Mountain Biking in Chatel

Last week I pumped up the tyres on our bikes and we hit the road. 

Been trying to convince Debs since she bought her Cannondale that you have to expect a hill every now and then especially now that we live in the mountains. When we went to Provence a couple of years ago I was carrying literally everything on my bike whilst she struggled rather vociferously with nothing more than two foam roll mats strapped to her handlebars. Downhill wasn't much better for her - bless. The up side of a speed bump was murder and the downside treacherous. 

Anyway, I dragged her out of bed and told her we were going to cycle to Pre La Joux. From where we are now it’s only about 5km but uphill all the way. She wasn't looking forward to it but after about half an hour of us both huffing and puffing we pulled into the car park at the bottom of the piste and had a beer. Bloody tough but very satisfying!

So last week I called up a few guys and gals and asked if anyone was going up the hill for a ride. I was told to meet up at Henri and Graham’s campervan in the Pre La Joux car park once more and duly complied. I was a little nervous but hopped in the van nonetheless and sat around outside their cute little Fiat Hymer combo thing for an hour contemplating where to go. I hadn’t been up the hill at all so far and was dying to get on with it. I don’t know why I was nervous. I guess it’s the fear of looking an idiot. Should be used to that, I hear you mutter.

We finally get a lift pass and clamp the bike to the chair lift and up we go. I’d told the gang that I hadn’t ridden off road since my escapades in Australia two years previous and I hadn’t. So after going up the little two man lift towards Avoriaz, Gaston unclips my GIANT hardtail from the lift in front and off we go! 

We’re heading towards a green run called ‘Panoramic’ so I’m naturally expecting a half decent view to while away the descent. Within seconds of descending from the lift I see a little kicker and pop a little jump off it. Feels good. Still got it.

We belt it down this undulating little green run and it dawns on me that it’s actually quite tough. Very rocky and up and down and whist I know there’s a cracking view of the lake and hills of Avoriaz to my left, I daren't look or I’ll be heading down there to join the goats and vache qui rit a thousand feet below. We pull over at a hairpin and let the gang catch up. Then I get a barrage of abuse from the guys seemingly saying in unison, ”I thought you said you were crap and had hardly ridden?” Gulp. Sod it. Feel even better now. Confidence growing.

The Panoramic is a green run making it statistically the easiest run here. I don't know who grades these things and I know I’m trying to keep up with guys who are really into this mountain biking lark and subsequently have £3-4k bikes to play on and I’m on a sub £600 hard tail, but I wouldn’t want to have any less ability than I have to get down. Surprisingly difficile.

The run has amazingly well-crafted berms which if you get them right and commit to a high line you’ll just get thrown around the bends to perfection. They're a real buzz! The flatter parts are built up with table-top jumps and kickers and all sorts. Little streams cross the path and make you think about your line and commitment issues of auld. It’s really steep and technical in places, which I love. I reckon it might be an age thang but I’ve never really been into going that fast off road and nothing’s changed. I love the techy bits and handled them pretty well.

Before we went out I adjusted the back brake to get it a little nearer to the bars but in my haste to have uber responsive brakes I blew the thing altogether. A real bummer. I had to then cruise down to the car park once again with only a front brake and fluid peshing out all over my leg.

Graham had a spare and complete brake so a bit of jiggery-pokery another couple of lifts later and we were heading back down the Panaoramic again. The second time it’s better naturally as you know where to let go of the glowing brakes and belt it. I hit some good jumps too getting some pretty good air.

You’ll be pleased to hear I was wearing a crash helmet, elbow pads and knee/shin guards too – highly recommended - and did this run three times before descending back from the restaurant area of Plaine Dranse towards the car park. We faffed around a bit and then went back up hitting a run called People, which is a blue and therefore a little trickier. It winds its way through the trees and over streams with really steep drops and tight berms and trees that sit in the middle of the run that surprise the granny out of you. Awesome.

I nearly disappeared down a steep ravine coming around one corner too fast but the little bike stopped on a sixpence, bless him! The bike is great. Sure, it’s bumpy and after three or four runs your wrists are hurting and your shoulders crying out but we grew up on these things so I’m used to it.

The unwritten rule when riding with Gav, the landlord is for every run you do you have an accompanying beer. So we did. Lovely it was too!

We then played six holes at our neighbouring 'Loy' golf course. I’d showered unlike the others so when I turned up on the 1^st tee they’d all teed off and it was my go. I was nervous again as I have single-handedly introduced a higher level of golf chat into the valley since arriving last December. The expectation was high and I’d been dreading this opening tee shot for months.

You’ll be delighted to hear I knocked the 110yard wedge to about four feet. A look of annoyance was the best response I got from my peers.

