Fanylion Mountain Bike Team
Official site of the Fanylion Mountain Bike Team. Includes mountain bike ride guides, gear reviews, bike maintenance, team reports and rider profiles of the Fanylion Racing Team.
Chamonix
August 30, 2003, French Alps
Day 1
Shack and I arrive at Geneva airport unscathed, greeted by Nick, the MBMB Chef I knew from last year (now promoted to 'Resort Manager') and the rest of the FanyLion riders. Ewok is sporting a fine growth of stubble and a Fox baseball cap and resembles a US car mechanic; 10-Ton Kona is grinning and happy to have just sank a couple of beers whilst waiting for Shack and I to arrive; Pitchfork is pleased to see us but is without his baggage or brand new bike! Having changed at Amsterdam his kit failed to keep up with him and was now officially 'elsewhere'. A bad start to his week.
In one hour we arrive in Chamonix, unload the minibus, then have dinner. The chalet is packed. There are seven other riders doing the 3 Countries Tour (they will be leaving in the morning and not returning until Thursday) plus 4 guys from Birmingham and Dan from Aberdeen who would also be riding the Chalet week with us. We meet all other riders, sink a few beers and assemble our bikes, which are thankfully unscathed from the flight. Jamie gnashes his teeth and curses, as his bike has not yet turned up. Maybe tomorrow? And so to bed. Tomorrow we ride!
Day 2
Sunday dawns wet and chilly, with low cloud and rain. Our guide Jason, a slim racing whippet of a man with a Giant MCM Carbon Fibre Hardtail with XTR gizmos, does little to lighten the mood, advising that the rain looks to be set in for the day. However by the time Jamie has returned from the bike hire shop (his own bike yet to appear), the clouds have lifted a little and the rain has stopped.
Jamie has also acquired some amazing Leroy Leggings, road cyclist's tights to keep his dodgy knees warm. I have to admit, despite looking very homosexual, Jamie has the ideal physique for tight leggings, and we set off, all flicking secret gay glances towards Jamie's legs and tight buttocks.
Today we do the standard 'First Day in Chamonix' ride, a tour of the Chamonix valley. Outward bound we will ride the Balcon Nord trail, then ride back down the Petite Balcon Sud and home. As we wend our way along the valley bottom, Team FanyLion establish themselves firmly at the front of the pack, the Brum Boys seemingly content to bring up the rear. Maybe we are much fitter and faster than them? Maybe they just couldn't be arsed? Or maybe they just weren't bothered? Probably a combination of all three.
We make our way along the Balcon Nord, the weather changing between fine drizzle and cool winds and blazing hot sunshine. We ride up a steep fire road climb about half a mile long, Jason allowing me to lead the group as I had done the route before. I am soon joined at the front by one of the other group, Jock Dan on an Ellsworth Isis, who is one very fit customer. We reach the top of the climb and introduce ourselves. I can see I am going to have to watch this bugger. He is obviously very fit and keen to exercise his leg muscles/lungs. The rest of Team FanyLion and Team Brum arrive (one of which is an Aussie: strange accents abound) and we speed off on a fast road descent which leads us to...
...the Rooty Challenge, an MBMB favourite. Like last year, the 200 metre long root infested, gnarly climb is sniggering at us, and like last year it has rained and the roots are at their most treacherous. Greatest distance of the day is achieved by Pitchfork on his hire bike, covering about 20 yards up the tricky track. We then ride some sweet singletrack, all the time looking out for walkers and runners coming the other way. The Mont Blanc 150km Marathon is in progress and these nutters have been running for 2 days solid, without sleep, and aren't in the best frame of mind or body to be dodging a bunch of mountainbikers coming the other way, so we ride carefully.
We then arrive at MBMB challenge no2, the No Brakes Decent, a rooty, rocky gully that you have to try and ride down without braking, till you are spat out at the bottom by a water trough. I manage to get all the way down without braking, my slapping chain trying to rip its way through my swingarm, but have to dab the brakes in order to make the corner at the bottom. Damn! Better luck next year.
