PROLOGUE
The Roc d'Azur event pulls thousands of people in October every year. For the rides, for the ambience, for the exposition. Everybody I have talked to has loved it, some keep going back year after year. So this year (2009) I was firm in my decision that I would go. After years of intention I had previously always run out of holiday stock come October. Not this time: I set aside enough holiday already a year ago ...
France, Var province, day 1
Day off from work for trip preparation. I felt like I was struggling through psychological mud. Deciding what to take with me felt tedious, what to not take with me felt tedious, eating felt tedious, mentally digesting the trip ahead felt tedious, everything. I felt homesick, even before I had left home! I had planned this trip for a year, dreamed about it for years before that. God damned it girl, get your thumb out of your a**!
France, Var province, day 2
Everything still felt slow. While my hallway was covered in preparatory piles (bike technics, bike riding, bedding, kitchen stuff, clothes, bathroom stuff, travel papers, trail papers, fooooood ... and vitamines), I quickly dashed to my GP for another health certificate, as I seemed to have misplaced the first copy. Eventually I was off with the car. I was supposed to meet with up with a friend and her two dogs on the highway, her going north, me going south ... but when I pulled out my phone to give her a ring, I noticed I had managed to lose her phone number somewhere in the packing. Argh. When I stopped for fuel, I let my thoughts wander aimlessly. That is, until I felt my right foot getting wet. I looked down. My tank had reached more than full level, but the pump kept giving me fuel, now on my foot. How nice! I had an ice-cream, and tried to wind down. I failed.
It took about four hours of driving before my body finally shifted, found its own voice and RELAXED. How fantastic to zoom down highways again! The further south, the more sun it seemed. It all went so well that when approaching Lyon for the overnight hotel, I thought the day had been a piece of cake. The Gods must have heard me, and decided on punishing me straight away ... and long.
Lyon takes in several highways, you could almost say all highways lead to Lyon? And I, I didn't pay enough attention, I mean how hard could it be? (For those of you that read my Normandy report, I've said those words before, and regretted it ...) So I ended up taking the wrong highway, turning back, trying to find the right one (and the nearby hotel with it), arriving from the south instead of the planned north. I failed. I trailed up north to turn around, to arrive from the north. I still failed. What the f**k. I ran out of gas, filled up in the pitch dark night at an equally dark petrol station (having to pay a fixed amount in advance to a man who had barricaded himself behind bullet-proof glass), and decided to give it a little bit more trying before succumbing to sleeping in the car. I was extra nervous as one of the main tunnels of the city was being closed down for renovation for the whole weekend at 9pm. Cruising around, I eventually realised that my Europe atlas might have a Lyon zoom-in. I located the hotel on it. I had to ask several people to pinpoint where *I* was on that map, and with the last piece of information that the tunnel was only closed in north direction, I used it to go south (a combo I had amazingly enough not tried so far). I magically made it to the hotel around midnight.
France, Var province, day 3
According to FFC the place for information on official trails of Fréjus is the outdoor activity center Base Nature. That makes sense. The same Base Nature boasts with housing the famous Roc d'Azur event every year. The official starting point for four out of in total seven official mountainbike loops was indicated to be ... Base Nature.
Poor woman in charge, I disliked her from the first instance she opened her mouth. Maybe it was mutual? I walked in, spotted a brochure on Roc d'Azur, and grabbed it. I then turned to her and asked about permanent mountain bike loops. And she, having noticed what I had taken from the brochure stand, said that that was not the correct brochure, that was for registering for Roc d'Azur. Did I imagine it, or did she have an air about her, that that was nothing for me? Oh dear ... Besides, I thought registration was closed months ago, what are the forms still doing out? Anyway ...
I kindly reiterated my question regarding mountain bike loops. All she had to give was a miniscule-scaled, bad, grey-shade A4 sheet. Like a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy .... and she had no advice as to where I could get hold of the original. She only had a few copies so ... to push things ... obviously, I *had* to ask if I could have a second copy. *grin
Her excuse was, let me quote: "... mountain biking is not part of our activities". Excuse me? They house the Roc d'Azur every year? They are indicated by ffc as THE place to go for information on the official trails in the area? Base Nature is indicated as THE starting point for FOUR out of in total seven mountainbike trails of Fréjus ...
I left with my miniscule-scaled, bad, grey-shade A4 sheet of a mountain bike map. I decided to head for the Tourist Office in Fréjus, estimating I had enough time to walk to get there before their closing time at 6pm.
