Rolle on

8th Day
Tue

Date 05- Sept
Start Baume les Messieurs
Destination Rolle
Kilometres 104
Cumulative Kms 587
Ave speed (kph) 17.8
Max speed (kph) 50.3
Time taken 05:49
Max Height (m)1245
Today climb (m)1840
Cum.climb (m) 5070

A slower start this morning as we had to wait for our hosts to get the fresh bread but then we enjoyed as much as we could eat before I got packed up for the day. I was as apprehensive this morning as if doing an exam. As we had breakfast I recalled how I felt almost a quarter of a century previously when Dad pressed a few toffee sweets into my hand as I prepared to leave for the first exam for the Intermediate Certificate examinations. He is not here now and I miss him. His parting had left a sudden and unexpected void in my life and in some ways this trip was an attempt to fill that or at least help me over the pain. I had been cast adrift and the years of planning had provided a lifeline.

Séamus was fascinated that I should feel as if facing an examination. Easy for him - he had a car and did not face a challenge as soon as he left the refractory. Immediately outside the abbey gates the road turns right and rises from 292 m, through two hairpin bends, to 496 metres. That's 200 metres up over a distance of 2000 metres; a 1 in 10 climb. Not particularly bad but certainly one to get the body warmed up first thing in the morning.

It was a lovely morning as I headed off across the wooded countryside along quiet roads. I was not the only cyclist about though. I was passed by what seemed like overdressed cyclists who raced past on their lean machines as the road continued to climb gradually. It reached almost 600 metres before dropping rapidly to Chatillon - from where I made the by now obligatory calls home; this trip was certainly chewing up telephone cards - and then an even steeper descent to cross the river l'Ain. Then I realised why the locals were so well dressed. The descent was cold - but I put it down to the early hour and did not learn. I stopped on the bridge; Séamus caught up and we had a snack - it was great to have the company on the road.

I quickly warmed up again on the next climb to Doucier where Séamus bought a box full of provisions. At this point we took a minor road to the right that my map showed to be a scenic route along a lake. When I came to a second lake I was aware that something was wrong. I should by now have come on a left turn to get me back on the main road. Séamus checked his map. It showed us to be on a dead end road. Damn. I had come 8 kilometres along this road. It would take 16 kilometres to retrace the route and regain my position on the main road. Séamus sped on ahead to see if there was any way out. No go. The Institute Géographique National maps had not let me down yet. They clearly showed a road rising steeply to meet the higher main road. Reluctantly we headed back but I told Séamus there must be a left hand turn we had missed. After a few kilometres we noticed an old sign for Menétrux that was our target. But it was little more than a track.

I read my map again. This time I noticed the dotted line along one edge which symbolised an Autre route, irrégulièrement entretenue. Now I realised that when the French say they maintain a road then they maintain it well; if not then it’s only suitable for a four-wheeled vehicle. Séamus assumed I'd accept my fate and add the extra miles so he was surprised when I interviewed a woodcutter who was coming down the track. He confirmed it was impassable for bikes. It was 1.5 km long and 33 metres of a climb. It got very rough and stony later. Would it be possible to walk with the bike? Yes. 1.5 kilometres was a lot shorter than 16 Kms; it was a new stretch of "road"; it was my intended route; it was a challenge. I decided to go for it. Séamus and the woodcutter watched in disbelief as I cycled up the hill. It was a beautiful track, any walker would have enjoyed it, it rose steeply but I hung on until the stones got so big I was afraid of catching a wheel and buckling it and I walked a short distance. I was back on the bike though for the final stretch and felt like cheering when I emerged in the middle of the village of Menétrux.

I marvelled at the wonderful mountain scenery of the Jura as I chased down the road (well maintained!!) to catch up on Séamus. This guy is some chancer. He had set up stall on the patio tables belonging to a roadside hotel while his car boot was open on the far side of the road in sunshine to facilitate the drying of a few of my socks. I wondered about the hotel owners. Not open yet, replied Séamus, relax! and he divided out the goodies he had bought earlier in the morning.

I was first to St Laurent en Grandvaux for lunch and this time we were regular customers at the restaurant tables for lunch. We chatted and laughed about the day so far as we enjoyed our sandwiches and coffees in the afternoon sun. We even pondered buying a pair of boots for Séamus in a local store but I had miles to go and a lot of climbing to do with a high point of 1229 metres to reach so I left him contemplating as I headed off up the road.

This was serious climbing. A hot sweltering climb but I got to almost 1000 metres at the Col de Savine. The map at this point is a confusion of different roads crossing one another at different levels; rivers; railways; railway stations and houses so I was unprepared for and was dismayed to find myself on a long descent down to Morez. Mind you the 6% decline seems to be perfect for cycling, I was going as quickly as I dared but only needed to touch the brakes infrequently as I swept along. To cap it all Morez is a picturesque town - the capital of spectacle making in France.

Now the serious climb to the Swiss border at La Cure began. For an hour I toiled over those 10 kilometres as the sun beat down - at one point I rushed to the shelter of some trees to escape the heat and drink my water in comfort. Otherwise I found it was risky to drink on the move, as this road was too busy to leave any wandering from a straight line unpunished. But I got to la Cure ahead of Séamus. He must not have read of the tortoise and the hare. While I worked he forced himself to do a quality check on the products of the local vineyards.

I cycled unchecked into Switzerland to make sure he was not there and then returned, equally unmolested, to France. I sat at the local café (closed) and watched the world go by for the next half an hour until the little white car made its appearance. Then I headed into Switzerland for the second time. Nobody cared. I waited for Séamus to cross but he was interviewed at length by the border official, who then took his passport, before escorting Séamus into the office. I thought that this treatment of an innocent motorist was a bit excessive but it turned out Séamus only wanted to have his passport stamped.

Once through the Swiss border I was relieved to find that I was quickly across the Col de la Givrine at 1229 m and then into a spectacular descent. A mountain train even chugged past to complete the scene. The descent was fast but COLD COLD COLD. I had not learned my lesson from earlier in the day and because it was sunny I set off down the mountain in light clothes. The cold rapidly pierced my clothing and penetrated to the marrow of my bones. Never have I felt so cold so quickly. My chest and legs all felt as if they had been deep-frozen. Putting on trousers and tops then did little, as I could not generate the heat on the descent to warm myself again. Now I appreciate why professional cyclists stuff newspapers up their jerseys on hot July days at mountain peaks.

Switzerland immediately seemed clean and prosperous and I met Séamus again at St Cerque, where we bought stamps and exchanged our currency before continuing into Rolle. There was still 20 Kms to go and I was cold and tired but the scenery was fantastic. I was weary by the time I got to Rolle, having done 104 kilometres and climbed over 1,800 metres in total.

The woman in the tourist officer seemed to have little interest in her job. She had no idea where we could buy phone cards and reluctantly identified a hotel that she said was only 200 metres away - it was more like 2000 metres.

Our reception in the Hotel Rive Rolle however made up for it. The owner was on reception and could not do enough for us. He made sure the bike was well secured and that we were well taken care of. There was a fitness centre in the hotel so Séamus had a swim, and met a Dubliner in the otherwise empty pool, while I had a massage that revived my legs.

The evening was topped off at the beginning of an excellent meal when the owner reappeared and, explaining that he had been a cyclist once, offered us a complimentary jug of the local wine to celebrate at our meal. Séamus was terrified I would refuse his generosity on the grounds of being a Pioneer, but I had more wit than that and was delighted to accept his gift. Séamus assured me it was a fine wine and heroically ensured none was returned lest we insult our host.