Riding the Alps Divide

1,020 kilometres of rugged terrain winding through the majestic Western Alps. That's the Alps Divide, a self-supported bikepacking odyssey with a staggering 32,000 metres of ascent.

From the sun-drenched Mediterranean coast of Menton to the serene shores of Lake Geneva, this route promises challenge, beauty, and adventure in equal measure.

With a love for the French Alps, I was super excited to have got an entry into the first edition of this event. First-time events always hold a special allure, bringing with them a sense of the unknown. The biggest question being what is the best bike gravel or mountain bike?

A smile opens doors, but a smile and a bike? That unlocks the world.

Despite my deep love for the French Alps, the arrival of my amazing baby girl, Billie, had significantly altered my training routine, lots of little rides, but not too many long days on the saddle. So, my mantra for the Alps was about the enjoyment, embracing the adventure, laughing in the face of adversity and most of all riding with a smile, putting the race face to one side.

The day before the grand départ, I rolled into Menton, a charming town nestled on the French Riviera. A pre-event ritual commenced: a quick shakedown ride, frantic gear adjustments, and the inevitable dance of packing and unpacking. Amidst a sea of sleek, skinny-tired gravel bikes, my Sonder Broken Road Titanium, with its burly tires and rigid fork, stood out like a rugged mountain goat amongst gazelles.

Close to a hundred riders gathered at the sea front with the salty air, the bright colours of the buildings, the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore ready for the final briefing before the start, you could sense excitement and anxiety with the nervous chatter of the riders, the hurried last-minute adjustments to their gear and the focused looks on their faces preparing for the unknown that lay ahead, gravel bike or mountain bike?

4pm the sun was shining as our police escort took us out of Menton safely through the busy traffic until we hit our first climb. This was our welcome to the Alps Divide, a bit of a shock to the legs as we rode up into the mountains via a long tarmac climb very steep in places, waving goodbye to the Mediterranean behind us.

Our first descent was rapid, the surface was pretty rough, my Broken Road was on fire and already I was happy with my bike choice as I passed a handful of skinny tyred riders repairing punctures already only 40km into the route.

Arriving in Sospel I had déjà vu moment, I had been here before. It was for the Trans Provence a multi-day mtb enduro race a few years ago, where you are only timed on the rowdy downhills stages a little different this time round.

A quick resupply at a local shop before dining out on the pavement, already immersed into the bike packing way of life. Crossing over the border to Italy briefly into the Roya Valley, we soon left via a steep narrow tarmac climb that turned into a rough track very rocky in places. It was slow going to the summit and the old military road, which supposedly had amazing views but as it was now past midnight, I was left imagining what could only be. My initial thoughts of going through the night had now changed, due to the length of time the climbs had taken, ten hours in and only a 100km done.

Arriving in Pigna at around 2am I found a local bar still open to restock my water supply with the only food options of chocolate and ice cream, my sweet tooth was in heaven!

With the rain starting and a notable big climb next I decided to get some rest and spotted a village marque lined with tables and benches. Opting to sleep under cover so as not to get my tent wet on the first night.

A tough morning lay ahead as the storm was closing in with the rumblings of thunder in the distance it was edging closer. Whilst inside a restaurant the rain hit and it was bouncing, a dirty river was soon flowing down the mountainous road. Having packed my Alpkit waterproof pants, jacket and gloves for such occasions! “Bring it on weather gods” I thought as I set of riding towards the Old Salt Road another highlight of the route, but not in these conditions. After riding in the rain for a good few hours, I spotted some lights in the distance of the Refuge Don Barbera. Now craving a hot chocolate, I called in and was surprised to see a group of fellow riders taking shelter and settled in for the night allowing time for the storm to a pass. The lure to join them for a hot three course meal and bed for the night was all too tempting. We sat around the log burner sharing stories of our journey so far, some already talking of scratching mainly due to the weather.

