So, then, after five years a real tour again! In 2006 I did a one afternoon's ride (on a too small, borrowed bike) around Chur, in 2007 I made a nice five days' tour around London and in August added three serious stages in east Switzerland, including revisits to the Stelvio, the Fluela and the Albula passes. Last May, after a long weekend in the Ardennes, with good weather and a good physical condition, I decided I wanted to give it a go once (?) again. I wanted to go for a few new additions to my all cols lists and I wanted to go for good weather, so Nice seemed a good starting point. Moreover, there's a daily flight from Rotterdam to Nice, and Rotterdam is only fifteen km from home. I had flight HV5077 which set off at 13:20 h, in a soft rain, and landed around 3 p.m. at airport Nice-Côte d'Azur, under a clear blue sky with a temperature of around 30 degrees (centigrade). My bike, rather unprotected, came off the conveyor belt apparently undamaged, and indeed apart from a bent frame handle – which with some force could be bent back – everything was okay.
Half an hour or so later I mounted my good old Koga, for which, I had shortly before decided, this would be the farewell tour. It wasn't much trouble to find the way to Cagnes-sur-Mer – just follow the sea – and not much trouble either to find the good road to the north, out of the human anthill, in, eventually, the direction of Pont-du-Loup. There I chose for the slightly longer option, via Magagnosc to Gourdon. It was rather warm, the road kept going up and up, while Magagnosc was only about 350 m high. Hm! In Magagnosc I had some fruits and drinks, and the seller of these forwarded me to the public water pump for better water than from his tap. I also gave the family at home a call that I'd got to the ground safely, "Hey, finally!", sighed my daughter, who is quite afraid of flying. From Magagnosc the nice part of this first half étape started. Very nice indeed. Till Gourdon I rode up with an elderly German who had rented an apartment in Cannes or so and was making one of his evening tours, the second half of the climb to the Col de l'Ècre I was on my own, and it felt lovely, going up, looking around. A little before eight I arrived at my first address, a chambres d'hôte (contrary to the information on the Internet, and way above my usual budget: 45 euros for B & B + 21 euros for repas du soir. Apart from me there were two Belgian families around the dinner table. Dinner was excellent and pleasant, but right after the dessert, around ten o'clock I withdrew into my bedroom 'en-suite'. It might well have been due to the wine that I kept waking up during the otherwise quiet night.

I had planned to do some training for climbing and getting accustomed to the heat in the area north-west of Nice. Breakfast at seven, to my surprise with the lady of the house buzzing about, and then a not too early start shortly after eight. Very beautiful descent from the Col du Ferrier, which from the north is reached without any effort, to Saint-Vallier, next a rather uneventful stretch along the Route Napoleaon to busy Grasse through which I descended further, and kept descending more or less continuously till Mandelieu where I had my first grand café and also my first journal with news from the Tour de France. The big news: another case of doping: Ricco and Piepoli. Does it never stop? (No, it does not, I fear.) Anyway, a few km separated me from the coast, which was nice to follow, with rear wind as well, till Agay. With my bike 'given up' I had resolved to be less restrained about unpaved roads, and the road through the Massif de l'Esterel was a first instance.

I passed several cols, all between 100 m and 300 m, and at every junction had to guess which was the right road. When in the middle of nowhere I met another hiker it appeared I had guessed right, so at the end I descended to the D6007, some 4 km west of Mandelieu. After a break in the shadow of an Intermarchée I had difficulty finding the right way up to the Massif de Tanneron. That appeared to be quite a climb, with nice views to the sea. Quite a climb! And there was more climbing in store over this small road, leading through the village of Tanneron, and ending quite low, at 179 m, onto the D562 to Grasse, a warm and busy road, which I had to follow upwards for 4 km, then turn left, and from there it got nice again. The nicest part was the climb (2me or 3me catégorie) from Saint Vallier to the Col du Ferrier, which offered no difficulty, so around seven I was back 'home'. I could not get a discount for a stay of three nights from the 'boss' so I decided to cancel the third night in Caussols, and instead phoned to Saint-Jeannet, where I booked a bed for only 12 euros. In Caussols dinner was very very good again. Looking back, the first two dinners were by far the best of the whole trip.

This time breakfast was a solo event. I packed all my things, put them in a corner of my bed room, and left with light gear. In the afternoon I would pick up the large panniers. Same nice starter: descent from the Col du Ferrier, then I sort of crossed the Route Napoléon in Saint-Vallier to 'climb' the Col de la Lèque from the north, which is even less noteworthy than from the south. Just before Saint Cézaire I turned right onto the vieux chemin to Mons. It didn't feel right, and after three or four km I turned around, and asked around, and learned that at a previous junction I should have kept to the left. So this I did but again, it didn't feel right. The pavement ended, a pick-up truck was coming from the unpaved side and the driver warned me that later on there would be a dangerous descent; however, to go marchant à pied might work. Five minutes later it appeared not to be a good idea. So again I turned around, and regretted the 'loss' of at least half an hour. The good road, only 500 m further was great! It did go down quite a bit though! While racing down I did notice the steep rough track to the right from which I had recoiled, and which seemed to be short but rough. The descent ended at the Siagnole river. I crossed it and on the spot decided to skip Mons, which would mean a gain in altitude of 550 m. Instead I climbed only 200 m or so to Callian, beautifully located on a hill, where I shared a table on a small terrace with an elderly French cyclist. The man, darkly tanned (from all his cycling, I suppose), knew a great deal of the area, and among other things informed me that the road from Ilonse to Pierlas nowadays is well paved (which was good news).