We then ride further up the valley towards Le Tour and stop for lunch on a grassy meadow by a babbling stream. By now the sun is blazing and we stop and tuck into our MBMB ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches. Jamie strips naked to sunbathe, Alister's bottom bracket is staring to creak (I thought it was his knees), Ewok looks happy sat on his little sledge and Shack is managing to avoid ankle pain. I eat my sandwich as fast as possible, keen to ride on, though everyone else takes their time so we chill for a while.
We are then given a condensed version of the 'Switchback Masterclass', Jason describing how to position your outside foot forwards and use your shoulders to control the direction of the bike. The next section gives us the opportunity to test our techniques as we ride a short section of trail with five switchbacks. Unfortunately the switchbacks start off very tight and difficult and get easier towards the bottom. The first two are narrower than the length of my bike, and after trackstanding, endoing and wheelkicking I am unable to ride them, having to be content with nailing the last three. Nobody else fares any better, but riders new to switchbacks have been able to try out their new skills that they will rely on heavily over the next few days.
Another short road section and we arrive at one of my favourite Chamonix trails, the Petite Balcon Sud, a technically demanding route with short sharp ups and downs, rocky descents, technical climbs, roots, stream crossings: the works. With my bike in the 5" travel setting I fail to get up several technical climbs that I was sure I nailed last year. A quick change sees my bike in the 6" setting and I am fine, powering up rocky steps and loose technical climbs, Dan and I leading the way.
Towards the end of the trail I spot a steep drop midway through a large switchback. A steep rut drops from one trail level to the other, shortcutting the switchback. Having ridden it last year I knew it was do-able and lowering my seat right down I ride the drop. Nobody else fancies a go, and today I am Dominant Male. I spray a big patch of urine on a tree to mark my territory and beat my chest loudly before continuing.
The final run of the Balcon Sud sees the trail steepen, and large protruding boulderss give great jumping and hucking possibilities, and myself and 10-Ton Kona are ripping it up big style. Shack is riding steadily, guarding his ankle. Pitchfork is enjoying his fully suspended steed but still pining for his own bike. Ewok is his usual self, what he lacks in skill and finesse he more than makes up for in fearlessness and determination, crashing and smashing his way down the trail like an enraged hippo.
One of the Brum Boys on a Whyte takes a tumble on the final rocky section and is left sporting a few grazes to his knee, but is generally OK, blaming the odd J-shaped action of his Plus 4 forks for bucking him off. A riverside blast back to town and we spin out the last couple of road miles to the chalet. We have ridden 18miles and enjoyed ourselves immensely. The boys have now had a taste of what Cham has to offer and are gagging for day 3.
We eat, drink wine, have a couple of beers in the Hotel/Gentlemen's Club opposite our Chalet and retire to bed. Jason informs us we have a big climb tomorrow. Little did we know it but this would be a minnow compared to the sharks we would be tackling later in the week. Jamie's bike finally arrives and he lovingly assembles the beast. Tomorrow we will see just what it can do.
Day 3
Early morning cloud soon lifts and once we have breakfasted the sun is shining. Today we will be riding the route we tackled on Day 4 last year, getting the big climb up to Lac Vert under our belts early in the week.
A road ride to Les Houches, then rocky technical singletrack alongside the railway line gets us in the mood. Then another short road section leads us to... another MBMB test, a short steep hill approx 20feet long that you have to roll up to, then power on as soon as you reach the base, no run up allowed. Myself, Dan the Man, Brum on Giant, Brum on Superlight, Pitchfork on shiny new Enduro, 10-Ton Kona and Jason the Guide all waltz up the slope. Ewok spins out half way up and Shack on his Easy Rider Giraffe Bike can't keep his front end down and makes himself look gay. Whyte Brum fails, as does Aussie Brum, but he is very old so we excuse him.
We then ride narrow swooping trails in and out of the trees. Jason tells Shack to lead one section and I am in second place, struggling to keep up with him on a loose rocky section. Shack is really ripping it up. He is back to his old self! After we stop for the others to catch up, Shack is pumped. He admits to riding beyond the ragged edge of control, and his confidence seems to have returned. Rispekt!
