Col Du Vars in June
Col De Vars from the Vallee Ubaye side
There’s so much good riding in this region it is almost impossible to pick favourite climbs but Vars stands out for it’s sheer familiarity these days. I’ve collected a lot of memories on that hill over the years; one of the main reasons it lends its name to our new carbon bike.
Today’s Vars ride was a little unusual in that I wasn’t riding.
I’m on a trip with Nick Saunders of Jersey Tri hosting his TPS Coach regulars. Nick takes care of the training schedule, I support. If it’s a long ride from base or leaves from somewhere else, I back them up in the van.
Nick and I have been working together for almost six years now I guess. And whilst things have got too busy with Spoon now to have a side hustle like this, I’d promised Nick I’d come back for one last camp as soon as lockdown allowed. A sort of busman’s holiday.
Despite the workload (at home with Spoon and the daily duty and demands of a full time camp) I’m glad I did. I don’t live here these days of course, and we’ve not been able to run the camps during lockdown so every minute in this magical place feels all the more precious now, so to make the most of it I’ve been taking my bike along in the van so I can get a little ride in when the moment allows - even if I can’t join the group on that day.
I’ve got our UCI approved XCR IzoardRR Disc with me, and a Vars Disc. Spoiled for choice in one sense, but I had to take Vars Disc for this one.
Most days, we all head out together and I go off to the local shops to get lunch and dinner. I rush around then head to meet them. Today, I met the group at Savine Le Lac after they’d ridden out from Roche De Rame, where we swim most mornings. It is a stunning lake that has to be seen to be believed. It’s full of snakes who swim in and out of the reeds, heads extended out of the water like sinister little swans but they’re not bothered by triathletes, or seem not to be. We tend not to tell guests that before they’ve met one.
Today, all the shops were open again after the unpredictable / unhelpful hours served up by the Ascension Day bank holiday weekend, so unusually for this camp, shopping went as planned for the first time this week and I got to the first meet ahead of them.
Welcoming the group with fresh croissants in a local car park I checked in with everyone and it seemed like I’d ironed out most of the servicing gremlins people tend to turn up with on these trips. The group were riding well. Clearly getting used to the altitude. I hung Jule’s little Boardman over my neck for a moment or two and tried to tweak the indexing but my services weren’t really needed beyond that, save for providing sugar and baked goods. All was looking good for me getting ahead of them.
I waved them off, grabbed another bag of fresh croissants from the Boulangerie just off the roundabout where we’d stopped and I headed up the next climb behind the group, following them up a stiff little winding climb in the van, that takes us up and out from Lac Serre-Poncon and down the Valley Ubaye.
This Valley Ubaye ride has to be experienced to be believed. I’d be surprised if there’s a more picturesque ride anywhere in France and that’s saying something. It’s that good. Rolling hills, low altitude, and usually comes with an encouraging tail wind (till it doesn’t). Today it did, and everyone was jolly so I got ahead of the group and set up for lunch at the second feed stop in Barcelonette.
On arrival the guys were pretty knackered, but hearing the news that they only had 22k to the top of Vars and after stuffing their faces with ham and cheese croissants, their mood was restored and they all cracked on pretty cheerfully.
Knowing they’re all going well, means I can get ahead.
I put my foot down and only stopped briefly on the way up Vars to get some beers from the Brewery that sits at the foot of the climb. The Refuge is often shut this time of year, so I got the beers in as a little reward for not getting a cafe stop at the top.
The brewery is called La Sauvage and it’s right on the climb. The name means ‘primitive culture’ I think, according to Google. A little unfair on the charming owners of the brewery. As I pull in the drive I’m greeted by their amazing mountain dog, then their cat, then their children.
The lady that runs the place was momentarily nowhere to be seen so I hang around for a bit shouting ‘Bonjour’ in my pretty poor French accent. Eventually she emerged from the barn doors of the brewery in a cloud of hoppy beer smells and cheerfully sells me 8 bottles of 8% IPA. I didn’t notice it was 8% at the time of course. Apparently it’s bloody lovely Beer. I can’t drink beer so can’t speak from experience but when you give it to Ironman distance triathletes at the end of a long day of training the effect is pretty amusing.
Beers bought, I raced to the top. This is not just a great climb for cyclists, it’s a drivers road too. It’s ridiculous in fact. If you had a Porsche and no worries about totalling it this would be one of the most awesome climbs in the Alps. The hair pins are tight but often a consistent gradient and kinda round so I’ve often fantasised about drifting something ludicrous around every bend on the way up. I don’t do the engine noises out loud (or at least I don’t think I do) and today the eight seater T5 isn’t the car I’m dreaming of but it does the job.
Once parked up I realised I’d forgotten my helmet and shoes. It was a 7am start from the chalet after all. I’ve got my bibs but it’s just starting to rain, so I grab the bike and head off as is, in what I’m wearing. Hoody, cap, trainers.
As I descend, some of the stretches between hair pins are steep, long and open. You gather seemingly infinite speed on the way down and with spots of rain landing on the freshly laid tarmac, no or little armco and a plenty scary drop, I should take this steady but it’s the only little ride I’m getting today and I don’t want to get wet, so I let the bike run. It’s a good bike at speed. The campy brakes must be the best anchors for this sort of work and despite me using them way more than I might of done a few years back, they’re faultless for at least 6k of descent, only making a small squeal as they got up to temperature half way down, with almost no fade. Not bad considering I’m 85kg+ just now.
Past the Brewery near the motorcycle museum (give it a look one day if you’ve got a minute, it’s cute) I turn around and before checking none of my group have caught me up yet I head up the climb on my own, just as the heavens open up.
Before the penultimate house in the village on a steep hair pin, a massive white bull-mastiff-meat-grinder of a dog must have heard my faultless shifting from big ring to small. I hear the bass in his bark and I jump a bit (shit myself in fact) but assume he’s locked in the garden till I realise he’s loose in the road behind me and no less vocal. I speed up to escape velocity (Zone 5 for sure) only realising it’s a kind of friendly bark when his mouth is four inches from my calf.
This and the rain just adds to the drama though and as I settled into it on fresh legs I’m reminded why a brewery on this climb has to be called Sauvage.
The pics are taken on the climb on my way up. I stopped five hundred or so times, despite the howling wind and freezing rain. But why not? Even in these conditions, in trainers and a hoody it’s mind bendingly beautiful up there. I stretched my legs and got air in my lungs so mission accomplished and got back to the van before any of the group noticed.
You have to put this climb on your list if you’re in this area.