The road went down and up and down, along Fayence, over a col (de Saint Arnoux, which my coffee mate also did mention) which was followed by a very scenic descent to the village of Bargemon. Bargemon breathed a nice atmosphere, but it did not come at the right time for a break. Apart from the views back (and down) to Bargemon, the following part of the trip was not very special. I reached La Bastide, along the D21, about half past one, which felt more like the right time for a break. The pizza's they served looked good; the guys who had ordered them could read the appreciation from my eyes: they offered me a piece. I friendly declined and ordered chips, salad and andouillette. This rhymes with regret, and that's what I did. Yuck! Did it take me 23 years to find out what a horrible thing andouillette is? (Answer: yes it did) And what is andouillette? (Answer: some kind of sausage filled with pieces of all kinds of intestines, like kidney, liver, I don't know what, and with a horrible smell to my nose. Yuck!) Well, the other two parts of the dish stuffed me up enough to make it to Caussols, over the Col de Cornille, which is not mentioned on the Michelin map, but which contains one quite steep km, and which meant the highest point of the trip so far, and the Col de la Sine, which is mentioned by Michelin, but which is not marked along the road. I did not understand the 'hairpinned' climb after this second col and Caussols, as the col and the village are said to be at the same altitude, and there does not seem to be any downward compensation. Anyway, the last hour was quiet and scenic. Back 'home', shortly after 4 p.m., I had a short chat with one of the Belgians, rather red after a walk with his wife to the Observatoire du CERGA, towering high above Caussols.

It was a little cloudy when I rode through the high and open valley from Caussols to the east, enjoyed the fast descent to Gourdon, not so busy as in 2001, and yes, as I expected then I could verify now: from some points you can see the Mediterranean. Of Gourdon the people in the 'gîte' had told me that it is in fact a ghost town, consisting only of shops, restaurants and monuments. All the people that have their businesses in Gourdon live somewhere else. From Gourdon I descended further to the north (whereas two days earlier I had come from the south), like in 2001 again, but now I had to turn right after some 7 km, and cross the Loup (I thought). But, I wondered, where the hell was the bridge, and how high must it be?? I turned right and did not cross the Loup. I followed the great road through the very nice Gorges du Loup. In fact, it was one long descent from the Col de l'Ècre (1120 m) till Pont du Loup (about 250 m). From there it was humid and warm (sweaty!) going up again, and the only thing that was nice about the road from Vence to Saint Jeannet were the faraway views unto the Sea. At the North Sea coast in Holland you can only see the sea from the first row of houses (often: shops, restaurants and hotels), but not so for the Mediterranean at the Côte d'Azur! I didn't want to carry extra weight up to Saint-Jeannet, which lies at the end of one steep uphill km, so I ignored the big supermarket at the foot of this final climb. Saint-Jeannet is a small, old village, with the big rock Baou de St-Jeannet towering high and massively above it. It certainly has some charm, but I wanted to find 'my' gîte, which asked for some asking – I ended up in some gîte de groupes first – and after some more asking I finally found it, not so shabby as I had feared, and with a balcony with sea view! I went 'into town' (a short narrow main street) and it appeared that the boulangerie was out of bread, and the local grocery store was rather small and expensive. However, the large box of cereals made it till the end of the tour, and the 'chili sin carne' with sea view made it all worth the while. I shared the gîte with three Danish travellers and two French girls, of whom I only had contact with the first 60 per cent. Although I had gone down from a four star to a zero star accommodation, I slept at least as well.

This day breakfast was again a solitary event. Carrying down my bike from the steep and narrow staircase was quite an undertaking. I hung all my bags – five in all – on the Koga and hobbled through Saint-Jeannet's cobbled main street, and from the end of the village dived down to the main road to Vence. I had planned to add the Col de Vence to 'the list', and I thought it wise to take all my luggage to use it as a sort of training col. In Vence I had coffee and Tour news right at the junction where the climb starts. It was Sunday, so I observed quite a few members of my species turning onto the D2. The climb was all right: good distance, reasonable percentages, nice scenery. I even overtook two colleagues sans bagage. From the col to the north the road hardly went down, in fact the highest point was at Coursegoules, after which village the long descent came in stages. At some point the ugly (industrial) valley of the river Var came into view.

I had a coffee-with-double-pie break in Gattières, only five km from the gîte in Saint-Jeannet, during which I had a chat with a Danish cyclist, who wanted to get to Annot in the evening, and whom I tried to persuade not to follow the boring route nationale along the Var. After we had said goodbye – I don't know whether my arguments had been strong enough – I descended another 200 meter till I arrived at almost sea level. I crossed the Var, hated the three km south on the D6202, against the wind and with many cars at a high speed, and was happy to leave it for the first of actually four climbs in the region north of Nice. These four climbs with gains in altitude between 300 and 600 meters made the second half of the étape quite hard. The first and warmest was about 450 meters up to Aspremont. The second ended at a nameless col named "Le Col", from which I descended to Contes. The environment was not as nice as I had expected; the villages I went through were quite spread out, spread onto the slopes. In Contes I had a ravitaillement in a small childrens' playground. This wasn't boring, but alas it started to rain a little, and in the east the sky looked quite dark too. It stopped raining though, the third climb was not too interesting either, but the descent to L'Escarène was quite nice, and ended very appropriately at the Col de Nice. In L'Escarène the shops were closed, (of course, it was Sunday, but I had forgotten about that), so I continued my route along the river Paillon until the village La Grave. I turned left, where the D53 went up quite rudely for a kilometer or so. I passed Peille, with very beautiful views back, and after three short tunnels had to turn left again for the last 4 km to Lance Armstrong's training col. Was it going to rain or was it not? Anyway, I wasn't fresh anymore and with some trouble and a short break with a few grape-sugar sweets eventually reached the Col de la Madone.