We then ride through Servoz (or Sarayevo, as Shack kept telling us, much to his own amusement) and start the road climb towards Lac Vert. After avoiding being mown down by a lost ambulance, blue lights flashing and siren wailing, we start the road grind through numerous hairpins and past idyllic alpine meadows and chalets. After a short stop at a water trough we complete stage 2 of the road climb, ready for the technical fire road finale to Lac Vert. The group is well strung out by the time we arrive at Lac Vert, and Jamie is already swimming in the Lake when the stragglers arrive. We complete the final road stretch to La Commune du Passy for lunch and to watch paragliders take off and swoop overhead.
At this point Jamie once again strips down to his Pearl Izumi thong, ever keen to top up his tan, and we rename him Ra, the Sun God. Team Brum has a coffee stop; I am so bursting with energy I feel the need to climb higher and drop down a water gully above the meadow, so I do. Sandwiches downed, coffees drunk, Jason then instructs us to lower our saddles for the coming descent. Yes!
The ensuing trails are some of the best ever, and seem even better than last year, with smooth leafy gullies with bermed corners and occasional roots and rocks making descending fast and entertaining. Very soon though the trail becomes steeper and more technical, with roots taking over and we are forced to dismount and carry our bikes. In places the track is so steep we can hardly walk and we are forced to lower our bikes down first then clamber down after. It was on one of these carrying sections that disaster struck for Shack and he let out a yelp of pain as he turned his ankle over on a root. Shack's confidence took a serious beating and he never regained the confidence he had shown earlier in the day.
As the trail once again became rideable I took the lead. On one rooty section I took a poor line into a switchback and failed to make it round. Jamie in second place nailed it, riding very fluidly and smoothly.
On the final section we encountered an angled rooty drop, which I also messed up and slowed to walk down, bottling out with the possibility of snagging my pedals. Ewok and Kona were very pleased to have ridden it (though I didn't see them do it, I only have their word) and let me know. Regularly. Constantly. Incessantly. For the rest of the entire week.
A short road section and I fall victim to the FanyLion Classic from Ewok of having a mouthful of water spat in my face whilst riding. We buzz tyres and cut each other up all the way back to the railway station. Our intended train is full so we have to wait for the next one (more beer in the bar) and arrive home tired but having ridden some great trails once again. (Ticket inspector on train is female, fit, with long dark hair: British Rail please note).
More excellent food, wine and beer. Jason informs us that as Wednesday is a day off we will be doing a very big climb tomorrow. If I had known just how big I would have packed my bike and got a taxi to the airport there and then.
Day 4
Wednesday greets us with bright sunshine and for once the weathermen have got it right and the weather is improving as the week goes on. Shack's ankle is giving him gyp so he decides not to ride today, so we kiss him goodbye and set off up the valley again.
As we ride along the Balcon Nord, Jason advises we find a stout stick each, as we will be walking through a 2km long railway tunnel, and we will need something with which to feel the tunnel wall. Bloody Hell! We quiz Jason incessantly and learn that: yes it is an operational railway tunnel; yes trains use the tunnel; yes there are lights in the tunnel; no the lights won't be switched on; yes there is plenty of room between you and the train (a car's width actually); yes it is absolutely pitch black in the tunnel; no there are no monsters in the tunnel (just Dean); no we are not allowed to take torches with us; yes Jason has walked the tunnel before; no nobody has ever got lost and died in the tunnel.
Apparently, in winter when the road over the ridge at the end of the valley is blocked with snow, locals use the tunnel to drive through, as there is enough space for a car to pass down alongside the railway track. In the summer though the lights are left off and the tunnel is pitch black. Walkers that use the tunnel as a cut under the mountain use torches, but we aren't allowed as Jason says it is 'more fun' in the dark. Bastard. Jason advises us we will not be able to see our hands in front of our faces, but we don't really believe him, standing here at the mouth of the tunnel in glorious alpine sunshine.
Jason leads and I am given the dubious pleasure of bringing up the rear, the rest of the group in single file between us, pushing our bikes in our left hands and holding our sticks in our right. We wrap up warm and set off into the tunnel, laughing and joking. As we get further in, the bright mouth of the tunnel gets smaller and smaller behind us, but it still sheds a good deal of light, and we can see each other quite easily in the gloom. Dean is obviously getting more and more nervous and I can hear him chattering constantly up ahead, keen to keep the silence of the tunnel at bay.
