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
September 07, 2002, French Alps
Day 1
We are picked up at Geneva Airport, Switzerland and transferred to the chalet in Chamonix. We stick our bikes in the cellar and tuck into some excellent grub provided by MBMB’s own chef, drink plenty of wine and get to bed. Tomorrow we ride.
Day 2
We unpack and assemble our bikes. Fortunately they are unscathed from the flight. Our guide is Steve (used to be a lawyer in London but packed it all in to become a mountainbike guide after a trip to Colorado), sporting a woolly beard, porn star specs and riding a Specialized M4 with SID forks and XTR spangly bits.
Sam has adorned his standard Gary Fisher Big Sur with the most bizarre upgrade: a leather Brooks saddle with copper studs. The thing looks like it has just been stolen from Mary Poppins’ bike, and is rock hard. Sam is convinced it will soften up and mould to the shape of his bum. We all think it is him that will be doing the moulding. Rumour has it that he is looking to add a wicker basket soon.
We leave the chalet, cross the road, ride fifty yards then hit the first trail: into the trees, roots, rocks, this is amazing, and within a stones throw of the chalet!! Today we are just doing a short ride, taking it easy to give us chance to acclimatise to the altitude, and believe me, you can feel it. The shortest climb suddenly hits you as your lungs are trying to suck in non-existent oxygen. Steve informs us there is approx. 10% less oxygen at this height, and you can tell.
We arrive at an MBMB favourite: the Rooty Challenge. A steep hill approximately fifty metres long that is so technical over roots that few people have ridden it without putting a foot down. As it had rained overnight the roots are at their most treacherous and we don’t make it more than about ten metres.
We then arrive at the next MBMB challenge: the No Brakes Descent, a 100 metre long descent down a gully, peppered with rocks and roots and very narrow. Can you ride it without touching your brakes? I must confess to a quick dab on the brakes half way down, but then I did start at the top by sprinting up on my pedals. Maybe if I had just rolled into the section I wouldn’t have picked up quite so much speed.
We then stop for lunch in the hot sun, chatting about Steve’s decision to leave his career as a lawyer and become a mountainbike guide in the summer and a ski instructor in the winter. Bored of the rat-race, Steve said he wanted a job where he didn’t have to use his brain, and admitted he probably had the best job in the world. Respect.
After lunch we do a long road climb, lungs ablaze after twenty metres, huffing and puffing like (dirty) old men, to the top of a nice little descent with many switchbacks, and we are given Steve’s Switchback Masterclass, which will be illustrated elsewhere on the fanylionracing.com website.
We then ride to one of the best trails in Chamonix, the Balcon Sud, a path that follows the lower level of the South side of the valley. This trail has it all: steep little technical climbs, roots, rocks, views of the valley, stream crossings, drop-offs, loose gravely descents, the works. Truly awesome. At the end of the first day we had covered 23 miles and felt quite tired. No crashes yet, and we were gagging for day 2. More excellent food, beer, wine and to bed.
Day 3
At the chalet we meet another guide, Dave, nursing a broken heel incurred whilst rock climbing, and his mate Ben. Ben was over in France visiting Dave but due to Dave’s accident they hadn’t been able to do anything energetic but had just returned from Les Gets, watching Steve Peat become World Downhill Champion. Ben was to accompany us from now on. We did not know it at the time, but we had found a new member for Team FanyLion.
Steve informed us that today would be ‘downhill day’. We rode five miles or so on the road to Les Hooches and bought day passes for the cable car. We would be descending back to the village and back up on the cable car several times before finally riding over into the next valley.
At the top of a big fireroad descent I get a ticking off by Steve for trying to overtake him. Team FanyLion riding techniques (racing and trying to overtake/knock each other off) aren’t allowed here. Obviously Steve has safety in mind, so I leave more of a gap between me and him in front.
We ride more truly awesome trails, very similar to the trails at Coed-Y-Brenin, though these were natural and displayed none of the track polishing you see at CYB associated with the amount of traffic.
The first trail soon took a downturn: not a downturn in quality, but a downturn in alignment, downdowndown and bloody steep. We dropped our seats and hung out the back, bums rubbing on rear tyres and trying to decide between letting the bike roll and braking so we didn’t poo ourselves. Roots were the main obstacle, which were wet once again from overnight rain, and very slippy.