The descent to the east I found thrilling, with views onto the Mediterranean; only the road hadn't been too well maintained, alas. After Sainte-Agnes it is a steep descent, during which I thought I crossed the autoroute twice, but in fact did so three times (the first time the road was in a tunnel). The descent went on quite far into Menton. It was difficult to get the right information about the exact location of the youth hostel. Some people said it was at the (only!) campground in Menton (above Menton!). After 1 km on a very steep road to the north I called the youth hostel, I was tired and feared it was an exertion to no avail. To my relief it appeared I was already almost there. Both campground and hostel were fully booked (and luckily I was one of the bookers). The hostel was certainly crowded, and it was warm too, but owing to the relaxed way in which the people ran the place it felt like a good place to be. I shared my four-double-bedded room with a compatriot, Egbert, and at least two bad snorers. I had dinner at the campground's restaurant, in the garden; it was a lovely evening. Afterwards did some writing on the balcony with sea view, a sea view from nearby this time.

During the night I had climbed from my (upper) bed to find my ear plugs. Snorers! And it was very stuffy in the dormitory as well. My birthday! The hall and the breakfast room felt agreeably cool. Outside the sky was clear, and a beautiful ride was waiting for me. I stuffed myself with corn flakes, bread and coffee and, with great difficulty, found my way to the entrance of the campground – which wasn't even that big; I'm just very bad at remembering routes. First the really steep km down to Menton, and then the road to the Col de Castillon was easily found - in fact, I had already noticed it the day before. It was rather a long way to get out of Menton and the industrial area north of it, but after that, and the only short steep passage, it was a nice climb. I didn't think it was necessary to put on my helmet for the descent, so I passed Sospel without a stop, and included almost half of the climb to the next col. In Moulinet, beforehand one of the alternatives to stay two nights (as the two gîtes in Sospel were already fully booked when I had phoned from Holland one week before the trip), I had a coffee break, with cookies from the grocery store. No pâtisserie over there.

The rest of the climb to the Col de Turini was a nice present: the scenery was green, the sky was blue, the temperature was agreeable, the percentages were okay. The western and eastern slopes of the Col de Turini are among my favorites. The third side, the south, is different. Until the junction 2.5 km south of Peïra-Cava it hardly goes down, then there are two alternatives, of which the eastern one is rather tricky. I liked the way up in 1994; this time I did not greatly enjoy the descent with all the curves and the dubious pavement. It was only after Lucéram that I could lessen my tight grip on the brakes. In L'Escarène the shop(s) was (were) again closed, now for the afternoon. In a restaurant I had a big salad and a lot of water. The climb to the Col de Braus from the west goes through an arid environment, and at the moments the sun appeared from behind the clouds it was rather warm. My fear for the two passages of 15 per cent appeared unnecessary.

Halfway down to Sospel I left the D2204 for the very quiet road that leads to the Col de Castillon, staying almost on one level. The descent from there to Menton was a nice dessert. After which I had a beer on the road by which I had entered Menton from the Col de la Madone. I phoned to my Dad to congratulate him on his birthday. It was about a quarter to five, dinner at the youth hostel was at seven, so there was not much time for the Col de la Madone from this (the hard) side, but maybe there was for the Col de Banquettes, a 'new' one. And otherwise I might turn around at Sainte-Agnes. Anyway, I knew the way, I thought, so ... there I went. I only had to follow the road signs for Sainte-Agnes; the first of these informed me it was 9 km. The way went up and up, but hey, I did not remember those travaux, and hey, yesterday I didn't pass below the autoroute three times! It looked as if I had missed something and had made a complete circuit. I was about to give up, but then there was another sign indicating Sainte-Agnes 5.8 km. I remembered a passage from a Dutch book in which 25 nice climbs are described where it was said that you pass the motorway an indefinite number of times; how true! Having found back my confidence I busted on until Sainte-Agnes, straining myself a bit more than usual, yes it is quite a hard climb (at least, for me, at the end of the day), and from there granted myself another fifteen minutes to see if I could make it to the Col des Banquettes. From Sainte-Agnes it is not hard anymore, nor very special either. The descent went very fast. I did some shopping in Menton, bought one of the huge pineapples I had spotted the day before, and arrived at the youth hostel with just enough time to have a shower before dinner. I took place at quite an international table, with people from France, Germany and New Zealand, as in the morning I had stated my name on the list for the barbecue. For dessert I shared my pineapple as an anniversary treat, without however telling anyone about that occasion. After that like the evening before I took a seat on the balcony with the five starred panorama. I had a chat with two American girls, read in my book and wrote in my diary until darkness fell. When I went outside to fetch my bike to put it in the shed I saw a guy arrive with a heavily loaded bike, who looked like a real long distance traveler. Was he late! We said hello and after he had installed himself in a tent we met on the balcony and had quite a long chat. He originated from Chile, but had roots (and a place to stay) in Amsterdam as well, and had been on his way for more than two months. He had found a way to combine working and traveling. He was carrying a lot of equipment, among which his laptop computer, fed by sun batteries. In the new dormitory, where they had asked me to move to, there were mostly Asian people. They did not say much, but at least they did not snore either!

