MOTORHOME TRAVELLERS' DIARY FOR SEPTEMBER 2001

FRANCE AND ITALY

Barry and Margaret Williamson

01 SEPTEMBER 2001 F CAMPING LA PLANÈTE, JAUSIERS

Cooler, cloudy, but not the electric storms forecast on the TV. Very quiet here, the season is over, the guided walks programme finished, just a few cyclists and motorbikers coming down over the cols from Italy or the south of Provence. The few campers here include a German van with 3 tough cyclists and an Italian car and tent.

M got the diary up to date, with August completed and printed, while B emptied another can of WD40, keeping Rosie's underbelly sweet. Reading the backlog of CTC and C C mags continued, noting useful addresses and adverts for the database. Barry persevered with Chapman Pincher's dreadful 'Traitors', the most badly written, boring, pointless and repetitive book so far, but a challenge. Can it be read to the very end?

Sunday morning is market day in Jausiers - a single stall in the little square. The fruit & veg were good, though prices high, with no competition! The few shops were also open and we got a plump poulet rôti hot off the spit at the butcher's. The weather has turned warm again, the cold west wind dropped, the sun shining from a clear blue sky. Perfect for a walk to the viewpoint above the village, a zigzag path signposted très facile, following the stations of the cross from the church up the hillside to the cemetery and clock-bell-tower (with ND looking disapprovingly down on us from the top of the spire) - the clock which we see and hear from our pitch. Then higher, to a railed panorama with an orientation table indicating the peaks in front of us. Far below, we could see Rosie in the corner of the campsite, poised at the foot of the road which climbs the Col de la Bonette - not for her, but perhaps for us. Barry finished the film (in the camera since Willingham, including the photos for the 2 site reports) and we made our way down. The sign at the bottom had suggested 1½ hours return but we were home in less than an hour, including a browse round the graveyard. Shows what porridge can do!

After a cooked Sunday lunch, a change from the usual 8 pm dinner, we had a quiet afternoon checking the bikes, reading, watching fluffy clouds drift over, and planning an assault on Europe's highest through road tomorrow, the top of only 3 to exceed 9,000 ft. We rode the 2nd and 3rd (Iseran, French Alps and Stelvio, Italian Alps) back in the 'Summer of Cycling in the Alps' 6 years ago, but somehow missed this one. Barry reprinted our list of 38 cols climbed that summer, to reinspire us - but we were younger then!

Later, the first half of a video film 'The Eagle has Landed', an intriguing WWII plot with Michael Caine (doing his best to act German), Donald Sutherland (ditto Irish), Donald Pleasance (brilliant as Himmler), et al.

Another fine clear day, no excuses, we made up the bottles of lemonade and chicken sandwiches, agreed it didn't matter if we didn't make it ('Dare to Fail'), and set off past the Château des Magnans and away, climbing out of the village. At first there was the odd house, a goat and sheep cheese farm, a few pigs, an isolated cemetery at the hamlet of Lans, then just empty hillside, our route winding slowly (very slowly) ever upwards. Suddenly, an English voice - Andrew Watson from Chapel-en-le-Frith rode up behind and kept us company for the next 10 miles, slackening his racing cadence to our cycle-tourist pace. It helped the relentless climb (average gradient 7%, maximum 17%) pass in conversation (our first in English in 5 weeks, his in 7 weeks - and he doesn't speak French, so was keen to talk).

At the halfway point (in both distance and height gained) the Halte 2000 Bar-Café (at 2,000 m) was closed, but we halted anyway for a biscuit break. The road was fairly quiet, being a minor route to St-Etienne-de-Tinée (and eventually to Nice, but there are easier ways!) with a weight limit keeping lorries and caravans away. We were passed by a few cars and small campervans out for a scenic drive, perhaps a dozen cyclists, alone or in pairs (keen racing types, all young and lean, with just one other female) and plenty of Germanic motorbikers storming by. Our next, and only other pause was high up above the tree-line, the road bordered with alpine flowers, to watch 2 marmots playing. Soon the snow will come and they'll go down their burrows to hibernate.

Andrew, aged under 30, has already done an Engineering degree at Lancaster (where he ran the cycling club), toured the UK as a musician in a Queen tribute band, and worked in accounts and for an estate agent in Guildford. He quit that in June, bought an ex-Post Office van, fitted it with a stove and bed and came to France to follow his passion - the Tour de France - following them by van and bicycle, researching to write a book about it. Eschewing campgrounds, he parked his van where he could and rode the cols of the Alps, many known to us from summers past. At the foot of the Alpe d'Huez his camera was stolen from his van, but otherwise all was going well. An interesting young man to say the least. He accelerated quickly out of sight above us for the last few kms, promising to wait at the top.

We continued at our own speed, climbing well and not overheating (like the stifling day in the Gorges), past a small lake where a couple of cars had stopped to picnic. A couple of miles before the Col were the stone buildings of the Restefond barracks, once part of the Maginot Line and a stark reminder that this was once frontier country with Italy just over the hill. They are still used by the army for training exercises. 9 sharp hairpins wound to the Col: 2,678 m or 8,840 ft, on the road built in 1860 by Napoleon III, linking the Alpes Maritimes with the Alpes de Haute- Provence. That figure would make it only the second highest route in Europe, and we discovered the trick - a rough narrow one-way track looped 1.5 km from the Col round the Cime (summit) de la Bonette, this optional extra added in 1960 making it 2,802 m or 9,250 ft, so it could claim La plus haute route d'Europe status.