This person at the reception, a man this time, he looked at me with a blank face when I asked about permanent mountain bike loops. He pulled out a brochure on a "very flat" route, so I pushed the issue, saying "but aren't there loops that go up in the Esterel massif?". Oh, his memory seemed jogged, and ... what did he say? He said, and let me quote for the second time today: "The Tourist Office in Saint-Raphaël has information on those, ...". Hang on. Saint-Raphaël? What does Saint-Raphaël have to do with the official mountain bike trails of FRÉJUS? *confused
I walked off, after first seemingly having succeeded in pissing the poor man off when I didn't want information on bus connections. According to him it was too far to walk. Well, except for possibly running out of time (Saint-Raphaël Tourist Office closing at 6pm as well), I had all the time in the world. My feet were threatening to develop blisters from walking in floppy sandals, though ...
Saint-Raphaël meant going back to the beach, just a kilometer off Base Nature. *sigh
"This is the only map (Front, Back) we have" said the young girl at the reception of Saint-Raphaël Tourist Office. She looked ashamed. I didn't yell at her. She did look sincerely ashamed. And so I think they should be.
Is there a reason why they don't invest more in mountain biking? I had already collected several activity brochures on all sorts of water sports, horseback riding and hiking. What happened to off road biking? Don't they LIKE us? *grin
On my way I stumbled upon information on a market for the day after, and I was reminded I needed groceries.
France, Var province, day 4
Assembling my bike I had a big fright: Everything was done except ... oh, no ... MY PEDALS AND CHAIN WERE STILL ON THE FLOOR IN BRUSSELS! I searched all my bags several times. I simply could not believe it! I even went out to the car, but it was empty, fully unloaded. Walking back to the apartment I contemplated my choices: Find a local bike shop to buy a new pair of pedals and chain, or wait until a biker friend of mine arrived, and hope he'd have spares to lend? Stepping into the apartment, closing the door after me ... sighing ... accepting my destiny, there it was: ONE small plastic bag still not checked. My tool bag! And there they were! How fantastic was that!
Eventually I was drawn back to the situation with the ever-elusive trail map, and my action plan for the next day was set; go past the bike shops I had seen earlier in the day. Looking at the map from Base Nature again; the original had to come from somewhere. I WANTED IT!
I turned to the Roc d'Azur information leaflet, browsed it through, realised I had missed downhill competitions. Grr. I would not have minded some action photos for my web site. I really had not thought there was much going on until next weekend, the village was still quiet. Next I spotted details on the Roc rides. My intended ride, 35 km on Friday ... 850 hm ... wohaaa! ... I had kind of hoped it would be something less hard, as I had heard the 22 km ride on Saturday was easy. Shit. Shit. I am not fit enough!
Coming all this way, having not taken riding seriously over the summer, having been WAY TOO LAZY, here I was: not fit enough! PANIC!
My action plan changed dramatically. I needed a long ride the next day, to see how sore I get. Now, where to go on that long ride? Hmm ... ok, go past those bike shops after all. If neither of them had the map, I would go exploring a GR trail marked on my topographic map. I should be able to hook up with it from the church in Saint-Raphaël. I knew from previous experience that GR markings are normally quite good.
France, Var province, day 5
What a fantastic day! It was not perfect, but fantastic is pretty good enough ... I spent 6 hours out in nature, and tracked down official trails 5 and 6. And the weather was sunny, not too hot, with an occasional fresh breeze. Awww...
I got up early, shivering slightly in the morning breeze. I rode directly to the bike shop at the Gendarmerie National roundabout. I didn't get too lost this time ... starting to get to know the streets! I drew nil again on an official map. They referred me to Base Nature, and I flew into a temper and said I had tried that. They recommended the Tourist Office, and I told them I had tried both Saint-Raphaël and Fréjus. I thanked them nevertheless, and left, swearing to myself. Talk about disorganization! Who's got the bloody original map to sell?!
Eventually I hit tarmac, and another mountain bike sign showed itself trustfully. Further up another one, pointing to the right, seemingly wanting to lure me towards Mont Vinaigre at 618 metres above sea level. Oops. I hesitated. I was not sure I wanted another 300 metres of climbing AND go further away from home. That could prove very painful by the time I got home. Instead, I shot down the tarmac road straight ahead, crossed the busy Route Nationale 7, and BINGO, found one of the two official starting points of trails 5 and 6!