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I hadn’t been out for a week or so as the cost of it all is just a little steep. The day pass is €30 and the hire of the gear the same making it a dear old day out. I want to preserve my little GIANT for as long as I can too but having drank a lot this week I thought I’d set myself a little calorie burning challenge. I’d mapped the cycle Debs and I did on www.mapmycycle.com and it gave me a few other routes to try. I saw that you could cycle up to the Plaine Dranse area and thought I’d give it a go.

I parked the van in the car park and hit the steep road. I stopped immediately and pumped up the tyres to the max (and for a breather – I hadn’t left the car park yet) and carried on. It’s a first gear jobbie. Long and steep. As I left the car park I saw a sign saying Plaine Dranse 6km. Clucking bell! I’ve boarded down it so many times and don’t recall getting much speed so I hoped I’d be ok.

I battled up the hill at snail’s pace for what seemed like half an hour and then saw the next sign informing me I’d covered just one kilometre. This knocked the wind out of my already depleted sails. I gallantly carried on for another half a km I reckon and then, as I often find myself when I go running, at a halt. Don’t know how it happens but suddenly, without a conscious decision from me I am no longer moving.

All negged out and pissed off, I'm panting like a rabid Rottweiler and my legs are shaking like I’ve just done an hour long lunge. I contemplated giving up and riding back down to get on the lift.

Just couldn’t do it.

Gonna do it.

It’s four kilometres you wimp – get on the bike and carry on!

So I did. A minute later I was just beginning to struggle again when AC/DC’s ‘Nick of Time’ came on the iPhone… perfect. Spurred me on to perfection. I battled my way up and up and up the hill listening to it twice, then another time and then the view of the restaurants came into sight and I knew I’d done it.

My mouth was dry, legs a quiver, heart coming out of my chest like a horny cartoon dog but I naturally retained all face and cruised into the car park looking like I did that sort of thing every day. Inside I was exhausted.

I lay down for half an hour and designed a playlist to listen to on the way down. I was only wearing shorts and tee shirt so I knew I had to be careful. I also didn’t have a guide so…

Hopping straight up like an Iron Man I headed towards the run I’d done before called People but thought I’d see what else was on offer. The Serpentine is a blue run and absolutely brilliant. I was all over it and overtaking unfit kids on the miniscule ascents throughout the run. (These little spoilt brats with their five grand bikes can’t handle a fifty yard 5% hill. Pathetic) Anyway I carried on down at breakneck speed with Metallica et al blaring in my ears and pulled into the car park a short time later. Brilliant! Loved it. I was considering doing another run but then the queue put me off. So British.

I’d had the rear brake repaired the week before at the local shop and popped in there for some meticulous adjustment on the way home. I was buzzing. Not tired in any way and felt a huge sense of accomplishment. Not only had I descended the hill with style, grace, skill and pretty damn quick but I’d cycled up to the start of it too unlike every one else. I’d cycled 10km with a 600m ascent thrown in. All of this without an accident or a scrape.

Ten minutes later I grabbed the bike out the back of the van and tripped over with it landing on my head, scraping my knee really badly and my left fingers squeezed in between the bars and the frame.

What a twat.

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On Sunday morning I was out bumping my way down a steep and narrow trail when I felt my ability to hold on for dear life and pull the brake levers rather tricky and gradually felt my hands disappear over the bars. The next minute I was smashing onto the ground hard and fast and sliding towards a ditch. The ditches are traversed on trail by the use of wooden planked bridges spanning their breadth. The ditch I visited was four or five feet underneath said bridge and I found myself a short time later upside down lying on my back with a gentle trickle of long since melted snow cleansing my bleeding forehead.

Keeping up appearances in a Hyacinth Bouquet style I immediately stood up and brushed myself off. I was panting like a paedophile in a playground and struggling for breath. I had landed at the feet of another keen French mountain biker who had witnessed the no doubt spectacular event. In that typically nonchalant French manner his eyebrows raised beyond his scalp and corners of his mouth bounced off his shrugging shoulders, he said, “Ca va?”

I've had a real problem with this expression all my life, as it doesn’t translate well to me. I have been told by Debs to reply with the same so I did although I didn't feel particularly ça va.

The boys came running back up the hill at this point. They hadn’t seen me disappear into home of the trolls and had zipped by having the time of their lives whilst I staggered about wondering whether mine was about to come to an end.

I pulled the completely undamaged bike out of the stream and walked about until I felt ready to move. Something was awry - I just didn't know what.

I’ve had a few crashes in my time – Whilst sat motionless on the veranda for four days I recalled a few extreme sport mishaps:

1. Aged 10. I was attempting to jump over seven packing crates ‘borrowed’ from Waitrose with my old friend Matthew Davies in ‘the rec’ when I… well, I don’t know what happened really. I guess I didn’t quite make it and ended up in bed with mum nursing various horrendous bumps and scrapes about my person.

