- Joined
- May 4, 2005
- Location
- Orinda, CA
- Moto(s)
- A funky red & white Italian named Gianni Cervo! Versys - two of 'em! And a Ducati for laughs.
- BARF perks
- AMA #: 281672
Part 2
After the cop told me that Lauteret would be closed until the following morning, I put a route into Google maps to get me back to the house. It involved going back over Galibier and Telegraphe the other direction, then up to the Col du Mont Cenis (the site of my crash in the Centopassi) to get to Susa and then to Bardonecchia. Google said 3-1/2 hours. It was 7 PM, it was cold and rainy, I didn't have any layers with me, and I thought, "Screw that, that, there's a hotel right here.". The sign on the door said Ferme.
Just then two Polish riders struck up a conversation, and we brainstormed options, looking at Google and Expedia, but none of having any luck. I decided that I needed to get off the mountain one way or another, and going back up in elevation wasn't an attractive option. So all of us saddled up and rode west. I knew there were hotels down the road, but the first few I saw had parking lots full of bikes and cars, so I decided to go to La Grave where we'd had coffee that morning. Stopping at the first hotel I saw, I enquired about a room. Full. Any suggestions? The lady tried to be helpful, but our combined language shortcomings meant that I didn't understand. Did I mention it was cold?
Heading west out of La Grave, down in the canyon the light was getting dim, and what should appear but flashing warning lights and a sign reading, Route Barre'e. To paraphrase Turkish in the movie, Snatch, "Now I am fucked." Can't go up, can't go down, no place to stay.
There I am, stopped in the middle of the road with my hazard lights flashing, when a van pulls up from the road maintenance authority, a man jumps out, grabs the sign, puts it on the shoulder and shouts and gestures to me. I didn't understand the words but I got two things out of his gestures. First, that he was letting me through. Second, that it was very slippery. I judged his gesture as my best alternative.
Off I went in the gathering gloom and driving rain, heated grips on max. It wasn't long before I saw what all the fuss was about. A landslide had blocked most of the road, and what wasn't blocked was covered in slimy mud. Fortunately the road was slightly downhill, so I just pointed the bike straight, pulled in the clutch, and coasted through. Past that there was another washout of my lane, and beyond that there were few signs of life anywhere. I saw a road sign saying 36 kilometers to Grenoble, and I was sure that if all else failed that I could find lodging there.
Kind of like that line from the old Red Sovine song, Big Joe and Phantom 309, just then the lights of a little French country inn came into view. I had to try. I pulled up, and climbed the steps dripping wet, , and asked the man behind the bar, "Parlez-vous Anglais?"
"Non."
I asked, "Chambre?"
He responded, "Chambre?", and held up a finger indicating to wait a minute.
Soon he appeared with a a woman who appeared to be in charge. Her English was roughly equivalent to my French, but with the help of gestures and a translation app, we sorted out a room, which was spacious and comfortable.
After getting out of my gear, and making my way back down to ask for dinner. It included a green salad with some sort pate' in it, and a stunning lamb stew.
Later, a regular showed up who also sat at the bar. The two of them were chatting away when she appeared to ask him how to say something in English. From then on, he served as translator, and we had a fine time.
The rest of the night included a HOT shower and fitful night of sleep. The next morning dawned sunny, with road crews hard at work.
Here's a shot of my oasis and its setting.
After the cop told me that Lauteret would be closed until the following morning, I put a route into Google maps to get me back to the house. It involved going back over Galibier and Telegraphe the other direction, then up to the Col du Mont Cenis (the site of my crash in the Centopassi) to get to Susa and then to Bardonecchia. Google said 3-1/2 hours. It was 7 PM, it was cold and rainy, I didn't have any layers with me, and I thought, "Screw that, that, there's a hotel right here.". The sign on the door said Ferme.
Just then two Polish riders struck up a conversation, and we brainstormed options, looking at Google and Expedia, but none of having any luck. I decided that I needed to get off the mountain one way or another, and going back up in elevation wasn't an attractive option. So all of us saddled up and rode west. I knew there were hotels down the road, but the first few I saw had parking lots full of bikes and cars, so I decided to go to La Grave where we'd had coffee that morning. Stopping at the first hotel I saw, I enquired about a room. Full. Any suggestions? The lady tried to be helpful, but our combined language shortcomings meant that I didn't understand. Did I mention it was cold?
Heading west out of La Grave, down in the canyon the light was getting dim, and what should appear but flashing warning lights and a sign reading, Route Barre'e. To paraphrase Turkish in the movie, Snatch, "Now I am fucked." Can't go up, can't go down, no place to stay.
There I am, stopped in the middle of the road with my hazard lights flashing, when a van pulls up from the road maintenance authority, a man jumps out, grabs the sign, puts it on the shoulder and shouts and gestures to me. I didn't understand the words but I got two things out of his gestures. First, that he was letting me through. Second, that it was very slippery. I judged his gesture as my best alternative.
Off I went in the gathering gloom and driving rain, heated grips on max. It wasn't long before I saw what all the fuss was about. A landslide had blocked most of the road, and what wasn't blocked was covered in slimy mud. Fortunately the road was slightly downhill, so I just pointed the bike straight, pulled in the clutch, and coasted through. Past that there was another washout of my lane, and beyond that there were few signs of life anywhere. I saw a road sign saying 36 kilometers to Grenoble, and I was sure that if all else failed that I could find lodging there.
Kind of like that line from the old Red Sovine song, Big Joe and Phantom 309, just then the lights of a little French country inn came into view. I had to try. I pulled up, and climbed the steps dripping wet, , and asked the man behind the bar, "Parlez-vous Anglais?"
"Non."
I asked, "Chambre?"
He responded, "Chambre?", and held up a finger indicating to wait a minute.
Soon he appeared with a a woman who appeared to be in charge. Her English was roughly equivalent to my French, but with the help of gestures and a translation app, we sorted out a room, which was spacious and comfortable.
After getting out of my gear, and making my way back down to ask for dinner. It included a green salad with some sort pate' in it, and a stunning lamb stew.
Later, a regular showed up who also sat at the bar. The two of them were chatting away when she appeared to ask him how to say something in English. From then on, he served as translator, and we had a fine time.
The rest of the night included a HOT shower and fitful night of sleep. The next morning dawned sunny, with road crews hard at work.
Here's a shot of my oasis and its setting.
, but I did get some riding done in the Vosges mountains in the morning. Parts of it quite reminded me of the SC mountains. I suspect many would prefer the riding there compared to the Alps, but there's not the same cache' of casually mentioning that you've just gotten back from riding the Vosges, is there. 
