Older, But No Wiser

A first: I am touring, not in Bridget, but in my Jag. Once I had decided to do another short road trip in Europe, I could not decide which car to take. Strictly speaking Bridget was in need of a service and Bertie, the ‘B’, is up for sale and therefore in display mode and not to be fouled with road dirt, etc. Then returning from some essential shopping, on a bright sunny day, of which we had had few, I just looked at the Jag with its’ roof down and thought “She really is a beautiful motor” so that was the deadlock broken. I overlooked the down-side of not being able to enter low emission zones of which there are many across Europe and anyway the better fuel consumption and, as it turned out, and the air conditioning made up for the emissions.

I can also confirm that the luggage space in the Jag is far less than either of the MG’s, although there is no requirement to take spares or tools, as I wouldn’t know where to start. Two days before ‘lift-off’, on removing the car from the garage I discovered a ten inch crack across the windscreen! As any Jaguar owner will tell you the chances of getting a genuine Jaguar windscreen for next day fitting is pretty remote and so I had to accept an aftermarket version. That completed, I was ready to go the following morning at 9:00 am. Down to Folkestone and through the Tunnel, which I had expected to be tortuous what with the school holidays started and the Paris Olympics started, but it was a thoroughly smooth process.

I was starting this road trip with a family visit to my cousin and her husband in the Lot and Garonne region of France. I tried to choose a different route than previous journeys and spent the first night at Abbeville. Using the more interesting roads, I saw no reason to change my usual road trip approach of cruising gently between sixty and seventy miles an hour. The second day, the temperature rose to 31C outside, so I put the roof up and the air conditioning on. Temperatures have remained thereabouts every day since, so there has been relatively little roof-down driving. I spent the second night in Limoges, an old University town with plenty of good restaurants. The next day, after a thoroughly uneventful journey I arrived at my cousins near Villeneuve-sur-Lot for a very pleasant weekend. They are excellent hosts especially given that I arrive at very short notice and rarely know how long I am staying.

Although being asked several times over the weekend where I was going, I really couldn’t make-up my mind whether to go south into sunny Spain, but there would be far too many ‘Brits’ there, so I thought of going East towards Italy, but there are few new places in Italy for me to visit. However, the night before I was due to leave I needed to make up my mind and so declared that I would travel east, again using secondary main roads heading for Asti, in Northern Italy. From there I would avoid the tourist lakes and head, via the Stelvio Pass, to Austria. Once there I would seek out a location to do some walking in the Alps.

The route I planned went from Villeneuve, more or less, due East passing south of Rodez, through Ales, then north of Orange and through the Rhone wine region and on to Gap, in Provence, for the first night. This route takes you through some stunning gorges with the road cut out of the cliff faces in parts. The traffic was not heavy and although the roads are very narrow in places following HGV’s was not particularly frustrating. About half an hour out of Gap, I was driving through a gorge with a river on my left and a projecting cliff on my right and rounding a tight right-hand bend. Suddenly the brake lights of the car in front of me came on to which I reacted quickly and checked my rear view mirror at the same time to see if the vehicle following me was awake, which fortunately he was. Completing the bend slowly following the car in front I could see four cars ahead of me and then in front of them a forty foot container trailer and cab on its side halfway down an embankment with the cab unit embedded in the safety barrier. No other vehicle was involved and it was clear that the truck driver had been distracted by something and just couldn’t keep it on the road. None of the tyres were blown out and the roads were dry so it wasn’t caused by a skid. Fortunately, the driver although shaken was not physically harmed, which given the damage to his cab unit was surprising.

I entered the town of Gap and found a hotel almost immediately, but finding somewhere to park the car whilst going in to register could have proven a long and tiring job had an obliging shopper not pulled out in front of me! As I found out later street parking in Gap is a major problem. Fortunately, the hotel had a room available and a private car park. After a quick freshen up and change of clothes I ventured out to explore the town. It is not a large commune but as with many in France it has an abundance of restaurants. Initially I was surprised with the number of people out on a Tuesday evening and had to endure a table inside the restaurant I selected, although it did have the benefit of air conditioning. Having made my selection from the menu and ordered a beer I sat back to people watch, a favourite pastime. Suddenly live music started outside in a small square and shortly after that people were visible crowding around some sort of activity drawing applause and enthusiastic cheering. The entertainment continued until I had finished my meal and although whatever had drawn the earlier crowd had dissipated, the music continued. On the short walk back to the hotel I past two other live music acts on the streets. On arriving at the hotel the receptionist informed me that it was not a special festival but an event put on by the town every Tuesday night for the community.