With checkpoint one closing in we had the first out and back loop to the Col de Bonnette, the highest road in Europe.

Wow the panoramic views were timed perfectly on this occasion the sun was shining brightly as I found a flattened old croissant in the bottom of my bag to enjoy whilst taking in the surroundings. The checkpoint was all downhill from here, 15km of rough and rocky trails to unleash my Broken Road up on. A little eager going into one corner and blinded by the sun I hit a big boulder square on puncturing my front wheel putting two tears in the tyre, luckily I managed to plug them both and then using my new fancy Alps Divide Opinal knife cut the plugs down to size. This is the riding I love when you feel the bike come alive fully loaded flying down the trail, the flex in the titanium frame begging you to go faster.

As I entered the checkpoint my thoughts flipped back to the best bike for this route, it was clear in my mind it had to be the mountain bike as I walked in to get my brevet card stamped with a Cheshire cat like grin on my face.

Day three and nearly halfway at 478km, later that evening looking for shelter another rider had said there was a Macdonalds close by! A couple of large meals later and speaking nicely in jumbled French we were allowed to sleep undercover outside in the patio area much to the joy of the now three of us setting out our sleep mats and sleeping bags amongst the images of golden arches, away from the cold damp night.

The following day past in a blur and before I knew it we had a beautiful sunset hike a bike up and over Col de Ayesn followed by another brilliant descent to Briancon as darkness fell along with the rain, checking the tracker a few riders were dotted around in hotels, I decided to join them.

An early morning dash along a mellow riverside trail to Bardoneccia the town at start of the second big out and back to Col Sommelier at just under 3000m in elevation. A good refuel was required first, this was a mostly rideable 26km climb but was slow. Another rider Matt fand I whohad been leap frogging each other for the last couple of days set off up the long climb together, I think we had all the weather seasons on the way up. Nearing the top some other riders began passing us on their way back down, one shouting “its bloody freezing up there” they weren’t wrong. The spectacular view at the top was totally invisible as the cloud blocked it all out and with the icy surface and freezing temperatures we didn’t hang about. The descent was another belter super-fast less technical but flat out, going so fast I missed the diversion and continued on the original route which by now had luckily been reopened back into Bardoneccia.

Leaving the town the climb immediately very steep, I was off the bike pushing still in good spirits handling everything that had been thrown at me so far. The skies cleared for the climb giving another amazing sunset, looking back I could see a few more riders had decided to also push on. I pretty much walked all the climb no stress just taking it all in, I knew this was my last ascent for the night so no rush. Then the clouds closed in the wind picked up the darkness crept in, and the wind picked up again! By the time I reached the rough hike a bike section of the climb it was wild, the wind gusting hard, the noise was intense, staying upright was hard work and even harder as the climb got steeper and steeper. If it wasn’t for past experience the situation would have been very scary, by the time I stepped foot on the top the rain, sleet, hail had now started, it was difficult to stand due to the winds power, impossible to even think of riding and now pitch black other than my bike light. I knew the safest place to be just to follow my Garmin line stick to it do not deviate off it. Walking, running and skidding down the mountain the sleet lit up like a scene out of star wars, the path disappeared into piles of rubble and boulders that had been washed down the mountain, sticking to the line I was soon back onto the worn path and now out of the wind too it was time to ride and get down off this mountain.

Out of nowhere lights appeared, a gite and it was open. I didn’t realise actually how cold I was until I went inside my jaw trembling and body shivering as I tried to speak my mumbled French dialect to the owner, he pointed to the log burner, I sat down for five minutes to sort myself out, smiling to myself at that ridiculous section.

Sorting out food and a bed for the night, I then went back outside to flag down the riders behind. Two arrived at the gite in a pretty broken state, in need of the hot drink, food and a bed.We once again sat around a log burner talking about the craziness of crossing over the Col de la Roue and back into France in those conditions before settling down for the night.

