Postcards from the TNR

[thenorthwind]

There's a lot been written about the Torino Nice Rally since 2016, and thousands of photos from the route on the internet that mean almost nothing to you until you've ridden it. So describing my experience in its entirety alongside the billion photos I took seems a bit unnecessary. Besides, we did it over two weeks (nearly) so there's a lot of it, and my photos are all from my basic phone camera since my mirrorless camera decided not to recognise the only lens I'd brought on the second morning

Instead, I thought I'd pick out a few defining moments to save you from my more extended ramblings. I've had too much time to kill in airports, hotel rooms, and on planes this month, so there is rambling nevertheless.

First some background and practical details... we rode as 4: me, Morne, Steph and Cirdan. For scheduling reasons we were constrained to the latter half of September, and ended up started on the 19th. This was definitely more risky than the beginning of the month weather-wise (this guy set off a few days before us, I think: https://emmanuelnataf.com/torino-nice-rally/), meant less daylight (there's nearly an hour and a half less at the end of September than the beginning), and a lot of cafes/restaurants/refuges had shut for the season. But in many ways it was more rewarding, and sometimes the quiet was advantageous.

Getting there and back from northern England/southern Scotland wasn't terribly straightforward. We ended up boxing bikes, leaving two vehicles at Edinburgh airport, and flying to Milan Malpensa with easyJet, where the following day we got the train into Milan and then to Turin. On the way back we bought the extortionate but convenient bike boxes from Nice airport, and flew direct to Edinburgh, again with easyJet. The flights weren't every day, and the prices varied quite a bit, so we ended up giving ourselves 12 days, rather than the 10 we were planning on. This worked pretty well for us - for the first few days it felt like we were up against it even with the generous schedule, but after a week we realised we'd done a lot of the harder riding and could take our foot off the gas, which nicely coincided with some better weather. Having loads of time to do things like exploring underground bunkers and seek out coffee/pastry/ice cream/pizza/beer was great

Bike-wise, we agreed whether MTB or gravel, it would make sense if we all rode the same sort of bike. Which is how we ended up with one full-sus, one hardtail, one rigid MTB, and one gravel bike For me, the rigid bike - 2.8 Trailblazer front, 2.2(?) Spesh The Captain rear - was fine as we weren't rushing and allowed some fun on the descents.

So there's the pre(r)amble. I'll add to this as I get chance.

[thenorthwind]

Le Col d'Agnel

There were, of course, many col(le)-topping moments, which always feel significant, but the Agnel was a special one. For one thing, it's the highest point on the route, and for another, it's an international frontier, with an actual line for border-straddling antics.

Even before we left home, I'd been keeping a wary eye on the cold front set to bring a day of rain. And somehow we'd managed to line up the highest col to coincide with it. Parfait.

We'd camped beyond the last village, at about 2000m, hidden from the road in some trees by a track on the opposite side of the river, and shared a cous cous meal and some local beers. The rain arrived in the night, and we woke to a bleak scene.





We discussed options via WhatsApp - despite the tents being wedged into a little clearing, we couldn't hear each other for the noise of the rain. Truly 21st century touring. We booked rooms in a B&B in Sampeyre, giving us somewhere to dry out, and committing us to getting over the pass.

The other two decided to wait a bit, since one forecast was suggesting the rain would ease late morning. Me and Morne decided to get moving, having gone less lightweight in the waterproof department. I'm not very good at sitting still, and besides, Morne had already packed up and was stood around looking cold. Not without a little trepidation, we set off up Europe's third highest paved road into rain that was turning to sleet.

With movement of course came warmth and we soon got into the easy rhythm that long steady gradients induce. At some point the rain turned to mere mist. An ancient snow plough ground past us, but little other traffic. The silence added to the drama of the high rock face that formed one side of the valley, under the low cloud.



A few hundred metres from the top, we met the snow plough coming down. We stopped on the inside of a hairpin to get out of its way. The driver responded by ploughing to within about 6 inches of us. There was a few inches of snow on the top, but it only extended a kilometre or so down the French side.



After a few obligatory photos on the summit, and exchanging cheery buongiornos with the caribinieri who'd driven up in their Panda, presumably to prove a point, we hurriedly layered up for the descent. This was the bit I was most apprehensive about, since we'd not be generating our own heat, as on the climb, and it's a long, long way down, and we feared the weather might be worse on the Italian side.

