Just Shy of Improbable: Nice – Genova, the Hard Way
14:45 → 45km
“It’s like spending your vacation in a building, you know? Like a big, floating building. Why do that? When we have all this, here, why not just enjoy it?”
I agree with the sentiment; I’m not cut from cruise-ship cloth either. But should I be, should I wish I was the sort of person who could imagine themselves cruising the high seas, playing shuffleboard, and eating buffets thrice daily while scoping the next port-of-call via a series of Instagram hashtags and google street-view romps? Do I care if the answer is ‘yes’?
He – names are inconsequential as we chat – is hiking with five or six friends. They’re from Nice, perhaps 40km west as the crow flies. We’re ‘riding our bikes’ along the Alta Via Monti Liguri. And, well, it’s been a long day.
We three: Scott Emery, my club-mate from Ottawa, always game for an adventure, Nico Joly, professional photographer and internet friend from Grenoble, France, and me, Matt, troupe leader, principle dum-dum.
Perched along a Ligurian ridgeline, the Mediterranean barely etches itself into the southern horizon; we are at once exactly and not at all where we ought to be.
A beautiful day for a hike with a bike.
We’ve been off any semblance of a ‘road’ for some time now. This is the second group of hikers we’ve encountered, and our conversation lends a degree of confidence that the ‘end’ nears: a rideable path. We’ve been pushing our bikes, laden with overnight supplies (BnB style), for kilometres. Every up-part is unrideable-because-so-rocky, some of the descents are safe enough to roll, and the flats vary from ‘do-and-probably-fall-off-the-cliff-and-die’ (DaPFotCaD) to ‘do-and-save-valuable-energy-and-probably-don’t-die’ (DaSVEaPDD). There’s no room for lament here, we’re well beyond the point of no return. We must proceed forward, and as efficiently as possible. When it’s possible to ride safely, we ride. Each ‘safely’ falls within a spectrum, ranging from what would commonly be perceived as ‘Holy shit; really‽’ to ‘If my bike flakes out right now it’s game over.’
‘Why are we doing this?’
‘I wish we were on a better route….’
‘This sucks.’
These are NOT the thoughts passing through my mind.
‘Look ahead.’
‘Smooth on the brakes.’
‘Too risky, get off.’
These ARE my thoughts. Yep, things are not going to plan, but there’s a job to be done, and it’s pretty simple. Ride the bike, do what we know we can do, don’t take risks. Finish the day whole. It would be unacceptable to kill myself while riding my bike on holiday with my family.
16:05 → 49km
Emerging from more than three hours of exposed hike-a-bike into a magical, emerald green alpine forest climb and the soundscape of cowbells and bees at work conjures elation. I lay by bike atop the foliage along the trail and capture video and sound of Nico climbing toward and past; I feel a deep sense of calm and peace, intuiting we’ve survived the gauntlet, and our odyssey will now proceed atop, not alongside our bicycles.
Cresting but a few hundred metres beyond my pause, it’s evident we’ve reached ‘the good stuff.’ We’re on track, albeit woefully behind schedule, and agree to roll on, provisions adequate for another couple hours. We’ll decide what to do when we arrive at the Tete de la Nava. Until then, sweet gravel with spectacular views!
An Audacious Plan – the Art of the Possible
The plan was simple enough, hatched from a conversation during the winter with my wife, Danielle.
“We’ll take the train from Nice to Geno(v)a around the 15th of July.” Danielle is our family vacation mastermind. She works the itinerary magic.
“Hmmm, would it be crazy to ride from Nice to Geno(v)a, while you guys take the train? That could be cool.” The gleam of an emerging scheme illuminates my eyes; I get a kick out of riding to places. And Danielle and our kids, Ronan (14) and Seneca (8), are well-practiced travelers.
“Sure, why not. But do it over two days, ok? That’d be safer, and I’d worry less.” Wow, this could be a thing?
“Ok, cool, I’ll check out the options. If I’m going to take two days, maybe I can get up into the mountains and do something really interesting.”
And so it began. In short order I’d discovered internet bloggage about the Via del Sale route from the coast east of Nice to Limone Piemonte, a mountain village just north of the French-Italian border.
Gravel.
Climbing.
Exploring.
Panoramas.
The unknown.
I plotted a route based on those I discovered others had undertaken, about 115k, some 3,800m climbing (who believes Strava or the other mapping apps though, am I right?), from Bordighera to Limone Piemonte (Italy). That’d be Day-1. Day-2 would take me to Geno(v)a, 165k, paved, and more downhill than up.
