Diary of a Trail Scout

There is something about mountains that moves my soul. Just the sight of them towering high above the valleys below, arouses in me a million emotions, endless questions, and a strong sense of spiritual awareness.

Mont Blanc from Chamonix

They make me think, a lot… Of why I am here?  Of why things happen in life over which we have no control? Of what happens to us when we die, and where Gareth is now? Of whether he knows what I’m doing, how much I miss him, and how often he’s in my thoughts?

The mighty Matterhorn

Most of the very best, most perfect days of my life so far have been spent in the mountains, and so they conjure up memories too, of happy days sharing adventures of one kind or another. From the joy of reaching the summit of a high peak, far above the rest of the world below, quiet nights watching the stars under clear black velvet skies, to sharing a magnificent view of the sun setting below a horizon of distant peaks, and long alpine days where you collapse back at base, exhausted from the fresh air and exertion, but with a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment, knowing that first beer will never have tasted so good. Those same memories can on some days though, bring on the heavy veil of sadness, that since I lost Gareth, is never far away. Sadness that there should have been so many more of those special days and experiences shared in the mountains as we grew older together, and sorrow, that the other person who is part of those memories, is no longer here to remember them with…

Gareth perched atop the Northwest face of Half Dome, Yosemite

I know I’m not the first and won’t be the last to try and explain why mountains hold such an allure and fascination for me. There are countless famous mountaineers, mountain lovers, writers and poets who have tried to do just that, and explain the irresistible draw that we feel towards them. But I think it’s different for all of us.

Climbing in the Aiguilles Rouges with Alison, enjoying the spectacular view of the Mont Blanc range behind.

They make me feel insignificant and vulnerable, just like looking at stars in a clear mountain sky at night can make your whole existence feel incredibly tiny and inconsequential. They have stood there for millions of years, through the passage of time, being shaped by the elements, quietly observing the coming and going of life. I can’t actually even really get my head around it…their immensity, age, and presence on the planet is too big a notion to comprehend for me. But I do know that it draws me even more to them, makes them seem even more silently majestic and beautiful, and to feel very privileged to spend time amongst them. I think I love going to the mountains not because I want to conquer them, but to immerse myself in their grandeur, to revitalise my soul, and to escape…

Being in the mountains allows me to feel…without the need to question what I’m feeling, and that leads to a sense of freedom that it’s hard to find in many places. To feel the refreshing breeze gently cooling your face after a long uphill effort. To feel the exhilaration of flying down a difficult, technical descent, and the mind-absorbing task of staying on your bike through rock gardens and steep loose terrain. To feel the sun warm on your body as you lie in an alpine meadow of beautiful multi-coloured flowers, with butterflies dancing around you. To feel satisfaction at having climbed to a place where only a lucky few have been before. To feel the cool, fresh sensation of rain drenching you to the bone in a summer downpour. To hear the awesome power of nature summed up in a gigantic roll of thunder that seems to rip the sky in half, and then echo for an age down the valley below, causing a quickening in pace to escape to the safety of that same valley. 

One of many fantastic trails I've ridden this summer, perched high on the mountain side

To feel unbelievably alive as you reach the bottom of a dangerously exposed trail, where you have ridden a fine line between safety and danger. To hear nothing but the sound of the wind rustling leaves, a quietly flowing stream, insects chirping rhythmically, and the sound of your own breathing. How many places are there in the world where you can actually escape to, to appreciate that kind of silence and tranquillity? Despite the sometimes dangerous games I choose to play in them, there is nowhere more calming for me, than sitting on a mountain side, high above the rest of the world, simply being.

Lying on a grassy mountain top, watching the clouds go by.

Any stresses, worries, or anxieties start to melt away, time slows down, you can appreciate the things that so many people never take time to. I can think clearly and rationally, I can find a sense of peace and acceptance of life, of all that has happened, and all that might happen, and know that somehow, as long as I can keep spending time in the mountains, I will be able to cope.

So, you might wonder why I’ve come over all philosophical, but it’s because for the last 3 weeks, I’ve been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to be here in the beautiful mountains of the Maritime alps, working, but on my own, and with the opportunity for lots of time to think and reflect.

After a couple of fun and relaxing weeks in the hot and sunny Ardeche with Jo, Simon, Jonny, Ellie and Jessie; including a bit of climbing (before it got too hot each day!), lots of swimming in the river and lounging on sun rock, plenty of beach bbqs, and consuming vast quantities of cheese and wine, it was time to head back here for some work.