Sam was on the steepest learning curve imaginable (nearly as steep as the trails) and was slipping and sliding and bouncing his way down the roots and rocks (remember that this was the first time Sam had ridden off-road). Ben on his yellow Zaskar was obviously a mean rider, and was coping well with the tight switchbacks and steep drop offs, though he too occasionally bit off more than he could chew and was forced to make a sharp exit off his machine.
It was on one of these steep drops that I had the biggest off of the week, my front wheel jamming into the base of a drop, me teetering on the point of going over the bars, arse twitching like a rabbit’s nose: will my back wheel drop back down and I will ride off OK, or will my back wheel keep coming up and I get airborne? The latter. Sam was a way behind but saw my feet appear above the trail, closely followed by my back wheel and a girl-like scream as I became Superman for a few seconds. Fortunately, after somersaulting in mid air I landed in some trees and bushes, managing to come to a stop by aiming my head at a tree trunk. Unhurt but shaken up, I grabbed my bike and remounted as soon as possible, knowing that the longer I left it to remount the more likely it would be that ‘The Fear’ would set in.
We continued the ride, regrouping at the bottom to share tales of crashes and show off flowing blood and grass stains, plus my bruised bell end which I had cracked on my handlebar stem (I didn’t show it, just told them about it – honest).
One section of the second downhill actually followed the line of a ski piste (a bloomin’ steep one, maybe a black run) and we stopped at the bottom to spray water from our Camelbaks onto our hot disc brakes, the water hissing and spitting into steam. Wicked. After the third and final ride up the mountain on the cable car we dropped down into the next valley, stopping for photographs at the same spot where the radical trial dude in the MBMB video did his flip off the rock.
It was at the lunch-stop that the fun started, when Sam declared that his rim was hot due to hard braking. This caused much hilarity, and the conversation soon descended into debauchery, covering rimming, felching, botchulism and Dirty Sanchez. We were all now firm friends, and Team FanyLion had at least one new member.
We continue our ride in the next valley, cruising fresh looking trails, arriving at picturesque alpine villages at speed, blasting through and off into the distance, locals waving at us and shouting “Bonjour!” as we fly past. Unlike England, in France cyclists are heroes (I assume it’s because of the Tour de France). Walkers move aside with big smiles on their faces and local village people stop to watch as you ride past.
Towards the end of the ride it starts to rain, and we don waterproofs, though it isn’t cold. The last part of the ride is Parc Thermal, a wooded hillside area with some great routes with steep drops and switchbacks. Steve says that it is important not to ride Parc Thermal too fast, but to take it easy, and savour the riding. He says this is ‘Spiritual Mountainbiking’, and he is right. We flow like liquid chocolate down the trails, the four of us in harmony, at one with the trail. No walkers, no dogs, just us, our bikes and the trail. Quality.
We arrive at the railway station and have time to grab a sneaky Leffe ((Belgian lager), which actually tastes more like battery acid – maybe the pipes needed cleaning?) before our train is due to arrive: except it doesn’t. There are no more trains running due to engineering work, so we have to get a coach back. After lots of hassle with the coach driver about loading our bikes into the hold we get back to the chalet, wet and cold, bruised and battered, but exhilarated after an exciting days’ riding.
After another excellent meal, Sam and I spend the evening watching the entire first series of the League of Gentlemen on video, whilst thrashing our way through bottles and bottles of Amstel. We stumble to bed ready for Day 4, regularly declaring that this was a local shop, for local people, and that we didn’t burn him.
Day 4
Tuesday dawns misty and overcast, but by the time we have eaten breakfast and cleaned and oiled our bikes the sun is out and the cloud has lifted. Steve informs us that today will be a day of climbing and descending. Ben goes rock climbing instead of biking, so it is just me, Sam and Steve. The first half of the morning sees us on some odd trails, threading our way alongside railway lines and under roads via culverts and tunnels. In England these would be rat infested, litter strewn sewers: in Chamonix they are rooty, rocky singletrack trails of the highest MTB quality.
The second half of the morning is pure climbing, with half on road and half off road. We are not yet adjusted to the altitude, and the steep off-road climb eventually has our legs burning with pain. Gentle aerobic climbs are OK, but whenever the gradient requires a bit more effort and things go anaerobic, the lack of oxygen is a killer. Sam is soon off the pace, and I have to let Steve disappear out of sight ahead as we trudge up the 500m vertical climb.