An aside: If you’re wondering what this whole ‘Geno(v)a’ thing is, with Google Maps and others reading ‘Genoa,’ well, it’s apparently a bizarre error that has been perpetuated for some time. All I can say is locals refer to the city as ‘Genova,’ so I do the same, maps be damned.
Riding solo was my default, but really, I was hoping to have company. That’d mean I’d be able to stick to my gravel plan, and manage risk better. Ultimately, numerous friends were keen, but only two could make it happen: Scott and Nico.
Admittedly, with mega climbing on the menu, I was a little concerned that Scott might not be in his element the whole time, but I was pretty confident Nico would be fine, given he’s a self-professed grimpeur, and he lives in the mountains.
After an initial burst of energy framing up the ride, I chipped away at sorting out the gear I’d need for the trek, which, thankfully, didn’t need to stray much from my normal ‘adventure mode’ set-up. Except I had an entirely new bike to build with only two weeks to go! Thankfully, my new pre-production carbon Brodie Romax was complete and got a proper shakedown with a day to spare(!), which allowed me to pack it up with confidence for the flight to Paris.
In the weeks leading into the trip, Scott and I fell upon a diversion that captivated our interest: the Col de Tende. Because, obviously, climbing up an ancient gravel road along the French-Italian border wasn’t going to be hard or intriguing enough, why not try to pull in the option to drop down the endless gravel zig-zag from the border into Tende (France, since 1947, previously part of Italy, dating back to at least 690, and home to the famous Musee des Merveilles – pre-historic cave paintings) as we approached our final descent to Limone Piemonte, have a snack, then climb back up and over? It’d be an option, we could see how we were doing for time when we hit the decision point.
The route taken by Hannibal and his elephants in 218 BC was one of the ocmmonest sujects of archaeological speculation, for the purely practical reason that, until 1810, the only Alpine crossing for wheeled vehicles was in the far south, over the Col de Tende, where mules and their drivers were sometimes blown over the edge by rthe howling mistral. - Graham Robb, The Discovery of France
That Was the Plan, this is What’s Happening
17:42 → 55.5km
We find ourselves at the Tende-not-Tende decision point far from where we expected to. We stand – me staring at the offline map on my phone – at the Tete de la Nava, 55km of a planned 110 under our belts, having departed just under 10 hours prior.
Ten hours prior.
55km in ten hours!
Life can be paradoxical. One day I’m in Ottawa, Canada, speed-walking along the sidewalk in the rain, keeping pace behind a couple having a fight that will almost certainly end in breakup. What to do in such an awkward situation? Slow down, take more rain? Hold steady? Accelerate? Such a banal conundrum butts up against the visceral weeks later as we stand on the border of Italy and France, the best surface underfoot we’ve ridden all day, which could only be described as ‘sweet gravel.’ This sweet gravel will – probably – continue along our planned route for another 65km before delivering us onto pavement for the optional Col de Tende descent (no way, obviously, it’ll be too late) or the plummet into the ski town, Limone Piemonte.
Paradoxically, we can’t have our cake and eat it too. Just as I couldn’t both speed walk in the rain and avoid overhearing the most grating argument imaginable, we can’t both ride the sweet gravel along the most epic vistas and arrive at our destination by dark or remotely close to dark.
Right? I mean, let’s be serious.
I love the Maps.me offline map app I’m using on my phone. It has helped me wiggle my way out of numerous navigational challenges during my riding in France to this point, and it’s paying for itself (or would be if it wasn’t free!) big time. One of my last rides from Nice before heading to Bordighera with Nico was up to the village of Tende, a bit of recon. I can see there’s a way for us to cut off our planned route, drop through La Brigue, a small village south of Tende, then climb up and through Tende to Limone Piemonte. This would chop all the probably-sweet gravel along the border out, but probably get us to our destination by dark. Having been to Tende a few days prior, I knew it was busier than most other villages in the area, and would likely have a bakery open.
The app has helped where my Hammerhead Karoo couldn’t more than once today. Adventure is where the theory of redundancy theory is tested, often.
10:10 → 21km
“We’ll need water soon; do you know where it is?” Nico’s tone suggests worry creeping into his mind as we climb the battered, rock-strewn ‘Alta’ under scattered shade, hovering just below 30 Celsius.
I have to admit, I might have been overly optimistic on this front. I’d seen various Rifugia along the route during its early planning, and had a Survivor Straw filter with me to deal with untrusted water. But I hadn’t factored the eventuality that, well, it could be, would be, dry. As in, not a drop of water running anywhere. Fuuuuuuuuuugggggg.
