Rolling in the Alps : the MTB bikepacking movie (full free version) 26 minutes

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5Ravy6wviE

Several routes exist for crossing the Alps by mountain bike: it all depends on the starting point, the finish line, and above all, the time you have available. In hindsight, the difficulty of a route is mainly measured by the "rolling" aspect of the trail: anyone embarking on such an adventure should know that there will be moments of doubt, a few drops of sweat, and great joys. I start with a blank sheet of paper and solve a simple equation: my vacation is 30 days, or about 1200 kilometers at a rate of 40 km/day. Then, I take a map, choose some mountain ranges, and mark two points: a starting point in Geneva and a finish in Nice: an international trip of sorts.

On paper, the adventure looks fantastic. But the sheet quickly becomes an illegible draft. I draw curves, make notes, crosses, circles, and scribbles. The route takes shape, with a major inconsistency right from the start. The journey, theoretically a straight north-south line, becomes a random route heading due north for the first few kilometers. To stay on course, I take a compass, adding a few extra grams to a mountain bike that weighs over 30 kilos.

I set off with Valérie, my longtime riding partner, on July 14, 2014. Together, we traverse valleys and climb legendary mountain passes: a total of 34,000 meters of elevation gain. Our tent and fully loaded panniers are strapped to the bikes: we have enough supplies for up to four days, allowing us to resupply in remote mountain villages. The bikes are ready, and so are our legs.

The adventure begins in the Swiss Jura, a way of avoiding overexertion right from the start. The Creux du Van is an irresistible urge that the rain of the first few days doesn't deter, except when you have to take shelter from downpours in public restrooms or churches. It's good to relieve yourself in these unfortunate moments. The ibex at 6 a.m. and the colors of the sunrise at the Soliat cross make this 250-kilometer detour worthwhile. The return via Lake Neuchâtel is a true epic: the path is impassable with fallen tree trunks, vines, and brambles. You advance meter by meter through this jungle, your feet sinking into 20 centimeters of mud. The ground hasn't yet absorbed the recent rains.

Returning to Lake Geneva, the Dents du Midi and Mont Blanc point you in the right direction. We cross the Chablais region via Lake Taney, the Blancsex Pass, then Morgins and Champéry. We experience the joys of carrying our bikes, where a few hundred meters as the crow flies transform into endless minutes of suffering. Every stone, hole, or root freezes the front wheel: the bike stops dead, wobbles, and pulls me along with its full weight. Breathing is rapid, punctuated by my heartbeat: at least we know we're alive! The effort is intense, often forcing us to stop every two or three meters… almost harder than high-altitude mountaineering. The panorama is as magnificent as the sky is blue. By a week, we'd missed the snow at 2,000 meters altitude; luckily, it's July...

To reach Chamonix, we climb via Salvan and Finhaut; the forest track is carved into the rock. The hairpin bends that take us ever higher make us dizzy and send the altimeter into a frenzy. The few welcome breaks relax our legs and arms, especially as wild strawberries and blueberries twinkle along the edge of the path. The descent from the Col des Montets is made in torrential rain; it's cold, and we're completely soaked. These conditions are the hardest for me to bear: when you're on a multi-day hike, it's impossible to properly dry your things (especially your shoes). I arrive in Chamonix wearing flip-flops and a canary-yellow poncho, adding a splash of color to the gray weather. Mont Blanc is shrouded in clouds; we won't see it.

The contrast with the Val Veni in Italy is striking: the good weather has returned, the path is magnificent and very smooth all the way to the Elisabetta Soldini refuge. First night in a bed after 9 days of travel and 480 kilometers, first hot shower too. We're the only ones on bikes. We're the only ones scribbling down our adventures of the day on a piece of paper; The hikers frantically tap away on their Wi-Fi-connected tablets, practically fighting for a power outlet. The warden's welcome is warm, but I much prefer the atmosphere of a bivouac in the heart of nature, far from all this fuss. The next morning, a group of twenty overexcited Koreans pull out their cameras and squeal with excitement when they see us on our bikes. The scene is amusing: it's 5 degrees Celsius, they're bundled up in thick mountain jackets while we're climbing at full speed in t-shirts! We cross the Col de la Seigne at 2,500 meters, back in France, and the bad weather returns.

A thick fog stops us in our tracks, forcing us to spend a second night in a mountain refuge, but the Beaufortain region holds a beautiful surprise for us when we wake up: a vast blue sky. Mont Blanc rises before us, as majestic as ever, and the Pierra Menta is reflected in the turquoise waters of Lake Roselend. After three mountain passes over 2,300 meters, we reached the Tarentaise Valley with an exceptional descent: 2,700 meters of negative elevation in a single day—a dream come true!