At the Col we asked Notre Dame du très haut for her blessing (which she gave from her rocky nook behind a glass window), took a few deep breaths of the increasingly thin air, and climbed the extra 410 ft, the steepest part of the route, making a total ascent of 5,287 ft from Jausiers, and 15 miles, in 3 hours. Andrew was waiting, sitting behind the summit monument in the sunshine watching more marmots at play. We all declined the walk up to the Table of Orientation, a climb on a rough path not designed for smooth cycling shoes. We ate a late lunch with a feeling of indescribable satisfaction. A small cabin sold coffee and postcards (stamped Col de la Bonette) and we relished it all. There were still patches of snow in the surrounding gulleys but the sun was warm above a light cool wind. Finally, we took our farewell of Andrew, who would descend to Barcelonnette and move on, full speed ahead. Within the next week he planned one or two more cols and the ascent of the Puy de Dome before returning to the UK, his parents' house and the search for work.

We donned jumpers and gloves and came down at a steadier pace, taking about ¾ hour, freewheeling the whole way. The km posts, so slowly marking the ascent, flashed past; as usual, we could scarcely believe we'd actually climbed this road. We paused twice in the warm sun to rest our grip on the brakes and rode triumphantly onto the campsite as the church clock chimed 4 pm. Average speed had been 16.5 km, just over 10 mph.

After plenty of tea and rest, we had just enough energy to make and eat supper and watch the rest of 'The Eagle has Landed' (not to be confused with 'Where Eagles Dare', which we had). We also sent text messages to people we know with mobiles: Stan & Celia, Mick & Flo, Martin & Clare, Jim and the Swatmans. Postcard-writing can wait.

A change in the weather - cool, wet and windy. What luck to ride the Bonette yesterday, with no ill-effects, just a good lie-in! We did a few cleaning and maintenance jobs, checked databases on the computer and walked to the village shop. Cleaning Rosie's wheels, B found yet another loose 'balance' weight, this time on the front offside. It may account for a recent noise from that region.

In the evening we watched the odds & ends at the end of the 'Eagle has Landed' video tape, including an old 'Last of the Summer Wine' somehow involving Robin Hood. It was a very cold stormy night and we didn't envy those in tents round us - 2 young German cyclists, 3 motorbikers and a lone Dutchman in a car.

A short drive, moving house to the delightful campsite in the centre of Barcelonnette, 5 minutes' walk from the town and surrounded by peaks with names like Pain de Sucre and Chapeau de Gendarme. After lunch (outside with the new chairs) we walked into the centre, collected a welcome letter from mum at the post, along with our return tickets, a letter from Motorhome Monthly and a postcard from the Rough Guide saying that M's piece on the southernmost B&B in New Zealand would be included in their next newsletter and the B&B mentioned in the next Rough Guide. We will also get a free Rough Guide of our choice. Great. Alan's packet had not yet arrived so we went on to visit the Tourist Office and supermarket, leaving a film for printing at what looked the better of the 2 photography shops. A lovely alpine town, with narrow streets, stone church, market square, cinema (showing Planète des Singes), launderette, park, and more than enough souvenir shops and restaurants. And so many cols around - we prepared to ride another of them tomorrow, the Cayolle.

It had been a cold clear night and we awoke to see frost on the grass. By 10 am the sun was up and we left Barcelonnette on the D908, which leads south past the other 2 campsites, then divides with a choice of Cols, the Cayolle or the Allos. There is a circular ride, La Classique du Cyclo Club, which links these two climbs with a third, the Col des Champs - Champions indeed, 78 miles and 3 passes totalling over 10,000 ft of climbing. We'll take them one at a time.

We chose the longer and higher Col de la Cayolle today, and it proved a beautiful ride with perfect weather. From the village of Uvernet the road climbed gently (average gradient 5%, maximum 10%), following the gorge of the Bachelard, criss-crossing it on several old stone bridges giving dramatic views below. The road was narrower than that up the Bonette, with long stretches of single-track with passing places, and more cyclists. A group of Dutchmen raced past, followed by a support van, but after passing hedge-trimmers at work (beware thorns) we were pleased to overtake them, as they stopped to fix punctures in their lightweight tyres. Soon we saw a heavily laden touring couple at the roadside with the same problem and stopped to help. Pierre and Marie from Geneva were on their way to Nice (then via ferries to Corsica, Sardinia, Rome, and a train home and back to work). Barry helped find the offending thorn and did some of the pumping, then when both Pierre's patched tubes failed (his 'spare' had 2 punctures in it) we gave them one of our 2 new spares to get them on their way (same size, different valves). This passed half an hour of French conversation practice (new word: la crevaison = puncture) and we learnt enough about cycling in Patagonia and the Andes (he had been twice) to know it wasn't for us!

After the Gorges du Bachelard we reached the tiny village of St Laurent Fours, about half-way to the col in both distance and height, and sat by the water fountain on the terrace of the Bar-Restaurant eating our sandwiches and dipping our biscuits in their delicious cafés au lait. The church clung to the side of the gorge below us, all the window boxes were bright with flowers, the sun shone. Our new Swiss friends rode by and we wished them well, we were in no hurry.

After another 4 miles, at Bayasse, there was a refuge and a rough track turned off, linking to the Col de la Bonette for serious walkers (and crazy Swiss cyclists, who'd proposed taking it with no spare innertubes). Here over a bridge we crossed into the Mercantour National Park, and the last 5 miles to the Col were steeper, with hairpin bends, past the Refuge at 2,266 m or 7,478 ft, and a final thrust to the top at 2,326 m or 7,676 ft. The monument showed that we were again at the border of the Alpes de Haute-Provence and the Alpes Maritimes (Côte d'Azur Region). Four Dutch touring-cyclists were resting behind it, but we dropped back down to the Refuge to take a break, out of the wind, at 3 pm. The Brevet des 7 cols Ubayens leaflet had promised eagles and chamois up here, but we guess you have to come early in the day. Our reward, apart from the stunning scenery and alpine flowers, was the descent: a freewheel down to Bayasse, then easy riding along the gorge and back into town: 3¼ hours cycling up, 1¼ hours down, average speed nearly 9 mph. It had been a much less bleak ride than the Bonette, through the well-wooded gorge, and with very little traffic once the morning rush had gone, and much less exhausing, too.