But it is worth every drop of sweat and every ounce of lactic acid that is scorching our legs as we arrive at Lac Vert, the Green Lake, which Steve informs us is a ‘spiritual place’. He is right again. This beautiful alpine lake is as flat as a sheet of glass, and is a pale, whitish green in appearance, due to the glacial waters that feed it. Large blue dragonflies buzz about as we sit on a big rock at the waters edge, rest and take photographs.
We then continue upwards for a couple more miles before stopping for lunch at the mountaintop to watch hang-gliders launch themselves into space. The short afternoons ride is a two-hour descent back to the valley bottom, but on some of the best trails yet. Leafy gullies with berms and jumps everywhere have us grinning and yelping as we scoot downwards.
We pass a section of roots and rocks so technically demanding and steep that Steve calls it ‘Dougie Lampkin’ as he reckons he is the only person that could ride it. We have difficulty carrying our bikes down it but Steve assures us he has seen people ride it in the past. Holy Shit!!
The only crash of the day is from Steve, who bales out sideways on a big drop-off he had just assured us was rideable, the damp leaves on the ground making it unrideable. Needless to say Sam and I got off and carried our bikes down sheepishly. Tomorrow is the guide’s day off, with no biking, so tonight WE DRINK!!
A game of cards (Shithead to be exact) fuelled by gallons and gallons of Amstel at the chalet, then we proceed into town for more beer. We arrive at a bar with the imaginative name of ‘The Pub’, which is pretty laid back, and Sam and I are soon cajoled into various drinking games. Having despised these stereotypical student antics whilst at University I have to admit I have never had so much fun in my life. We drank and shouted and generally acted like a bunch of knob heads till we were asked to calm down by the barmaid. So we left, went to the Safari Bar, then onto Wallabies until 2am when they stopped serving, then went home to bed, and didn’t set the alarm clock.
Day 5
No riding today. Steve recommends we take the cable car up the Aguille du Midi, a big mountain that will give us views of the valley and Mont Blanc. Sam, Ben and I each pay our 30 Euros (about £22) and board the cable car, grumbling and moaning about the expense. We were soon all agreeing that it was probably the best £22 we had aver spent (except for the time we went to Spearmint Rhino…ahem..). The views were simply breathtaking.
We were above the clouds. It was like being in a plane!! Above and behind us was Mont Blanc’s big white domed cap, and way below us were little tents, the base camps of the mountaineers making assaults on the Mont Blanc summit.
We had left glorious sunshine and 23ºC temperatures in the valley and were wearing only shorts and t-shirts. Now we were shivering at 1ºC and were almost 13,000ft above sea level. Our cameras were snapping away furiously, and we made the final ascent by lift up to the peak of the Aguille du Midi, about 100ft above us, to what is the highest building in Europe. The final climb up the twenty or so steps reduce us to huffing puffing old men, the air now seriously depleted of oxygen. One huffing puffing old man was nearly reduced to a corpse as he struggled up the steps with his walking stick.
We stayed for about half an hour, then descended back to the warmth of the valley for a spot of window-shopping and some food. That night we watched The Cell on DVD. Bloody twisted film that, but recommended. Team FanyLion weirdoes should be OK with it, but normal people should be warned that several scenes are quite shocking. J Lo is pretty fit in it too.
As we went to bed that night we could not have imagined in our wildest dreams the trails that were awaiting us next day.
Day 6
Thursday dawned cold and overcast, with low cloud and mist, but once again, by the time we had eaten breakfast and were in the saddle, the cloud was lifting and the sun was shining.
The guy who runs MBMB, Phil Hennem would be our guide today. Sam and I wanted to get up above the tree line and Phil said he knew just the trail. Phil has lived in Chamonix for twelve years, a qualified engineer who also got sick of the rat race and moved to the Alps for biking, climbing and a better way of life. Phil knows every trail worth knowing, and knows trails no one else knows about, and it was one of these we would be riding today.
We rode along the valley as we had done on day 1, covering 11 miles off road by the time we had got to the cable car at the east end of the valley that would take us up to the Swiss/French border at La Tour. We had lunch half way up the mountain, between cable car lifts, then arrived at the top of the mountain, at the Swiss/French border.