A few people had an early breakfast like me, but anyone had his or her own corner. I only had contact with a French guy who had picked up and taken a curious look at my book ("Bâteaux dans la nuit" from Philippe Labro) when I got some things from 'my' room. It was again a clear blue morning when I found my way down to the boulevard of Menton. I definitely needed my sunglasses when I rode eastwards along the coastline. It was quite busy, which didn't surprise me, and the tunnels were a bit tricky, but not so much that I thought I ought to put on my helmet. This day the climbing consisted of just one long ascent, starting almost at sea level from Ventimiglia, 53 km slowly uphill along the rive Roya, and then another 7 km or so over the old road to the Col de Tende. 'Today' the Tour would go from Cuneo till Jausiers. Because of the Tour I had altered my original plan to avoid the crowd (and the trouble to find a bed). 'Yesterday' I had read in a newspaper that the road over the Col de la Lombarde would be closed and spectators were recommended to take the road through the Tende tunnel. Bad news. However, it appeared not many people acted according to this advice. The way up to Tende reminded me a lot of the road from Ainsá to the Tunnel de Bielsa: a main road, not so very busy, and with a much prettier scenery than expected, and also with uncertainty about the upper part. That time the uncertainty pertained to the tunnel being illuminated or not, today it was uncertainty about the condition of the old road. The boy from Chile had passed through the tunnel, and said it was okay, other people had warned me it was dangerous because of the narrowness of the road, or that it simply was not allowed for cyclists to go through. In Airole, some 12 km up (with an elevation gain of only some 100 m), with already a 2.5 km long (!) tunnel in between, I had my first, very tasteful, Italian cappuccino, in fact two, and the man who prepared them mentioned a third way to get to the other side: take the train in Tende. He also warned me that the 'high' road was only good for mountain bikers. The first 'extra' I skipped was the "bypass" over the Col de Brouis. Meanwhile I hardly felt that the road went up. Well, after 25 km the altitude is still only 300 m. From the corners of my eyes I had a glimpse to the right of Saorge, and then I went into a tunnel. I didn't want to go back for a picture, but boy, that looked wonderful! After the tunnel the village had disappeared behind a mountain. Around midday I reached Tende, way before the shops' closing time.

I overestimated the receptive capacity of my stomach with half a liter of fromage blanc with cereals and a fresh banana. Three or four hikers seemed to just have finished a hot meal and left with huge backpacks. I had this lunch alone, and with the rather cold wind found me a place in the sun. From Tende the climb really starts. Close to the tunnel, when I could already see 'my' road – I had already made my decision – lying like a staircase against the slope, during one moment I was afraid the old road would pass under the new one, but that appeared not to be so. I was happy to get onto the tiny road, and even happier when the pavement was quite good. I started counting the hairpin bends. They came very close after each other. Around the 30st bend the pavement stopped, and the distances between the turnings became longer, the road became worse. I had to ride with great care, all the time looking for the right track, not too close to the precipice. Two times, when the road was both steep and bad I had to put a foot on the ground. Eventually, after 46 turnings and 8 km I reached the col. So I found the average grade for that last part is about 9 %. On the other side there is a téléphérique and the road is a little wider and well paved. So I had well survived this 'big adventure'. The road on the Italian side is very curvy too, so only after I'd got back onto the main road I could let go the Koga at full speed. After Limone the slope went down to 1 or 2 %, and the wind was from the north. I skipped another 'extra', the road via Valdieri/Madonna del Colletto, and reached San Dalmazzo between 4 and 5 p.m. In a restaurant at the railway station I had an ice cream and a beer, and some live images from the Tour: they were finishing the long climb from the south to the Bonette. During my last 15 km, slowly up through the Valle di Stura I was lucky with a strong rear wind. I saw a lot of oncoming cars and cyclists, coming from the Col de la Lombarde, many cyclists carrying Tour souvenirs, knick-knacks like big green plastic hands and red-and-white umbrellas. Before six o'clock I arrived in Demonte, and in the tourist office a lady helped me book a bed in a pensione in Perdioni, a tiny village 2 km further, for the very reasonable price of 22 euros per night, breakfast included. The pension looked clean and quiet; the two preceding nights it had indeed been fully booked. After a shower and a short rest I rode back to Demonte for dinner. At the beginning of the village I already made a picture of the sign-post saying "Fauniera". There was less choice in restaurants than I had expected, and I ended up in quite an old-fashioned hotel-restaurant. Only three tables or so were taken, and I asked the two men at one of these whether I could join them. After some hesitation they agreed, and as they appeared to be cycling as well, it became quite a lively, and also tasteful meal. It helped too that they were Belgians and spoke Dutch. They could tell me quite a bit about the tour I wanted to make the next day. When two hours later, outside, we said goodbye, they laughed at my bike: they were surprised about its weight, and also about some parts that in their opinion dated from the Stone Age. Afterwards I found it rather stupid I hadn't asked their e-mail addresses. Back in Perdioni, I did some writing, I didn't see the other cyclists that were supposed to be there. What a world completely different to Menton, which I had only left that same morning! Well, that's one of the things that make traveling nice. My bedroom was very quiet indeed, only, in the middle of the night, with the door wide open, it was a bit cold.

One of the big étapes I had been looking forward to for weeks. In May I had already printed out the profiles of the Fauniera and the Eschischie (and pinned the first onto the bulletin board in my kitchen). I was just about to leave the breakfast table (breakfast was a bit disappointing, but then, what could I expect for such a price) when the other guests/cyclists in the hotel entered the room, two Italian men, about my age. They had plans for the Lombarde and the Fauniera, about as ambitious as my plans. They kept me there a little longer, so as 'late' as 8:20 h I departed, under a clear blue sky; lucky me, again. After 2.5 km there was the turn to the left for the 25 km climb to the Colle Valcavera, some 1750 m up. Such an undertaking is also hard psychologically! For me it was like going out for a two hours' run (which I very rarely do). During the first 10 km I passed through a few small villages, there were still a few passages below 5 per cent, and there was even a short descent. From then on I had to keep good force on the pedals all the time. My legs were up to long stretches of 9 per cent, and much higher the grade did not become. It was certainly long, but it kept going okay, the landscape opening up more and more. And then came the moment I saw and knew for (almost) sure: that's where it ends. That, in this case was, for a moment, the Colle Valcavera.

