What the chuffinelle is that? You might well ask. It belongs to a genuine bona fide pilgrim and not some cycling charlatan. It is a cross between a sack truck and a golf trolley as modified by Heath Robinson and Torquamada. It has everything a pilgrim could possibly need including, if you look carefully, a washing line and a row of pegs. He had all the pilgrim kit including a beard and more scallop shells than you could shake a stick at. What he appeared to lack was a map which explained why he was in a village halfway up a mountain in France asking in a shop for directions to Rome. The answer, in so far as I could understand it, was that if you were going to Rome you definitely wouldn't start from there. I was reluctant to take a photo of the man himself as I felt he might be sensitive to suggestions, express or implied, that he was a complete nutter. I tried selling him an indulgence as he was plainly at the centre of the target market. He declined but if you don't ask you don't get. Sales should pick now I am in Italy.
Today was not without incident. Within a quarter of a mile it was apparent that the bike was no better. I decided it was not worth going back to the shop in St Jean and waiting for him to open. By the time the chain began falling off the small front cog again I was several miles up the road and it was too late. Eventually I found a bike shop in Modane. Half an hour and 7 euros later it was pronounced fit. But it wasn't. I decided to grit my teeth, cross fingers and press on, an awkward posture on a bike.
The Maurienne valley is narrow and steep sided. Down the middle is the river, a motorway, the old main road which the motorway replaced, one or two unclassified roads and a railway track. There really isn't much room for anything else which rather sums up St Jean de Maurienne - although they are hosting a stage of the tour this year. Once the autoroute and the railway disappear into the Frejus tunnel the scenery takes centre stage as the road ascends steadily to Val Cenis where the real climbing begins.
With clunking gears and chain regularly dropping off progress was slow. I got to the rather cold bleak summit, just over 6200 ft, around lunchtime and then spent about 40 minutes without turning a pedal speeding down the exhilarating descent to Susa for lunch.
The next two hours were spent flogging into the teeth of a gale blowing head on up the valley. I was entering the outskirts of Turin when there was one last almighty clunk and the chain broke. I actually asked the guy in Modane to check the chain and I saw him do so with his measuring tool. He said it would be good for at least another 1000km. He was 950 km out. I had a couple of 10 speed pins so I set to, got rid of the broken link and re-joined the ends. I had no confidence that the repair would last long so I decided to look for a bike shop. I found one - 100 yards up the road. They put on a new chain and the bike seems fine. More than can be said for the rider. But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, thankfully not always in that order. I was just in time to ride through Turin in the rush hour.
I am now ensconced in a hotel in Chivasso more or less up with the schedule. There are several regular tasks each night, one of which is to wash the day's kit as soon as possible. I have devised a new scheme for this. You throw the kit in the shower then take a lengthy shower whilst moving round and trampling on the kit. By the time you have finished the shower the kit is washed and ready to hang out. The first time I tried it a sock blocked the plughole and flooded the bathroom. But with care it works well and saves water.
You know you have had a hard day when you have sunburn on the inside of your lower lip. Mouth shut tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment