HAUTE E CULTURE
we venture deep into the queyras national park on a mission to ride some of the gnarliest trails on offer, and to discover why the french are so obsessed with e-bikes
We venture deep into the Queyras National Park on the France-Italy border on a mission to ride some of the gnarliest trails on offer, and to discover why the French are so obsessed with e-bikes.
My inner monologue, fuelled by an intense mixture of fear and survivalinstinct calm, is now being audibly expressed. Stay focused. Look ahead. Don’t look down. Don’t die. Just keep pedalling. The singletrack has narrowed to a foot’s width – it’s obscured by long grass, loose and dusty, with the trail ahead seemingly erased on one side, and hugging the mountain on the other like a long-lost friend. I’m doing my very best impression of someone in control, with every fibre of me wanting to look out at the majestic view, only to risk it stealing me away into oblivion. Flat corners aren’t my forté at the best of times, let alone halfway up a mountain, on an e-bike with questionable tyres. The sole thought racing through my head is of the repercussions of clipping a pedal. I won’t go into the song I was singing, I really can’t explain it – that one stays with me.
We’re in the Hautes-Alpes in south-east France, close to the Italian border. A place where the e-bike reigns supreme, and rightly so. MBUK’s production editor Chris and I are on a three-day mission with snapper Andy Lloyd, guided by Cyril and Martin from Guil E-Bike and local ripper Constantin, to find out what this relatively undiscovered area of the southern Alps has to offer, why the e-bike is the tool for the job and why this could be your next big adventure.
E-biking may still be in its relative infancy in the UK, but in France and Italy it’s in full flow. They have the mountains and the infrastructure and, well, did I mention the mountains? With huge climbs to tackle and the ski lifts not opening for bike use until the summer, e-biking is an evolved culture here. You might scoff at the idea of using an e-bike for an easy loop of your local trail centre, but visit the Queyras National Park or pop across the border into Italy and you’ll see them in a whole new light.
Go with the flow
With Chris done for the day but a few hours of daylight remaining, Cyril insists that he must show us one last trail. We head up what the guys describe as an ‘uphill flow trail’. This series of tight switchbacks demands a certain riding style, which it turns out neither Andy nor I possess. It’s the locals’ way to alleviate the boredom of another long fireroad climb, but goddamn it’s hard. Of course, they all nail it.
While Martin is back down the mountain with Constantin, trying to fix his shifter after an overzealous attempt at getting the goods for Andy’s lens, Cyril, Lloyder and I carry on to the top. It’s an easy spin up following a ribbon of loose singletrack, made unnecessarily harder by my near-bald rear tyre. But the rewards are worth it. I’m looking out across a natural amphitheatre bathed in a blanket of gold from the receding sun. There really aren’t enough superlatives to describe it, and a wave of contentment washes over me. Cyril describes this as
don't look down. just keep pedalling. the trail has narrowed to a foot's width, hugging the mountainside
‘his’ place. He hikes, rides and skis here all year round, and it’s only really visited by a handful of intrepid hikers and local riders. It’s where Cyril comes to find solitude and you can see why. He tells me Hannibal made his way through this pass on his way to Italy a few years back for a spot of Roman-bashing – but that’s another story.
The temperature is dropping rapidly, but Andy wants ‘just one more shot’ because the light is superb, and I willingly agree. Riding the ‘uphill flow’ section back down is a lot more fun. As the cold creeps in, I follow the smell of Andy’s burning brake pads in the failing light, all the way back to our hotel for a well-deserved beer and some proper French hospitality. After an estimated 60km of riding today and who knows how many metres of climbing, I’m fearing the first step of the three flights to our room. You know the kind of pain that’s your reward
for a hard day’s riding, the one where your legs feel like seized cables? Well, tonight there’s nothing, nada! It seems that these e-bikes really do a lot of the work. Do I feel cheated? A little maybe, but with two more days ahead of us, it’s no bad thing.