My Maps.me app indicates a refuge is ahead; we can hope for water there. Nope. The old building is abandoned, there is no water source. “Ok, the map shows another one a few kilometres ahead.” This is starting to feel serious; I hope my tone conveys my cautious optimism.
Another building, not a soul, watering troughs present, full. Spigots have fed them, but opening them has no effect. Shit.
On a mission, Nico bounds up the Aztec-esque steps alongside the troughs, seeking the source of the spigots below.
JACKPOT! The main junction of the water lines have a cracked joint, and are thus manually closed off so as to not leak constantly. We stuff food into our mouths – my YoFiit bars travelled all the way from Canada for this! – as we fill bottles and the extra Survivor Straw bladder I’ve brought along. Nico is happy to strap it to his saddle bag, gaining more than a modicum of confidence in our ability to survive the coming hours until our next water access point. Let’s be honest, we’re kinda rolling blind.
The thing is, we’d probably have been totally fine at this point if not for the way we spent the first two hours of the day. All was as expected through the early kilometres from Bordighera (Nico and I rode from Nice to Scott’s Air BnB the prior evening), following our initial, somewhat lackluster bakery stop (I’ve surmised the Italians gave up on retaining moisture in baked goods centuries ago). Steep paved climbing came as little surprise; not a problem. However, as Scott and I navigated the track on our Karoos, we soon found ourselves blocked by a gate alongside an abandoned house that barred our progress (at the location of the first image below). Forced to navigate an alternative route, a singletrack trail, it was mere minutes before the way forward became imperceptible. Oh, that special feeling when trail becomes not-trail….
Turning back was inconceivable, forward was the only way. Such is the optimism and zeal that governs the first hours of an adventure day. It was clear enough that the route was above us on the ridgeline above, so we proceeded to bushwhack our way through rabble and thorns, and thorns and thorns. And thorns.
Just shy of maddening, it was surely our exuberance for the overall mission that drove us on, scrambling up loose slopes, our laden bikes dragging behind us, thorns clawing at our limbs, drawing blood, curses, and, most gnawingly, doubt.
Atop the ridge, finally...easily an hour burned. We rode faint singletrack that eventually transitioned into the ‘proper’ Alta Via route. Hours spent covering very few kilometres. And hence the low water supplies.
It felt like something of a denouement as we reached the first and only operating Rifugia we’d see all day, a short time after our water discovery and two punctures. Surely this was a sign that we’re settled into a ‘normal’ riding situation now, desperation behind us. Civilization lends a certain sense of calm.
18:05 → 62km
As Scott repairs his flat, we recount the excitement of the descent we’ve just plummeted down from the Tete de la Nava. We’re headed to La Brigue, and there’s more descending to come. We’re transitioned from alpine singletrack to the steepest dirt descent I’ve ever ridden on a drop-bar bike; we’re talking back tire buzzing the pants stuff! Gnarly, but fun. The next section was absolutely Mammoth Kamikaze-esque: high speed, with sweeping switchbacks, loose-over-hard rendering handling unstable at best. Exciting!
Mere minutes later, we’re repairing my third flat, this time the front. The first two were probably thorn-related, while this was one unequivocally the result of striking a baby-head rock at about 65kph. Whatever, this is the game. We roll on.
18:40 → 71.5km
Scott is forlorn over having dropped his phone somewhere between his flat and a couple kilometres above La Brigue as we roll into the beautiful, albeit sleepy village. Losing all his photos from the day’s adventures is what pains him the most, but it would be a fool’s errand to attempt a recovery mission. The sadness of his loss is at least somewhat mitigated by the certainty that we’re on track to complete our odyssey, and we ought to be on good surfaces for the balance of the day. Confirming the local bakery is shuttered, we press on to Tende.
19:00 → 77.8km
A simple, paved climb delivers us to the bakery in Tende as closing time nears. We purchase various treats, including pissaladierre(!), thinking we’ll catch dinner once in Limone Piemonte. Having quickly consumed pastries, pop, and mineral water, we’re back on the bikes, pushing on in the hope of arriving at our Air BnB by 21:30. That would consume all the remaining daylight, and see us cover another 18km of climbing (over 1000m), then 15km of descent into the alpine ski town.
“You want to stay away from those dogs; they’ll tear you to pieces.”