Beforehand, the map I had been studying, a local map I got at the tourist information in Cuneo in 1994, didn't tell me how the four Colles up there are exactly positioned. After a short break, to relax my muscles and have a bite, I turned right for another 100 m up, through a mountain landscape which felt like very high, to the Colle Fauniera. I had a photo stop at the foot of Marco Pantani's statue. Then a long, long descent, down to Pradleves, from which side the climb does seem harder (however, I have experienced that climbs always look harder when you rush down). After this quite thrilling morning programme I had a coffee break with two cappu's on a sunny terrace in Pradleves, during which I started calculating how much time the remaining part of the étape would take. And I was afraid that it would take quite a lot of time. At 12:50 I began the 'even' part of the trip. From Pradleves to the lowest point, Caraglio, less than 600 m above sea level, I could keep a good pace because of the slope that worked to my advantage, from Dronero I could keep a good pace because the wind helped me. I was quite lucky there! And what a nice valley that is, the Valle Máira; nicer than I remembered from 1994, but that was early in the morning when I was struggling in my head with two hors catégorie climbs in store. I hoped I would be at the foot of the Colle d'Esischie before 3:30 p.m. At 3 p.m., right on schedule, I stopped for some food and drinks (and some shade) at a small grocery store on the road just below Stroppo. Another cyclist took a break in the sun: belly up he was lying sun-bathing on a picnic table. He was Italian, and we had a sort of conversation in which I learned that the road to the Esischie was bad (multo bruto), a warning that matched the description of the two Belgians in Demonte. These Belgians I met 2 km later, where they were just putting their bikes on their car after the descent from the Colle di Sampeyre.

I had in fact considered the small chance of meeting them there, and it happened, so now we did exchange addresses. The climb to the Esischie is simply wonderful. The road is very tiny, very silent – in particular after the junction near Canosio – and I thought there was nothing wrong with the surface, but of course, if you race down you are more aware of bad spots in the road surface. The road stays in the woods for very long. Another point where the Belgians were right: there are some short very steep passages (muurkes they called them; muurke means 'wall'); albeit being a warned person I was not prepared for the first one: I did not change to my lowest gears in time and came to a standstill from which it was impossible to start riding again. It must have been 20 % at least. The other three or four I managed in the saddle. I did not understand the percentages the pendanza signs gave. First I thought it was the average grade of the next km (like it is in France), then it looked rather like the average of the last km, and at some point I even concluded it must be the grade at that point (but what help does that give to a tired cyclist?). Anyway, I wondered but I did not bother, I was very much enjoying the climb. I had started from Ponte Marmare without my t-shirt on; high up it got colder, and two km before the pass I put it on. And also, as announced by Tijl and Ignace, there were a lot of marmots up there. Because the cycling went so nicely I didn't take many pictures, though the scenery was really worth it. Definitely *****. I passed metal Marco again, and was impressed anew by the greatness of the surroundings between the Fauniera and the Valcavera. Also I was surprised by the coincidence of meeting (or rather: passing) my two 'breakfast mates'. We talked about that during the next breakfast. The long descent was quite a strain on the muscles in my hands and wrists. It lasted and it lasted and it lasted. Once I also had to brake for a shepherd dog with his herd of sheep. Shortly after seven I was back, down in Demonte. As the good-looking restaurant in main street seemed to have its closing day I again presented myself at the old-fashioned hotel. This I did at the same time as two couples from Brabant, who said it was okay I took a seat at their table. They were friendly, it was cozy, but boy were these housewives simple and narrow minded (Why not go on a holiday somewhere in your own country if you keep complaining about the foreign coffee? – just to mention one minor thing). Dinner was simple, but tasteful, and cheap, as the day before. All in all, this had been a hell of a nice day indeed!

With an extra blanket it was warm enough during this night. Just when I had finished my breakfast the Italians entered the dining room, and I was not in a hurry, so we chatted along merrily for a while. It was again a beautiful morning. I could stay on the (quiet) south side of the river Stura for some 8 km, after which I came onto the road the Tour had taken two days earlier. Of course there were some signs of it still, like banners "Piemonte welcomes theTour", but I saw surprisingly few names on the tarmac. The Col de la Lombarde is quite something, yet after yesterday's ride I was up to everything. The first seven or eight km from Vinadio are quite rude (8 to 9 % on average?) but as it was the first col of the day that part went quite okay; I even managed to pass a lightweight rider. Then the steepness becomes less severe, but there's the wind, usually, though not as bad this time as I remembered from '93. The junction at Santa Anna came earlier than expected. After that again three hard km and then, with the end point in view, it's a piece of cake. On the top quite a few cars. The narrow road to Isola looked like it had been resurfaced only a week before (the Tour passing by has its advantages); it felt like riding over a new carpet! (In 1993, shortly after the top, I had had two punctures at once, caused by one and the same stone.) The descent down to Isola was a pleasure: good asphalt, not too nasty hairpin bends, nice views, a.o. to the Cime de la Bonette; I think I made fresh copies of pictures already taken. In Isola, while I had coffee with pastry, I was wondering whether I had made a reservation for the right gîte: in 2001 there were no meals in the gîte of Saint-Sauveur. Indeed, I had mixed up Saint-Etienne-sur Tinée and Saint-Sauveur-sur-Tinée! I phoned to Saint-Etienne to cancel my reservation, and luckily they considered it no big deal. From Isola it was only 13 km slowly downhill to Saint-Sauveur. Even with a blazing wind from the south this took me only half an hour, so at 12:45 already I turned right, from the gorgeous road through the red gorges to the camping municipal where the gîte of Saint-Sauveur is located. The office was closed, but with only five beds (out of sixteen) taken it looked as if there was enough room. I had a chat with a middle-aged slightly overweight Dutch couple who took it easy on their holiday with reading, in front of their tent, next to their car, under their parasol. The husband was absolutely right that the wind, from which you didn't sense much on the campground, made it a bit uncomfortable to make a trip in the afternoon, but contrary to his advice I didn't stay 'home'.

