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The Parpaillon saga

Souvenirs cyclo-montagnards - Henri Bosc CC n° 110 - magazine n° 50, 2022

Among the most vivid memories of my cyclo-mountain adventures, I'll single out two for this anniversary of the Club des Cent Cols.

The climb up the Parpaillon

Indeed, in the history of cycle touring, we can mention a mule pass that became mythical very early on: the Parpaillon, which I was lucky enough to climb twice with my 650B randonneuse (the first time with my brother Paul, with a night descent!).

Situated on the border between the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence and Hautes-Alpes departments, the geographical pass rises to 2783 m, on a ridge separating the Durance and Embrunais valleys from the Ubaye valley. The tunnel is 150 m lower.

This pass was opened in 1911 by the troops of the Génie Militaire, like many other crossings along the Grande Traversée des Alpes between Thonon and Nice. As soon as it was officially opened, and even before, it was used by cycle tourists, including Vélocio (in 1903 and 1911), who recorded their experiences in a visitors' book that was made available to them from 1930 onwards at the Hôtel du Parpaillon in Crévoux.
Maurice Maître, one of the founding members of the FFSC on 8 December 1923, climbed it in 1930.

It is advisable to climb it from La Condamine-Châtelard (18 km) and descend to Embrun (25 km) after passing through the dark and muddy summit tunnel. It's best to choose a solo ascent, or one in a small group, to take full advantage of the almost total silence, punctuated only by the whistling of the marmots, which can also be seen at close quarters.

So in 1964, with my brother Paul, after the federal week in Digne, we set off late in the day with a view to crossing the legendary Col du Parpaillon for the first time.

Above La Condamine, we fill up on water at the fountain in the chapel of Sainte-Anne, and make the most of a beautiful sunny day, collecting many photographic memories in the midst of imposing landscapes. The silence was disturbed only by the whistling of the marmots, of which we caught a fleeting glimpse, including one very close up, captive next to a sheepfold.

We had wedged our bikes up against a small rock to use them as a foreground, but they had disappeared when we turned round to take the shot: a gust of wind had blown them into a hole - luckily without any harm done, but what a fright!

Our progress, made entirely by bike thanks to our 650/35s, with the exception of a few particularly stony sections, was considerably delayed by violent abdominal pains, from which Paul suffered from time to time.

The result is that we arrive very late at the tunnel, at 2637 m, and it's almost dark when we emerge, having waded through it in the mud and darkness.

The weather was very mild, with beautiful intermittent moonlight, and we approached the descent very cautiously. Our «dynamo» lights are inadequate in these circumstances, but the dirt road, with its wide ruts, is much better on this side.

My brother, whose night vision is far superior to mine, managed to continue unhindered entirely on his bike, whereas after several minor falls, I decided to walk most of the way down. At one stop, we put our bikes against what we thought were trees: they fell noisily, but they were just shadows!

Deceived by the village lights, we end up at La Chalp, which we could have avoided and gone straight to Crévoux, where we stop off. At the inn the next day, we'll take the time to write about our adventure in the famous visitors' book: the Parpaillon by night can't be very common!

I did the Parpaillon again in 1970, during the rally organised as part of the SF de Gap, this time entirely in daylight, on a much-improved route that was fully cycleable on both sides from start to finish (at least in 650). My brother will join me at the Crévoux tunnel exit, to admire the slope that we hadn't been able to see the previous time.

The climb to Pico de Veleta

The highest asphalted road in Europe can be found in the south of Spain, in Andalusia, in the Sierra Nevada.

From Granada, it's a 43km climb to the Pico de Veleta, the third highest peak on the Iberian Peninsula, with a short, unpaved section at the end to access the summit stele at 3,398m, the highest altitude I've reached by bike. A very pleasant and long descent on the same side, with the road ending at the peak and only a path giving access to the other side.

I was very happy to have succeeded in this climb, a dream of mine, at the ripe old age of 74, without any respiratory or cardiac problems; this was not the case for some of the cyclists in our group, who turned back at 3000m. This was in 2009, during a second FFCT trip to this region, a first attempt during a previous trip having failed because we had been blocked by heavy snow.