Lazy afternoons by the river....never a dull moment with "Team Chaos" aka Ellie and Jessie!

Pizza night in the Ardeche :)

“Here” will remain a secret location for the moment as the trip has yet to be announced and I’m sworn to secrecy about where the trails are that I’m riding. But I’m basically spending 3 weeks scouting and recceing trails for a new week-long trip that will start next July. My job each day involves looking at one of the 6 maps of the area the trip is covering, spotting a trail that looks like it might be worth scouting, or having heard through local knowledge that it is good, and going and riding it to make a decision on whether it makes the cut or not! It’s hard to believe I’m being paid to do this J

High in the Maritime Alps, Destination X ;)

However, as fun as it sounds, it hasn’t all been easy…

Although I have ridden some incredible trails that have left me feeling pretty lucky to have discovered them, there have also been plenty where I have pushed, pedalled and carried for hours, only to find an overgrown, boulder strewn, totally unrideable trail…which I have then had to spend the rest of the day pushing down, swearing as I bushwhack through jungles of the spikiest thorn bushes known to man, and emerging with every ounce of visible skin ripped to shreds, or teetering precariously on a too-narrow ledge where the path has collapsed, bike in one hand, the other gripping onto the rope/chain/wire/whatever has been placed to pull oneself across an infinite abyss below. In fact, for every great trail found, there are probably 4 or 5 rubbish ones. I have never spent as much time taking my bike for a walk as I have in these few weeks! It is a very rewarding job, but at times intensely frustrating. There are trails that look like they must be amazing on paper, a good gradient, following features such as ridgelines or traversing the side of canyons, but on the ground they just don’t make for a fun trail. But that’s all just part of the job…not every path you explore will be a piece of trail riding gold….and when you do find one….all the rubbish ones are instantly forgotten! There are a few that I will be smiling about until I get to guide guests on them next year! I have certainly had a few adventures! J.

This one was a good find!

Logistically, doing this on your own can be challenging too. The trails I am looking for have a strong emphasis on minimal climbing, for maximum descending, as in the trip, we’ll have the use of shuttles. However, on my own, that either means pedalling up a loooong way at the start or end of the day, or doing some nifty logistics of leaving the bike at the top, driving to the bottom and leaving the van, then hitching back up.

Mountain traffic jam

I’ve done a mixture of both. The pedalling is hard, not least because climbing up a switchback alpine road for over 1000m of altitude gain, on a full suspension bike with 2.5 inch tyres, in the sweltering heat of the south of France in high summer, is a massive slog! The hitching in comparison is fun! I guess being a blonde female on my own helps (hee hee!)  but I’ve not had to wait more than 5 minutes for a ride yet, and I’ve met a lot of really nice people who have had the pleasure and amusement of me having a conversation in French with them. I even got invited for an amazing lunch in a beautiful mountain chalet of one family who gave me a lift! It’s actually been a great way to really practise my French. I haven’t seen or spoken to an English person in the whole 3 weeks, there aren’t any here! So I’m forced to speak French or I wouldn’t speak at all! It’s nice to now feel I’m at the point, where although it’s not perfect grammatically, I can hold a conversation for a good length of time on a whole load of random things, and I’m constantly learning new words and phrases.

It’s nice having had some time on my own too. Although I wish Gareth was here, as I’d have preferred his company on these adventures to being alone, there aren’t a lot of other people I can think of who I would want to have spent 3 weeks here with.

I spy an amazing trail...

That can have it’s downsides too though…you definitely ride a little more cautiously when alone in the mountains, especially on little used routes, far from the help of others should anything happen. I’ve had a system of telling Ash my planned route for the following day the night before, and then a text to Emily each evening to say I’m back safely. I haven’t really felt afraid at any points....I actually love the feeling of being alone in the mountains, it’s an incredible feeling of remoteness, wilderness and adventure. If there are sections that are too committing or difficult to ride, I get off and push, after all, no-one can see me anyway so I don’t feel bad about it!

