Home " Gazette " Readings " The Parpaillon saga " Page 18

The Parpaillon saga

The Parpaillon... a dream? - Christian Gérard CC n° 3185 G.M.C. Alès - magazine n° 30, 2002

My best rides (RVA in Carcassonne, RDL in Narbonne, 3 Gorges d'IBM Montpellier...) were with SyIvie, but there were several hundred of us.
The large number of participants, the perfect organisation, the atmosphere, the conviviality and the magnificent scenery make these outings great moments in the life of a cyclist.
It was again with Sylvie that I did the Parpaillon. But that time we were alone, and that's just as well, because I don't think this famous pass is designed for crowds.

In the mind of a cyclist there are always a few objectives and one more important than the others, which could be called a dream. My dream for the last three years has been the Parpaillon. And why was that? Because the Parpaillon is not a mountain pass like the others.

Those who have done it, when they talk about it, have a special glint in their eyes. It's clear that this pass has a special place in their memory. What's more, they talk about it amongst themselves and the tone drops when a «who hasn't done it» comes up; stupid, unless you're impolite, which no cyclo could be - they continue and what we hear only adds to the mystery... and the desire to make my dream come true.

What little I heard and what I read (because a lot has been written about the Parpaillon) convinced me to use my mountain bike, a necessary condition... to save my shoes.

Il fallait ensuite trouver trois jours de liberté. En juillet et août, impossible pour Sylvie. En ce qui me concerne, je passe quatre jours à Barcelonnette et pour reconnaître le terrain, si l’on peut dire, je fais la Cayolle, Allos et la Bonette où, le 31 juillet, j’essuie une tempête de neige aussi violente qu’inattendue. Ma décision est prise ; il faut faire le Parpaillon avant l’hiver.

A window of opportunity presented itself: the first weekend in October. The weather forecast for the three days was clear and precise: Friday, fine weather; Saturday, fine in the morning, rapidly deteriorating in the afternoon; Sunday, very bad. So, now's the time. Departure from Alès on Friday afternoon. In the evening, a very good meal prepared by Jeannine at the hotel in Jausiers. It was a lively evening, with more talk of hunting than cycling, as a team of hunters was preparing an outing for the following day.
Samedi matin : temps splendide. Départ 8 h 30.

Warming up to La Condamine. There, the cyclist takes the line and the rucksack. It's really hot and the climb to Sainte-Anne is tough. The road is still tarmac and we made the mistake of trying to climb with the 38mm plateau in order to save the 28mm for the mule track, which starts at the Chapelle Sainte-Anne fountain, where we refuelled (two jerry cans per person is a minimum).

11 km to go; 5 in a splendid forest with a moderate gradient. We are completely alone; from time to time, in the distance, a gunshot... perhaps our mouflon hunter? We leave the forest, cross a small bridge and arrive at the Grand Parpaillon hut. Time for a bite to eat and the last six kilometres. You can see the road climbing up the mountainside, but you can't see where the pass is. The gradient gets steeper, but with the 28, it's no harder than the climb to Sainte-Anne.

What's more, as we gain altitude, the horizon opens up and the spectacle of snow-capped mountains is magnificent. A few small clouds begin to veil the sky. Finally, as we rounded a bend, after passing a few marmots busy topping up their winter reserves, we came upon the entrance to the tunnel a few dozen metres away.

It's a great joy, the joy of having realised a dream, but also the joy of being there (it's midday), in the sun, in the snow, surrounded by a splendid panorama. There's total peace and solitude. Like the marmots, the mountain gives the impression of being prepared for winter, which may be just around the corner, as the clouds are arriving fast.

A trip back and forth through the tunnel to admire the scenery. The northern entrance is much snowier. A pleasant descent to the Grand Parpaillon hut, where mountain bikes are at their best. A quick lunch. Clouds fill the sky. Time to head back down. The success of our attempt made the return even more enjoyable. The weather forecast was perfect: during the night it was a downpour that continued the next day. It snowed above 2000 metres. We were perhaps the last people to do the Parpaillon in 91. It was about time!

So, the Parpaillon... a dream? No, a wonderful memory.