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The Parpaillon saga

Parpaillon 78 - Abel Lequien CC n° 1810 Willencourt (Pas-de-Calais) - review n° 22, 1994

Cyclo-mountaineers are familiar with the Parpaillon, an exceptionally difficult pass whose name is closely linked to the history of cycle tourism. It links the Ubaye and Durance valleys, connecting Embrun and Barcelonnette. Climbed from Embrun, i.e. from the west and north-west slopes, this obstacle represents an elevation gain of 1,775 m in 27 km (average 6.55 %), while the south and south-east slopes correspond to an elevation gain of 1,340 m in 17 km (average 7.9 %). But at many points the gradient exceeds 10 and even 13 %.
(Extract from the cycle workbooks, LES COLS DURS).

The Parpaillon road and tunnel, at an altitude of 2,650 metres, were completed in 1901. Paul de Vivie (VELOCIO) crossed this pass in 1903 and returned there in 1909. As early as 1930, the Parisian mountaineering group launched a «Parpaillon campaign», which proved successful, with 29 cycle tourists setting out to discover this pass in 1930, and 54 in 1931. It is from this period that «the legend of the Parpaillon» dates… but it was not until 1970 that a resident of Auxilles was curious enough to set out to discover this magnificent pass!

I've been lucky enough to climb the Parpaillon five times since 1970: three times on the Ubaye side from La Condamine-Chatelard and twice on the Crévoux side. I prefer the Ubaye side.

At the start, the small paved road rises steeply towards the hamlet of Sainte-Anne, the last inhabited place before Crévoux, between the two villages 25 km, 20 of which is rocky and sometimes difficult to drive on. But it's all there: first there's a beautiful larch forest crossed by torrents that you cross on wooden bridges, then immense pastures populated by herds of sheep (and marmots too), finally at around 2000 m the scenery becomes arid, desert-like, the domain of rock, then you reach the long, dark tunnel that you have to cross, usually on foot to avoid breaking a wheel in one of the many potholes...

On the Crévoux side, we find more or less the same scenery, although less attractive in my opinion, and of course in reverse order. Having given a brief presentation of the Parpaillon, I'd now like to tell you about the adventure that happened to us in 1978, when we travelled from Albertville to Gap, crossing some of the «monuments» of the Alps. Judge for yourself: Cormet de Roselend, Iseran, Télégraphe, Galibier, route de la Bérarde, Lautaret, Izoard, Vars and... Parpaillon.

That year, the snow came late and the major cols were opened just a few days before our visit at the beginning of July. Iseran, Roselend and Galibier were crossed between imposing walls of snow and the spectacle was a permanent enchantment.

When we set off from La Condamine to climb the Parpaillon, we didn't know whether the pass was open or closed, and as it was of no interest to the average tourist due to the state of the road, there was every reason to believe that the second option was the right one (so to speak).

But our enthusiasm knows no bounds: let’s keep going, we’ll see what happens!… The Parpaillon Pass, which I’m showing to my three travelling companions, is the highlight of this trip, and we’d be terribly disappointed if we had to turn back.

At Sainte-Anne, we overtook a very well-equipped walker, who was also heading for the pass. We had no idea at the time that a few hours later his help would be crucial in getting us through the tunnel...

This is the fountain, which in warm years is the last point of water before Crévoux, but in 1978, with the recent snowfall and the delay in melting, there was water everywhere. Our progress was slow, but we were still able to use our machines normally until we emerged from the forest, which was bathed in beautiful sunshine. Higher up, in the stony terrain, we become walkers, the path is broken up and collapsed, with large boulders blocking the way. In the grandiose setting of the Parpaillon mountain, we feel very small, isolated in absolute calm, broken from time to time by the sound of a waterfall, the cry of a bird or a marmot.

From around 2,000 metres, snow covers part of the path, and that’s when we embark on a rather unusual adventure, an epic journey that will go down in the annals of a cycle tourist’s career… After negotiating a few snowy sections without difficulty, we find ourselves facing a snowfield which we cross as best we can in our cycling shoes—which are just begging to slip—and with bikes laden with luggage weighing 25 kg each. After an hour of dragging or carrying our gear, we came across a snow slope at least 150 metres long, very steep and strewn with rocks, despondency set in; what to do? Turn back and retrace our steps along a path we’d struggled so much on, or carry on and risk our journey ending in tragedy.

That was when the providential hiker we’d met in Sainte-Anne turned up. He found our adventure rather amusing and kindly offered to make the widest possible track using his heavy boots, which he sank deep into the snow with every step. After much effort and what felt like an interminable time, our «guide» announced that he could see the tunnel—or rather, the top of the tunnel, as it was almost entirely buried under the snow. Another moment of anxiety. Have we made this difficult journey for nothing? Will we have to turn back?

We approached the tunnel to find that the door was closed but that we could still get in through a gate. We'll have to lower the bikes using a rope belonging to our dedicated walker. No sooner said than done... and we took the same route. We entered this black hole, dimly lit by one of our torches. We made cautious progress over the ice, which soon gave way under our weight with a sinister cracking sound, and we waded through 30 to 40 cm of icy water in our cycling shoes and white socks, which the situation made ridiculous, feeling the impact of the thick blocks of ice against our painfully bruised calves and ankles.

As we made our way forward slowly and with great difficulty, a terrible doubt began to take hold of us: what if the other gate was blocked, what if the passage proved impossible? We would have to turn back – would all our efforts have been in vain? The tunnel must be between 500 and 600 metres long; it will take a good 15 to 20 minutes to reach the end.

At last, we’re here. It was about time, as a sense of dread bordering on panic was beginning to take hold of us in this dark, icy tunnel. A streak of light gives us hope; the gate is ajar, but not wide enough to let the bicycles through. Our friend’s ice axe helps free the small door stuck in the ice, whilst one of us, bracing against the wall, pushes with all his might using his feet. Then we hoist the equipment to the top of the wall of snow and ice and leave this tunnel for good, with no regrets. Then, in the vast, all-white mountain, under the warmth of the sun we’ve rediscovered, our nerves relax and the humour of the situation takes over… Some walkers watch us from a distance, no doubt bewildered to see people—and especially cyclists—suddenly emerge in the middle of the snowfield… From where they stand, the tunnel is invisible!

The rest of the trip turned into a bit of a laugh, with some of us sliding down the snowy slopes on our bikes, and some of us getting on our bikes and sinking 10 centimetres into the ground, an exercise in which some of us were particularly brilliant.

We soon found the path that took us to Crévoux, where this crazy adventure could finally be recorded in the Parpaillon «visitors» book". We owe most of the credit for this achievement to the friendly hiker who happened to be on our route, and to whom we would like to say a big thank you.

The photos and film I brought back from this wonderful trip have taken pride of place in our cycle-touring archives. In the years that followed, I was given the opportunity on two occasions to cross the Parpaillon again, but under «normal» conditions, i.e. on a dry road leading to an open, perfectly clear tunnel.

However, the beauty of the scenery in all its wildness no longer captivated my attention as it had on my first visits. My mind was elsewhere, lost in the snows of 1978. Last March, the ARTE television channel broadcast a film about the ascent of the Parpaillon by a group of cyclists.
More comedians than cyclists, the «actors» had a field day with a succession of gags and funny scenes.

But above all, the route over the pass and the very well-presented landscapes from Embrun to the tunnel brought back many fond memories.