Col D'Izoard
I was
nervous as I left Briancon, something was in the air and I couldn’t tell if it
was fear or anticipation, or a heady mixture of both. After Mt Ventoux this was
the second iconic climb on my list, a far less famous road to a less celebrated
peak but this climb also has a monument. Not marking a tragedy but celebrating success,
a monument to two greats in cycling history, Louison Bobet and Fausto Coppi, Bobet
a particular hero of mine and this was my chance to ride a climb he made his
own, my first solo alpine climb.
I was
starting from the ‘wrong’ side of the climb, a necessity as the only campsite
open at the start of June was south of town so the first section of my ride was
through the lunchtime traffic to the start of the climb proper, I’d found the
start the night before so had an idea of where to go.
Even in
heavy traffic the French could give lessons to the UK in how to drive, there’s
less of a rush, no need to brush inches past a cyclist and I’m given my own
space on the road. Even HGVs wait until it’s safe to pass, maybe they recognise
a nervous Englishman when they see one as I get mildly confused in the one-way
system, heading away from the climb before looping back and I find a sign for ‘Izoard’.
Make the turn and there it is, the start marked with a sign showing the
distance and average gradient. Displayed like that it looked easy.
 |
| Just above Briancon |
As is the
way in mountains it’s up, low gear, find a rhythm. Through suburban Briancon,
parked cars, pedestrian crossings, shops. Not really mountainous but ordered
and busy. Then urbanisation concedes to gradient and development stops, I’m looking
down on the town that was fortified by Vauban. Looking back I can see the
series of forts and defensive positions built into the side of the mountains,
one or two have me wondering how on earth they managed it. Impressive
constructions below and above me. The difference between the old fortified town
and the modern sprawl below it now very obvious, the road clings to the side of
a mountain, not the mountain yet as I’ve a way to go to get there. This
mountain defines the northern edge of the town, the land to the south is
flatter and what must have been farmland once has been occupied by modern
development. Vauban had no defence against that.
Now into a
proper alpine climb, natural forest, a quiet road, great views. Make a right
turn and then confusion, I’m heading downhill and picking up speed rapidly. Confident
that I’ve gone the right way and enjoying the free ride I continue until I slow
and have to start to pedal again. Two thoughts rattle around my head, that downhill
will have lowered the average gradient printed on the signpost at the start and
that I’m going to have to get up that hill to get back to the van. Too late
now, press on. See another signpost, average gradient has increased.
Riding up a
valley, snow capped mountains ahead, signs of erosion on the other side of the
river, trees scattered like matchsticks after a landslide, glad that this side
isn’t as steep. This side looks like a scene from the Sound of Music, no
singing nuns or Von Trappe family but alpine meadows and livestock. Settle back
into a suitable gear and soak up the warmth from the sun as I slowly ascend
through small hamlets and past farmhouses.
Back into
the trees, temperature dropping as I climb higher. A very different landscape
to either Ventoux or Galibier. The first snow at the side of the road on a
shaded bend, a hairpin where the road doubles back on itself to keep the
gradient under control, occasional stretches of arrow-straight road that play
on the mind, the bend in the distance never getting closer and then suddenly it’s
there, turn the bars and look ahead to the next one. Then the trees give way to
the snow field, pristine white all around and again a noticeable drop in
temperature as the sun ducks behind a cloud. Gradient and the chill hurting my
legs.
 |
| Looking down on the refuge |
Reach the
refuge, one of a series in the Alps paid for by Napoleon’s family to repay the
departments in the Alps support for the former President. There’s a bar and the
warmth from their fire is tempting but I’m less than 1km from the top and press
on, give way to a coach crawling down the hill having trouble with one of the
hairpins, then a clear run to the top and applause from people in their cars.
No other cyclists today just sightseers, like me.
 |
| Summit monument |
It’s cold!
Roll over
the finish line from a Tour stage, remember that Simpson has been here too, a
photo from the front page of a French paper published in the 1960’shanging on
the wall in a local café back home, he was heading the other way.
Start the
descent to the monument, the whole point of this ride. It’s apparently easy to
miss but I’ve looked at pictures of it so many times that the outcrop stands
out to me from some distance, roll to a stop alone on the mountain in one of
the oddest landscapes I’ve ever stood in, the “Casse Desert”, a barren
landscape with odd rock formations protruding from acres of scree. But it’s
sunny and not as cold as the summit so I stay long enough to soak up the
history, to eat some food and to see if anyone passes who’d take a photo.
Take a
selfie before starting the climb back up, pause at the summit for another photo
and to put on a jacket to keep the wind off then start the descent, chasing
Louison, Fausto and Tom.
As always
in the mountains I’m torn between a head down full on rush to the bottom and
the more considered descent. Common sense wins and I resist the temptation to
head down to A&E and make good use of my brakes, now wary of the of snow
melt on the road that I’m convinced might hide a thin layer of ice. It’s that
cold that the first 2 km of descent becomes a test of nerve until the road
dries and the straights that played on my mind on the way up now accelerate my
progress home. Stomp up the downhill stretch in the big ring and before I know
it I’m stopped at road works on the edge of town, a chance to catch my breath
and get rid of my jacket before navigating Briancon’s one way system again.
Izoard,
Is-so-hard? Yeah but worth every pedal stroke. Next time I’ll do it properly as part of a loop.
I rode up the mountain again the next morning before we left Briancon, remembering to charge my GoPro first. The photos above are a mix from the two rides. This is a short video of the descent, camera attached to my bars. Col D'Izoard descent. There are no descending skills on show for two reasons, a healthy dose of fear and a missing contact lens that popped out on the way up.