No, I rode another short stretch to the south against the wind, and then took the interesting looking D59 going up to Ilonse, and, as I had been informed in Callian, continuing well-paved to Pierlas (the road on my old map still indicates it as being unpaved). The road went up at a steady grade, and albeit the wind it was quite warm. From the three alternatives, closing the loop via the Col de la Couillole (the hard one), or via the D6202, through the Var valley (slightly longer, but relatively boring), or turn around at Pierlas, the easy one, I chose the even easier one: turn around at the Col de la Sinne, after I had learned in Ilonse that I would not find a restaurant in Pierlas. And Ilonse is so small, I was even lucky to find a beer there. I quenched my thirst in the company of a cat. The descent was worth a few photographs, especially during the last five km with so many roads in view (a.o. the road to Saint-Martin). In 'San Salvador' I stopped at the local épicerie for food for dinner and breakfast. I enjoyed some Roquefort with baguette while watching a tennis match, mostly because of the lovely ball girl. I borrowed some butter from my compatriots at the campground, and prepared my meal talking with a couple of young French randonneurs á pied. As it was stuffy inside I took the pan downstairs and I munched away a good deal of the rice-with-vegetables on the terrace, where a German cyclist and his wife were quite interested in my stories. I shared the dorm with a very tired and very friendly French walker (who did two day-distances of the younger couple in one). Overnight I made my plan for the remaining five days: two nights in Méolans, and two more nights in Saint-Sauveur. That way I could also stow away some kilograms in the gîte in Saint-Sauveur.

My roommate had set his alarm at 6 a.m., mine went off half an hour later, early, but not as early as on my tours in the past. It would be a long day with quite some climbing, Col de la Couillole and Col de la Cayolle, quite poetic too. At 7:45 I had taken my position on the saddle, after already having taken off my fleece sweater. In my memory, going back to '97, it was a five * climb, but I expected too much of it. It was possibly due to the many travaux that it didn't impress me so much as the first time I did it. Also the climb was harder than I remembered, but then in '97 I did it with less luggage, during the first 6 km rode up with a German, and of course I was much younger then! For 16 km it's between 7 and 8 % I guess. Thanks to the early start I reached Beuil shortly before 10 a.m. Time for coffee, a lot of pastry, and a newspaper – alas, I could only borrow some Frenchman's Le Monde, a newspaper with not a single sports item.

However, on a warm and sunny terrace life was terrific. I found the courage to descend southwards through the exhilarating Gorges du Cians, had a nice tailwind in the valley of the Var, and, although slightly in a hurry, enjoyed the last 22 km till Guillaumes, with the gorgeous Gorges de Daluis. (I also think I spotted a road to the right going up to the Col de Saint-Léger, a connection I decided that couldn't be there in 1997, unjustly so, it appeared now.) In Guillaumes I had a healthy lunch break with a big salade montagnarde and an ice cream dessert. Two Dutch cyclists, looking like real professionals in their Rabo outfits, arrived shortly before I left, and they overtook me much earlier than I had expected. From Pont de Cians, where the Cians reaches the Var, I had already gained some 500 meters in altitude, and the next 400 meters or so, until Entraunes, also did not give much trouble. There I had a short pause in the shade of a supermarchée (not before I had honored it with a visit), and then the real climb started. I was passed twice by the same Dutch chap, who complained of a stomach ache, and after I had passed him a second time I didn't see him again. This last stretch is about as hard as the Couillole, but it felt easier. Ten past five (15 km in 1.5 hour) I reached the summit. In the meantime it had got cloudy, to the north the sky looked even more compelling, and the road was wet already. I was lucky to reach Barcelonette with only a few raindrops, halfway the descent. From Saint-Sauveur I had only managed to reserve a bed in one of the two gîtes in Méolans on Saturday, i.e. 'tomorrow'. Only I did not remember in which gîte. Entering Barcelonette I passed a gîte and stopped by, but withdrew after the tenant told me the price: 60 euro per night. At the tourist information they helped me book a bed in the other gîte of Méolans. I had a quick beer, and while doing some shopping in Le Champion noticed the lightning (for five seconds there was no light in the shop). I hurried to get to Méolans, some 12 km from Barcelonette, in the rain, with the thunder coming closer and becoming more scary. And it RAINED. I was soaked through, but mostly scared, and also afraid I might miss the small road to the left. At last I took shelter/refuge in a restaurant along the road, belonging to a campground. I had a nice pizza and played cards with a Dutch family of four. Shortly after 8:30 p.m., while it was already getting dark, I left this warm and dry place, and through a drizzle covered the last two km to Méolans. I was the only guest, which was just as well with so many wet things. I wrote a few pages, while listening to Coldplay, went to bed early, and slept well!

After a good night's sleep and a solitary breakfast I first took my bags to the other gîte, fifty meters away. The sky was clear, the wind was from the east, the road went down (and my shoes were wet); the first 20 km downstream along the Ubaye went fast. After this warming up: the first encounter for good-old Koga with the Col de Pontis. Only once, twenty-one years before, then in the rain, with thunder and lightning close by, had I climbed this small but very steep col, with kms of 10, 10.5 and 11 % consecutively. Nice little road, but for the sports I didn't want to stop to take pictures. I did stop during the descent, very steep too, to the Lac de Serre-Ponçon. The twenty minutes from Savines-le-Lac to Embrun were about the worst part of the whole trip: so many cars, driving SO fast! A real samedi noir. Two other travellers by bike (one with a cart behind his bicycle) whom I overtook tried to make contact, but I just wanted to get away from the N94 as quickly as possible.