I could have been content with this. The day had been productive enough, and the busy RN 7 could have provided a quick escape back to the apartment, but ... As trail number five is "only" 23 km, I fell for the temptation to follow its loop over to its western point, where trail number 6 would break off. From there I could hook up with trail number 4, which would take me back into Fréjus. Excellent plan. Only ...
I couldn't make out where the western breakoff of trail number 6 was, and thus ... *sigh* ... my plan to hook up with trail number 4 was annihilated. Setting up a new strategy, I ended up continuing trail number 5 as it started turning back; eventually it would go by the RN 7, before shooting back in the forest the last bit back to the starting point (by the RN 7 as well, yes).
Getting up on RN 7 was nice for a change. There was no traffic on my side of the road, so I could enjoy taking up all of the lane, and speeding. A short steep climb, then into roundabouts. Big ones. Traffic turned nasty. At one point I found myself trying to cross, and this car came at me at high speed. Close call. I got scared enough to stare after the car, and wooops, I gave the driver not only my finger, but my whole arm! How terribly assertive of me! I saw the driver return the favour. Excellent! Aggression is based on fear. I took it as a good sign, that the driver had been startled as well; either he/she thought I was a complete idiot, or perhaps he/she would think of going easy on the gas pedal next time at a roundabout to avoid a reccurrence. Maybe even both. Whichever. I left it there, and continued my lethal attempt to get through the roundabouts back to the apartment. In overall car drivers seemed mindful of bikers. But you only need one, dont' you ...
France, Var province, day 6
Aiaiai ... my old sciatica nerve came out to play today. I tried to go fill up on groceries, but I had to turn back half way there. I popped myself with painkillers, to no effect. But talk about good timing; in the early evening my biker friend arrived to the village. My certified-personal-trainer friend, willing to experiment with his knowledge on trigger point therapy and acupressure. Awww. I could finally sit up and walk around again. Phew. One day lost. I was glad I had been able to do yesterday's riding.
France, Var province, day 7
That was a fine battle indeed. The FIRST time I queued everything went smoothly. As waiting and queueing is not my strongest suite, and my fuse can be pretty short, I only needed a tiny set-back to go ballistic; that was when I was told, when it was my turn, that they could only find me based on my race numbers ... ARGH! I had checked, and double-checked, and over e mail I had been assured me I only needed my "pièce d'identité et certificat médical". How annoying!
So, I had to step out of the queue to this big wall where people's names and race numbers were listed, and after that do a renewed SECOND queuing, and this only because I am not assertive enough to walk up front and say "hey ... I already queued once ...". And guess what, after an eon of time the queue had still not moved forward, and it felt like another decade before it did, because ONE guy was claiming numbers for 31 (!) people! DISGRACE! It caused a lot of irritation amongst people, also with me. When it finally was my turn (again), the poor lad behind the counter was so exhausted he thought my two race numbers were for two different people, and so he asked for a second medical certificate. I almost jumped his throat: I only had one. I thought I only needed ONE! In the nick of time I realised the true situation, and I asked him (and silently also myself) to calm down, and I explained the situation.
Getting out of the crowd of smelly men, I felt like kneeling and kissing the ground. Battle won.
France, Var province, day 8
Another day at the beach, then Roc d'Azur exposition. Pretty impressive. And for free! I have to say the organizers are VERY generous! Day before D-day, I developed a persistent, stress-related migraine.
I am not fit enough ...
France, Var province, day 9
I thought I was crazy doing it. 850 hm in 35 km, that meant 24.3 in hill factor.
That was way too high for me!
I was nervous, I was edgy, I ran to the toilet the whole morning.
Yesterday's migraine had not fully blown over.
By the start at 3pm the sun was scorching. I worried about losing too much fluid from transpiration, needing to drink too much out on the trail, and getting slow. I also worried massively about being a poor rider in comparison to others, and being last. I tried to calm myself down: I love my bike, I love off-road biking, so I tried to focus on that.
It was only one wave of people starting, so the ride did not exceed 500 riders. The start was great slow. I tried to keep my heart rate down, so I trailed behind others as much as possible. Just as well, as quite soon we had the first bottle neck of the ride. The first major hill shortly thereafter weeded us out: it was a great one with roots, any downhill mogul skier's dream had there been snow. I couldn't resist the temptation to conquer it; I rode maybe 3/4 of the way up, heart rate skyrocketting. People were quick to move out of the way which was fantastic!
