The view from my tent this morning....
It’d been a late – for me – night so I decided on a slow start, up at 9, breakfast, write the blog, do some washing. Suddenly it’s 1130 and I remember that I have to get to the local tourist office before it shuts for lunch at 1230. Cue frantic packing up and into town to get the stamp just before they close. Add a bit of shopping and I’m off on a long downhill to the start of the second last col of the trip.
I manage to get about a mile up the climb before a great cracking noise precedes the loss of my saddle! Luckily for my nether regions I don’t sit heavily on the seatpost and manage to stop safely to discover my saddle and mounting clamp a few metres back down the road. Somehow the mounting bolt has sheared.
Oops!
Now I’m pretty prepared and have been known to fix many things
with gaffa tape and ty-wraps, but I can’t think of any way to sort this one out. I’d been through a small town a few miles
back so coast back down to the start of the climb and ride standing up back to the town. Of course, it’s now lunchtime and no
hope of finding help, so I do the sensible thing and have lunch. At 2 the town starts to wake up again and I stroll around
looking for somewher to help. I get stopped by an old man who looks in puzzlement at my lack of saddle and shakes his head
vigourously when I ask if there might be an “atelier de velos” in town. He does, however, direct me to a tiny back street garage and I finally manage to wrest the owners attention away from hitting the front suspension of an ancient Renault 5 with a very large hammer. I explain my predicament and he delves into boxes of nuts and bolts to finally come up with something that just does the job. Refusing any payment, he grunts in response to my thanks and returns to torturing the Renault.
Back on the road, I head back to the climb. It starts well, but I’m suddenly overcome with the need for a snooze. Fair enough, it’s a hot day, why not? I find a shady bench and lie down for a break. I’m soon woken by the sound of an enthusiatic family who want to know all about my trip. I get the map out and show them where I’ve been “Comme Le Tour de France!” they
explain to the children, who then look at me in awe. I’d hate to disappoint them by explaining that I’m not riding at quite the speed of the peloton, let alone a breakaway!
Not feeling quite so good!
Snooze over, it’s back to the col. I take it very slowly and this one seems interminable, but finally I reach the summit.
Photo taken, it’s down for the 25km down to Sospel.
Approaching the first hairpin, I haul on the anchors to hear the horrible graunching sound of metal on metal. I’d been
keeping an eye on my brake pads as I know I’ve been using them pretty heavily, but was convinced they’d make it to Nice and anyway, I hadn’t seen any likely looking bike shops to buy replacements.
Fortunately, the rear pads still had a bit of life in them so after a quick bit of swapping I was tentatively picking my way
down the mountain.
Along yet more stunning gorges and I arrive on the outskirts of Sospel where I immediately find a lovely campsite.
Tomorrow is the very last col of the trip – I think I’m going to miss them.
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