Making good progress, the light eventually dims more and more and we start to use our sticks to drag along the tunnel wall in order to keep ourselves walking in a straight line. Occasional drips of water splash onto us as we walk, but this isn't too bad! I can still see Jamie in front, and can see around me in the gloom. Pitch black? Pah!
Suddenly from up ahead someone shouts out "Train!" Oh shit. Jason warned us that when the train driver sees us he will sound his horn, and that we should stand close to the tunnel wall and put our fingers in our ears. We all come to a stop, stand against the wall like naughty schoolboys and insert our fingers (in our ears). The train looms into view, headlamps shining brightly, but no horn thankfully. People stare out of the brightly lit train into the tunnel. God only knows what they think as they see ten lycra clad weirdoes stood in the darkness with their fingers in their ears and buttocks clenched tightly.
As the train lumbers past we continue into the gloom. Then, as promised by Jason, the tunnel turns a slight corner, and the light at the end of the tunnel disappears, literally, and we are plunged into total, utter and complete darkness. We are all stunned by the fact that we genuinely can't see a bloody thing. Despite being warned constantly by Jason that this would happen, no-one is prepared for the total pitch black that envelops us. Sticks rattling along the tunnel wall, we bumble about, crashing into one another, tripping over speed bumps on the ground and fearful of Yetis and Honey Monsters coming up behind us and snatching us away silently.
This total darkness continues for about a quarter of an hour and I start hallucinating that I can see things in the darkness. My hearing becomes sharpened and I have to keep asking Jamie how far ahead he is for fear of walking into his bike and rapping my shins on his pedals. Despite scraping my stick along the wall I often walk into the wall or find myself drifting so far away from it that I am waving about trying to find the comforting roughness of the bricks once again.
Then I start to see a white cloud to my left and think I am seeing things again, but the cloud remains. Have I gone mad? Have I died and St Peter is leading me to the Golden Gates? No. It is very dim light! As the tunnel continues to bend to the right, a patch of light appears on the left wall. We all involuntarily quicken our pace and head for the tunnel exit. As the exit becomes clear, we remount our bikes, drop our sticks (by now worn away to stumps) and pedal for the light, trying to outrun Honey Monster and his friends.
We all regroup in the bright light and we are amazed at the experience we have just had. I think we were all genuinely a little scared, and are happy to be out of the tunnel. I had not felt at all worried at the start of the tunnel but now I was glad to be out. My left hand is numb from holding onto my cold handlebar stem, and my right hand is sore from holding tightly onto my stick. My toes are also numb due to the cold of the tunnel floor. Jason recounted a story of one member of a previous group that dropped his stick in the tunnel and had to feel his way along with his hand, emerging with knackered gloves and bloody fingers. Ouch.
And there in front of us she loomed, the slag of all climbs, the bitch of all ascents, the whore of all Uphills, the Mutha Fukka of all trails: The climb to Loriaz. A zigzag could be seen through the trees up the mountainside ahead, and a small dot at the top: our destination, a mountain gite café, with pint mugs of Chocolat Chaud waiting for us. But first we had to get up there. Jason said the climb would take over an hour, but his fastest time was 45mins. As we prepared for the climb I set myself a goal of 1 hour, and set off in the lead.
Grinding away in lowest gear middle ring I am soon joined by Jason. I make a conscious effort not to race him or let him push me and keep grinding away at my own pace. I am soon aware of Dan behind us, and before long Jason stops at a junction to ensure the following group go the right way and I continue to lead Dan up the climb. As we have to dismount and pass under a metal gate I consider stopping for a rest, but think that if Dan rests it will give me a chance to get further ahead. Dan doesn't stop though and we keep grinding, making good progress. The 1hr is still achievable.
As the climb steepens I am forced to drop into my granny ring, and then forced to drop into lower and lower gears, until I am in bottom gear and grinding my way up the steep fire road, fighting for traction on the loose rocky corners, often pushing my shifters in the vain hope of finding that mystery lower gear.
