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The Parpaillon saga

Parpaillon ! Port du casque obligatoire — Noël Mathelet
CC n° 1211 Bozel (Savoie) - review n° 26, 1998

Departure is from Saint-André-d'Embrun. We'll be taking a bottle of water to refresh ourselves on the way back to the pool in the charming shady square by the church.

After a few kilometres of climbing, an exceptional panoramic view of Lake Serre-Ponçon opens up before us. Later, at the bend in the road, a haughty, coiffed lady graces us with a mineral gaze.

A few drinks by the stream and we're really in the Parpaillon. Delivering on all its promises, the Parpaillon gave us all its sensations.

He has unrolled his road infinitely for us, harmoniously arranged his pebbles, his holes, his jolts, his bumps. In such a way that an avoided trap inexorably sends us on to the next pitfall. He launched his flies on the attack, not maliciously, not to prohibit us from climbing, just to test our ability to avoid accidents on the track by forcing us to let go of the handlebars to administer slaps or to perform grandiloquent reels. For the occasion, he has invited his cows to form a placid hedge in our honour. He has timed the blossoming of the flowers on his mountain pastures so that their inflorescences and evanescent scents will be at their best that day.

And finally, when he saw who he was dealing with, when he judged that we were worthy of him, after several hours of bitter struggle, of a battle of every moment, he gave the order to his marmots, his last sentinels, to escort us with their admiring whistles. Then, finally, it presented us with its mineral world, studded with the white patches of its snow.

That's how we knew we'd arrived. We were lucky that day! The Parpaillon was well disposed and we knew that he still had a powerful arsenal of deterrents in reserve, which he didn't use. Why didn't he use it? Because we knew how to approach him humbly, admiringly, gradually. And it has to be said that there were a lot of cars that day, which didn't make our task any easier. Le Parpaillon doesn't like cars!

To reward us, he was magnanimous. But I have to confess that for the last three kilometres, to help myself, a material detail in this idyllic setting, I was counting the cranks. At 2600 m, in sight of the tunnel, I stopped counting.

When I arrived at the tunnel entrance, I was greeted by my three climbing companions and a small black sheepdog. The air is cool at 2645m! We put on a jumper and had a bite to eat, watched by our new four-legged friend.

Le moment de traverser le tunnel est venu ! Tunnel que certains « Cent Colistes » n’ont pas hésité à qualifier de : « Promesse de havre de paix… retour à une vie d’avant… l’éclaboussure de lumière de la naissance… trou noir de l’espace… »

Denise, seeing it as a damp, dark and icy place, initially declined the invitation. We had to be diplomatic, telling her that it was the logical conclusion to the ascent of the col, that everyone went through the tunnel, that it would be a shame not to discover the landscape of the other valley, that the tunnel wasn't very long and that you could see the end of it, a bright spot in the night. Convinced by our arguments, she agreed to try the adventure. Her bike was equipped with lights, so she was the first to go.

Et, en file indienne, accompagnés par notre « toutou », nous disparûmes dans la pénombre, happés par cette gueule béante. Les premières gouttes qui tombaient du plafond ne nous effrayèrent pas. Au bout de quelques dizaines de mètres, notre éclaireuse s’arrêta, inquiète : « Qu’il y a-t-il là devant », dit-elle ? Aïe ! Nous avions omis… volontairement, de lui parler des trous d’eau. Heu.. ! Peut-être de l’eau ! mais en cette saison les flaques ne doivent pas être profondes. Nous avançons encore de quelques mètres : « Mais c’est profond dit-elle, et on enfonce ! Je fais demi-tour ! »

In fact, it was deep, and when we put one foot on the ground, it disappeared into the smutty mud. She turned back... We heard a group coming up behind us on foot: the father, the mother and two children. They stopped a few metres from us, blocked by the water.

Amplified by the echo of the tunnel, multiplied by its frightening atmosphere, with a loud crash, blocks of shale detached themselves from the ceiling and collapsed on the group, immediately provoking cries and frightened screams from the children. Everyone was petrified as a second fall, in the same place, hit them again. The children's cries redoubled, and everyone, some running, some pedalling, rushed towards the exit. The children were inconsolable and scratched. Mum was the worst affected. In fact, she had received the biggest chunks on her head, shoulder and forearm. She had large haematomas and we disinfected the wounds with our first-aid drugs.

We didn't feel like venturing back up this conduit. So we decided to walk up to the col. A quarter of an hour's walk through the scree, avoiding the timid rock flowers, and then the austere Ubaye valley revealed itself to us.

Back at the tunnel, the little doggie was still there. On the descent, he followed us. He knew the road, cut the bends, ran straight across the meadows, trotted alongside us in the difficult grassy stretches. He waited for us when we stopped to relax. At the end of the track, after a final rest, the dog was nowhere to be seen. Had we lost him? On the descent to the Crévoux bridge, we were going fast! We'd lost him for sure.

At the Chalp reservoir, just long enough for us to freshen up and refill our water tanks, he arrives quietly, not out of breath, wagging his tail, happy with his descent of over 1000 metres. With both paws on the edge of the tank, he takes a few well-deserved sips of water. We're worried! He remains deaf to our injunctions. We don't want to lose him on the road to Saint-André. Has he adopted us? Who knows what goes on in a dog's head! In desperation, a loud «Go away» finally made him listen to reason. He trots off, head down. Farewell! companion, will you be going back up to the Parpaillon tomorrow to make friends with other cyclists?

The square in Saint André-d'Embrun is calm and warm, and the bottle is always there in the basin, chilled. It's very welcome.