Some undulating, fast gravel road followed, and then a big, 20-minute wait as people crowded at the first technical singletrack section. It started trickling. You could hear thunder and see lightning in the distance. The singletrack was complex, lots of dips and bumps. Most people walked it, which made it frustratingly difficult for those who could have cleared it. I certainly couldn't. One guy turned up on a tandem, second saddle empty, and I kindly pointed out to him that he seemed to have lost his partner. Then, a bit of saddle-time before the next bottle neck. I spotted a sign saying "Photo", and I started laughing: "Une photo, et tout le monde s'arrête". The partner of the partner-less tandem biker ran past us, and I heard someone pointing out to him that he must have lost a bike somewhere. Must have made a fantastic picture: Roc d'Azur without a bike.
A man-made BMX-like bump came up in front of us. It was steep, and so high you couldn't make out what was on the other side. I really wanted to clear it. I had the very intention of clearing it. But my squeamish ego started screaming in the middle of acceleration. It shocked my brain from its endorphine status, my brain alerted synapses out of my rational control and consequently my body was thrown into some thorn bushes next to the trail, half way up the bump. Annoyed, I climbed it, leading my bike, and I grimaced badly at the photographer when he flashed off a photo. Grr..
Plenty of fantastic technical, rocky downhills followed, wide as well as singletrack ones. There were varying levels of rock gardens, made slippery by the brief rainfall. The loop seemed well set up, with a couple of heavy uphills in the first third of the distance, then some muscle-relaxing, fast gravel riding. After the first rest stop there was another hill with some more undulating, technical gravel.
I was amazed at how strong I felt. I had intensified my upper body workout since the summer, and it seemed to have done wonders. I even had enough energy to joke around with the people at the rest stops, and try to ride technical bits where other people stopped ... and I cleared several of them! WOHAA!!
After the third rest stop I had a stupid accident (ever heard of a clever one?). I had problems finding my concentration; I kept stressing about people behind me, not wanting them to catch up with me. I increased speed, still with my attention behind me. And, wohaa, there I go around a corner ... and you have three choices: clear the impossible techie, or shoot on either side of the impossible techie. Eh ... Eh ... Eh? Indecisiveness made my bike sway impatiently. Not a good idea amongst loose rocks. I washed out. My legs took plenty of gravel rash, which probably would be followed by some extensive bruising. I got back up on the bike, climbed another hill, then stopped to check my first-aid kit for some antiseptic wipes. Ouch! Stinging! Not until then did I notice that my front wheel was riding at a 45-degree angle. I quickly adjusted it, and we were on our way again. Remembering, however, a past accident when I had almost ended up with an inflamed elbow due to gravel rash, I stopped at the next first aid stop for a quick, re-assuring check by young, handsome firemen.
Throughout the ride I kept catching up with a group of riders: three Belgian (!) guys. They quickly left me behind in the downhills, but I persistently caught up with them in uphills and at rest stops. As I didn't have any electronic assistance with me on this ride, they kindly kept me updated on the number of kilometres that we had covered. This helped me a lot in estimating my energy levels, to last the whole ride. Thanx, lads!
The last couple of kilometres I didn't take any risks. I even walked a couple of sections. At one point I stopped and helped a fellow rider who was struggling with leg cramps so bad he couldn't bike. I dug out some water soluble magnesium for him, and further up the track he caught up with me, thanking me. Come to think of it, maybe it was illegal to help him? Hmm ... As we came close enough to the finish to hear the loudspeakers, I let my legs go at their leisure, and I flew over the finish line. I was asked if I wasn't tired. Again, I was struck by how strong I still felt. My eyes were light-sensitive and painful, my head was throbbing a tad, yes, but I had all intentions to ride again tomorrow. It was only 22 km and 160 hm. Right?
No Roc Rando Rouge. My head was throbbing badly from the overexposure to yesterday's sun. My legs were eager to ride, but I didn't want to push it. Had I been going back home the next day, I probably would have, but I was staying another week to ride. So I put on a hat with a wide brim, and left for the beach to pick some tiny shells. I strolled around the bike exposition. I purchased a nice mountain bike map over the nearby Roquebrune-sur-Argens area. Total amount of height meters were indicated, as well as GPS details for the starting points. There were descriptions in English even. Very generous!