The rest of the day unfolded at a breakneck pace: my legs felt like they were spinning on their own, I was overtaking road bikes while my crankset squealed, lacking grease. After conquering the Madeleine Pass, the Maurienne Valley and the Galibier massif awaited us. The weather was mild, but the heavy rainfall of the past few days had turned the paths into mud pits. We embarked on the Transmaurienne, 30 km across the open countryside without encountering a soul: paradise. Very quickly, the path became an impassable track, completely churned up by herds of livestock; it was impossible to climb or ride on the flat sections, and even descending became perilous and dangerous. We keep smiling even in these difficult moments: there's always something to be satisfied with and happy to continue this adventure. We spend two comfortable nights in abandoned sheepfolds: the fresh water from the streams allows us to wash ourselves, and the hay makes the nights softer and more pleasant. We take advantage of a day off, having covered a mere three kilometers (our mileage statistics are suffering!), to take our...

We set off again, clean (it won't last…), towards the Emparis plateau, facing the Écrins massif where the peaks flirt with 4,000 meters. The area is perfect for mountain biking; the singletracks are very smooth with ever-more beautiful scenery. Sometimes the descents are quite technical, especially with the panniers on the front fork: the bike, too heavy, takes completely wild turns, and I'm constantly fighting to tame my machine, which could send me into a ditch at the slightest lapse in concentration.

There's a Tour de France feel to this 17th day: two legendary mountain passes lie before us, the Lautaret and the Galibier. The climb is enjoyable, but the weather conditions deteriorate as we ascend: wind and fog roll in at the pass, at 2,640 meters. Val arrives a few minutes after me; she can't stay on her bike, swept away by the gusts. We paused for a photo to capture the moment and then set off again for the Col des Rochilles and the sublime Clarée Valley. The place is truly magical, calm, and serene. I've marked it in red on my map: it's impossible to cross the Alps without wearing out your tires on these roads. A real gem, even if Val did get the only flat tire of the trip!

After a quick stop in Briançon to refill our panniers, we continued on to Cervières and the Col de l'Izoard. The landscapes changed with every pedal stroke, the vegetation adapting to the Queyras hills. The sweet scent of pine and larch trees tickled our nostrils: we were truly entering the south of France. With two mountain passes crossed, this was the most hilly day, with over 2,100 meters of cumulative elevation gain. As always, the journey is punctuated by improbable encounters in the middle of nowhere. We find shelter at 2,000 meters altitude because the weather is threatening. Five students are waiting for us there… with sausages, pork chops, green salad, beers, and more. We haven't eaten such a feast in 20 days: we're starving. Finally, the night is starry; it's Mont Viso in the distance, being struck by lightning.

We continue on to Saint-Véran, one of the highest villages in Europe, then the Col du Blanchet, or Rocca Blanca, on the Italian border: our highest point of the trip at 2,897 meters. Up there, there are no more larches, no more sun, not much of a path, but wind, cold, and even snow. The trail is so steep that it's impossible to push our bikes before the pass: we have to take off our panniers and go back and forth. We have lunch propped up against a rock in Italy before reaching the source of the Ubaye River. That same day, I break my rack, my derailleur hanger, and my chain… I'm the weak link! At 2,600 meters altitude, the terrain is surprisingly flat and rideable, but the mechanical problems force us to stop early: we sleep in an alpine chalet, completely alone… with a few mice.

To reach the Col de l'Arche and the Stura Valley, we have to go back up the Ubayette River; the trail is dizzyingly steep before disappearing completely: a rockfall has swept it away. There's only one solution: cross the stream in 60 cm of water and a strong current, being careful not to let go of the bikes. Once in Italy, things got serious with the ascent of the Becco Rosso pass, at 2260m. It wasn't the altitude that was the problem, but the very steep slope… For the first time, we were exhausted, our legs felt heavy, the bikes became a burden that we had to push with all our might, and our morale plummeted for the three-hour climb. At the summit, we decided to take a long break: we were completely lethargic despite the blueberry fields surrounding us. The descent was much more enjoyable, our batteries were fully recharged.

After crossing some pretty, relatively easy, and peaceful valleys (towards Roaschia), the Col de Tende brought our 25th day, divided into two parts, to a close. First, we're forced to ride on the main road, which turns out to be an extreme sport in Italy, judging by the reckless driving of our tifosi friends—one hand on the horn, the other out the window cheering us on (we wonder who's actually driving!). Then, at the tunnel where bikes are prohibited, we climb up to the pass. The evening is beautiful but very long, almost endless, especially with the headwind. Val suffers in silence, finding her rhythm at the back of the group. When she finally overcomes the last major challenge of the trip, the tent is pitched, and the view is breathtaking. The wind plays with the clouds, which in turn play with the sun's rays: the spectacle is divine. Tonight, we eat Italian food: melon, polenta, and juicy peaches. Delizioso.