The track is made up of short straight sections with numerous switchbacks that give you short stretches to concentrate on at a time. Soon though the switchbacks reduce in number and the trail goes up in a series of long straights. This is mentally very tough as the trail is there in front of you, sneering and taunting you. Nerves of steel are needed.
My nuts start to go numb due to sitting on the nose of my saddle to keep the front of my bike down and my shorts are rucking up my arse and hurting like hell. I try to blank both painful sensations out and concentrate on the climb, but it gets too much and I am forced to stop to extract my shorts and rub some feeling back into my crown jewels. Dan goes past me and I slot in behind him.
As the trail steepens more and more I am unable to keep up with Dan. I will now have to be content with being second up the climb, but am still keen to do the ride in less than an hour. With 40mins on my computer and still not yet above the tree line I soon realise that the 1 hour is unachievable, and I then try to simply complete the ride without stopping for a rest. This aim is soon also scuppered as my lungs are bursting and I am forced to take a breather. I see Dan disappear out of view and I once again reassess my aims. This time I will be happy just to get up this bloody climb without dying.
As we finally emerge from the trees we drop into an old quarry. On the opposite side of the quarry I see Dan riding the steep exit slope, approx 10mins ahead of me. As I reach the steep exit ramp my legs go completely, and I am unable to ride out of the quarry. With a shout of rage I am forced to dismount and push the 20yards or so out of the quarry. The climb to Loriaz has beaten me. Chamonix 1, Hodgson nil. Or more to the point, Dan the Man 1, Hodgson nil.
As I leave the quarry the gite is ahead and I trudge up the path to meet Dan and congratulate him on being first up the climb. We order jugs of hot chocolate and wait for the others to arrive, which they do in dribs and drabs over the next hour. Dan has taken about 58mins to do the climb, me about 1hr 10mins. Jason is third and Brum on Giant fourth. Ra stopped to sunbathe on the way up (seriously) and Ewok and 10-Ton Kona had been pushing since the metal gate near the start! All riders are absolutely shattered as we sit in the hot sun, eat our sandwiches (which taste even better after that climb) and recover.
But, as is usual in Chamonix, we are soon cashing in our Altitude Tokens for a truly amazing descent back to the valley below. Jason splits us into two groups, him and Team Brum as one group, and Team FanyLion as the other. I overheard Jason telling one of the other guides back at the chalet later that Team FanyLion were able to 'take care of themselves' on big descents, but Team Brum needed watching. Respekt to us! We don't need guiding, we can rip these trails on our own! Jason leads Team Brum (including Dan the Man, who I must add, was a superb rider on the downs as well as the ups) ahead of us, telling us to wait a couple of minutes before I lead Team FanyLion Downhill Assault Squad after them.
The first section is exposed mountain singletrack, with numerous drainage stones to avoid or risk snakebite punctures. There are also many switchbacks, but not too tight, and we are getting warmed up nicely. Then, as the trail drops back into the treeline, the switchbacks get tighter and tighter, and the trail starts to get steeper, rockier and rootier. Truly awesome. We take it in turns to lead, each one of us fairly evenly matched, all taking steep drops, tight switchbacks and rocky sections with great skill and riding very fast and fluidly.
As the trail nears the valley floor, the quality of the track remains high, as we dive through mossy tree-lined gullies and down rocky chutes and through alpine meadows. The trail finishes off through somebody's garden, and the chap whose house it is sports a huge grin from beneath his fuzzy beard as 10 sweaty, happy mountainbikers shoot through his garden, grinning back at him. It looks to be the highlight of his week, and it is certainly ours.
A gradual but long road climb follows and this hurts the team after the climb to Loriaz. But we are then treated to a 46mph road descent back into Chamonix as Dan, 10 Ton Kona and I buzz a hapless Peugeot, trying to get past it on the hairpins, but failing due to oncoming traffic. By now everyone haS a taste for speed and the riverside trail is retraced at full race speed, back to the Balcon Sud, back into Cham and back to the chalet.