After dinner we rewarded ourselves with the first quarter of a 'Frost' video made by Mum, originally shown at Christmastime before the Millenium.

Another cold clear night and fine sunny day, a cool wind getting up mid-afternoon. M took the dhobi to the launderette and checked the post and later updated the diary and accounts. B worked on the list of 38 cols climbed in the Alps in the summer of 95, researching and adding the 14 ridden in the Pyrenees in summer 99, and now 2 more back in the Alps in summer 2001 - something we'd never imagined still being able to do. He also made a list of the equipment we carry which requires one or more batteries and checked them - a staggering 46 items!

We cycled into town with a list of jobs: collect Alan's packet from the post (it took 7 days to get here); buy postcards and stamps; ring Motorhome Ticket Club to postpone the ferry booked for early October; photocopy August diary and a few other papers at the Tourist Office (2½p per sheet using our own paper); collect film left for developing on Wednesday (very poor quality - we demanded it be redone and didn't leave any others!); and look round the twice-weekly market (local fruit & veg, cheeses, sausages, and the speciality of the region, Tourtons, little deep-fried pasties filled with potato, spinach, apple or prune which 2 stalls were cooking and selling like hot cakes). We just bought veggies, then rode along the Gap road to the Casino supermarket for other supplies, including a small poulet roti for £2·50 and spare batteries after yesterday's stocktaking.

After lunch we read, sorted and filed the mail: the usual statements from Vodafone, the bank and Turners; replies from 6 embassies to our visa enquiries; 2 (identical!) postcards of the Lofoten Islands from the Valentzas, posted in Narvik and then Nordkapp 2 days later; a cheery letter from Celia (& Stan), counting the days as their 8-month trip to Australia draws near (watch out Oz, this man is coming!); and a poignant letter from Christine Jarvis, surrounded by packing crates in a semi-deserted campus on Holly Bank's last day (telephones ringing in empty rooms), before the move to the main site on Queensgate. She reports that Prof Newbold is retiring, and writes of the stress and pressure of a Quality Assurance Agency Review, OFSTED, re-restructuring into 3 depts, and impending revision of all the curricula.

She had spent 8-10 hours on every day of August (except 2) in the building and asks when she'll get her summer (or even her life) back again! No wonder Mike Guggenheim has suffered a breakdown, and Dave Swindells too is leaving on health grounds. We are well out of all this madness. On a happier note, Gary is now full-time at the Tech and their son Ben has just started at Greenhead College (Music, Maths, Physics and English), is 6 ft with shoulder-length hair and fronts a rock-band. We remember him as a nice little lad, playing cricket and doing well in the Youth Orchestra!

At teatime M returned to the photographer's to collect the film, which was marginally better, and rang Mum to let her know the mail had all arrived. We exchanged text messages with Stan, wishing them Bon Voyage, and watched the 2nd instalment of the Frost video after a roast chicken dinner.

Some cloud sitting on the peaks this morning and a cool wind, but undeterred we set out along the D908, this time turning right where it divided for the Col d'Allos - slightly lower than the Cayolle, but a shorter distance, making it steeper overall. Once we, and the day, had warmed up it was a splendid climb, with no easy introduction along a gorge this time. The road climbed at an average gradient of 5.5%, maximum 10%. Soon a side road turned off to the ski resort of Pra Loup, and the D908 at once became much narrower, winding its way above the Gorge de Malune. We passed a tiny church at the abandoned hamlet of Les Agneliers and a deserted ski-lift - everything else passed us! About half-way up we paused to read the memorial to Canetto Baptiste, who had fallen to his death building the route in 1889. There were still sharp, unguarded bends with drops into the river and forest far below.

The terrain became bare and arid (and steeper) towards the summit, as we left the sound of cowbells behind and passed the Refuge. At the top, 2,250 m or 7,425 ft, we took the customary photograph or 2, with bikes rampant, and talked to a French cyclist who was proud to be riding at the age of 50. Back at the refuge, just below the col, the dining room busy with Sunday drivers, we got coffee and sat outside with our sandwiches and a couple of Dutch cyclists and felt good - each ascent seems less effort, and now we're actually enjoying the climbs. There was a table of orientation for identifying the peaks, but still no chamois. A Texan arrived, panting, just as we were leaving and told us he had 'a 2nd home in Colorado and a 3rd one here in Barcelonnette'. Our second home is the whole world, with no gardening to do, so we didn't envy him!

The descent was tricky and quite slow, frequently on the outside of blind bends with little or no guardrail, but after 3½ hours' riding (2½ up, 1 down) at an average of 7 mph we were back in the warmth and safety of the valley.

Spiced rice, curried with the last of the chicken, and chocolate cake (made yesterday), the third quarter of the Frost video, who could want for more?

Each night now gets colder, 46°F on rising, with frost on the grass outside. We put the gas heating on over breakfast but soon the sun was shining from a penetratingly blue sky and we ate lunch outside in shorts and T-shirts, real mountain weather. We wrote a note to Turners, returning the form giving our permission for a cable TV-phone line to be installed at Heaton Rd (at the tenants' expense). Also completed our last Midland Bank Profile Points claim, for a £15 Boots voucher, and donated the 48 remaining points to Guide Dogs for the Blind, which entitled us to enter a competition to win a car or something less. Thinking out the winnning (?) slogan took the rest of the morning. 'Children love playgrounds because ... it's child's play to train at a real play station.'