Embrun was also terrible. I wanted to cash some money at a machine, but first I couldn't find any, and it was SO crowded, and then it took me 15 minutes to get from the end of the queue to the front. After I had seen a sign for Crévoux, so knew which way to get out of this terrible place, I decided I'd better have coffee with something first, because the next opportunity might be a long way off. I crossed the Durance, turned left (north) and was annoyed that the road kept going up and (less often) down. Only after Saint-André-d'Embrun, when it started to climb really and I turned out of the valley did I get into a better mood. I knew I was going to a too rough road for my road bike, but hey, on its last tour, what did it matter. Having put away my watch I had no idea of time. The climb was quiet and rather irregular, but it was okay with me. Until the Col de Coche the road was paved, but at the col the other two roads were not. Col de Valbelle 12 km it said, if I remember it well. In the beginning it was like at the worst parts of the road to the Col de Tende. Then it got worse. At steep passages with too loose ground I had to walk. Which I did not like. Motor cyclists could stay on the saddle (well, on the pedals at least). And finally I reached the rather barren top, about 2380 m high. The descent to Risoul was still no fun, for safety I kept the speed down to 20 km/h or even 15 km/h. Risoul looked rather boring too, and the coffee (indeed the first opportunity since Embrun) was the most expensive of the trip. The road rom Risoul to Vars, still unpaved, went up for another two/three km, and then the descent to Vars began. This part of the road was paved, but it was small and very curvy. I did not like it. I had pain around my neck and shoulders, and my wrists hurt too. And also I didn't like the clouds that came closing in. Already on the other side of the Valbelle had I heard some distant roaring. I feared I might get into another thunderstorm, and only hoped it would not be too close to the Col de Vars.

I had a stop at a bus stop, to keep dry a little longer, as it had already started raining. It kept raining a little till the col, which was quite deserted under these circumstances, and luckily during the first, steep part of the descent it was almost dry. However, the road was not, so it was not a day for top speeds; under better conditions you can get very fast between the Col de Vars and Saint-Paul-sur-Ubaye. From Saint-Paul I just hurried on and on and on, with half of the time hard rain. I only needed a short stop in Barcelonette, at a boulangérie for something with cream, some orange juice and chips, and some rest and warmth. When I arrived at the very chaleureux gîte I had half an hour to get a shower and relax a bit on the bed in my very well adorned, two-double-bedded dormitory (in which I was the only guest). It had been quite a long and hard day. Dinner was good and lively, sitting next to three French VTT riders.

After two hard day trips it was time for a jour de repos, insofar that is possible with the Col de la Bonette along the way. Well, it is, if one has enough time for it, and that I had today: it would be a short day distance. Breakfast was okay; some of the other guests appeared when I was already preparing to leave, but the tenant was buzzing about and in between had time for some small talk. It was really a very well-maintained gîte, in which I felt at home. I had an early coffee in Barcelonette where I was spotted by the Germans from two days earlier in Saint-Sauveur. This (Sun)day was also a day of a special cycling-to-the-Bonette-trial, but the participants of that event had started much earlier than me. The climb to the Bonette is long and quite regular. I took it easy, I was happy I had left a few kilograms in Saint-Sauveur, and wasn't bothered too much by the absence of altitude and steepness information – I did remember there were road signs counting down to the col in 1997. I took one short break in a hairpin bend at a panoramic point, noticed the differences in style and speed of the many descenders, and had a little competition at the end. On the top there were mostly motorcyclists, and I 'missed' the 'coffee corner'. Well, I have memories of distasteful coffee only, up there. The descent is long and great! I had an omelette on a sunny terrace in Saint-Étienne. Contrary to my expectation the shops were open in Saint-Étienne, so I bought myself some eatables for an easy-to-prepare dinner. From Saint-Étienne till Isola most of the route had a (for me) new, separate, clear green, cycle path. How nice! The wind was hard and against me, as expected, and clouds were approaching, but I reached Saint-Sauveur without a drop. I rode to the end of the village to check the terrace recommended by the Germans, and the ice cream there was certainly nice. The lady of the restaurant had me keep an eye on her business while she went to the grocery store for whipped cream. I bought me some more eatables (Roquefort again, a.o.t.) and arrived at the well-known gîte around six. I shared it with an older couple from Belgium, who had trouble accomplishing their hikes, and now would go by bus to Nice (1 euro p.p.!) to rent a car to get to the next gîtes where they had made reservations. When the husband had told all the ins and outs of their (his) planning from behind the computer – we were sitting outside while I was devoring my meal – it appeared that he also knew a lot about (Belgian) beer. They were rather simple, but they were very friendly, and I preferred them a lot to the three Swiss hikers of about the same age. Around eight the rain started; quite a hard long-lasting rain. Several camping guests, amongst whom the Dutch couple I already knew from before, had gone to the village, some 300 yards away, and returned soaked through. Well, this day I had kept it dry.

