(Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
“Adventure”
It means different things to different people, and even for
one person, adventures can come in many different forms.
It’s a word that gets used, and probably overused (including by me) a
lot.
But if Adventure means going beyond one’s own personal
comfort zone, doing something that scares you or pushes you to your limits physically and mentally, going where you haven’t been before, and where the
outcome is uncertain, then we can all have our own different limits for
adventure. Just because someone has had them before, doesn’t mean we can’t have
our own ones too.
(Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Who’s to say that a group of friends exploring some trails in a riding area they haven't visited before won't get the the same adrenaline buzz and sense of “adventure” that someone else might get
from being the first to stand on an 8000m peak?
I go on what I call “Adventures” all the time…they are
really just fun days or trips, often exploring new to me places, and there are
different levels of danger, risk, or fear which I’m prepared to expose myself
to on each of these.
But it’s been a while since I had what I would
consider a real adventure, and this summer I decided that needed to change.
That little part of me that craves adrenaline, excitement, discovery, maybe
even the feeling of fear and scaring myself a little, was becoming restless.
Inevitably, this adventure needed to include Mountains, and preferably, my
trusty Juliana Bicycles Roubion….the best adventure vehicle I own.
My Roubion |
I’m drawn to Mountains in a way I feel difficult to explain.
It’s part of me….the little flutter I get every time I see them, like they are
calling to me. I want to be in them, on them, part of them, to see the rest of
life from them, and I cannot resist that call. I guess some people have that
and others don’t, but if you’re one of those people then you’ll understand what
I mean.
A few years ago, a good friend Tom and I rode the Haute
route from Chamonix to Zermatt. In fact, we did it 2 years running, on
different routes each time. They were real adventures….long tough days, routes
neither of us knew, through amazingly beautiful scenery and along incredible
trails. Every day we had no idea what we would face, and there were plenty of
challenges along the way. But they were awesome trips that I’ll always
remember.
It was whilst along the route we took the second year that I first
saw signs for a walking trail of the Tour du Cervin, or Tour of the Matterhorn,
and the seed was planted in my mind of wondering whether you could ride a bike
around the route.
The Matterhorn is an iconic mountain…the kind that even
looks like the pictures of mountains you might have drawn as a child. A near
perfect triangular peak, the Toblerone mountain, even for non-climbers or
mountain people, I imagine most have seen a picture of it at some point. An
adventure round this majestic peak was definitely something I liked the sound
of…
The Matterhorn |
A little bit of initial research when we first got back from
our Haute route showed that the route was a bit more tricky than any previous
Alpine bike trips I’d undertaken. There were two glaciers to cross, and whilst
I’ve crossed many glaciers as a mountaineer and climber, I’ve never taken a
bike across one. We’re not talking about the kind of pisted glaciers that
people ski on either….the Glacier d’Arolla is a proper, crevasse-riddled, real
life beast. I put the idea to one side and got on with other smaller
micro-adventures and altogether less scary trips!
But the seed was there, and over the past few years I’ve
kept coming back to it, researching online, buying maps, slowly planning,
wondering if it was stupid to think about riding it? Or whether it would
actually be possible. And then last year I heard via a blog I found online,
that 3 crazy Italian guys had ridden the route…it was enough for me to know
that if it had been done, then I could definitely do it too. So the proper
planning began.
Adventure Buddies Ruth, Pete and Claire |
Maps were pored over, (fortunately I’m a total map geek so I
was happy to spend many long hours looking at the route), days planned,
accommodation booked, logistics sorted.
Months, turned into weeks, turned into days…and all the time
I was watching webcams, weather forecasts, climbing reports from the areas we’d
be going through. Winter 2015 was a snowy one, and a late one, and unlike the
previous super hot dry summer when the Italians had ridden the route, there was
a LOT of snow still lying in the high mountains. Anxieties started to creep in.
Should we cancel? Would it be a waste of time even trying? Were people even
walking the route yet? That fear of the unknown grew a little stronger. No-one
else that I could find had ever tried to ride the route, so apart from maps,
photos, walking blogs, we couldn’t ask anyone for information….we would just
have to go.
And before we knew it the week had arrived….and the weather
forecast looked horrendous. Storms, cold snowy unsettled weather….and I began
to think it was all going to go wrong before we even started.
I honestly set off thinking the odds were stacked against us,
a big part of me was expecting to fail. But if we couldn’t make it, at least
we’d be able to turn around and ride as far as we’d come, back in reverse,
right?
Day 1: St Niklaus to Zinal (34km, 2162m ascent, 11 hours)
I always find the best way to start these trips is to be
incredibly well-prepared so that all that needs to be done the night before
starting is to eat and get a good night’s sleep. However, in reality that never
happens, and this trip was no different!