After lunch M went to post these and shop, while B did a spreadsheet for the house rent and future income projections. In need of cheering up, he then did some filling and varnishing on the bathroom and kitchen cupboard doors, which had dried out and cracked while in store.

Reading and watching the end of the Frost video completed our rest day.

M updated accounts and diary, mended a couple of T-shirts and a dressing gown and wrote to Mum (enclosing the August diary, Barry's piece on Fleetwood Emails and a Freepost letter to P&O to join their regular travellers' club). B gave Rosie a bath and got busy with the Superglue fixing some loose fittings (the outside fridge vent, the shower plug, a length of trim - plastic seems to have a fixed lifespan, what next?)

After lunch we cycled into town to post Mum's letter, retrieved a phone message from her to say neither Travelbag nor the CTC have written yet, and rang the campsite at Condamine (nearer the Col de Vars and Col de Parpaillon). However, it closes on Sunday, so we decided to stay here - it would be difficult to exit the site immediately as some diggers have the road up today). We also rode out to Mr Bricolage (the DIY store) to measure up wood for Barry's next projects.

We returned to the dreadful news on the TV and radio that 4 hijacked planes had this morning been deliberately crashed in the USA - 2 into the towers of the World Trade Centre (which both collapsed), 1 into the Pentagon and 1 in Pittsburgh, killing all passengers, the kamikaze pilots and many others. Horrific, it's being compared with Pearl Harbour as an act of war, all planes in US airspace have been grounded, no-one has claimed responsibility. US intelligence and security services must have become very lax for this to happen (on internal flights).

All day on all channels of French TV and the World Service there was only one story, which is very slowly being pieced together. It seems that the Islamic Fundamentalist leader, Ben Laden, and his men in Afghanistan are prime suspects, and that the hijackers were armed with knives and possibly bombs. Thousands are dead, mostly in New York - those working in the World Trade Centre and the emergency service people who flocked to help before the twin towers collapsed. The TV pictures looked like a bombed war zone. Stunned, we began to wonder what longer-term effects this would have on our world, on air travel, on race relations.

M walked into town, shopped at the market, looked at the photos on the front pages of newspapers, found we couldn't withdraw money from the bank machines. B wrote to Andrew Watson, the cyclist from the Peak District who had met us while climbing the Bonette, sending him copies of our Cols list and Round-the-World account. We also have a pile of postcards to send but our heart isn't in writing cheery messages today, especially with Americans on the list. B planned a ride for tomorrow and M did some baking, to try and lighten the mood.

In which we cycle (and sometimes walk) 39 miles and climb 4,950 ft on a circular ruff-stuff ride

Lured by the existence of a link from Bayasse on the Col de la Cayolle road to the Col de la Bonette, shown as the D9 (dotted) on our map and described as a shepherds' track by the Tourist Info, we set out on what proved our longest hardest day so far. Unlike the Swiss pair who first told us about it, we took a spare tyre, as well as 2 tubes (though walking boots would have been a useful extra!)

It began gently enough, up the Gorges du Bachelard, as described one week ago. This time we didn't pause at Fours St-Laurent for coffee but continued to the Refuge at the hamlet of Bayasse, 14 miles from base-camp, at 1800 m or 5,940 ft, where both our track and the long distance footpath GR56 turned off. We enjoyed our sandwiches with Refuge coffee, were warned that the track was only suitable for VTT (mountain bikes) and not racing bikes (we have neither) and left at 12.45 pm to see for ourselves. So far, we had averaged over 7 mph, and our final average speed for the day would be 6.9 mph, despite the eventual fast descent from the Bonette (max 32 mph)! This is because the next 5 miles, once we'd left Bayasse, was on a Route très dégradée, very stony and climbing all the way. Barry rode most (but not all) of it, M walked most (but not all). But what a reward for that effort. The whole afternoon we were only passed by one huntsman in a 4-WD vehicle and 2 intrepid German motorbikes. The silence, the peace, the real sense of being in the midst of these mountains instead of balanced on a man-made col road, shared with motor traffic, was breathtaking. We paused frequently to drink, watch a marmot, survey the scene.

By 2 pm, after 3 miles of track, by the restored Bergerie de la Moutière, we reached the border of the Mercantour NP, at 2140 m or 7,062 ft. The map showed we still had some steep climbing to get out of the valley, the track hairpinning far above the tree-line, but the sun shone and we pushed on. Suddenly on the skyline we could see the Cime de la Bonette and were encouraged to continue, knowing we would eventually meet the tarmac somewhere between the Restefond Barracks and the Col of the Bonette. Walking was slightly easier than riding it, we just wished for tougher footwear on the rocky path. At last, at 3.45 pm, after 2 difficult miles, we met the junction with the GR56, which turned off for the Col de la Moutière, signed as 15 mins' walk. We continued towards the Restefond, now able to cycle more easily - still climbing, but on a gravel path made firm by lorries going to a nearby mine, though we still had to walk half a mile, where roadworks had made the path too soft to ride. We finally joined the bitumen just below the Col de la Bonette at 4.05 pm, 21 miles from Barcelonnette, at 2620 m or 8,646 ft. We dropped to the shelter of the Restefond Barracks, ate our Lion Bars and wrapped up for the descent, arriving in Jausiers by our former campsite (now closed) as the clock struck 5 pm, a 13-mile descent, cheered on by 3 French army lorries which wove their way down past us. The late afternoon west wind was dead against us, making the 5 miles back to Barcelonnette along the main road slow going.

800 m of the 1500 m or 4,950 ft we'd climbed had been on the 7 miles of unsurfaced tracks linking the 2 col roads. We were home by 5.30 pm, dusty and hungry, quite a ride! But nothing that tea, showers, home-made burgers and a video of 'The Bill' couldn't cure.