I’ve changed my mind and have decided to turn North and head up to the Annecy area of France, specifically La Clusaz, some ten miles east of Annecy town. Although only 160 miles from Gap it took several hours as it was a slow drive on some very narrow windy roads, but through some beautiful countryside. La Clusaz is a ski resort in the French Alps but still attracts a lot of tourists in the summer. The centre of the commune is created from hotels, restaurants and bars, with a few souvenir shops. Chalets adorn the slopes of the surrounding mountains and are partitioned by ski-lifts, many of which are lifting enthusiastic hikers and off-road bikers up to the mountain tops to attempt their individual return trips.

Having arrived at 14:30 and checked into my hotel, about a mile out of town, I decided to walk down the hill into La Clusaz to explore. What I found I have declared previously and I just purchased a coffee and sat back to watch more of passing life. At around 17:30 I decided to stroll back to the hotel, shower and prepare for dinner at 19:30. I estimated that the return journey would take around an hour being as it was uphill all the way. So I started out passing a number of chalet style buildings I recognised, passing under one of the ski-lifts and rounding a number of bends on the route. I had noticed a number of times on the way down that there were no pedestrian walkways either side of the road on parts of the route but returning this way they seemed less than before. Part of the journey was in more or less open country but everything looked familiar.

After an hour and a half climbing I was starting to doubt my fitness. After twice spotting my hotel ahead only to find it was someone else’s residence I came upon a small group of hotels restaurants and shops. These I did not recognise and so I sought assistance from someone at one of the hotels. Surprise, I was on completely the wrong road having missed a turn at the beginning of the walk! I now had the correct directions and an indication that it would take me at least an hour and a half to walk back to the turning and then up to my hotel. As it was now 19:00 I thought drastic action was required firstly because I was knackered and secondly because at this rate I would miss dinner.

It had been almost sixty years since I thumbed a lift, but the second car passing pulled over and a couple of young guys asked where I was going. It was at that moment I heard my old mum saying to me “Don’t ever get into any strangers car.” Sorry mum, but stuff that. After the explanation they said jump in and twelve minutes later deposited me outside the front door of the hotel.

Today, I thought that having recovered from yesterday’s mishap I would go walking up one of the mountains. Having enquired of the hotel owner I was told that there was an easy, three hour walk up to the Plateau du Belvedere. Walking boots on I started out enthusiastically. I had to walk some distance up the public highway until branching off on a track that would lead me through a wooded area and up the mountain.

After about forty-five minutes I came to a junction in the track where a signpost clearly marked ‘Plateau du Belvedere to the right and stating 1½ hours. As my legs were already reminding me of yesterday’s little hike I decided to wait here and see if by spending an hour here the time to the Plateau would only be ½ an hour! I’m disappointed to report that didn’t work.

Suddenly the gradient took on a serious increase almost to the point I wanted crampons and ropes, but I carried on regardless. After what seemed to be about an hour of climbing, and I use the word advisedly, the track flattened out a little and the walked became easier. I realised now that I was squeezing every last penny of value out of my heart pills.

Had I had the energy, I would have been elated on arriving at the Plateau 1hour and 45 minutes after the start. However, I was surprised to see swarms of hiking equipped, fresh faced people meandering about and enthusiastically discussing “the next stage”! How could this be, I was confused and despondent. Then I saw the ski-lift just across the plateau disgorging load after load of family groups, hiking club members and nefarious groups ready to conquer Mont Blanc or some such objective. I flopped down cursing my lack of preparation, then decided to take the ski lift down to the town, have lunch and march back up the hill to my hotel. I learnt earlier this evening that the elevation of the walk I did was 1,230 feet and I felt every one of them.