As it happened, the snow only lasted half a kilometre before it disappeared completely, and we were even treated to some views underneath the cloud. A herd of ibex (I think) streamed across a slope below the road.



We pulled into the first village, the impossibly quaint Chianale, where we treated ourselves to a celebratory espresso and pastry in a deserted bar, one of the only places open, and warmed up by the pellet stove cranked up in our honour. In truth it had been fairly uneventful, but we still felt jubilant at having made it over.

Later, having spread everything out to dry in and around the B&B, we met up with the others, who'd sat out the let up in the rain we managed to hit, and got thoroughly soaked on the descent to Sampeyre. Some you win...

[redefined_cycles]

Looking forward to the rest of the pics Dave. That snow looks lovely. I assume it was quite a few weather seasons out there!

[fatbikephil]

Keep 'em coming!

[thenorthwind]

For balance...

La Brigue

I was right, and for once, I knew it. I'm indecisive by nature, and in group situation, like to be democratic. But when we rolled into La Brigue and I spied the campsite across the river, I knew we wouldn't be leaving La Brigue that day. To be more prosaic, it was actually having read one Google review while sitting outside a café in the village with an ice cream and an Orangina, from a glass bottle, au naturelle, that I made up my mind.

The official target had been the municipal campsite in Fontana, a little further down the road in the main valley. Steph had caught the whiff of salty Mediterranean/stench of imagined glamour on the breeze and had designs on getting to Nice the day after. But I argued that 10km of downhill road was neither here nor there. Besides, there was a river to swim in, a pizzeria and a shop in the village, and we'd pass the best boulangerie in the morning before Fontan.

And for once, I was right (as was the Google review). "La Piscine!" said Jean Luis (soon to be known to us as "the Don") from his golf buggy. We dutifully followed him down to the river. He wasn't going to take non for an answer. To be fair, non was entirely the wrong answer, even for someone with as little interest in getting into cold water as myself. Quatorze degrees he insisted. I'm not sure he'd measured.






The pizza (recommended by the Don, who told us to mention his name, and came down to check we hadn't reneged on the plan) was the best of the trip by far (sorry Italy).





The only downside was that it was so damp in the valley that all the clothes we'd washed and hung out to dry in the sun were soaking again by the morning, and the sun didn't come over the hill till 9 o'clock. By the time we left, I was ready for a second breakfast Paris-Brest from the boulangerie. It's a hard life.

[faustus]

I'm enjoying these, very good format for writing things up, keep them coming! TNR and the general area of the Alps they cover (and in the spirit of Rough-stuff cycling in the Alps) is top of my wish list of things to do on a bike by myself, if I get some time away in the future. Great stuff

[thenorthwind]

Cheers all.

I'm enjoying these, very good format for writing things up, keep them coming! TNR and the general area of the Alps they cover (and in the spirit of Rough-stuff cycling in the Alps) is top of my wish list of things to do on a bike by myself, if I get some time away in the future. Great stuff

It was my first time riding there. Can't recommend it enough.

[thenorthwind]

Il Colle delle Colombardo

This ride involved, by my standards anyway, a reasonable amount of logistical faff: getting the optimal bike and gear setup, getting a box and boxing the bike, booking flights and parking and accommodation (for the first night - we flew into Milan and arrived late), getting people and bikes to the airport, flying, building bikes, wrestling with the Italian rail system, getting gas (both Milan and Turin have very convenient Decathlons), getting out of Turin...

But by the first evening of riding, it felt very quickly like we'd made it into the mountains proper as we started up the Colle del Colombardo. Cows with bells*. Singletrack road, then gravel. And with it that frission of excitement about heading up into the hills, away from people, and into the slight unknown.

One of the unknowns was where there might be some flat ground with enough space for three small tents, which wasn't immediately forthcoming. Hoping there might be some by a shrine marked on the map, we pressed on up, but found a switchback with a reasonable amount of space on the outside and called it.

Tents up, we dined on fresh ravioli from a deli in Viù. This was it. Finally, the TNR.



*At this point a novelty and welcome indicator of the Alpine setting. More on this story later.

[JimmyG]

Cracking write-up so far Dave. Looking forward hearing about the rest of your trip!

[jameso]

just

[In Reverse]

This is fantastic. Great writing.

[benp1]

[Mr Sparkle]

Cows with bells*.

Not horns?

[thenorthwind]

Thanks for indulging me I haven't added any more since I wrote a long post and then somehow lost the draft, which was frustrating, but here we are...

Since I mentioned the cows...

Needs less cowbell

"Right, that's it, I'm moving." Responses ranged from outright denial to reluctant agreement. It wasn't a command though, merely a statement.

It had seemed like we'd lucked out on this camp spot. In reality, we didn't have a lot of choice in the matter, the long, long slog up to the Colle delle Finestre from Bussoleno, 1500 vertical metres and more switchbacks than I cared to count had sapped most of our energy and not yielded much in the way of promising looking spots. So when a farmer told us there was a flat area with some picnic benches a little way up the track, at about 1900m, we didn't need much persuading.





Admittedly, having to lift the bikes over the electric fence to get to said benches could have been a sign, had we chosen to heed it. Instead, we put the tents up and tucked into more ravioli, enlivened by cheese and fresh panna cotta from a counter we'd happened upon at one of the farms beyond the end of the tarmac road - one of the great pleasures of this sort of touring.



Not surprisingly, curiosity drove the cows across to our side of the little stream by our campsite to engage in the three main activities of alpine cows: chewing, staring and clanging. We hoped they'd get bored of us and go find some greener grass. Suffice to say, once we were out of sight inside our tents, they were quite happy to munch the grass right next to them, their bells clanging in that arhythmic way that makes a mockery of earplugs and sleep impossible. For me, anyway: Cirdan claimed he was happily asleep, and that Steph was snoring away, but she disputes this. In fairness, the cowbells were only marginally louder than her shifting an inch on her Big Agnes mat.



By about half past two, I decided I spent enough time trying and failing to sleep, and if I was going to be awake, I might as well be moving to a place with less cows. I stuck my head out of my tent and watched a cow trying to eat the grass in Morne's porch. I'd resolved to push on up the pass, but the others insisted on coming with me, and moving to a flat but stony area at the side of the track a few hundred yards back down. Tent back up as far away from enclosed cow-area as possible, I managed a few hours of sleep before dawn, when the cows re-assembled around Steph and Cirdan's tent on the bovine side of the track.

[thenorthwind]

Le Col de Braus

I lay back satisfied at having tackled the challenge head-on, and looked forward to getting some sleep.

It was almost the perfect end to the trip. We knew this area would offer a reliable bivvy spot, as it had to hundreds of TNR riders before us. We stopped for a celebratory beer at the bar at the top of the Col de Braus, the last real climb of the route. Very civilised. The last couple of days had been mostly sunny, bar one very short sharp shower on the way up to the Col Turini. The weather was calm, almost torpid, and down here at barely 1000m above sea level, it was a pleasantly warm evening.



Another cheese/salami/olive based meal - its scope limited by the sudden realisation in Sospel that the shops would soon be shutting for the standard 3 hour lunch break - was consumed as the sun set over the misty coast. The Cote d'Azur was visible, and we felt uncomfortably close to "civilisation".



After the local yoot had got bored of razzing around on a selection of unfeasibly loud motorbikes (and pushed the one with no petrol in it home), peace reigned. We sat around long after dark - by now sunset was not long after 7 - but still retreated to our tents at a hour which we'd probably think deviant at home, having almost synchronised with the sun.



Almost the perfect end. Unzipping my tent, I found a sleeping mat significantly softer than I'd left it a couple of hours before. Perhaps it had tempered in the cold. No, softer than that and it wasn't that cold here. I blew it up, got into my bag, and lay on the mat, hoping naïvely I'd fall asleep quickly and stay asleep if the mat deflated again.

An hour or so later, I was definitely awake, and definitely on the floor. Reluctantly, I got out of my sleeping bag and began crawling around the tent vainly trying to find a tiny hole in the mat by head torch light. Fortunately it was dry - most nights I'd have been soaked in condensation.

I almost couldn't believe it when I found the miniscule thorn still sticking out of the top of the mat. I marked the hole with a pen and flicked it out of the tent, then went to fetch my patch kit from my top tube bag. Patched, reinflated, gob-tested, sorted. Instead of putting it off, I'd sorted it. Sleep now.

About an hour later, I woke up with my hip digging into the floor.