With breakfast devoured and our bikes loaded onto the uplift trailer, we set out into what looks to be another stunning day. A cobalt blue sky promises warmth but delivers biting cold, so we hurriedly layer up. Andy and I check over our bikes and I’m relieved to see that the back tyre on my Cube Stereo Hybrid 160 has been replaced with a new Maxxis High Roller II and Andy’s front tyre with a Maxxis Minion DHF – grip ensured! We pile into the van and wind our way up through the beautiful but barren Molines-en-Queyras valley to the FrenchItalian border at the Col Agnel. Sitting at 2,744m, the pass is bloody cold but begs for some Insta attention. The view is stunning, of course – when isn’t it out here! – but we don’t dwell too long, and head down into Italy.
Our start point for the day is the Colle di Sampeyre, for a bit of a gravel ride. Chris is in his element on these mellow trails, where our bikes’ long-travel suspension is unnecessary and it’s all about the vistas. All eyes are drawn to the right by the exhibitionist Italian geography. With my senses at overload, I need to regain some focus for the descent, which starts as an easy cruise down farmland tracks and through ridiculously pretty villages, but soon morphs into some really fun high-mountain technical singletrack.
Our bikes’ pedalling assistance isn’t really needed here, of course, and this is when I first notice some negatives. Nimble isn’t a word often associated with e-bikes, and although their sheer weight is a bonus in terms of keeping you welded to the ground over rough terrain, it does make it harder to lift the front wheel or bunnyhop over obstacles. This trail is fast, rocky and covered with the first flurry of autumn leaves, so it solicits attention and requires a manual or two. It takes all my effort and nerve to hold a good line. I quickly realise that braking is different on an e-bike too. At velocity, with all that mass, I need to read the trail so much quicker than on a normal trail bike. It’s exhausting.
No uplift? No sweat!
By the bottom, I must’ve referred to the view and riding as “bonkers” an annoying number of times. It’s not the most eloquent word, I know, but one that comes to mind frequently in these parts. As we tear our eyes away from the vista and start our descent after another truly massive climb, I realise another thing – you don’t really sweat on an e-bike. Well, not in boost mode anyway. Sure, we could knock the power down a few notches and muscle our way up the climbs, but that negates the point of the power-assist. Besides, our guides are all carrying spare batteries!
We’re too late to catch the evening light on the trail Cyril had planned, having spent too much time being tourists, but Andy still spots a killer photo op. We struggle up a scree slope that makes me question my motives and our route back down, to find an exposed ridgeline with a jaw-dropping backdrop. It’s at this moment that, for the first time, I say NO. It’s sketchy and I’m not into it. Of course, young Constantin and Cyril jump at the chance just as Andy realises the precariousness of our situation, and he secures some rad shots.
The descent is the rockiest and most raucous so far – a playful, poppy trail that cuts across wide slopes of scree and reminds me of riding the Megavalanche. Further down, we head deep into a stunning valley littered with huge slabs of white rock, the path threading its way between golden spruce trees. The rocky riding demands full attention and I love it, although I’m on the edge of control and my fingers are about to lose their love of the brakes. A well-timed puncture stops play, and while Cyril changes tubes, I have time to prise my hands from the bar. Feeling the draw of a beer and warm shower, Chris heads on down the fireroad.
Our last trail of the day is a mix of fast and flowing farm track and technical singletrack, which rather rudely snakes through a number of small villages. I feel like I’m riding through the residents’ front gardens, but apparently that’s OK! It’s a ton of fun and more relaxed. That’s until I clip a pedal and am ejected from my bike into a stone wall. With a tenderised shin, I don’t even have time to catch my breath as Andy gets excited about the light again and demands a rerun for the camera. We finally call it a day and head to our night’s quarters. Our Italian hosts lay it on thick, and we all go to bed full of great food and fine wine. My derriere, the only major casualty of the day, feels like a bit of well-tanned leather. I could get used to this – the food, not the pain!