Disappearing below us was a ribbon of white on the side of the mountain: this was the trail we would be riding. I couldn’t wait. As we started our descent we spotted marmottes on the slopes below us. Marmottes are alpine beavers, cute little critters about as big as a small dog that sit up motionless when they see you, then bound to their holes like big teddy bears. Well cool. I want one. The trail steepened, and we stopped for a few staged photos as we passed a glacier on the opposite side of the valley. Sam thought this would be a good place to fall off his bike (whilst doing about 2mph) ripping a big lump out of his knee and bruising his ribs on his handlebars.
After picking Sam up and brushing him down we carried on, and after the rocky descent with twisty switchbacks, we entered MTB Heaven. As the trail came back into the tree-line, it just didn’t look real, more like a Star Trek set. It was just sooooo good, it looked staged. Grassy slopes with the singletrack winding through it, rocks at the side, roots across the trail, little drops: It does not get any better than this. I have to admit that I was almost moved to tears: this is the trail that I want my ashes scattering on when I die. When someone says to me “Think of the best bit of MTB trail you have ever ridden”, I will think of this section. Totally amazing.
As we continued the trail got steeper and more technical. Ben seemed to be having some trouble staying upright today, and often failed to unclip from his SpuD’s in time and came a cropper, much to everyone else’s amusement. We completed the ride via the good old Balcon Sud, and stopped off for a couple of beers at The Pub to sit in the sun and grin, tell mucky jokes, photograph Sam’s bleeding leg and watch the many beautiful women walking past. Life is sweet in Chamonix.
That evening we went to an Irish pub, the Jekyll (formerly the Jekyll and Hyde) and ate brilliant food and drank wine. We had been warned that Friday would be a big day, so we didn’t overdo it and got our heads down relatively early.
Day 7
The final day. Steve was back to guide us, and Sam and I felt fresh and requested that we do a trail that would “Fuck us up”. Ben didn’t look too sure, but Steve said we would be doing the climb up the Col du Joile, and that it was so large an ascent it would fuck us all up, including him. Wicked. The Col du Jolie is a plateau between two mountains, and is 2000m above sea level. We would be climbing from 1150m, resulting in a 850m climb, over about 5 miles, meaning about a 1:5 gradient, for 5 miles, off road. This was going to hurt. Ben did not look happy.
The start of the climb was on road and as the tarmac disappeared and turned to fire road, Ben slowed and Steve stayed with him. Sam and I got into a rhythm and stayed in the lead. After a couple of miles the track started to steepen and my natural rhythm meant that I pulled away from Sam. I could see the trail ahead, climbing up and up and up, into the clouds in the distance, no idea how far off the summit was.
After just over an hour I reached the summit, Sam about 10 mins behind. By the time Ben and Steve arrived some 30mins later Sam and I were getting cold. Ben had found it tough, but looked happy to reach the top. We were all “Fucked Up”, as we had requested. My legs felt like sticks of rubber.
The following descent seemed to be never ending, lasting about four hours on fire roads, singletrack, through Alpine meadows, along a river via roller-coaster singletrack, a fast tarmac sprint with Steve showing off his former road racing skills and a quick blast through Parc Thermal once more to meet Dave who was waiting for us in the mini bus to take us back to the chalet.
I sadly realised that that was the end of our weeks’ biking, but Steve had a surprise up his sleeve as a treat. He had found a new trail whilst out hiking a couple of months ago, and wanted to show it to us. “Steve’s Secret Trail” he called it. Sam and I were dead keen. Ben was just plain dead, and too tired to get back on his bike.
The final trail of the holiday was another dream-like collection of drops, switchbacks, roots and rocks, with amazing views of the valley and a sheer drop to the side of the trail. As it was now nearly 6pm the sun was low in the sky and was filtering through the trees making the trail look magical. Like three biking hobbits we descended back to the chalet, tired, happy and sad that that was it. We had covered 36 miles on the last day, and were happy but sad, tired but invigorated.
More good food and wine then we went into town to shoot some pool, have some beers and relax before the trip home tomorrow.
Day 8
As we said our goodbyes Steve was already on his bike again, taking more lucky punters out on the trails of Chamonix. It seemed really weird: we had turned up, gone biking and were now going home. Steve had done the same riding for the whole summer, in a conveyor belt of amazing trails and a blur of happy faces and satisfied customers.
Ben was staying for a couple more days but assures me he will come to the FanyLion raid of Scotland in October. Hope so. Maybe one of us will find our own little bit of heaven there? Who knows?
See you in Chamonix next year.
Riders present
Team Hodgson
Team Never Comes Biking
Enjoyment level
Wicked