2. Aged 11. I flew over the handlebars when returning from buying a pair of jeans from Traxx. We were living nearby and the plastic bag containing my Pepe jeans had entered the vicinity of the front spokes sending me 'Supermanning' down our road. Waking in my bed to my sister’s gorgeous friends asking if I was ok seemed to aid the healing process considerably.

3. Aged 19. Returning home from a day’s couriering around London on my Honda 400/4 I looked behind to check the intermittent rear light was working and hit the kerb. I was only traveling at about three miles per hour but managed to do some considerable personal damage. I got home from Richmond without using the clutch and walking into the lounge semi-naked I said, “Does my shoulder look ok, dad?” Reluctantly putting down his whiskey he just said, “I’ll get the car keys.” Left shoulder out.

4. Aged 23. After ‘finding’ a case of Pinot Grigio whilst erecting a marquee for an impending wedding, Marquee John and I duly ploughed through the majority of it before he asked if I had any ‘gear’. Bladdered, I pedaled back home down a tight alleyway but got my bar ends caught in the wire fence and crashed rather dramatically into the tarmac. I think. I smashed my head on the ground knocking myself and my right shoulder out.

5. Aged 30. Stuck in traffic for an eternity in the middle of Winchester during a particularly hot August afternoon, my impatience got the better of me and on green I hurtled up the road on my Honda Hornet at full pelt. Not knowing the road well, a chicane over a humpback bridge approached unexpectedly and I slammed into the opposite wall at over 50mph. I never even hit the ground. Bike was knackered and I peshed blood for a few days.

6. Aged 37. Whilst looking behind me to see where the gang had got to, I carelessly caught a back edge on the snowboard and flew backwards landing on my head and right shoulder again. Clavicle a long way out.

7. Aged 37. Not a good year. See above.

So staggering around in the woods last week I kind of knew what was happening. My mouth had gone bone dry and I was struggling to breathe. I supped as much water from my pack as I could but without any breath inside me it was proving difficult. After ten minutes of gasping the guys assumed I’d done some real damage and ordered me to go to the hospital. When you live in a mountain resort, a visit to the nearest hospital needs a visit to the easyJet website, so I hopped back on the bike again. I managed to ride down the hill with one arm and had a beer. Au naturellement.

I was fuming. Sore but more angry than anything else. I’d really buggered things up when I did this back in January on the snowboard and here I was four weeks into life in Chatel and I’d done it again. I knew it wasn’t just a bruise and knew a week off work (at least) was on the cards.

I was more upset for Debs who I knew would go nuts when she saw me staggering out of the van hardly able to put one foot in front of t’other. Thankfully she was great and just shook her head telling me I was an idiot. She’d seen me like this before and knew I’d be fine.

The morning after, however I couldn’t move at all. It took me half an hour to get out of bed. I was like an upside down turtle.

Debs wasn't too concerned but I knew I ought to go and get an x-ray. Visions of jagged ribs puncturing my lungs had me slightly concerned and I didn't sleep very well that night. It was now 36hours after the tumble and I was in agony. Nurofen just doesn’t cut it when the shit really hits the fan. So le docteur was seen and the x-ray showed no cracks or breaks so that was good. He suspected some twisted vertebrae and forwarded me to the osteopath for a second opinion.

I have never experienced pain like it nor have I seen parts of my body in such a fashion before. I also never realised how hairy my arse was. I was screaming in agony as le physio tried to ‘free up’ a couple of twisted vertebrae he’d allegedly discovered. Le docteur even came in to see what the commotion was. I’ve never screamed in pain nor will anyone have seen me flailing around hollering STOOOOOOOOP!!!! before. He did achieve a couple of decent clicks in the right spot but the exertion he stamped on the joint that didn’t click had me blubbering in pain.

The Merchant of Death then asked me to lie on my front for further pleasure. I lay down on the bed and then started to panic. I couldn’t move or breathe now and also couldn’t push myself back up. I couldn’t even ask for help – I was totally stuck. Debs eventually finished talking to The Reaper and asked me to hurry up. She bent down to see me going purple and stamped on the elevating bed to get me stood up again. It took me a while to recover before attempting it again. With an elbow in my back and head wrenched sideways, the executioner nearly broke my neck before achieving the requisite clicks and stepped back rather proud of himself. I was a shadow of my former self.

I struggled to utter the word merci and wished him a slow painful existence before staggering into the car for an unannounced but well-earned boohoo.

I've since spent the last four days scribbling garbage like this down whilst enjoying the temperate climes of summer in the mountains. Cold beers, good food, lovely weather and my own private nurse from heaven. Could be worse I guess. Should be back to work on Monday I hope. A minor glitch in the plan.

CK