Nico’s warning is at once poignant and laughable. The first dog of two pulls at h/er chain violently, a mere three feet from us as we pedal past h/er fortification of sheep, snarling viciously. The second couldn’t contrast the first, a mutt, and more starkly. Lying on the broken pavement fifteen feet further up the road, h/er sheep-shit-dreadlocked hair sparked an unshakeable association : Muppet. I’d later learn it was likely a Bergamasco Shepherd, an Italian breed common in their Alps. My guess is s/he was much more intelligent than h/er counterpart, and knew we posed no threat, and were therefore not worth wasting saliva over.
It’s far from hardship, ascending the Col de Tende’s 60 gravel switchbacks. Yes, you read that right: 60! My legs feel ok as we near the top of the Col, but I’ve been battling intestinal distress all the way up, fantasizing about toilet paper. I can only surmise this is the result of too much probiotic food over the day, in the form of my YoFiit bars, chased with high-carb bakery bites. I’ve never had issues with the bars in the past, but I’ve never eater 8 of them in a day either! I fight the urge to pull a Doumoulin all the way up the climb, somewhat distracted from the beauty that surrounds me. We can’t arrive at our Air BnB fast enough! How bizarre, to experience distress of this nature, rather than failing legs or lungs….
Atop the Col we pause briefly to take a few photos; naturally, my good phone’s battery died taking a photo of Scott five minutes ago, so I can’t capture the glorious sunset we’re soaking up. Jackets and lights mounted, we set upon the sinuous, wonderful descent that’ll deliver us into Limone Piemonte.
21:30 → 110km
Somewhat magically, we arrive at our destination precisely as Nico predicted, and we all aspired. Less magically, Scott’s forsaken phone contains the vital information required to access our abode, rendering us delayed for a half-hour; we work it out as I battle explosivity. Shockingly, my intestinal urgency subsides the very moment we step through the door and the bathroom presents itself. Hilarious.
Nico, having taking more of a beating over the day on his 700c x 38mm Rene Herse Steilacoom tires than Scott and I on our 650b x 48mm Rene Herse Switchback Hills, is unequivocal about his thoughts on the prospect of finding dinner: “I’m too tired to eat. I’m going to take a shower and go to sleep.”
I like Nico’s decisiveness. The man knows what he likes, doesn’t like, needs, doesn’t need. Respect.
Scott and I shower, dress in the only clothes we didn’t just wear all day, throw out dirty kit into the washing machine and (think we) turn it on, then depart for the only place in the ski town still open, some form of resto-bar. My attire is hilarious: bike shoes with no socks, merino knee warmers, travel shorts, merino t-shirt, rain jacket, neck tube, cap. We order the only food available at 22:45: fruit cocktail. Scott pairs his with a beer, I go for a decaf coffee. It’s far from spectacular, but we’re not really famished anyhow. The concept of a meal after a long day is simply a comforting one.
…then…
So ended a fourteen-hour day of cycling adventure. The following morning we each rode our separate ways: Nico and I descended 10km together before he headed west toward home in Grenoble, where he’d arrive two days later; I headed roughly east toward Genova. Scott climbed back up the Col de Tende and retraced the route I’d ridden during my recon, back to Bordighera.
By design, my second day was to be rather straightforward, paved, and ‘easy.’ Mostly ‘flat,’ the route I’d plotted for my Hammerhead Karoo took me through a slew of towns and villages spread across the vast Po Valley, north of Limone Piemonte. Highlights ranged from early morning colossal Spanish slugs – babosa - inching across the small roads, and a couple unique food items.
Following my first investigation of a bakery in Boves, which proved wholly unappealing, given I wasn’t in the mood for dry biscuits or dry biscuits, I landed in Il Fornaio, a somewhat different variation on the bakery theme, and picked up what appeared to be a blanched peach half containing chocolate something of some sort. Served in a small aluminum cup, sold by weight, digging into my treat in the village square revealed it was better than anticipated: dates, ground walnuts and cacao filled the luscious peach, an absolute delight. Would I encounter more of these during the rest of my time in Italy? NO, never, not once! I intend to Boves for another one (or three) next time I’m in the region!
50 kilometres further, Montzemolo’s village ‘general store’ of sorts served up a couple pieces of pizza that seemed promising. The first, approximating the pissaladierre of the Nice region, was good. The second was, however, spectacular. Rather than the typical white flour dough, this morsel was built upon a darker, perhaps rye mash, infused with sunflower seeds, topped with tomato sauce and herbs. Its standout feature was its texture: perhaps pan-fried bottom something like caramelized and crispy-ish, contrasting a perfectly moist upper crust. Would this format be a common find through the rest of my time in Italy? NO, never, not once!