France, Var province, day 11
I felt a slight post-Roc blues today, seeing the Roc d'Azur area slowly dismantling itself; tents being taken down, buses and trailers being loaded, queues of cars and vans leaving the area. The exposition was doing its last day, and I took the time to pick up some more maps, inspiration and ideas.
It was windy, and in the afternoon the beach provided waves accordingly. I had fries with mayonnaise (Belgian style). Walking back to the apartment, a brochure on the ground blew in front of me. I picked it up, and I smiled. It was a brochure on another event I've wanted to go to for years: Grand Raid Godefroy.
France, Var province, day 12
Strong wind gusts woke me up at 3am in the morning. Towels on the terrace had fled the drying rack, seeking shelter on the ground. There was still half-a-storm wind in the morning as we headed out as tourists to check out the Roman amphitheatre. We got severely distracted on our way there, however, entering the local 3,800 m2 Decathlon, with accompanying capuccino machines. Hoping to find the official mountain bike map (yes, hope truly is the last thing that dies), I drew nil, but there were some other off road compilations available. Wind had subsided a tad by the time we got out. Starving for food, we walked PAST the amphitheatre (which gates had closed for siesta), back to the apartment for a quick lunch. Afterwards we went grocery shopping; this time in the shopping mall we found just around the corner, instead of 3 km away. *grin
France, Var province, day 13
Another attempt at touristy stuff, we got up early in the brisk morning and walked past several sights. Without knowing it, I had passed by Porte d'Orée several times already during my stay here. The Roman theatre had disappointingly had a modern stage built on top of it. By the remains of the Roman Aquaduct a bit further up we had the pleasure of watching a local satisfying his dog's extravagant need for cultural poop locations. Later we reached the sacred pagode Hong Hien (built by military Vietnamese who fought with the French 1914-18), and furthest away on our walk; the memorial of the wars in Indochina (noting another cultured dog taking a dump).
We headed back, through Aurelienne's parc (we never visited the castle), where you can admire MUCH BETTER examples of the Aquaduct. Capuccino break, and then back to the apartment for an early lunch.
And so it was time. Bikes were packed into the car, and we heading out to explore the official mountain bike trails of Roquebrune-sur-Argens (page still under construction, sorry).
First realization: The official starting point has nothing to indicate it is a starting point for any trail. And, there were no trail signs either. *sigh Map-orienteering, we started out with red trail number 11, but hooked up quite quickly with blue trail number 12. We missed the turn-off for its most western part, instead ended up following yellow trail number 13 up north, where we could hook up with trail number 12 again.
At the northeast corner of trail number 12 we linked up with all of the loop of trail number 14. This loop was fairly easy to follow. Hooking up again with trail number 12, we probably got lost as the last bit of trail turned realllly technical, very unlike the rest of the day; all the riding was done on wide gravel roads, made technical with gulleys, loose rocks and stones.
France, Var province, day 14
Early start. Cold morning. We drove up to Barrage de Malpasset, official starting point for trails 5, 6 and 7 (trails 5 and 6 have a second official starting point at their easternmost point). Starting out on the western half of trail number 6, we later overlapped with the northern half of trail number 7. A long winding climb took us past the ruins of Malpasset. Then steepish, equally winding, very technical gravel road down on the other side, where you are to follow the levelled gravel road to your left (sign might be pointing to the right). A subsequent looong flattish section certainly did not help to wake me up.
As the loop took us eastwards we reached a fairly dry stream crossing. There were no signs, but checking the topographic map we guessed that the loop probably went up the climb to the right; technical, long, quite steep, starting with a rock garden at the bottom (probably more enjoyable riding down). From here, there was a long winding, semi-technical half-gravel, half-sand, rocky, semi-narrow, levelled ride with a few ups and downs and the occasional rocky steep bits, and a much better view of the Malpasset than from the western side.
We headed back home for ice-cream, the search for an Internet café, fries at McDonald's, capuccino with whipped cream in Boulevard de libération, more shell-collecting on the beach, and dinner.
France, Var province, day 15
Early in the morning, after several attempts, we finally made it through the open gates of the amphitheatre! It was less cloudy and windy than yesterday, and we had good hopes for warmer weather later in the day. Killing time, we afterwards had capuccinos in central Fréjus (this time without whipped cream), and fries at McDonald's (I need that salt). Arriving back at the apartment, I noticed a flat had developed overnight on my bike's front tyre.