A very cloudy night heralded a change in the weather - it felt much warmer, but later came thunder and rain, dusting the highest peaks we can see with snow. Our timing yesterday had been good. We did cycle today, but only to the post and bank and out to Mr Bricolage opposite Camping Tampico to buy a 4 ft length of pine, which B managed to carry back. He sawed and sanded and made it into a ledge for music cassettes, fitted neatly over the door below the music centre shelf. He also enlarged the bookcase below the TV, and there was enough wood left to block the ventilator on the door of the old genny locker. Luckily, we'd brought the Bosch orbital sander and a circular saw with us by mistake (we had only meant to carry them from Huddersfield to Thornton)! They were very useful, working outside, sheltering under the awning from occasional rain showers. M did some diary-writing and housework.

For the last 2 days, 4 men have worked re-roofing the house opposite the campsite entrance, and we watched nervously as they finished it today on a surface made slippery by the rain. It was a relief when they finally came down - no helmets, harnesses or safety devices to be seen.

The site is even quieter now, the Dutch seem to have gone to repair their dikes, the only foreigners are from Luxembourg. And the road outside is still up, lucky we're in no hurry to go!

Highlight of the evening's TV was Qui veut gagner des millions? It was good practice understanding the questions, but we wouldn't have won much.

Back to bright sunshine, tempered by a chill wind from the heights. M walked into town to shop at the busy market and Champion supermarket. B, moved by Christine's poignant End-of-Holly-Bank letter, wrote her a lengthy reply reminiscing about his many years as student and teacher there. He also gave the new shelves another coat of varnish (light oak, of course), while M microwaved a Victoria sandwich, filled with home-made jam and whipped cream - wicked!

Later we found another unseen 'Touch of Frost' video, recorded by Mum last January, and watched the first quarter of it. We have to make treats like that last.

We'd had differing reports on the Col de Vars ride - Andrew Watson had dismissed it as 'boring', while our middle-aged French neighbours here, a couple in a camping car from Lyons who are riding all 7 cols to collect their Brevet, said it had 2 nasty tunnels needing lamps (we duly bought new batteries at Mr Bricolage). Both were wrong!

We had an early start (ie, pre-10 am), before the sun was up, and kept jackets, helmets and gloves on for the ride into the wind, along the main road D900 up the Ubaye valley, through Jausiers and Condamine, their campsites now closed. Leaving Condamine, on our left just before crossing the Ubaye river, rose the massive pock-marked grey stone walls and barred windows of the Forts de Tournoux (built 1843-65 to defend the border with Italy). Now abandoned, but being restored as some sort of tourist attraction (isn't everything?) After 9 miles, the Col de Vars road turned off at Les Gleizolles, leaving the D900 to continue over the Col de Larche into Italy (perhaps our eventual route in Rosie).

The gentle gradient gradually increased from 2% to 5%, there was a stretch of roadworks before a length of new avalanche shelter over the road (no problem, and quiet this Sunday morning), then a short tunnel - unlit, but only half a km long with daylight visible at the far end, so we didn't need the lights we'd brought. The village of St Paul-sur-Ubaye, 14 miles from camp, marked half way from Les Gleizolles to the Col and its only bar was open for coffee. It was 11.30 am and we'd averaged over 9 mph, but the final 5 mile climb was to reduce this considerably. The road suddenly began to hairpin high above the village and the tree-line, 2 miles to the next hamlet, Le Mélezen, then even more steeply at a gradient of 10% for the last 3 miles to the top. The stone church spires of the 2 villages disappeared far below, and we rode into the teeth of a strong wind, slowing us to a crawl, but we were rewarded with 3 sightings of marmots (6 animals) very near the road, looking very furry and fattened for the 6-month sleep ahead.

Another summit photograph, at 2109 m or 6,960 ft, at 1.10 pm after 19 miles riding. The average gradient was given as 7%, but most of the effort was at the end. The col is an ancient border, now between the Alpes de Haute Provence and the Hautes Alpes, to the north, but once between France and Savoy, changing hands between Italian and French rulers over the centuries. A plaque commemorated the restoration of the road in 1891 by the 5th Groupe Alpin of the French army. We looked over the other side, towards a small lake, but didn't linger at the summit café in the full force of the wind. Instead, we turned back and dropped down 1 km to the shelter of an empty stone hut to eat our sandwiches. It still wasn't quite downhill all the way - after another 3 km we heard a loud bang and both came to as abrupt a halt as we could. Barry's rear tyre had parted company with the rim, causing the innertube to split. Luckily, the tyre wasn't damaged and he soon had a new tube in, though why the new Schwalbe had done this, unknown in B's experience, was not apparent - perhaps it was due to the heat of braking on the bumpy surface - worrying. We had no further problems and enjoyed a cautious descent to the main road, where we found the wind had changed direction and grown stronger, so that it was still against us on the way back. By 3.15 pm we were safely home, average speed 9 mph for the day - no, it was far from boring!

Showers, a good dinner and another instalment of the Frost video, satisfied now that we've climbed the 4 most serious cols in the area while the weather held. It's certainly colder every night now, with 42°F this morning.

The sun did not break through the low cloud today and rain set in during the afternoon, falling as thick snow on the peaks. We watched a pair of red squirrels on the site (who'd taken the bread we put out for the birds), finished off Christine's letter, enclosing a round-the-world account and an extract from the diary on riding the Bonette, and did some reading and foreward-planning.

The Arte channel, which shows foreign programmes (mainly German or Italian), actually showed a British film, with French subtitles instead of dubbing, so we enjoyed an evening with Stephen Fry as Oscar Wilde, a brilliant likeness.

The snow on the peaks and morning frost look permanent now, the winter arriving earlier than usual according to our Madame. M took the dhobi to the launderette, then hung it round the empty campsite to dry, moving it under the awning when afternoon rain set in again.