After 170km of riding I arrived in Genova, a much more expansive port city than I imagined. It must have been 20km before I arrived at the central train station to meet my family, just inside the window of time I projected I’d arrive within. Coffee, yes, let’s, but we’d also better hurry to get food, everything shuts down early in Genova! Political graffiti of the university student variety on the walls of ancient polazzos conveys something of the character of Genova, a hub of trade and wealth that seems comfortable not really giving much of a shit about tourism. Respect.
By accident
For better or worse, I’m a person who’s always seeking insight, understanding, meaning. Often overly analytic, I’m not a stranger to fixation on the way, the why, the how, the where. When my wife and I neared the birth of Ronan, our first child, she informed me: “Matt, you need to understand that you are going to have to become a lot more flexible once you’re a parent.” I knew she was right. I also knew I’d struggle with that process. After years of committing to and making plans happen, come hell or high water - which served me well as an athlete - it was time for me to learn another way of being.
It’s been a process, becoming more flexible, and riding bikes has been part of it. Gravel riding, which began as a wholly uncompetitive endeavor, was all about exploring without a plan. Discovery, spontaneity, pure enjoyment of being, in time and space.
Nice-Genova was always going to be an adventure. Without the benefit of any local knowledge, I sketched out a plan I knew would have to be at least somewhat tentative. In essence, it was simple: we ride from here to there. That’s it, make it happen. How? Well, here’s the plan. It’s just a plan. Make it happen, flexibly.
I feel fortunate to have experienced the Nice-Genova odyssey with Nico and Scott. Both remained positive and optimistic over the day, neither blamed me for how things were somewhat off the rails. They knew what I knew: we just had to keep moving, and we’d get there. One way or another, in daylight or not, we’re get there.
We got there.
I began this rendering of a day spent on bikes in parts unknown with a conversation with a stranger. That conversation was about appreciating what is rather than fixating on what might be. That conversation occurred as we three cyclists stood astride our bicycles on a trail that few, if any bike riders have ridden, ever. As we pushed our bikes through those hours we had every opportunity to soak in the landscape around us, to be present in each moment, and to perform at the peak of our abilities when riding was both possible and just shy of improbable.
Riding bikes doesn’t have to be just about riding bikes. These machines are catalytic; they open and expand possibility like no other technology can. Sometimes the adventures they underpin unfold as planned, but if we’re honest, these aren’t really adventures, are they? Our day spent riding, scrambling, and hiking from Bordighera to Limone Piemonte, Italy, was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But unlike the peach and the pizza, I knew and appreciated this fact in real-time. And this is what contents me the most about the adventure; Scott, Nico and I had the maturity and poise to take it all in stride, to see past our expectations of how things ought to be, and absorb the beguiling beauty and grandeur of what was right in front of us. We made it happen, together, flexibly.
Odyssey Timeline
July 16, 2019, 07:30
@ 52 minutes – we lose the trail
@ 1:25 – we are back onto trail
@ 2:03 – we have covered 15k
@ 2:40 / 21km we know we need water
@ 3:40 / 26.7km – we find water
@ 5:27 / 35.7km - we reach the Rifugio
@ 6:15 / 40km – we are on the hiking trail
@ 9:05 / 49km – we emerge from rabble into alpine meadow, and the gravel road resumes
@ 9:55 / 55.5km – we diverge from planned route at the Tete de la Nava – this is THE DECISION POINT
@ 10:35 / 62km – Scott flats on the long gravel descent
@ 11:10 / 71.5km – we pass through La Brigue
@ 11:30 / 77.8km – we stop in Tende
@13:27 / 94.6km we summit Col de Tende
@14: 13 / 110km – we reach our destination
Routes: Nice → Bordighera → Limone Piemonte → Genova
+ Rides from Nice
Nice-Tende-Nice via Col de Braus, Col de Brouis, Saorge Est, Ventimiglia
The most spectacular Nice route? Col de Turini West Side via Croix de Fer etc.
Thanks
Brodie Bicycles, Woven Precision Handbuilts, Rene Herse tires, Easton Cycling, Absolute Black, Kogel, Handske, Castelli, Silca, Mad Alchemy, YoFiit, Re:Form, Survivor Filter, Hammerhead
Thanks to Nico Joly for the photos that appear above! If a photo wasn’t obviously taken by me, it’s from Nico. Scott’s photos were lost with his phone….
Resources
Cafe du Cycliste – fantastic storefront, merchandise, and riding resources
Bicycle Quarterly - another rendering of this story appears in the Winter 2019 issue. BQ is a great resource for all things bicycle adventure.