Pretending to be organised |
Claire and Pete arrived from an
all-night driving mission from the UK late afternoon, at which point we all
still had to pack bags, fix bits of bikes and basically do quite a lot!
Needless to say, we got a little less sleep than we’d planned.
We did wake to sunshine though, and with a pretty rubbish
forecast for later in the day, and what I was sure would be the longest
day of our trip, alarms had been set for a super early start.
I’d seen on the map a cable car, that would save us 1000m of climbing…there was no way we weren’t going to be
taking it! When we arrived at the lift station though it’s safe to say it
wasn’t what we were expecting! A crazy little lift with room for 4 people
squeezed inside, the bikes were tied on with some worryingly small and frayed
bits of old rope and a load of dodgy knots, by an old guy who only spoke German,
which none of us could speak back! We hadn’t even started riding properly and
my heart was in my mouth that our bikes would make it to the top with us, but fortunately
they did, or this story would already be over!
Plenty of room for 4 bikes and 4 people??!! |
Our first col to climb over was the 2800m Augstbordpass,
still 1000m above us despite the assistance of the lift. It was pretty much a
push and carry from the start, with the gradient climbing too steeply to ride.
But with fresh legs and a bucketload of excitement for what lay ahead, we made
good progress, and I can think of a lot worse ways to spend a Monday morning
than being out in the mountains, with good friends and bikes!
There were plenty
of snow patches to traverse once we got higher which slowed things down a
little, none of which were particularly steep or difficult, but the main hazard
was where the edges were undercut and would collapse without warning as you
stepped down off them. I managed to get my foot completely stuck in one of
these collapsed holes, and it ended up taking all 3 of the others to help me
get out!
Sketchy snow traversing (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Who said these trails aren't for bikers too?! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
We passed several groups of walkers, and a theme and general
conversation began to emerge which would continue throughout the week. It went
something like this…
“Oh my word, is that a bike on your back?”
“Yes, we’re riding the Tour of the Matterhorn”
“You must be crazy, it’s really steep and dangerous! Is that
even possible? You’ll never make it”
“Thanks, we know, that’s why we’re here, we like these kind
of trails, and we don’t know if it’s possible, but we won’t know unless we try
will we? Have a nice day!”
*complete look of bemusement and incomprehension on walker’s
face as we walked on.
Despite the repetition of these conversations, I liked them.
I enjoyed the fact that we were doing something daring, something different
from the norm, we really were adventuring, I was excited to try and prove all
the doubters wrong….
Augstbordpass |
Pete happy to be riding finally! |
The clouds were beginning to build by the
time we reached the start of the singletrack push and carry, but to be honest I
was amazed given the forecast (and I’d looked at every one I could, trying to
find one that said something more optimistic) that we hadn’t already been
soaked!
And just as I commented on our luck, the thunder started. The final push to the Col Forcletta looked ominous. A steep snow headwall which
we’d need to kick steps up to reach the col, with the consequences of a slip
meaning a potentially fast and painful slide down onto the rocks at the very
bottom of the snowfield. Fortunately the snow wasn’t too hard or too soft, and
all the years of mountaineering and kicking solid steps into snow meant it
actually felt fine. I’d never actually done this in metal cleated bike shoes
however, which did add an element of excitement!
Col Forcletta... who needs an ice axe and crampons when you have a bike and cleated bike shoes?! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
There was a slightly wobbly
traverse along a narrow ridge of snow at the top across to the col, and then it
was all done. I knew all the others had good amounts of experience of many
sports in the outdoors so wasn’t worried about them, but there is no way I
would have felt happy guiding a group up something like this, or even many of
my biking friends without mountaineering or climbing experience! Luckily the
storm was far enough away that we didn’t feel too threatened on the ridge, at
2900m it wouldn’t have been a fun place to hang around with lightning going
off!
Claire contemplating another 1000m + descent |
Our home for the night was a traditional wooden alpine
auberge, with all the delights that brings…a dormitory accessed by a ladder,
great home-cooked tasty food, cold beer and friendly folk…..and some very loud
snoring!
Day 2: Zinal to Arolla (34km, 1660m ascent, 7 hours 20mins)
The next morning dawned cloudy but dry, and with groaning
aching limbs and slightly stinky clothes, we fuelled up on the standard
breakfast of bread and jam and headed off for our second day of adventure. Once
again we were able to take a lift towards the Col de Sorebois, leaving us with
a much shorter climb than if we’d had to start from the valley floor. It was on
this lift that we bumped into 2 French walkers, Henri and Sika, who were also
following the Tour of the Matterhorn. They were the first people we’d met who
hadn’t thought we were completely insane, instead they seemed to think what we
were doing was exciting and courageous. They assumed our bags were really
light, until they tried to lift one and could barely hold the weight!