All four of us got into the car and drove to the starting point of yellow trail number 13. No signs, nothing, to indicate the start. Trying to trace the western part of blue trail number 12 (the part we missed two days ago), we again took the wrong turn, but ended up good anyway in the end, and WOW was that bit super fun!
This part was actually also trail number 13, only in opposite directions.
From here we hopelessly searched for the intended path. Eventually we circled the area on the main gravel road, then found a right turn which took us back on track. We rode along the foothill; while we managed a looong rockkkkkky gentle descent there were rock climbers high up on our right.
Tarmac right. Tarmac left. Then off-road again, fantastic descent ... and lost, lost, lost ... and LOST. Lost in vegetation so dense that I experienced a slight feeling of claustrophobia. As we started to run out of daylight, we traced back, towards the houses in the east. We ended up going through private Le Caloussu, thankfully hitting tarmac, finding the main road and a commercial centre.
Ice-cream helped comfort our hurt egos of losing the trail. We raced back to the car on tarmac.
France, Var province, day 16
Fancy parking! There was another one closer to the trail, but, wow ... the view was fantastic at this one! Trailing up to the official starting point by Chapelle Sainte-Anne, there were signs! Different to the traditional ones, but still! And a big map! Faded by weather, but still! SOMETHING!
According to the mountain bike map (which also covers interesting hiking loops, by the way), green trail number number 5 was not allowed for bikers. This confused us, as it looked like trails 6, 7 and 8 that WERE allowed for bikers, seemed to head out on the same trail. It looked technical. As Minna is verrry, annoyingly law-abiding ... we ended up trailing on the tarmac road. As we reached Ruines des Vingt-cinq Ponts it was obvious that the off-road bit would have been the way to go. Grrr ...
At a crosspoint with trail number 7, we pondered our situation. The map indicated looooots of climbing following trail number 8; more bike-dragging? A woman walking her dogs, apparantly accustomed to the area, advised us trail number 7 would be more rideable by bike, and so we opted for this. Definitely more rideable, but wow ... what rock gardens! One after the other! At its most southern point, another lonely Roc Marathon sign, pointing the way we needed to go: westwards. Wohaa ... another rock garden, uphill this time ... I dare you to clear that! A sole biker came thrashing down it ... without a helmet. I do NOT dare you to repeat THAT.
As trail number 8 hooked up from the right we hit another unclimbable, steep uphill with loose rocks. By the time I reached the top, I was pretty pooped - and annoyed. A tad too much bike-hiking for my liking. A short, short singletrack section, and then we hit wide gravel road. Fast gravel road. Gravel road with rain gullies and loose rocks. Quite interesting, but my legs were not up for it after the disastrous first half of the ride. I was happy to get back to the starting point.
I so wanted a happy ending to the trail-exploring in this area. While having a capuccino in what we think was central Roquebrune-sur-Argens, I suddenly longed to go back to yesterday's trail, try to find the section of trail number 12 that we had missed out on (twice), re-ride that incredible rock section ...
... and so we packed the car and headed off. And we cracked the nut! Fantastic! No signs, trail hardly visible, so faint that had it not been for open landscape I would have been scared of getting lost again, but ... yehaw ... then suddenly it connected with the bit we had already explored, and from there we flamed along! Until ...
A dark big shadow flew across the trail in front of me, like a hunch-back figure, a deep, grunting noise ... and I stopped dead in the middle of a tricky downhill, paralysed. With my hand over my mouth I turned to my biking company just behind me, my eyes wide open from fear. I swear, the first thought that came into my mind was: werewolf! Are you laughing now? Well, maybe now, afterwards, I can smile, but it is amazing how your mind can grab your mind, control it with fear.
It was a wild boar, I assume. God, they are BIG!
Boar or not, I am glad I was not on my own. Thanks Alan for the company!
France, Var province, days 17-18
It seemed like my whole being didn't want to go back to Brussels. The past couple of years when I've ventured south, it has become harder and harder to leave. Believe it or not, factual TEARS streamed down my face once I was up on the highway, heading north. I had to stop to calm down, got back up on the highway, managed to take the wrong turn, and ended up in downtown Marseille (don't ask!). Once I succeeded to find my way back up on the intended highway, I decided that this obviously was not a good day for me to drive. I settled down for an overnight stay at a service station.
Heading out early in the morning on Sunday, go surprise ... around Lyon I took the wrong turn on the highway again and zoomed half way to Geneva.
For every fuel stop the weather got colder and colder. By the time I arrived back in Brussels I was wondering: where is my home, exactly?