Even though the Casterino valley is generally downhill all the way to Tende, the morning is tough; it's hard to pedal. There are days when your body just doesn't respond as you'd like. Short breaks become more frequent and disrupt the rhythm even further. Any excuse is good enough to stop: a photo, wild strawberries, a drink or a cake, a drink and a cake, a chat, and so on. It has to be said, the place is sublime: the Mercantour National Park and the Valley of Wonders are right in front of us. After La Brigue, we laboriously climb back up towards the Baisse de Sanson: this time, Val sets the pace. There's nowhere to pitch our tent, so we're forced to continue at a speed of 4 km/h; I might as well have walked up.

On the ridge, the panorama is 360 degrees. The old military track winds its way between France and Italy, then transforms into a trail carved into the mountainside, no more than 50 cm wide for riding. This last section is very exposed and technical; a fall here is fatal. The cliffs are impressive, while sections with cables secure the trail. From the summit of Mont Peïrevieille, at 2,038 meters, we see the blue of the Mediterranean for the first time, both so close and so far away. We bivouac on the heights, lost in a palette of pastel pinks and oranges.

This morning, you have to get up early, very early indeed, to see the sun. By 6:30 a.m., the sky is already darkening. We barely have time to get on the saddle before it starts raining—a little, a lot, passionately. Luckily, the Muratone shelter protects us—or rather, a piece of corrugated iron, since the huge Muratone refuge is closed. The jerrycans placed under a gutter fill with rainwater in minutes and are our only distraction at the moment. To pass the time and warm up, we make mint tea; our instant coffee supplies have been depleted for several days… as have our food rations. We have a piece of cheese and a can of sardines left.

We set off in a light mist, the path waterlogged: puddles are over ten meters deep, making it impossible to avoid getting our feet wet. We descend into the Roya Valley on an extraordinary singletrack, very narrow and slippery, with a 700-meter drop. The mountain bike, with its large panniers, easily navigates all the turns. The sun returns to the valley, making the air completely humid. Lunch is a quick break, given our food supplies, while our gear dries in the sun at lightning speed. We hit the road again for Saorge and Breil-sur-Roya before sleeping one last night in Italy under an olive tree.

After Sospel, we climb our final pass, the Razet, peaking at 1032 meters—a monster! The trails are very smooth, it's pure bliss. We're excited about our arrival, both happy to have completed such a wonderful trip, rich in emotions and sensations, but a little sad that we can't continue, even though today there are no more roads; the sea stretches out before us…

To avoid returning to reality too soon, we pitch our tent in the hills above Menton at the source of the Merle River. It's 3 p.m., the first time we've stopped cycling so early. Val is happy, and so am I. The evening is sumptuous; we eat kilos of mirabelle plums picked near a small hut. The spring water is fresh and tastes like paradise. Last day on the French Riviera. Naturally, the weather is beautiful and warm, the sea is blue, and the tourists are out in force. Cars zigzag, honk, and fill our lungs with noise. We pass through Monaco, admiring all its superfluous and grotesque luxury, then Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, a little quieter. In Nice, we barely have time to stroll along the Promenade des Anglais before our train is waiting to take us home. In an instant, I wake up from a month immersed in the heart of the Alps.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5Ravy6wviE

HD1080 16:9 MPG4 h264
Duration : 26 min
Language : FR /French
Subtitles : English
Master DVD : 3,1 Go
17200 Kbits/sec

2015 - Festival de Lugano, Suisse - Matera Sport festival, Italie - ICFF Cycling Film Festival, All. - Adventure festival, Athènes, Gr. - BFF Bansko, Bulgarie - Festival outdoor, Prague, CZ - 2016 - Flix film festival, Canada - Mets d'la wax, Valmorel - Gala du film de Pau - Du bout de la rue au bout du monde, Colmar - Cycle Touring Fest, Clitheroe, UK - EuroVeloGex, Crozet - Le Vénéon fait son cinéma, St-Christophe-en-Oisans - La Bérarde - Festival Teplice nad Metují, CZ - Bisiklet Filmleri Festivali, Istanbul - Overtime festival, Macerata, It. - Echo festival, Skopje, Macédoine - FFME Horace Bénédict, Nancy - Montagnes du monde, Foix - Bovec festival, Slovénie - 2017 - Cyclo camping CCI, Paris - Festival Ici-là bas, Nancy - Soirée CAB, Bruxelles - Vel'Osons, Chambéry - Arrivée UT4M, Grenoble - Défis de l'aventure, Fontanil - Soirée montagne, Mizoën - 2018 - La roue tourne, Toulouse - Rêve de Montagne, Vétraz - 2019 - Festivelo, Lausanne - En roue libre, Bruxelles

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