Remote, wild, beautiful

But last week, feeling tired from over a week of riding long hot days, I had a crash. It was one of those totally unexpected ones, on a relatively easy flowing section of trail, which made it worse as I was going pretty fast, and I was absolutely in the middle of nowhere. Maybe my concentration was a bit off as I was tired, but my front wheel came too close to the edge of a narrow section of singletrack, dropped off the side, jack-knifing the wheel and throwing me over the bars, to land on my side, skidding along the gravel trail. I can’t believe I got away as lightly as I did…some painful gravel rash and skin loss all along my right arm, a (still) painful hip and shoulder, and a sprained thumb. I sat on the side of the trail after the crash, feeling pretty shaken, and suddenly very aware that I was a long way from help, on my own. It was one of those occasions where I just wanted to call Gareth, tell him what had happened, simply to hear his voice calming me down. There isn’t anyone now that I wanted to call, so I sat and cried a bit because everything hurt, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, and because no-one was around to see me.

Just as I was sticking dressings to the bits of my arm that were leaking blood on the trail, and very randomly given I hadn’t seen anyone else on any of the trails I’d been on all week, I heard the sound of bike tyres on gravel, and turned to see another mountain biker approaching! He kindly stopped to check I was ok, and seemed as surprised to see me as I was him. We ended up chatting for 20 minutes or so, about bikes (he was on a Specialized Stumpy Evo too....good taste J) and trails, and he then proceeded to show me on the map loads of good trails to try. Perhaps the crash was a blessing in disguise? Anyway, we rode together for a couple of kms, until he turned onto a different trail, and it was enough to give me back a bit of the confidence I’d lost in the crash.

The following day I crashed again, ripping open a big split in my shin, immediately rushed upon by hundreds of flies…lovely. I decided it was probably time for a day off.

Injuries: an unfortunate part of the game!

For some reason, maybe the crashing and the fatigue, or being away from anyone I know for a while, I felt really down for the next couple of days. Despite being on my bike, in a beautiful place, doing something I love, it just hit me again, for the first time in a while, how much I miss Gareth and his huge presence in my everyday life. There’s not a lot I can do when I feel as down as that, and I guess it’s the first time in a while I’ve been on my own, and not had to be busy thinking of other people to take my mind off it. The best solution is normally a lengthy amount of crying, until I run out of tears, and thinking of any number of incredible memories of perfect days and moments spent together…I guess that’s what got me thinking about mountains..

Anyway, I’m doing ok again now, I know Gareth would be really proud of what I’ve done this summer and happy to see me enjoying life again here in the mountains. I definitely feel like he’s looking out for me somewhere near whenever I need him too….there’s no way I should have got away without breaking any bones in my last crash ;)

It’s back to guiding for a few weeks at the weekend. As much as it’s been brilliant trail-scouting, I’m looking forward to knowing that I’m going to be riding Amaaaaazing trails every day again…whoop!

The Haute Route by Bike (but Higher, Faster, Harder!)

Last year, I managed to convince a friend Tom, to ride from Chamonix to Zermatt off-road, on a route put together by long hours staring at maps, and snippets of information found on websites of companies who guide the route. 

The classic Walker’s Alpine Haute Route obviously travels from and to the same places, but on a much higher route that is assumed to be unrideable by bike. We carried all of our stuff for the week long trip, bivvying on route. The trip was great, a real adventure through truly spectacular scenery, but although we found some real gems of descents, we also rode a lot of boring fire-roads, and felt unable to thoroughly enjoy the good descents due to the weight of stuff on our backs. 

I hadn’t thought it was something I would repeat for a while, until Tom sent a link from a website, to a video put together by 2 German riders, who had ridden the Haute Route, along some of the best trails we had found, but also following much more closely the Walker’s route, crossing several high Alpine cols, and ultimately being rewarded with more incredible, long, technical descents. I think Tom had forwarded it out of interest, but was maybe not expecting my response of “Let’s ride their route!” He didn’t take too much convincing though, and a plan was soon hatched to meet up this summer and once again ride the mythical Haute route…but a bigger, higher, more awesome version ;)

Riding high on the Haute Route (Big thanks to Tom for all the fantastic photos he took on the trip! Most of these are his!)

We both agreed that we wanted to be able to enjoy, and properly ride the descents, unencumbered by a heavy bag. So for this year, bivvying was out, staying in huts and hotels was in J. Despite this, it’s hard to get a bag of everything you need for a week’s trip down to a weight that feels like that of a day bag. Once you have a change of clothes, 3 litres of water, food for the day, tools and spares, a waterproof, first aid kit…it all adds up. Still, it was way lighter than last year’s bag, and didn’t take too much getting used to.