We took
the bare minimum…the riding clothes we were wearing, a lightweight t-shirt and
shorts for the evening, flip flops, a few small toiletries, lightweight
waterproof jacket and trousers, a warm synthetic jacket, gloves, a hat,
passport and credit card, chain lube, bike tools and spares between us, water
and food…all in 25-30 litre bags, and still they felt about as heavy as we’d
want them to still be able to enjoy the riding.
Lac du Moiry |
We started our first descent amid atmospheric clouds, big glaciated
mountains occasionally revealing themselves in windows through the grey. Some
fast, sweet singletrack took us all the way down to the beautiful Lac de Moiry,
it’s turquoise waters almost too vivid to be real.
Claire enjoying a sublime section of stereotypical Alpine singletrack |
Fireroad climbing allowed us to stay on our bikes for a
surprising amount of vertical height gain thankfully, before the push to the
Col de Torrent. We’d managed to avoid any real rain, but the ground was clearly
pretty wet from the previous night’s storm, and so part way down the amazing
descent, things took a distinctly slick, muddy, turn! It was brilliant fun
though, chasing each other round slippy corners, foot out to try and stay
upright, sliding around trying to keep traction, giggling and whooping with
glee.
Somewhat muddy! |
Bike wash Alpine style! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
We rode through beautiful old villages of narrow streets and
ancient wooden houses built on what looked like stone pancakes balanced on
wooden stilts, before a final tough climb up to Arolla, for beers in the last
of the sun before it dropped behind the tall horizon of mountains above us, to
celebrate surviving another day!
The hotel was a crazy old building with wonky
off-camber floors which made walking when tired very disorientating, but
it was warm, dry, and sold cold beer and tasty food which was pretty much all
we wanted!
Day 3: Arolla to Prarayer (21.6km, 1379m ascent, 8hrs 22mins)
This was the big day. The one I’d been most nervous about.
The one which was the key to actually getting round our planned itinerary. And
typically the forecast had looked like it could stop us in our tracks.
Somewhere up there lies a Col we need to cross! |
Sticking to the glacial moraine as long as possible... |
Contemplating the sea of ice to cross ahead (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
What that sea of ice looks like up close. Small crevasses on the surface...potentially bigger underneath |
Trying to put all this to the back of my mind, we soon began
the long tough hike up the side of the valley. The landscape on our climb was
incredible, a geography teacher’s dream. A wide, recently carved, u-shaped
glacial valley, littered with rough banks of moraine. It was raw, wild and
beautiful. Nature at it’s most incredible.
It wasn’t long before we encountered
our first doubting walkers, asking if we knew what we were doing? Whether we
had proper equipment? The standard response was that if we didn’t like what we
found or we felt unsafe then we’d turn back. Interestingly, shortly after the
first person to question us, we reached an unmarked junction. I checked the map
and confidently set off in the correct direction for the route as marked on the
map. The walkers spent a few minutes turning a map in all directions, trying to
work out where they were, before waiting to see what we did and following us.
Their “equipment” also looked suspiciously new and unused. A case of potentially
all the gear and no idea…at least we had a collectively large amount of alpine
experience amongst us and the knowledge and skills to know what we were letting
ourselves in for!
Riding up the glacial valley |
Claire crossing the glacier (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Ruth on the final slog to the col |
Much easier was bum sliding down the patches of snow, using the bike across me and the bars and pedal as brakes in a technique I’d used during the Megavalanche a few years ago!
Starting the descent from Col Collon (Photo:Ruth Bowman) |
Bum-sliding territory! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Pete on a rare rideable section! |
Day 4: Prarayer to Cervinia (20.8km, 1486m ascent, 7hrs 55mins)
Looking back towards lots of snow on the way we passed on day 4! |
Mountainbikeaneering? (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Once again, we were pushing and carrying from the start of
the day, but by now our limbs were becoming accustomed to the daily abuse we
were subjecting them too, and seemed to be showing less resistance.
The climb
was stunningly beautiful, but the most awkward so far. There were
ladders, cables, and tricky scrambling sections covered in a thin veneer of
ice. It would have been tough without the bikes…with them it was even more
arduous! But with a combination of teamwork, grit and determination, we somehow
made it up to the Col de Valcorniere. Another 3000m col, but by now it was
noticeably easier to breathe up high!
