Life and Death on the Alpe d’Huez

Zagan the motorhome’s high in paradise, 1750m high to be precise, in the Alps to the north of Alpe d’Huez. We’re alongside the Lac du Grand-Maison (N45.22460, E6.14581), whose waters are held in place by a dam of the same name, seemingly taken from the single building of any size within miles, a big empty chalet alongside us. There are several tarmac parking areas above the lake, facing down onto the waters surrounded by green meadows which themselves are walled off by the snow-capped flanks of Le Rissiou (a 2622m mountain). Those slate-grey waters are low, by the way, maybe 30m below the high mark. More parking’s been created below us on what would have been underwater, with sign posts showing a motorhome being flooded when there’s a need for hydro-electricity! We took the hint and parked up here, although it seems impossible the lake could be filled up overnight.

We found this place through the park4night app, and are a tad surprised there are no other motorhome’s here as plenty of reviewers have given it a well-deserved five star rating. That said, the D526 road is a little more challenging than the bigger departmental roads through the valleys, with cornice roads (cliff up one side, cliff down the other), a few hairpins and even a drive up the back of a dam wall (I kid you not) to negotiate. [Edit: later on four other vans turned up, plus a French caravan which set up a gazebo, chain-sawed up a load of wood and were happily having a quiet fire when we went to bed. There was plenty of room for everyone.]

I won’t try and fool you guys by the way: there was zero Internet there. Even our mahoosive signal-grabbing roof antenna couldn’t connect us to the world, which is a very rare event these days. This blog post was written in-situ, but has been published from our next stop 4 miles up the valley at the Col de la Croix de Fer, another stupendous place to stay a while.

We drove here this morning, about an hour’s trundling from a free parking area on the edge of Le Bourg d’Oisans, south-east of Grenoble (N45.06338, E6.02321). The pull of the high hills urged us to do the last 3 or 4 hour stint of driving to get there from our previous spot on the other side of the Vercors, topping up on gazole (diesel) and GPL (you guessed it, LPG), and emptying our waste tanks on the way. The drive was easy enough, keeping to the free roads and free motorways around Grenoble.

When we arrived in Bourg d’Oisans, it was clear there was something going on as we approached the car park we had planned to stay in. Finding an alternative parking spot in the Aire de chainage, we set off on foot to see what was happening. For the past 14 years the Dutch have turned up in ever-growing numbers to cycle the iconic 21 hairpin bends from Bourg d’Oisans up to Alpe d’Huez, supported by 18 lorries which pile down from the Netherlands and set up villages at the top and bottom of the road. The event, called Alpe d’HuZes (official website here) generates a serious amount of money for cancer charities; around 4600 riders, walkers and runners (and one bloke on roller skates) raised over €11m this year alone. Posters along the route served up a poignant reminder of the purpose of the ride, showing moving quotes from those who’d died from the disease, alongside their photo, looking out at the living world. I felt the eyes of these folks keenly, smiling out, benign, knowing, urging us to live life to the full and to keep life’s difficulties in perspective. The event website relays stories of those riding, some living with the disease, others living with the loss of loved ones. It was moving to read, and I take my hat off to the Netherlanders for organising and taking part in this magnificent event.

An English lady told us there was a limit of six ascents for each participant, put in place as some riders were cycling to exhaustion when there was no limit in previous years. OK. Six ascents is roughly 100 miles of riding, with half of that uphill at an average of about 8%, at a bit of altitude too (how do the Dutch train for it, I wonder?). In other words, six ascents is a pretty magnificent, exhausting achievement. There was a horde of medical staff laid on for the riders, but when we eyeballed the tent they were all sat about eating ice creams, and to be fair the riders looked like an exceptionally fit lot.

The day after the ride Ju and I made our own ascents of the hill on foot, running separately up through famous sweeping hairpins, the arena of Tour de France gladiators. I’ve done a few similar runs in the past and I love the sensation of climbing into the sky, with the epic backdrop of timeless snow and rock and the valley town below rapidly turning toy-like. Ju had never been up on such an ascent before though, and as I ran the incredible mountain trails out from Alpe d’Huez on my round-about-descent, I got a text from her saying she was at the top. I was stunned, as her aim was to run just the lower section, and I shed a tear of joy for her having conquered the big hill, and her fear of it, and I can tell her confidence at completing the Zermatt half marathon in a month has ratcheted up a notch.

In the end I ran about 25 miles with roughly a mile of ascent (I walked long sections of steep stuff), and was pretty well rung out when I got back to the van. Ju more sensibly thumbed a lift back down the mountain, finding it easy to grab rides. I say ‘rides’ as she got three in the end, each taking her a bit of the way. One lift-giver stood out as the biggest character. As he chatted with Ju, he managed to do some multi-million pound deal on the phone and send emails (on his laptop, propped against the gear stick) while driving down the hairpins! Maybe she wasn’t so sensible? I just had to jog down some goat tracks, dusty mountain roads and the odd black-rated ski piste!

We’re doing this training for a charity race on 6 July folks – read more or donate here, we’ll be very grateful!

Last night we ate out in Le Bourg, our table crammed with pizza, burger, chips and fizzy drinks. Not our usual fare, but being sat in the busy cafe, out in the sun, watching the world go by and stuffing our faces we we felt we deserved a wee blow out. We liked Le Bourg, which reminded us of the vibrancy of Chamonix, busy as it was with cyclists, walkers, runners, climbers, you name it-ers! Our Australian friends Paul and Rose stayed here for a winter season, leaving their motorhome piled with snow in a car park and renting an apartment, using a moped to ride up the ski stations (brave souls!).

As I type this, by the way, a flock of bell-laden sheep and goats are wandering past, thick with brown lambs. The sun’s bright and strong up here, but the air’s cool and a breeze is flowing through the window. I can hear the snow-melt running down into the lake and (when I’m sat outside) I can spot the occasional bright dot of a cycle helmet floating along the road. A marmot’s letting lose with the occasional screeching warning cry as someone cycles past on the road above us. It’s a cracking spot this, it really is.

Cheers, Jay