We had ridden 30miles, but done the toughest climb any of us had ever ridden, the 30 miles probably equating to a 50-60mile ride in the UK. We were all absolutely shattered, but still grinning following the descent, road race and riverside sprint. And the chattering and excited talk continued after dinner as we went into town to drink beer, shoot some pool, eat a hamburger (with chips actually in the bun with the burger: fantastic) and went to bed late, and didn't set the alarm clock. Tomorrow is our day off, and we need it.
Day 5
We all awake with good sized hangovers, have a late breakfast and wander into town and head for a café for coffees, cake and cokes. Fully sugared and caffeined up we then head for the cable car that will take us up the Aguille du Midi, the highest cable car in Europe, leading to the highest habitable building in Europe, 12,602ft above sea level.
As the cable car rises the air gets colder and colder and thinner and thinner. We leave 23ºC temperatures behind and emerge at the top, greeted by 1ºC cold and views across to Mont Blanc, Switzerland and Italy, and the full length of the Chamonix Valley below. Despite having seen these views last year, they once again blow my head off. We sprint up the external staircase, amazed at how quickly we are reduced to wheezing wrecks due to the severely depleted oxygen at this altitude. We then take the elevator up to the top level and look down at climbers and skiers below us on the Valley Blanche. After about 45mins at this height we all start to feel very light-headed and a little nauseous. The combination of a brutish hangover has coupled with the lack of oxygen to make us all feel as rough as dogs, and we decide to get back to the valley floor pronto. Even once we are back in Chamonix, we still feel pretty rough and Shack and I soon quash the thought of doing a Paraglide flight as we intended, knowing that we would feel even worse afterwards. A game of tennis is the most extreme thing we can handle.
After being made to run the length and breadth of a tennis court for a couple of hours by Dean Sampras, we catch the train back to the chalet, eat, drink wine and go to bed, feeling very tired and still a little rough. Yesterday's climb to Loriaz plus a skinful of beer has done us some damage.
Day 6.
Shack announces that he will be riding again today, which is nice. We ride out towards Les Houches, collecting MBMB owner Phil Hennem on the way. Phil will be leading us today, showing us some new descents he has found. Today will be 'Downhill Day', involving minimal climbing: we will be using cable cars instead. Hallelujah.
It is very satisfying ascending up a mountain in a cable car, with your bike strapped to the side, looking down as you gain altitude in the most pain free manner possible. This is the life! We disembark at the top and hare off on a sweeping fire road descent before entering the singletrack sections we have been waiting for. We lower our saddles and the trail becomes rooty and steep, and is typical Les Houches material, where you are so far back on the bike your handlebars are down below you and you seem to be pushing down on either side of your bars to steer, not pushing left and right. With the smell of hot disc brakes in the air, we regroup: smiles all round.
We then ride through lush alpine meadows, the sound of cowbells in the air. Dean thinks it is time he went over the bars and manages to hit a rabbit hole and gets fully airborne. Though I personally missed the event, I believe he came to a rest up a tree. Everyone who saw the crash is amazed at the height he managed to gain and just how high up the tree he came to rest. He is an Ewok you know.
We then ride more amazing rooty, rocky, twisty technical downhill trails of the highest calibre, Phil Hennem leading the way on his new Santa Cruz Blur, with what is probably the highest seatpost I have ever seen (and he has no QR clamp and leaves it fully extended even on the most technical of descents). Team FanyLion are ripping up the trails and out-riding Team Brum at every turn. Nice one boys.
On the longest section of the day (and probably the longest I have ever ridden) I suffer a frightening experience: total brake loss! As my levers became pumped up due to excessive heat, my rear brake lever suddenly came back to my bars without doing anything. As I pumped the lever furiously I assumed I had burst a hose and lost all my brake fluid. As I struggled to slow down with just my front brake I felt that start to pump up too. I managed to stop just in time (by running into a tree) before the front lever went slack too and I had absolutely no brakes. The smell of hot brakes was a give away and I sprayed water from my Camelbak onto my callipers and discs to cool them. The water turned to steam instantly and it took a while before the brake fluid cooled and I had brakes once again. A worrying experience and one that undermined my confidence a little, I have to admit.