Not designed for bikes... |
Almost at 3000m again! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Enjoying another hard earned view (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Pete and I beginning the descent (Photo: Claire Bennett) |
Thinking quickly of what I could do, I saw a darker, older deeper looking patch
of snow off to my right and somehow managed to throw myself towards it. It was
soft enough to slow me down and let me stop myself, thankfully! The amount of
adrenaline coursing through me at that point was massive, there’s nothing quite
like scaring yourself a bit (or a lot!) to induce that! After this initial
steep section, the gradient of the slope thankfully eased off and with a
combination of more bum sliding, skiing with the bike as a frame at the side of
us, and trying, pretty comically, to ride, we quickly reached the bottom of the
snow field.
Stoked to have made it down...full of adrenaline! |
Classic Alpine Terrain (Photo:Ruth Bowman) |
The reward for all our climbing and the scary snow descent
came in the form of hours of beautiful descending. Crossing giant granite rock
slabs, winding along narrow balcony traverses, negotiating loose, steep and
technical switchbacks.
Claire riding towards the Matterhorn |
And as we rounded another corner, there it was, our
first view of the Matterhorn! It was a special moment for all of us. There was
still a way to go, but we had come so far and experienced so much that had
challenged us already, that confidence we would make it started to grow.
There it is! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
I think I started to finally relax a bit, letting some of
the worries and uncertainties I’d had throughout the trip go….maybe I switched
off a bit too much, stopped concentrating, focussing on what we still had to
do…whatever it was, I crashed. Hard.
Smiling (sort of) at being able to breathe again! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
One of those crashes where it happens so fast you have no
idea what you have hit or what has stopped your wheel so suddenly. All I know
is that I was ejected over the bars, high into the air, still holding onto my
bike, to land on something that completely knocked all the breath out of me. Probably
my stem or bars. My back had scorpioned, extending to a range I don’t think
it’s been able to for a number of years, and I Iay, gasping for air in the foetal
position, not wanting to move in case I did and then realised something was
broken, and not able to even if I’d wanted to.
It’s a horrible feeling being
winded like that. It doesn’t last long, but it feels like forever, like you’ll
never be able to take a breath again. Unbelievably, I managed to get away with
the crash unscathed, other than some bruises and a sore back and chest for a
few days...I was very lucky!
As we rode into Cervinia, feeling tired, a bit shaken, and
pretty sore, the temperature had started to drop again, it felt like winter it
was so cold!
Our hotel felt like a complete luxury though. Big comfy
beds, a hot shower, way more space then we’d been used to in the Alpine
refuges. It seemed only right that as we were in Italy we should eat Pizza for
dinner, and conveniently, there was a pizza restaurant less than 100m from
where we were staying. Complete with a friendly and slightly eccentric owner who
insisted on playing Queen “We are the Champions” when we told him what we were
doing! I’m not sure I’ve ever managed to eat a whole pizza plus another half to
myself before, but that night I did, plus several large beers, and a gelato! By
the time we headed to bed I couldn’t feel any soreness from my crash, in fact I
could barely remember it! Needless to say we all slept well that night!
Before.... |
After!! |
Day 5: Cervinia to St Niklaus (48.5km, 1064m ascent, 7hrs 30mins)
It was hard to believe waking up on our fifth day, that it
was also our last of the trip if everything went to plan. There had been fresh
snow overnight, and though the skies had cleared to a bright and perfect blue,
the temperature had stayed freezing cold.
The team at the start of day 5 in Cervinia |
A cold start to the day |
Snowy push up (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Approaching Theodulpass at 3300m (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
Glacier biking on freshly groomed pistes! (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
There were some great trails down, but after 5 tough days,
my body felt tired and reluctant to do what I wanted it to. I got off and
walked sections of trail I would normally have ridden, not feeling confident in
my ability to ride them without crashing and making tired mistakes. Ruth seemed
to be riding better than she had all week, confidently cruising sections the
rest of us were pushing over!
Great descending towards Zermatt |
Newly made Bike park berms, and
flowier trails led us into town and celebratory ice creams, before the roll
down the hill to St Niklaus, and our finish!
A moment to reflect on how far we've come... |
Cheers! |
It was a week which more than satisfied my thirst for an
adventure for a while. It was dangerous, risky at times, exciting, tough,
challenging, rewarding, fun, and completely brilliant, shared with a great
bunch of friends. Would I recommend the route to other riders though? … For the
most part the answer would be no! I can only think of a few other people I know
who would enjoy the level of suffering and difficulty we experienced!
Stopping to take it all in (Photo: Ruth Bowman) |
I’m already planning the next adventure though, my addiction
has been reawakened and my love of this kind of adventure rekindled…let’s see
what I can come up with for the next trip! Watch this space!