Coming straight from a stint of 4 weeks non-stop guiding, I have to say I felt tired, and a little apprehensive that Tom was coming from a desk job, rested and full of energy for the trip!

We met up in Chamonix the day before starting, where Tom was already looking worried about the size of some of the days he had planned. Last year, it was me with the time available to do all the planning, whereas this year, Tom had taken on that job, and I had the benefit of being blissfully unaware of what the days would entail, other than some big climbs, and some amazing descents…how hard could it be?

Tom riding high above Chamonix

The first day took us from Chamonix to Verbier, on the same route we had taken last year, closely following the route of the Tour of Mont Blanc. We had the advantage of remembering the route and not needing to get the map out to navigate, meaning we seemed to fly through the day. A year of riding and guiding on technical trails has definitely improved my riding, and I felt faster and more confident on all the descents, especially having a lighter bag than last year too. Tom seemed surprised, and momentarily a little bit disappointed, that rather than having to stop and wait for me, I was right on his back wheel! We finished the day early and it had felt a whole lot easier than the same ride last year, not a bad thing when the following few days looked as long and tough as they did…

Chamonix to Verbier trails

The second day was almost completely on trails new to us, and we had no idea what they would be like. Looking at the maps showed we would be going high, very high, almost 3000m high, from the bottom of the valley…it was going to be a long day. In fact the two german guys who had ridden the route had split our second day into two days (gulp). Fortunately, a chair lift eased the pain of part of the first climb, and we were soon descending on some of the great sections of woodland singletrack off the back of the hill above Verbier. Rooty, pine-needle blanketed tracks that are fast, flowy and swoopy are always a good start to any day! Rather than climb for hours out of that valley as we had done last year, we then began to follow a trail which followed the course of an old saxon water irrigation channel, contouring all the way around the hillside. It was a fantastic trail, not too technical (apart from the odd section that was too narrow to ride due to our handlebars not fitting between the fence on one side and the rocks on the other!), and went on for about 15km. 

  

Saxon water-channel north shore!

Every so often we were treated to glimpses of the valley below and the scenery beyond, before having to turn thoughts back to the trail to avoid crashing on the exposed narrow sections where the hillside dropped away below us, and a watery tumble awaited if we fell the other way into the canal! Unfortunately, we came across some conservation volunteers part way along the trail, who informed us that we really weren’t allowed to be there on bikes…thankfully they were happy to let us continue this time….a good job, as I really couldn’t have faced descending to the valley to climb back out again, given how much climbing we already had ahead of us!

The first part of the day was definitely the easiest, and from lunchtime onwards, the serious business of climbing up and over the Col de Riedmatten began. A long switchback road climb in the heat of the midday sun took us up the first 700m of elevation gain, before we arrived at the impressive Barrage and Lac des Dix, a massive reservoir and dam, complete with hotel and chairlift up from the bottom to the top of the dam. 

Lac des Dix

Depressingly, bikes are not allowed on the lift, so the 300m of climbing I had thought we would save, we didn’t. More worryingly, a shop attendant informed us bikes weren’t allowed on the side of the dam at all. Our route took us all the way along the side of the reservoir and climbed up the Col and over into the Arolla valley beyond. If we couldn’t use these trails, we had no idea how far round we would have to go by road to reach our hotel in Arolla, but it could easily have been 50km or more. We decided we would have to go for it and hope no-one stopped us, and quietly began pushing up the track to the top of the dam. 

Reaching the top and starting to ride along the reservoir, it was hard to understand the reasoning behind not allowing bikes up here….we were riding on a huge hard-packed gravel surfaced track, that obviously had frequent landrover and 4 by 4 use! Anyway, no-one stopped us, and as usual, all the walkers we met were friendly and cheerful as we passed. At the end of the reservoir, the real climb started….

Almost immediately we were shouldering the bikes, and slowly picking our way up the rocky steep narrow track. A few puzzled walkers looked at us in disbelief, not the last time that would happen during the week! 

Crossing the glacial moraine on the way to the Col de Riedmatten

Slowly carrying up to the Col

The climb seemed to go on forever, getting increasingly steeper and more awkward. We were walking across glacial moraine, big loose boulders, steep scree, and deep soft snow in several places, and the Col never seemed to be getting closer. Towards the end, I adopted my approach of counting 10 steps repeatedly in my head, until I’d done 40 or 50, then I’d treat myself to a small stop and a breather…I only ever do this when I’m really tired and trying to just keep going! 

Almost at the top!