After lunch at the top of a mountain with views over a beautiful valley below, we ride more and more superb technical trails until we can take no more. We return to St Gervais railway station and get the train back to the chalet. (Ticket Inspector is female and blond this time, and even fitter than Tuesday's Inspector: British Rail, please can we have fit inspectors on British trains and not bearded lesbians?)
Dean then informs us that he is feeling unwell, and after dinner retires to bed. The rest of the Team goes to the Gentlemen's Club opposite (Dean won't come, despite being dragged out of bed by his feet by 10 Ton and I and his jeans and trainers put on him). We sink a few beers and trade accounts of roots, switchbacks, drops and discuss the days excellent riding.
I return to the chalet and sleep like a baby, the days' riding and a bellyful of Heineken doing its job, but am awoken at 4am by the sound of Dean being murdered. At least it sounds like he is being murdered. He is actually being sick. Forcibly. Oh dear. Doesn't look like Ewok will be riding tomorrow.
Day 7
Friday is our last day, and Jason informs us we will be riding out past Le Tour, climbing to the Swiss-French border, then descending over into Switzerland (don't forget your passports) then getting the train back to Cham. Awesome! (However if I had known just how tough the climb was going to be I would have sawn my bike into little pieces and rammed each one up Jason's arse).
Dean is feeling a little better after spending yesterday spewing liquids from every bodily orifice, and after breakfast says he feels fit to ride. Ra however is looking decidedly jaded and appears to have caught Dean's bug. The sun is most definitely not shining today. In fact as Ra is looking dark and gloomy, so the weather matches him, and a grey, overcast, drizzly day greets us.
Today's ride once again leads up the valley, though today we pedal in silence. It is very odd. No banter, no quips, no japes: silence. Everyone is knackered from the week and we all know we have one last climb to conquer before Jason will leave us alone and let us die in peace. The climb we are about to ride is normally served by a cable car, but it is closed for maintenance, therefore we have to ride it. After filling our Camelbaks by the (closed) cable car station and decorating our bikes and Shack with flowers, we start the fire road climb. As we start to spin our legs, all the pain and lactic acid of Tuesday's ride returns, and it is hell.
Brum on Giant sets off in the lead but is soon off and pushing as Dan and I grind our way past him and up the mountain. This is as steep as Tuesday's climb but looser in places. However the switchbacks are nowhere near as tight and are more frequent, meaning only short sections of the track reveal themselves to you at once, making it climbable in bite-sized chunks.
I see Dan up ahead struggling with a short section of the trail that is super steep. He is forced to dismount and push for about 10yards: he is human after all! I too am forced to push this short section as the surface is just too loose for traction. As Dan and I near the cable car station that is our destination, the track steepens once more, though this time there is grip. I grit my teeth and put the hammer down in an effort to get to the station before my lungs explode or my legs seize up. I manage it, and Dan and I are at the top well ahead of the rest of the group, including Jason.
As the rest of the riders arrive at the cable car station, Ewok is weak from his illness and is struggling to push his bike up the final steep section. I shout some encouragement down to him: "Come on Ricks, you lazy shit!" Dean's response is a classic: "Hodgson, my fitness can improve, but you will always be ugly."
We have lunch and then the suffering really starts. Jason asks Jamie and Dean if they feel up to the climb ahead, and despite both admitting they feel pretty rough and weak, they agree to continue. True FanyGrit. Respect. Jason says this climb is so steep there is no point in any of us trying to ride it. We all start off pushing together and begin the toughest slog of the week. Despite us all walking, we are soon strung out over the mountainside as the gradient gets ever steeper. We are forced to carry our bikes in places. Simply walking up this slope would be difficult enough, but with a weeks-worth of biking in our legs, a bike to push and the altitude, it is sheer torture. We are tormented by several false summits, before we see the static cable car station up ahead and we have made it, almost an hour after leaving our lunch stop.. Dean is last by a long way, and Jason sends us on to the Swiss-French border gite for coffee and hot chocolate as he goes back down the mountainside to fetch Dean. Dean told us later that Jason had offered to carry his bike for him up the last few hundred yards, but Dean had told him that if he touched his bike he would rip his head off, and that he had come this far and would finish the climb himself. Respekt Ewok. More FanyGrit.