B wrote to Travelbag, who haven't answered our August letter, with another request for a round-the-world flight quotation, though the air travel industry is probably in turmoil since the terrorist attacks in the USA. We were relieved to get a text message from Stan saying they'd safely reached Australia (they flew into Singapore the day before the US disasters) and that they are kitting out a 2-litre Hiace pop-top camper van 'in good nick'. Great news, we sent a text message back, what a wonderful way to communicate.

A bright dry day, the sun shining on the white peaks, parachutists again hovering over the scenery. We walked into town, posted letters to Christine and Travelbag, shopped at the market and Champion, and called at the Internet Café to see if we had any Emails. There was one from Dick & Audrey, 2 weeks ago, leaving Brussels (a friend's 60th birthday party) for Paris, where they intended to rest at the Bois de Boulogne campsite after their trek to Nordkapp. They plan to return to the UK by the beginning of October, leave the Hymer at our Milton Farm storage, and fly home on 5 Oct for Jason's wedding. We only hope the events in New York haven't affected them or their plans. We found it too expensive (charged by the minute) to use the service to send any Emails - it cost £1.50 to check the incoming mail (for one letter!) and remove all the spam. What a rotten way to communicate!

After lunch we wrote 17 postcards, to our favourite friends and relations, including one to the Valentzas at their Paris campsite and one to Alan, thanking him for sending the mail (and us) to Barcelonnette. We're reluctant to leave, it's such a cosy little town, but the nights are getting really cold now, demanding both gas and electric heating on, plus the electric blanket.

The 'Touch of Frost' we keep watching in short instalments is an appropriate title!

After walking into town to post the cards and buy a couple more spare innertubes (one given to the Swiss, one blew out on the Vars), we reluctantly took our leave of Barcelonnette at noon, when the diggers still working on the lane had gone for lunch and left it (just) passable. Not that we moved far, just back up the Ubaye valley to Jausiers, a road we know well, ready to try the ascent to the Col or Tunnel du Parpaillon tomorrow.

As Jausiers' little campsite is now closed for the winter, we settled on the ample parking area by the holiday village, occasionally joined by an Italian lorry taking a break after crossing over the Col de Larche frontier.

After lunch we had a walk round the village and along the river bank to the Plan d'Eau, before an evening of reading and an early night. The weather has turned a bit warmer and we didn't miss the heater and electric blanket, just the video.

5 miles. Free parking.

A brilliant sunny morning with no wind, perfect for our last endurance feat in these Alpes de Haute Provence. We packed lunch, moved Rosie onto the central car park in Jausiers (more public and hopefully secure) and cycled up the valley 4 miles to Condamine, where we turned off onto the road signed for the Ste Anne ski station and Parpaillon Tunnel. Immediately we were climbing hard, hairpinning high above the village, with good views of the Forts beyond. The gradient rose to 10% and even 11%, but at least we had tarmac. After 2 miles of this, at Ste Anne, a side-road turned up to the ski station, the café-bar at the junction closed, but we continued towards the Parpaillon. The wayside Chapelle Ste Anne, one mile further, marked the end of the bitumen and we stopped to consider the map showing the footpaths and distances.

For the first time we realised the scale of the venture to reach the tunnel! Not ready to turn back after 7 miles, we agreed to 'see how far we could get'. The gravel road was rideable, though the drainage troughs across it were a frequent hazard and M walked the steeper hairpins. But what a landscape, breathtakingly quiet, as we climbed through pine forest high above tumbling streams. Another mile on was the Pont du Berard bridge, where our footpath, GR6, crossed another leading to the Tour du Grand Berard. A stone marker gave our height, 1841 m or 6,075 ft, meaning we'd climbed 2,115 ft - less than halfway up to the tunnel, with 8 miles ridden and only 6 miles to go - no, we won't make it, it will be too steep on this track, we'll just go a bit further till lunchtime, then turn back ...

Two miles further on, we emerged from the woods by a new wooden chalet, a Bar-Grill, of all unlikely things, but sadly closed. The track was just about driveable to here, and presumably walkers, hunters and tourists come up in the summer. We sat on the balcony of the Bar and ate our lunch, watched by an optimistic old dog who'd wandered across a wooden bridge from a Bergerie in front of us - one shepherd, several dogs and a flock of immobile grey sheep barely distinguishable from the rocks on the barren mountainside. It was just after 1 pm, with 4 miles to the Tunnel, and the weather still perfect. Can't take more than an hour, can it? Well, it took over 2 hours, but we made it, M walking most of the way, B incredibly riding it all in bottom gear.

Once past the sheepfold, the GR footpath turned off on a lower route and our track switchbacked its way up, way above the treeline, spotting the last few alpine flowers and 2 groups of marmots chasing over the sparse grass until they caught our scent, when they froze on their hind legs and whistled warnings to each other. Two motorbikes had passed us scrambling up and we met 2 walkers coming down. They'd left their car at Chapelle Ste Anne and climbed as far as the tunnel, which they warned us against entering, with the danger of falling rocks and icicles inside. We couldn't believe this tunnel existed, up here far from any road, but at last, round one last hairpin, there was the gaping black hole of its entrance. It was 3.30 pm - Barry had reached it after 3½ hours' riding, M after 4 hours' riding and walking (the 30 minutes difference passed in several short waits for her to catch up).