The following morning the sleet had turned to rain, the mission was to find some shops to purchase supplies for our aim of getting to checkpoint two tonight, one pair of pink rubber gloves for the rain and hand and feet warmers for the snow and minus temperatures reported up high at the checkpoint Refuge de la Coire.

After a very long day meandering our way up and up and up a little more whilst passing through beautiful idyllic alpine villages and the sound of cowbells ringing away in the background made the climbing pleasurable.

At 1am and still pedalling the icy sleet began falling hard with the wind feeling like an artic blast we caught our first glimpse of the lights from the refuge glowing in the distance. Finally arriving at a snow-covered checkpoint two, formalities first get my brevet card stamped whilst defrosting by the fire. I had fully embraced the adventure so far and with now only 250km to go was loving it.

Leaving the refuge at sun rise you could begin to see how much snow was on the ground everywhere you looked was like a winter wonderland.

Next stop Chamonix! Due to the crazy weather, we had a couple of road diversions ahead which made the going a little quicker before we joined onto the Tour de Mont Blanc route, from here we encountered lots of hikers in both directions. Descending down the steep fire roads to Les Houches I cooked my rear brake resulting in the pistons being stuck out and the pads binding on the disc and my rear wheel barely turning. A failed trail side repairs, leaving me the only option to remove the calliper and reverse mount it, so it wasn’t touching the disc and rotate the brake lever, so I wasn’t tempted to press it, and ride on with the rear wheel spinning free. Challenge on! This wasn’t going to stop my ride so close to the end I still had a front brake at least. Passing through Chamonix on a busy Saturday evening our loaded bikes were catching people’s attention as we devoured a famous local burger.

This was hopefully to be my last night sleeping out on the divide and what luxurious one it was, a central heated train station waiting room just over the Swiss border the perfect sleep spot on another very cold night. A local lady from across at a hotel opposite was locking up and saw us, she brought us muffins and a jug of coffee! Aren’t some people just brilliant!

Sunday, Day 8 the last day all being well. The previous night I had put chain lube on my rear calliper to see if it would loosen the pistons. A borrowed teaspoon was the perfect tool to force the pistons apart just enough so I could mount the calliper back on the bike and give some partial braking back. This was not before a near death experience flying down some switchbacks at sunrise when my front brake faded!! I had both feet slammed into the ground like a kid trying to stop that is learning to ride. It worked luckily, you would not have wanted to go over the edge!

Arriving in Chatel, it wasn’t long since I was last here in the summer on the enduro bike hitting the uplifts and railing the berms. This time we pedalled up the fire road through the bike park with all the rad shredders whooping and a hollering down the trails in the woods along side. Originally we were supposed to be heading over towards Avoriaz but with the earlier snow diversion in place the route headed down into Abundance, where a perfectly placed creperie chalet was at the bottom of the final climb of the Alps Divide.

The finish was now well within touching distance, powered by crepes it wasn’t long before we reached the top of the last big ascent and wow, we were treated to the perfect fiery red sunset with beautiful panoramic mountain views. In that moment, I stood and took it all in beginning to feel emotional at the thought of seeing family and this amazing journey was coming to an end.

As the lights began appearing in the distance of Geneva you could see villages dotted along the Lake. Thonon Les Bain was the destination and was soon appearing on the road signs, but first a forest section that seemed to take forever as we disappeared into the darkness snaking through the woods eventually popping out into the town. Eager to find the finish I was sprinting down the road towards the lakeside I could hear voices cheering, I caught sight of Nico and Billie beaming with pride as I rode over for my final stamp and completion of my brevet card.

That was it I had done it finished the first edition of the Alps Divide and by no mean feat, this was a super tough route with all the elevation combined with the weather conditions meant very slow going at times, 55 people scratched, 11 did not start and only 32 finishers, to which I was super happy to be one of.

With one divide finished I had 5 days to get my feet up and recover for another divide, the Lakes Divide a 72km run from Keswick to Kendal this was a journey not a race, smiles for miles!