My shoulders, back, legs and lungs were exhausted, and I was seriously starting to question what had possessed me to want to do this trip. It was the longest, toughest hike-a-bike I’d ever done, and I have to say, I wasn’t even sure it qualified as type 2 fun…

The Top....finally!

Reaching the top, with a view of the ribbon of trail that was to be our 1200m descent to Arolla opening up before us, it all suddenly didn’t seem that bad J Despite having to get off and walk the ridiculously steep, loose, first couple of switchbacks (never a good thing on descents, especially having had to put in that much effort to get there in the first place), it was a great trail….if you like steep, seriously technical, rocky, exposed singletrack. I do, a lot, but at the end of an epic day, I was struggling to feel like I was riding at my best, something which this trail required to get the best out of it. Concentrating enough to react at speed to the technicality of the trail and ride it safely was difficult too, but despite all of this, it was brilliant. 

Two thirds of the way down, with arms pumped from the amount of braking required and from moving the bike around on the rocky trail, I was tempted to take the fire road we were crossing, down to the bottom. It felt like a crash was inevitable if I tried to ride the next section of singletrack. Tom made me at least ride over the crest we were on so I could see the trail before making a decision. Reluctantly I agreed, actually thinking in my head that I would still be taking the fire-road. 

Alpine singletrack snaking down through pretty meadows

My eyes were met with a view of a pretty much perfect trail. The kind of one you see pictures of in bike magazines and spend days dreaming about riding, endlessly snaking its way down through alpine meadows and into the woods. Tom shrugged his shoulders, grinning from ear to ear, not needing to say anything. I groaned, knowing I couldn’t resist riding it, but also knowing how bad an idea it was given how tired we were! Telling myself I would ride slowly and sensibly, I set off. That didn’t last long…the trail didn’t disappoint, and it was impossible not to pedal and pump harder, pick up speed and fly around hairpins, whooping with delight. It was a great end to the day’s riding, and that night’s dinner of pizza (only the 3^rd night in a row, but ok as not many people know, but pizza is actually one of your essential food groups…..or so I heard…) tasted particularly good.

The following day took us from Arolla to the town of St Luc. Once again we would be climbing over a 2900m col, the Col du Torrent, from the valley below, but it looked like a good portion of it would be rideable on road and fireroad. Making an early start before the temperature rose too much, we seemed to cover the distance quickly, and even once we were pushing, the trail was so much easier to negotiate than the previous day’s climb, that it was almost enjoyable! 

The view of big mountains through the clouds from the Col

Tom looking down from the Col de Torrent

The descent from the top, down to the startlingly blue Lac du Moiry, was incredible. Less technical than the previous day, with more flowy sections and less tight corners, it was almost as if it had been created for bikes and not just as a walker’s path. The climb over the col had certainly been worth it this time J From there we joined a descent down to the pretty town of Grimentz that we had ridden last year. 

The fun descent from the Col de Torrent

Sweet trails down to the Lac du Moiry

And once again, without the weight of heavy bags, and a year’s more riding on technical trails, it was even better than I’d remembered. Another wonderful contouring piece of woodland singletrack took us round the side of the valley without losing too much height, and then a short push up next to a pretty waterfall led us to our hostel for the night.

The next day, storms were forecast, and we were going to have to climb over two high cols to reach our destination of St Niklaus. I woke with a sore throat, headache, and total lack of energy. It seemed the non-stop previous couple of months of work had caught up with me L Knowing you have at least 3000m of climbing ahead of you, most of it pushing or carrying, is not a motivating thought in these circumstances, especially when it then starts to rain.

Pushing up to the Meiden pass

As we started the slow, slog upwards at the start of the day, I knew my pace had slowed, but I couldn’t will my legs to move any faster, there was nothing there. I felt tired, weak, and pretty low. I was lost in my own little world, concentrating on just placing one foot in front of the other and not looking up at the mammoth hills in front of us. I started to try and motivate myself, as I often do nowadays, by thinking what Gareth would have said to me to cheer me up and motivate me…on this occasion it didn’t help….It simply made me think of his lovely smile and gentle voice, and reminded me how much I still miss him, especially on big shared adventures such as this. Tom realised I was struggling, and we stopped for a while to chat about memories of Gareth and his crazy antics on his bike, and trips shared in the past. It helped, and with refreshed enthusiasm I started plodding once again. 

View from the Meidenpass

Technical descending from the Meidenpass...

