In the morning it is still misty and a fine drizzle is coming down. The bike is steering badly so I pull up and discover that the temporary plug in the tyre, inserted back in Anatolia, has started to leak.
I ride very gingerly into the next village where I find a garage with an airline. The tyre is down to one bar. I pump it back up to three and set off for France. There are plenty of petrol stations around so I'll just have to see how long before the steering gets heavy again.
I ride over the Colle della
Maddalena at 2000m, then into France and down the L'Ubaye river valley
into Jaussiers. I see a sign for Colle de la Bonette, the highest paved
through road in the Alps. I have heard about this one but didn't
realise I was so close to it. The summit is just 23km away, mostly in an
upwards direction.
Well it would be silly not to do it wouldn't it? It is entirely in the opposite direction to my planned route but hey!
As I ride up the long winding approach road to the summit I realise I am losing air pressure at a faster rate than before. Not good.
I am almost at the summit so I carry on. At the top I meet Stefan an English guy from Surrey with a Mercedes SLK soft top. He is just bimbling around like me.
At the top there is a small loop over to the western side. Here there is stone monument marking the high point. I park up and get the camera out.
Low clouds are scudding across the peaks, sometimes there is a grey out and then a minute later blinding sunshine. It's a glorious day to be here. Even at 2,800 metres the day is warm. It feels like I am on the top of the world.
I set off back down with the steering getting heavier and heavier. It's about 18km to the first village and I make it to find that the little garage is closed, it looks like permanently.
But a young guy stops in an old van and asks if he can help. I follow him to his nearby house. In the garage he has two bikes, a Suzi Exup and a Kwak 750. He also has a compressor. The International Biking Brotherhood comes up trumps again.
With plenty of air in the tyre the road to Rimplas is just spectacular. I am on the Route des Grande Alpes which winds through ravines and tunnels, often clinging to the sheer mountain sides high above the river valley.
I climb up the side road to Rimplas and check into the Hostellerie du Randonneur . Stefan wasn't wrong. It's lovely. There is a Moto Guzzi in the main room and fine blues music playing. The views are truly spectacular.
The owner, another Stefan, has a solution for my tyre problem. He has a foot pump that I can use to get enough air in to see me to a small garage and repair shop in the next village along. In such a remote location, the guy there will certainly knows all about fixing tyres.
I have pizza in the village cafe (the hotel restaurant is closed on Wednesdays). It seems to be the only other commercial establishment in this tiny village. There are plenty of signs of restoration occurring on the ancient houses that sit all higgledy-piggedly in the tiny lanes and arched tunnels that connect the village together.
I fall asleep reflecting on the serendipity that has brought me to this place.
In the morning it is still misty and a fine drizzle is coming down. The bike is steering badly so I pull up and discover that the temporary plug in the tyre, inserted back in Anatolia, has started to leak.
I ride very gingerly into the next village where I find a garage with an airline. The tyre is down to one bar. I pump it back up to three and set off for France. There are plenty of petrol stations around so I'll just have to see how long before the steering gets heavy again.
 |
| On the colle della Maddalena |
Well it would be silly not to do it wouldn't it? It is entirely in the opposite direction to my planned route but hey!
As I ride up the long winding approach road to the summit I realise I am losing air pressure at a faster rate than before. Not good.
 |
| It's gloomy but staying dry |
 |
| About to enter France |
I am almost at the summit so I carry on. At the top I meet Stefan an English guy from Surrey with a Mercedes SLK soft top. He is just bimbling around like me.
At the top there is a small loop over to the western side. Here there is stone monument marking the high point. I park up and get the camera out.
Low clouds are scudding across the peaks, sometimes there is a grey out and then a minute later blinding sunshine. It's a glorious day to be here. Even at 2,800 metres the day is warm. It feels like I am on the top of the world.
 |
| The climb up to La Bonette |
 |
| Almost there... |
 |
| ,,,and made it ! |
 |
| Posing at the summit |
I set off back down with the steering getting heavier and heavier. It's about 18km to the first village and I make it to find that the little garage is closed, it looks like permanently.
But a young guy stops in an old van and asks if he can help. I follow him to his nearby house. In the garage he has two bikes, a Suzi Exup and a Kwak 750. He also has a compressor. The International Biking Brotherhood comes up trumps again.
With plenty of air in the tyre the road to Rimplas is just spectacular. I am on the Route des Grande Alpes which winds through ravines and tunnels, often clinging to the sheer mountain sides high above the river valley.
 |
| The road up to Rimplas |
I climb up the side road to Rimplas and check into the Hostellerie du Randonneur . Stefan wasn't wrong. It's lovely. There is a Moto Guzzi in the main room and fine blues music playing. The views are truly spectacular.
 |
| Great location |
 |
| Stefan and his guzzi |
The owner, another Stefan, has a solution for my tyre problem. He has a foot pump that I can use to get enough air in to see me to a small garage and repair shop in the next village along. In such a remote location, the guy there will certainly knows all about fixing tyres.
 |
| In the picturesque village of Rimplas |
I have pizza in the village cafe (the hotel restaurant is closed on Wednesdays). It seems to be the only other commercial establishment in this tiny village. There are plenty of signs of restoration occurring on the ancient houses that sit all higgledy-piggedly in the tiny lanes and arched tunnels that connect the village together.
I fall asleep reflecting on the serendipity that has brought me to this place.
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