Next morning we drive on up through the valley, gaining height quickly. The steep slopes forested with spruce trees tinged with the first colours of autumn are breathtaking. Andy clicks away through the van window, frustrated by the game of peek-a-boo with the trees, trying to capture the early morning mist rising from the valley. Hairraising hairpins, driven with composure and a little too much speed
it's raucous - a playful, poppy trail that cuts across wide slopes of scree
for our tastes, deposit us at the summit of the Colle Fauniera. Sitting at a lofty 2,481m, the view is insane. Andy spots yet another photo op along a sketchy-looking line, and I volunteer young Constantin for the job, being happy to just watch once again.
With the weather closing in, Cyril guides us at full speed to the highest point for a panoramic view of the Gardetta plateau. We don’t dwell long and work our way around the old military road, quickly cresting a ridge to be confronted by the dramatic pyramid-shaped Rocca la Meja. Shards of broken silver light spear through threatening grey clouds, picking out its aggressive crags. I take a moment to absorb its imposing architecture. Then, torn from my reverie, it’s time to get off the mountain and onto some enduro trails. Carving up the grassy hillsides of the open plateau in a snowboard-like style is fun, but we soon hit a full-on, flat-out mountain track. I’m still not ready to commit 100 per cent, and manage my speed as we descend into the valley. As we lose altitude and the temperature rises, we stop to shed layers. We’re greeted by a gorge cut deep into the mountainside, sandwiched between sheer cliffs and deep forest. I’m not quite prepared for its beauty and don’t think this will be surpassed.
With a word of warning from Cyril about the narrow trails and perilous drop, we ride on. We descend slowly over slippery, stepped, rocky singletrack, brushing past perfumed juniper bushes and trying to keep focused. Then we hit the tightest switchback turns I’ve ever ridden – they’re hard, very hard. The trail is dried-out, loose, tight and tech. I’m not comfortable and neither is Andy, and speeds are killed. The heft of the bikes doesn’t help at all, but we make it down with sighs of relief and my brake pads worn right through, grateful for an easy spin back into Sambuco for a well-deserved beer.
Just one more...
Thinking that we’re done for the day and I’ve survived, I’m feeling quite relaxed. But Cyril has another ride in mind. Chris quickly heads for the sauna, but Andy and I saddle up, gluttons for punishment. Cyril says it’s a leisurely 10km spin down the road to our destination, the village of Vinadio, but it turns out to be a mammoth climb. It’d take a Herculean effort on a normal bike yet it’s (almost) a breeze to the top with a motor. I won’t mention the middle part again, which is where this adventure started – it’s too traumatic to revisit!
As we summit the Colle di Neraisaa, I for one am ready to head down. It’s amazing looking across the Valle Stura, but the mist that chased us up the valley is catching up and the sun is saying ‘Arrivederci!’ The view of the singletrack etched into the mountainside ahead makes me feel a little queasy. It’s exposed and loose. I feel scared. A big heavy bike wouldn’t be my first choice for these trails. I keep Constantin behind me for reassurance.
Andy wants a shot of all of us traversing the trail. I’m horrified. It’s an almost vertical scree slope with a few branches placed to pick out the tiny off-camber trail. As I muster up the courage and roll into it, I’m making tentative progress – until I stop, with yards to go. The trail is washed out and indistinguishable, and I really don’t like the massive drop to my left. So I get off and push the last six feet or so, and I feel no shame about it – not for a second. “You don’t have trails like this in the UK?” Martin asks, perplexed. “No,” I splutter in reply, “we don’t!” I film Andy crossing to catch up. He makes me delete it.
A series of super-tight switchbacks now tests our mettle as we pick up momentum into some more flowing forest singletrack. It’s fun, and a welcome change from the trails we’ve just ridden. We say our farewells to Cyril, Martin and Constantin, who between them have picked up punctures and tell us to ride on. It’s a strange feeling as Andy and I cruise back through the streets to join Chris at our hotel for our final night in the Hautes-Alpes. I’ve had the experience of a lifetime, enhanced – and only occasionally hindered – by the e-bike, which has taken me (literally) to places I’ve only dreamt of. What we’ve seen and the trails we’ve ridden will stay with me forever. Will I return? I’d love to. On an e-bike? Almost certainly.
andy wants a shot of us traversing the trail. i'm horrified, and a bit queasy