After the day of 'rest' there remained a last day with a lot of opportunities to establish a high elevation gain. I had breakfast with the Belgians, who had packed all their things in bags and looked like they had had a big shopping day; no wonder they had had difficulties with their itineraries! We said goodbye, waved hands at the bus stop in Saint-Sauveur, and waved hands a last time when the bus passed below, just after I had left the Tinée to go up to the Col de Saint-Martin. This long climb was not very spectacular, but not as boring as I had feared either. The best spot is on the other side, right after the tunnel, when you have a view down 500 meters or so onto Saint-Martin. This morning again the weather was very nice. During coffee plus pie I had to decide about what to do next. I chose the cul-de-sac leading up to Madone de Fenestre. At the start I admired the view high up to the road I had descended from one hour before. For the road to this Madone, with quite steep passages, to accomplish it without a halt, you need a good condition and low gears. Luckily I possessed both, so it was an hour of intense pleasure. I wasn't bothered too much by the sky getting overcast. With my camera I produced a proof that I had been there. I put on my helmet and was about to start the descent when I noticed a guy come riding from a track to the right. He told me that the road to the Col de Salèse is not closed as Michelin says, and is quite rideable. He made me reconsider my route for the afternoon, but I stuck to my original plan, the Col d'Andrion. First I had some sort of lunch on a bench in Saint-Martin, after I had been one minute too late for a souvenir shop (a circumstance I would regret the following day).

I followed the Vésubie downstream over a track where I remembered having been in very much trouble on a warm day, after the Andrion, in '94. At Roqueblière I left the busy D2565, and when I got some fresh water at a restaurant I was warned of the condition and the length of the track. I didn't mind, nor did Koga, when two km after Roqueblière the pavement ended. It was rideable, in some hairpin bends difficult to keep riding, but I managed. It was quiet, it was warm and humid, it was hard, but it was fun. Once there was a junction where I had to guess which way to take, and luckily shortly after a woman in an oncoming car told me I was on the right track – and I got warned again c'est long et dur!. Hard it certainly was, but what I minded most was the grumbling in the distance, and the raindrops that added to the sweat drops on my forehead. At some point, having no idea how far away I was from the Granges de la Brasque, the highest point, I took a short break. And finally . . . . I met some cows, meaning I was 'there'. At the Granges they sell cheese, presumably from those cows' milk, but whoever will take the trouble to ride all the way up there?!? The west side is paved, with weeds and fir-cones in the middle of the road, and many fresh boulders (after the recent thunderstorms?). I put on my helmet and also my raincoat, as it started to rain, however not for long. It is not a descent for high speed, and with the long even stretches I wondered why it had exhausted me so much in '94. It must have been the heat. Not long before La Tour it looks like the road engineers have overdone their work: there are just too many serpentine roads. In La Tour I had a short break on the low wall alongside the road, and during the last part of the descent to the Tinée was very much aware that it was a farewell descent. Down at 228 m above sea level, on the great D2205 along the Tinée, I took off my T-shirt. My back did not get much sun though. It soon became clear that I would not keep it dry during the last twenty km. The dark clouds in the north were quite compelling. I could hear the thunder approaching. Would I reach La Bollinette? During a steep passage 3 km before it I got right into the middle of a severe thunderstorm. I saw a white building, a restaurant?, 1 km off, I stamped on the pedals, the road went up; I cursed; I was scared. I reached the building, banged the doors, but the house – not a restaurant – seemed abandoned. Standing flat against the side wall I stood almost dry. Hey, there stood a car, and it wasn't locked! I got in and felt safe and warm. Then a man came around the corner: get out! Hell, no! Oh well, yes! He invited me to come inside. They had heard the banging on the door but had assumed it was the wind. Inside it was a mess; they had just bought it and had started to tidy it up. They offered me orange juice and cakes, and twenty minutes later, when the thunderstorm had passed over, I said goodbye. Five minutes later, in such a nice scenery, everything had been forgotten. I took a shower in the gîte, and dinner on the terrace at the restaurant de la Gare. The portions were definitely copieux as I had been informed by the two German cyclists, but I must say I have had better meals in France.

At 7:40 h I said goodbye to my very quiet roommate and under a slightly overcast sky left the gîte for the third and last time. For the last time through Saint-Sauveur, for the last time pass below the road to Saint-Martin-sur-Vésubie, for the last time being overtaken by the bus to Nice, for the last time through the majestic valley of the Tinée, over the road with its impressive viaducs, views to villages high up, the view into a canyon-like side-valley, to see the rocks turn from red to dark grey, and for this once without a strong adverse wind. At the junction of the Tinée and the Var I didn't immediately see which road to take: should I go through the tunnel, on what looked very much like a motor way? Yes; there was no 'no cyclists' sign. And was the tunnel 7 km long? Answer: no. The road became like a motor way for me when at the other side of the tunnel the wind appeared to blow from the north.

And it was a hard wind, for which happy circumstance I gladly changed my original trajectory and follow the N2 till the exit to Gattières. When at 9:25 a.m. I left the N2 for this last climb of the tour, viz. the 4 km to Gattières, I had already 45 km behind me. It was a short but warm climb (I hoped I wouldn't be emitting a sweaty smell in the airplane). I had coffee ( un triple ), pastry, and no newspaper: the day before the Tour had reached Paris. And I wrote and posted the third and fourth postcard of the trip. I passed below beautifully located Saint-Jeannet and followed the Corniche du Var, which brought me slowly down to sea level. Around eleven, just when I set in the final descent I had a photo-stop when I got the airport into view. In Saint-Laurent du Var (or Cros-de-Cagnes, which lies next to it) I had two jobs: have my pedals loosened and buy souvenirs. The second job took a lot of time and effort (I pitied the moment in Saint-Martin, twenty-three hours earlier!). Anyway, around one-thirty I reached the right terminal, after I had been directed to the wrong one first. I was sitting next to a nice lady in the Boeing, but alas, her husband was sitting at the other side of the aisle. My bike came off the plane unbroken, and when riding the last flat kms I wondered, after the great job it had done, again!, whether I would be able to separate from it.