The border gite was an incredible place, seemingly forgotten by time, we felt as though we were back in the 1800's in a sepia coloured world of wooden skis, ancient crampons and outdated curled up post cards. I think the wizened old woman who served us had also been there for at least a hundred years too, though none of us had any idea how she got up there as there was no car or road visible. Maybe she had a Santa Cruz hidden in her kitchen and was fitter than all of us.
After hot chocolate and photos at the border, we cashed in our Altitude Vouchers once again and started the descent into Switzerland. This had better be worth it.
As we traversed the mountaintop before the descent proper, Ewok saw fit to rip his entire drivetrain off his bike. Dean felt his pedals jam and did not realise he had snapped a chain link. Instead of stopping to see what had caused the jam, Dean simply stood on his pedals as hard as he could. Result: he rips his rear derailleur off his bike. Whilst a blow, this is obviously not total disaster for Dean, and we tell him that when he fixes his chain he should bypass his rear derailleur and leave the chain on the smallest sprocket of his cassette and will still be able to change gear with his front derailleur. Now Dean is hardly the most talented bike mechanic, and after a good 20mins fannying about with his chain, he stands up proudly and announces he has done it and we can set off again. Then someone notices that Dean has joined his chain outside his rear AND front derailleurs. What a muppet! As time is now ticking on and we are all starting to get cold on the mountaintop, Dean has no choice but to carry on with his new singlespeed machine. There is a lesson to be learned here for our little Ewok.
Finally we start one of the best descents of the week, Dan leading the way down a steep, zigzag trail with switchbacks and gravelly sections to get us warmed up. A short sharp climb splits the Team again, Dan and me the only riders willing to have a go, and we clear it. We then look back up at the zigzag descent we have just come down and notice there is a 300ft drop to the right of the trail that we had never noticed whilst riding. Ohmigod. One mistake on the loose gravel would have been curtains. Cool.
We continue the descent, riding past a large glacier before hitting the treeline and the trail taking its usual downturn in steepness and upturn in quality as roots, rocks and switchbacks all combine to produce yet more superb singletrack.
Jamie films footage of us riding the sections and after Shack , 10 Ton and I have ridden past one of the Brum boys falls off right in front of Jamie, on camera. Sweet.
Biggest and best stack of the day from Shack. I ride down a tricky rocky section and know Shack will find it tough, with his lack of confidence due to his bad ankle. I turn in time to see Shack soaring through the air, minus his bike. As Shack lands in a heap his bike starts to clatter its way off the edge of the trail, heading for the valley bottom a hundred feet or so below. Shack dives like a cat and manages to save his bike before it drops off the lip, and remounts to continue gingerly.
We finish the descent on a short section of fire road, and the rest of the ride to the railway station on road. And ordinarily this would be the end of the fun. But not this time. Holy Shit No! The steep alpine road sees us hitting 45mph once again as we race each other down the valley, slipstreaming before popping out and taking the lead, slingshotting past each other, increasing the speed each time. A great end to a great week.
We take the train back to Chamonix and ride back to the chalet, sore, tired and elated after a week of mountainbiking in Cham. It had been far tougher than the previous year, and the climb to Loraiz had ripped my heart out, but we had survived, in a fashion.
Shack had managed to nurse his ankle through the week; Jamie had earned a new Team name and christened his new bike; 10-Ton Kona had improved his downhilling skills considerably, and Ewok had destroyed both his bike and himself but had loved every minute.
I was glad the Team had finally seen what it was I had been blathering on about for the last year since my first visit to Cham. On the journey back to the airport Phil Hennem said if we returned next year he would give Team FanyLion a discount. Damn. As we have plans to go to Spain next summer this could prove an expensive year, though it will be worth it, I am sure.
Who knows where Team FanyLion will be riding next? England, Scotland, Wales, France, Switzerland, Spain... Utah, Colorado, New Zealand, Africa, Brazil...?
Team Hodgson, Out.
Riders present
Team Shack
Team Ewok
Team Hodgson
Team Ra
Team 10-Ton Kona
Enjoyment level
Fantastic!!*!