Conclusion
Would I ever go back to ride these trails? Without proper signage, absolutely not, EXCEPT ... I would LOVE to flame down the SUPER FUN yellow trail number 13 of Roquebrune-sur-Argens again! This time hopefully without the boar encounter ...
Roc d'Azur is an event well worth participating in again. Organizers had put a lot of effort into it all; first aid depots at regular intervals, never unclear where to go next, well-stocked rest stops, and oh ... those rocky trails! Beautiful! On top of this, the exposition was for free. A great opportunity to pick up inspiration and ideas for future riding.
There are also other sports activites to choose from in the area, along with the nice beach. And ... I didn't have enough time to go there, but check out the trails just north of Nice ... And from here ... maybe pop over to Corsica ... My head is spinning ...
Thursday 1st October 2009
Packing
Friday 2nd October 2009
Leaving Brussels
Saturday 3rd October 2009
In search of the official map, part 1
I headed back towards my rented apartment, over the beach, letting the waves wash over my bare, by now fully blistered feet, when I suddenly realised it was getting late, and that at the apartment block they had said something about the gates closing ... was it 8pm or ... 6pm? Darn. Well, if it was 6pm, I was already late, and the small piece of paper with the codes on was still at the apartment. So I guess, I had no real rush back to what would be a problem no matter what time I arrived there.
Sunday 4th October 2009
Settling down, building my bike and ... In search of the official map, part 2 ... and finding part of Fréjus trails number 3 and 4!
I was so happy about an intact bike, I got into my gear, and together we buzzed off to Base Nature. I wanted to find the loops starting from there. I found TWO signs (one completely impossible to interpret direction-wise), widely apart from each other. From what I saw, in between them two signs, there are plenty of opportunity trails out there; one dippety-dipp section was fantastic fun for practising bike handling (part of this section turned out to be used for the Roc d'Azur rides). In the Mediterranean sun, trails were dry and fantastic. But I couldn't spot more than two signs. I finally gave up. I shot into Fréjus in an attempt to locate a roundabout shown on the mountain bike map, where there possibly were signs. Nothing. Exasperating, I took a wild guess and cruised around the Tourist Office to look for signs (I would imagine the dude in the office was uninterested enough to not be aware of them if they existed). On the way there I came across a beautiful amphitheatre, and I made a mental note to come back on foot. There were no signs to be seen at the Tourist Office, but I made note of a couple of (closed) bike shops. I called it a day, having emptied half my water reserve already (doomed for bottles as I had forgotten to bring my camelback ... my packing had not only been slow, but also inadequate). I settled down on my terrace, enjoying the early-afternoon sun and some home-cooked food.
Anxious, I looked at the bad copy I received from Base Nature again, hmmmm ... and, within minutes I was out there again on my bike. Basically, according to the map, I had touched the route earlier in the day. But I had failed to see any signage. I went back to that very spot again. I stood there for a while with my bike. I looked around. Nothing. Several seconds later the corner of my eye caught something green on the ground on the other side of the crossing. And there it was! The usual mtb symbol, sloppily drawn onto the tarmac, just under the railway bridge. Very difficult to see in late afternoon-sun. Take the roundabout straight ahead, take the second exit, cross the channel bridge, then head onto the gravel next to the channel (going north). First possible bridge over this channel, take it, and thus switch sides of the river, but keep following it north. That was about it for today's trail-exploring, but FINALLY! A breakthrough!
Monday 5th October 2009
In search of the official map, part 3 ... getting really angry ... and trail-exploring, eventually hitting trails number 5 and 6 of Fréjus ... yehaw!!
In the parking lot of the bike shop I consulted my topographic map. An elderly man who had been in the shop came out and asked what kind of riding I was looking for, and upon hearing me out, he suggested that I'd follow signs to get to Golf Club Esterel. This sounded pretty much what I had looked at: GR49 runs there. So I thanked him graciously and headed off. I got a bit lost (what else) in Saint-Raphaël, and it took a while before GR signs started showing, confirming I was on the right way. A mild, long tarmac climb took me past Golf Club Esterel. It later turned into a gravel road, from which I was invited onto the first singletrack bit! Although rideable up (not that steep), I'd love to try this one the other direction! When we hit gravel again, the GR signs showed left, while the gravel road continued to the right, with a panoramic view. At this junction, quite unexpectedly, there was a mountain bike sign! A white one! As far as I could tell, NOT part of the Fréjus package. So ... who is the ghostly trail creator?