...after some awkward off-camber snow pushing!

The first pass, the Meidenpass, after a bit of pushing over some deep snow patches, had an amazing descent down (notice the theme for the descents on this trip yet?!), that once again made you forget about the uphill slog you’d completed to get there. A brief stop in the valley at the bottom followed, while we drank coffee and assessed the fact that we couldn’t see the next hill through the heavy clouds and rain, and whether it was sensible to go over the next pass when thunderstorms were forecast and we had been told it was snowing at 3000m! We decided that we could always start the climb, then whizz back down if it got really bad…we hadn’t come all this way to be stopped from completing the trip by a bit of rain!

Tom helpfully pointing out the way to the top of the Augstbordpass

The climb was nowhere near as bad as we’d imagined, in fact, after the Col de Riedmatten on the second day, none of the passes had seemed that hard. 

Start of the descent

The super fun descent through Embd

We descended from Augstbordpass across snow to start with, then down along pristine singletrack skirting the side of the valley, and onto some awesome steep switchbacks, before getting into Embd and following the brilliant trail we had found the year before, down to the valley. It was for me, the best descent of the trip, a 2000m plus glorious piece of riding varied and totally awesome trails…I immediately wanted to do it again once we reached the bottom! It felt pretty special to know very few people have probably made the effort to take bikes up there, we were part of a privileged few to have ridden those trails.

We ate at the best pizza restauarant in the world (according to Tom) that night, and I maintained my record of pizza every night for a week!

The Matterhorn....how a mountain should look!

The next day, unlike last year, we woke to blue skies, and a view of the Matterhorn above Zermatt. Joining the tourists, we jumped on the Gornergraat train after handing over an extortionate amount of money, and headed up to ride the trail we had been waiting 2 years to ride. 

Not a bad view from the top of the Gornergrat train

The view was staggering, and riding a trail to the backdrop of one of the most distinguishable mountains in the world is undoubtedly pretty special, but it was a bit of an anticlimax. The trail was a bit too sanitized compared to the natural rockfests we’d been riding all week, and the hundreds of walkers meant we couldn’t ride at a speed that made it fun. 

Tom trying to keep his eyes on the trail and not the nice pointy mountain!

It also seemed a bit out of keeping with the rest of the trip, not to have “earned” the descent. Instead of spending hours pushing up a hill to get to the top, we’d jumped on a train…the trail felt like less of a reward than usual. Lower down it headed into the woods and steeply switchbacked its way down on rooty, techy trails with buckets of exposure. That bit was good :)

From there we quickly bought lunch before hopping on the train back to Chamonix. Well, we were sold a ticket to Chamonix. Unfortunately, during one of the changes, at Martigny, I noticed a sign saying no trains were running past the Swiss/French border, and instead a replacement bus was running from there to Chamonix. However, the same thing had happened last year, and the replacement bus doesn’t carry bikes. Feeling tired and argumentative at the prospect of having to now pedal over the Col des Montets and down to Chamonix, an extra 18km we hadn’t planned, I went and argued with the man in the ticket office (in French no less….very proud of myself J ) how it was outrageous that a train replacement service didn’t offer the same service as the train would have done, and demanded my money back after being sold a ticket which was unusable, by someone who knew full-well that we wouldn’t be able to use it with our bikes. After a long-winded process we ended up better off…(only 2 euros 50, but that wasn’t the point!).

I swore under my breath at the replacement bus as it passed us slowly pedalling up the Col des Montets later, and gave the most evil glare I could in case the driver was looking in his mirror…probably not, the French don’t seem to use them much. Anyway, it made me feel better! It actually wasn’t bad, and we were soon sprinting down through Chamonix, trying to get to my friends Jim and Alison’s in Les Houches before the storm that was rapidly moving up the valley hit us. We didn’t quite make it, but were greeted by cups of tea, warm showers, and a visit to the local curry house for dinner to celebrate the end of a successful and awesomely fun trip :) 

Once again, it felt a bit weird to be finished, but it was nice to have a lie-in the following morning, slowly wander around the market in Chamonix, and look at the photos we’d taken, remembering all the best bits of the trip.
I think an ideal Haute route on bike would be a bit of a mix of the 2 routes we’ve now ridden, but I’m not sure that’ll be next year’s adventure….I think I’ve spotted a new even bigger, higher challenge, there’s just the small problem of working out how to cross glaciers with a bike….