The tunnel, at 2645 m or 8,728 ft, had been built by the French military in 1892-1900, when they must have been keen to move men quickly to Crévoux on the other side, in the Hautes Alpes. It goes through the mountain below the Col du Parpaillon at 2788 m or 9,200 ft, accessible only to mountain goats (or chamois?) Today, the 450 m long tunnel was signposted as Forbidden to Cars, Cyclists and Pedestrians, (who else is there, and why wait till now to tell them!) because of danger from falling stones, but the iron gates were open and we could just make out daylight at the far end. With no wish to go down the stone track on the far side, we didn't go through - a wise decision, as we heard stones crashing down inside while we wrapped up for the descent. We hope the motorbikes had made it through safely, they hadn't passed us coming back.

The return down the rough path, avoiding large stones, drainage ditches and unguarded bends was hard on the brakes, with regular stops to let the wheel rims cool down and our fingers rest. It took an hour to come down the 4 miles to the Bergerie where, to our astonishment, we met 3 heavily-laden bicycles on their way up. We tried to tell the optimistic young men how difficult the path was, and the dangers lurking in the Tunnel, but they carried on. They didn't have a watch between them and were surprised to learn it was 4.45 pm. We doubted they'd make it before dark.

Half an hour later we reached the end of the bitumen at Chapelle St Anne with great relief and thanked her effigy.The 2 walkers we'd met as we climbed up had just reached the safety of their car and they congratulated us. After another 30 minutes of glorious tarmac-smooth freewheeling we were back in Rosie after our hardest day, at an average speed of 5 mph for the total 5½ hours ride.

Rosie took us back to last night's peaceful car park, we drank lots of tea and baked a pizza and a dozen coconut pyramids. And slept, woken only once by heavy rain - perfect timing.

Today it's autumn, wet and misty, time to move on. Recovered from yesterday's exertion over a leisurely breakfast, then drove up the familiar Ubaye valley, past Condamine and the turning for the Col de Vars (now closed for roadworks on the avalanche shelter), and up the Col de Larche. Though one of the 7 cols listed on the Brevet to collect a 'King of the Mountains' Diploma, this is now officially closed to cyclists because of the danger of falling stones (cameras monitor falls and trigger red lights to stop traffic when necessary). Rosie took it in her stride and at an average gradient of 4.5%, maximum 7%, we were at the top (the border) for coffee. At 1991 m or 6,570 ft, the Brevet leaflet describes it as a Route sympathique donnant accès à l'Italie. The last French phonebox up there wasn't working, so we rang Mum on the mobile to wish her a good week at Penrith. Still no replies from Travelbag or the CTC.

The descent of more than a dozen sharp Tornanti was more interesting and the little villages decidedly Italian. It got warmer and drier as we left the Alps behind, stopping in Vinadio for lunch, in Borgo san Dalmazzo to grab several thousand lire from a bank machine, and finally in Cuneo, where the C C Guidebook recommended this campsite, a couple of miles south of the town. Apart from the man in Reception, speaking only Italian and demanding our passports (which he didn't get), and the feeble hook-up, it's fine. At least we were able to watch the final instalment of 'Touch of Frost' and we later found we got a 10% discount for the Camping Carnet (despite it being past its sell-by date, as usual).

62 miles. £6.75 inc 3-amp elec.

It rained steadily all day and we postponed driving on. This gave time for more sorting and filing. We planned a provisional timetable and itinerary for cycling Thailand-Malaysia-Singapore-Australia-USA, if round-the world flights are still available after the US hijackings. B wrote letters of enquiry to Austravel and Trailfinders (2 travel agencies in London recommended along with Travelbag in the info from the Australian Embassy) and also a 2nd request to the CTC for their touring notes. M updated the diary, made cassoulet and coconut pyramids. We found an unwatched video of 'The Bill' and now only have 'Evita' left, to save for another rainy day.

Still damp as we drove into Cuneo, finding that shops are closed Monday mornings, or at least the Coop hypermarket next to McDonalds was. We travelled eastwards, joining the A6 from Turin at Mondovi, crossing from Piemonte into Liguria, through very hilly and wooded countryside with short tunnels and high viaducts, to reach the Mediterranean coast at Savona, 30 miles west of Genoa. We paid the toll (which we never resent in Italy, the alternative roads being so tortuous) and parked on the services for lunch, alongside 4 coaches full of loud American tourists. There was a sign to Corsica Ferries, quite tempting. And it was now dry and sunny.

We took the SS1, the Via Aurelia (from the French border to Rome, a road we've cycled from Livorno to Rome airport). This followed the coastline, by no means flat, past yachting marinas and through fashionable resorts, until the sprawl and industry of Genoa, Italy's largest port, in which we last arrived by ferry from Bastia, Corsica. Here we returned to the motorway, running at a height of about 1,000 ft through dozens of tunnels, with occasional views of the coast below; past the turning for La Spezia, another port in the Cinque Terre area, to Viareggio, where we rejoined the SS1 for a couple of miles to Torre del Lago. We had failed to find the campsite here 5 years ago and ended up spending the night in the street, joined by another English motorhome which had been hopefully following us! Today, with the aid of the C C Guide, we found it: a huge complex of static caravans and a busy restaurant, very near the shore of the eponymous lake. There was a small sandy area for tourers, among the trees. It had been a long day.

After posting our letters in Torre del Lago, we had a 10-mile ride along the busy SS1 to Pisa, sharing the road with lorries avoiding the motorway toll, past the tawdry sight of prostitutes stationed on plastic chairs at regular intervals along the edge of the woods, not unusual in this country.

In the Piazza dei Miracoli, the tourists were out in force, the vast and lovely square lined with souvenir stalls, but the sight of the circular Baptistry, the beautiful Cathedral and its crazily inclined campanile still had us reaching for the camera, though we'd preferred it the first time, one quiet December. The 150 ft high tower is out-of-bounds to visitors until next December but it has apparently been made safe and straightened by about 16 inches during massive work earlier this year (Feb-June). The next phase is to clean and restore the marble facing. Sadly, there were entry fees for the museum, all 3 parts of the 11-12thC cathedral, and even for the huge walled cemetery behind them. Disillusioned, we cycled round the rest of the city, stopping to eat our lunch by the foundations of the Roman baths. We passed the many buildings of the ancient university (1338), where Pisa's famous son Galileo studied, crossed the river Arno and called in McDonald's (cunningly disguised as part of the railway station), to return to base along the Via Aurelia.