As GR was second priority, I decided to follow the mountain bike sign, and continue on gravel. A looooong climb followed. Nice gravel. Wide gravel. Boooooring gravel. I endured it only by taking time to "smell the flowers", enjoy the panorama, stop for the occasional photo, a snack, letting my thoughts wander. I was out in nature, and I needed the climbing. I met several riders, coming from the opposite direction, going downhill. At one time I thought, maybe I was missing something? Maybe I was on the official trail, but in the wrong direction? *grin I hadn't seen any more signs, but then this was the only road, no paths going off it either. I appreciated the shadows for my short breaks, and I tried my hardest to not push my heart rate above 150 for too long at a time.
Steep winding gravel took me down to Lac l'Avellan. What a waste of height metres! Lac l'Avellan did not seem worth it, which made it worse. But, the climbing back up wasn't too painful, so fine. And the downhills after that WERE worth it: although wide gravel, there were plenty of gulleys and loose rocks to make you pay attention. Later on it started undulating, which was SOOOO NICE!
Another loong climb. My body started to ache after all the hours in the saddle, and the anticipation that the ride was coming to an end.
Tuesday 6th October 2009
Involuntary rest day
Wednesday 7th October 2009
Fetching the race numbers
Great with company! Coffees in the marina in the morning, a walk on beach, grocery shopping. After a quick lunch we returned to the beach, this time on our bikes; serious sunbathing for me and serious swimming for my friend. After a subsequent ice-cream, we headed off to Base Nature, for the battle of claiming my (compulsory) race numbers.
Thursday 8th October 2009
Day before D-day
Friday 9th October 2009
Rando Roc Odyssey
My personal D-day.
France, Var province, day 10
Saturday 10th October 2009
Sunstroke!
Sunday 11th October 2009
Post-Roc blues
Monday 12th October 2009
Tourist day
Tuesday 13th October 2009
Tourist stuff and Roquebrune trails number 11, 12, 13 and 14
Once you know the area it must be super fun to flame down these trails! During our riding we came across ONLY ONE official signpost, and a lot of confusing coloured arrows on the trees (that might have been completely irrelevant). This was a day of pure orienteering with a 1:25,000 scale map (IGN 3544 ET) and the official map of Roquebrune-sur-Argens. Incredibly slow, the warm weather and the beautiful Spanish-like nature made up for some of the aggravation.
Wednesday 14th October 2009
Fréjus trails number 6 and 7
A technical downhill running paralel to the highway A8 took us to the level of the parking. At the bottom we passed under the highway. Here trail number 6 goes straight, through a stream crossing, hooks up and overlaps the full distance of trail number 5. We chose to split off to the right; following trail number 7, conquering another dryish stream crossing. The parking was now on our right. We left the southern half of trail number 7 unexplored. As far as I could see on the map it meant a long bit of tarmac until it went off-road to the west and later north direction.
Thursday 15th October 2009
Amphitheatre (finally!) and Roquebrune trails number 11, 12 and 13
Crossing red trail number 11, there was a climb so very fantastically rare: pure rock. As the blue trail broke off we continued on trail number 13 (still in the opposite direction), until we crossed the red trail again (going in a circle). From here, the red trail provided a super fun little section! Straight after crossing our previous riding (the rocky climb) there was a big downhill, crossing of a stream, and a huge up, after which we traced to the right and down at the foothill of the mountains. At the bridge of the Gorges du Blavet we stopped for a snack.
Friday 16th October 2009
Roquebrune-sur-Argens trails 6, 7 and 8 ... and werewolf-encounter on trail number 12
The cold morning was spent in a shopping frenzy at Decathlon. New baggy shorts, yehaw! Quick early lunch, and then: more Roquebrune-sur-Argens.
Happy to have located the trail, and euphoric about seemingly excellent signage, we soon ran into trouble: extremely technical downhill ... singletrack, short deep steps ... we walked, obviously. Up on the bikes at the bottom, we came to another abrupt halt just around the corner: a boulder garden, going uphill. Can I see anyone riding that, please? Further up, vegetation gave way to a splendid view of the landscape and La Rocher (which was, by the way, also the view from the parking). We continued dragging our bikes up, until the path finally levelled out. When trail number 8 split off, we followed it. Signs for the Roc Marathon were still hanging up ... God, do they ride here ...
Saturday and Sunday 17th-18th October 2009
Heading home