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The Parpaillon saga

Détours en Ubaye - Jacques Bordenave CC N° 224 and Jean-Jacques Labadie CC N° 811 - magazine n°11, 1983

His whole body vibrated when he talked about it, with a hint of concern in his eyes, our friend Jacques, because the subject was important for a Cent Cols which has set up its base camp not far from a pass called PARPAILLON.

We were there and the name had been given, the objective identified, the access route finely marked on the 1:50,000 map, but before that, we still had to convince ourselves that it was not an insurmountable obstacle, because the weight of history was very present.

When you know the amount of stories that surround it, magnify it, describe it as a very respectable obstacle, it enters into you like a small hint of anxiety modulated by the experience acquired over the course of roads constantly repeated. And then, with the great blows of friendship and a certain complicity, which suggests that solidarity is not an empty word, this objective becomes familiar to you. You imagine it as a beautiful mountain, wooded at first, then moving forward, it will reveal some of its secrets, one by one its beauties, and like a woman, it will let you discover its most precious finery.

Like lovers for whom love only comes down to a boarding manoeuvre, we approach it with a slight twinge of regret, a restraint inspired by the high percentage and the end of a tormented night, filled with restless dreams.

The PARPAILLON at dawn is a feast of scents in which wild thyme and wild thyme blend harmoniously like the violins of a symphony orchestra, giving you the fleeting impression of being on another planet, as these olfactory and visual shocks titillate every cell in your body. It's Italy! the wine! I want to write love! but I don't know if that's appropriate, perhaps? Because these moments were of such intensity that I persist and persevere at the risk of being told one day that my state of mind is somewhat beyond reason.

And yet, in front of Ste Anne's chapel, we were surprised by a sunrise the likes of which we've always dreamed, a pure sky, a light breeze that cooled the sweat on our foreheads, and the feeling that we were looking at unforgettable moments in life.

We enter the BOUSQUETON wood, which is made up of majestic Cembro pines that inspire humility in the face of such grace and natural balance. The dawning light penetrates through the coniferous trees, creating a «silkscreen« effect of the highest quality.

Reaching the BÉRARD bridge, we take a first look and take a few photos to capture our impressions, which we already feel are very strong.

On the outskirts of the PARPAILLON hut, we saw the first herds, still numb and huddled together with a dog keeping watch not far from them; the first marmots too, proud at first, greeting us with a short, shrill whistle and then, as we climbed, becoming less shy, simply standing there, looking down at our machines and ourselves. After all, weren't we also bipeds with funny machines that pretended to climb onto the roof of their homes?

Over regular switchbacks, we climbed at a pace that bore no resemblance to that which we normally adopt on the road, because we have to deal with the parameters of cycle touring, which are: progress and a constant search for balance, given the irregular terrain. But what a great lesson it would be for all the road cyclists who have the greatest difficulty controlling their bikes on terrain that is often much easier!

Then the sun came out, and it was a gift, a Christmas with snow, clogs, a fire, calissons, gingerbread, oranges, wordless joy. We were a few kilometres apart, but by mutual agreement, like two kids, we arranged our bicycles in clusters, and there we are, standing in front of the sun in this marvellous setting, our eyes overflowing with images of peace and simple happiness.

We had almost nothing to say to each other, but in front of Jacques' eyes, there was a glimmer of happiness, of shared friendship, and in the distance, the dawn of a complicity that had just been born.

What a PARPAILLON! You'll tell me it's only a pass, but I'd just like to object by saying: take a look at it, I'd be surprised if it left you with nothing more than a worthless memory, or at most a vague impression.

In front of the tunnel, we fix our impressions on film again, but as Jacques is a purist, we climb the rail above the tunnel to reach the pass. Ladies and gentlemen, jaded cyclists of all stripes, all federations, all parties, all denominations, I hope that one day you will be able to experience, as we have, this lunar-like aridity bathed in the light of the high UBAYE.
The most prestigious adjectives wouldn't be enough, so I'd much prefer an invitation to follow in the footsteps of a land that will live long in our memories.