M phoned Willingham Health Centre for the test results (good) and also rang the least expensive campsite in Florence to check it was open with space (yes). We cleaned Rosie, inside and out, and cycled to the local Coop to shop.

The composer Giacomo Puccini, born in the nearby town of Lucca, lived, worked and died in a house just round the corner from the campsite by the lake and was buried there in 1924. We went to view the lake but didn't pay to enter his museum-house. The lake is a swampy nature and bird reserve, with boats offering Eco-tours. We suffered the consequences (mozzies) in the warm damp atmosphere.

An easier ride along the Via Aurelia towards Pisa, turning onto the Autostrada A11 for Florence (or Firenze as they insist on calling it). Missing the junction with the A1, we passed the airport and had to backtrack to avoid the city centre, but eventually (no thanks to the C C Guide directions, vague as ever) we drove eastwards on the A1, coming off at the Firenze Sud junction and somehow (by following signs towards, but not as far as, Fiesole) we suddenly saw the entrance to the youth hostel, with camping in its grounds. As we drove up the winding lane to the hostel we left the chaotic traffic and noise behind and entered the faded glory of a once-splendid villa, its gardens overgrown and its mossy fountains dry. The house was now in the hands of the city's tourist board, converted into a splendid youth hostel, were it not run by rude and ignorant bureaucrats. It had camping for tents on its lawns and for vehicles on its car park, with an extremely temperamental hook-up and some basic facilities. The price of £12 included a discount for the camping carnet (and this is low season)! But it was only 2 miles from the centre and we used the better showers, etc, inside the hostel and enjoyed hearing the musicians practising.

After lunch M tried to do the dhobi, but gave up on finding that 4 out of 5 washers were out of order and there was a queue of several hours' duration. She updated the diary and made some lemonade. B meanwhile had found a leak in the water pump accumulator. He tried to repair it with a tube of 'Leak Fix' but finally had to remove and bypass it, struggling in the knuckle-grazing confines of its space in the corner under the bed.

88 miles. £12 inc 3-amp elec.

We've got back into enjoying the Morning Story serial on the World Service over breakfast, and today finished listening to 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' by Truman Capote. Then B checked and adjusted all Rosie's tyre pressures, finding the rear offside inner was 5 psi low. We got a message on the mobile from Travelbag, acknowledging our 2nd letter which is being dealt with.

After an early lunch we rode into Florence, fairly easy once we'd got through the suburbs to the river Arno, with bike lanes alongside the road for some of the way. We took in the sights of the old centre, though it was hard to imagine the Renaissance, Medicis and Macchiavelli, Giotto, Leonardo and Michelangelo, among the tourist groups, all following their leaders brandishing placards. More like the model for Dante's 'Inferno'. It may be the greatest art centre in the world, but where was there a quiet corner to sit and freely contemplate it. Even the (marble) WC cost 1000 lire (33p)!

We viewed the famous Uffizi gallery (with long queue and high price) from without, admired the copy of Michelangelo's 'David' in the square in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, crossed the Ponte Vecchio bridge (1345), thronged with jewellery shops and their customers, returning over the Ponte s Trinita, saw the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore with its perpendicular tower (1314) and generally explored the cobbled back lanes and medieval towers. We also found a couple of useful modern buildings - the post office (for phonecards and stamps) and a travel agent (for Greek ferry timetables) - but nothing as useful as bread and groceries!

We returned to the YHA-camp and wondered at the changing times. In our day they didn't have a bar, a large car park, or allow people with tattoos, nose rings and green hair.

Before leaving the Florence site we spoke to the occupants of a new Royale motorhome and were at once invited to join Bernard and Sheila Higgins from Glossop for coffee. Newly retired on their first long trip, Bernard had been a keen climber in his youth and he and Barry reminisced about gritstone (he had been a founder member of the Manchester Gritstone Club, no less) and the rough granite gabbro of the Coolins on Skye.

We talked until noon, then found our way to the A1 (which, like all good Autostradas leads to Rome). We followed it along the valley of the Arno until the Val di Chiana turning, then headed eastwards for Perugia and Assisi. The dual carriageway crossed from Tuscany into Umbria, skirting the northern edge of the large Trasimeno lake and we parked by the shore at Lido de Tuoro for a late lunch. Through the industrial outskirts of Perugia and onto the S147, somehow finding the new large campsite only a mile below Assisi, with a splendid view of the Basilica of San Francesco (the monastery where the saint is buried, which dominates the hillside).

We just managed to do the dhobi and cycle a couple of miles to the hypermarket in Santa Maria Angeli before dark (about 7 pm).

109 miles. £10 inc 2-amp elec.

We caught up with admin in the morning (diary and expenses, with B producing the outline spreadsheet for October) and did some repairs. M mended a sheet, B replaced the bike-carrier bolt which had torn it (protruding through the wall behind the mattress).

After lunch it began to pour with rain and we postponed the ride to explore Assisi. Time for letter-writing (to Virgin Publishing for forwarding to Anne Mustoe, and to the CTC contact in San Francisco, by the name of Campbell Clapp, with many questions; and also to our storage man at Milton Farm). We read about the Greek ferry possibilities and the need for malaria tablets in Asia (we cover a wide range). B also fixed the video player supports and tv shelf and M did some baking. Perhaps the clocks have gone back in the UK now, but we're told it happens later in October here.