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Day two — the tortoise and the hare. As he was on foot and we were mostly carrying our bikes it was only to be expected that he would say his farewells and trot off into the distance, on the flat and descents we would easily be quicker. Only then the front shifter on Sannys bike jammed. Did I mention Val Veni is spectacular? We said Hi again. In the kids fable, the sure and steady tortoise eventually beats the impetuous hare. In real life, there was no such doubt as to the winner of the race. As we started the push up from the valley floor towards the Youla bowl we waved him off and could only wonder where he finished for the day…. Starting in the high alpine, the trail gently curved along the hillside, under the peaks used for the skiing Freeride World Tour. Eventually the trail started to swoop through thinly spaced trees, gradually thickening, but still keeping the fast and pumpy feel. The briefest of climbs at the Col Checrouit passed without changing gear before Courmayeur appeared below us. Hard breaking, hanging off the back of the bike technical riding followed before we were spat out across the river from Courmayeur where the trail finished with some urban descending through narrow cobbled streets and down flights of steps. Pizzas all round….. Tick, Tick, Tick. On the descent into Courmayeur the free hub had started to occasionally stick meaning I had to keep pedalling to stop the chain dropping into the spokes, not a good thing less than half way round. Now, part way along Italian Val Ferret, I discovered there was enough friction in the hub to stop the wheel free turning after only a couple of rotations. There was nothing for it but to start pushing and humpfing the bikes up to Col Grand Ferret….. Lucky cows. The map showed the dashed black line would eventually rejoin the road just outside La Fouly, it was an easy choice to keep going. The trail did put forward a pretty good case. Fitter, happier and more productive. We arrived in La Fouly at , hungry. With the in-built navigation system that suggests mountain bikers share more DNA with pigeons than most, we instantly found the village shop. Sanny was all for pushing on down the road to Champex, but he was still feeling fit and had ridden the trails here before. I was not and had not, so was making the argument for stopping, happy to have the longer day tomorrow. Only where would we stay in La Fouly? It seemed foolish to resist…. Skip to content. Tour du Mont Blanc day 1 ». Tour du Mont Blanc day 2 Posted on 16th August We stopped and faffed. Saying Hi as he passed, the Andorran caught up. Meters Climbed: Meters Singletrack descended: ….. The Elena refuge had closed that morning. Meters Climbed: Meters Singletrack descended: …. Meters Climbed: Meters Singletrack descended: Posted in Chamonix ride , Road trip , tagged hut to hut biking , multi day trip , Tour du Mont Blanc.

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Buying coke Courmayeur

This story first appeared in issue 18 of Like the Wind. I handed Dom the small piece of red ribbon, clipped from the signature bracelet they affix to all starters of the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc, and asked him to kiss it. I needed him to know we were in this together. I returned a kiss to the ribbon still around his wrist and put the little clipping down my bra, next to my heart. And I know you can do it. Metaphorically, of course. Dom was honestly going into this with the goal of finishing, but even that was a frightening prospect. While he remained calm and collected throughout the afternoon of the big day, I could see in his eyes that these great mountains had humbled him. Once we worked through the initial challenges of jet lag and driving the insanely narrow and twisty roads through the Alps, Dom and I were having a truly amazing vacation. We spent hours in the car every morning — free of cell phones and social media and emails. We talked and sang and just enjoyed the silence together. So much fromage. We shared amazing traditional dinners with new people. We drunkenly frolicked through the night-time streets of Chamonix; dancing on Mont Blanc at Aguille du Midi, surrounded by ancient, sprawling glaciers and a ton of tourists but feeling like there was nothing else in the world but me and this man I loved so deeply. We got predictably fogged and rained out at Le Gran Col Ferret — which I had researched as one of the most beautiful views along the entire UTMB — yet had a great time splashing around and sprinting the hell off that freezing pass, nonetheless. As the race approached, I took to the hills on my own to explore. I was so happy. For everything. Just a few short years ago, Dom and I were living in separate cities and trying to figure out how to make it all work. Just a bit before that, we were both broke and not understanding if and when it might all click. Now, we had both changed jobs, combined our powers, saved, persevered and here we were in Europe on our own dime. Dom has always been very affectionate — he credits it to being Italian. But as race day grew increasingly closer, he seemed to grow increasingly loving towards me. Conversations drifted to a Fall filled with celebrating with friends and working on our cabin, rather than the usual time goals and aid-station instructions. I even went so far as to mention to a friend that I feared he was looking a little too forward to the after part of the race and not focusing on the task in hand. At 6pm on a balmy Friday evening in Chamonix, he took off with 2, other UTMB hopefuls for a lap around the big mountain. By Courmayeur the carnage was palpable. These weary souls had been through a full night of mountain-climbing and steep, rocky descending in the dark. Some people were sleeping, some were puking, some even pulled the plug. Before long, my bearded wanderer sauntered into the sports complex. We settled down in a quiet space in the corner, he ate the stuff I brought him and then laid down on the floor to put his feet up for a moment. I sat beside him and stroked his hair as he tried to put into words just how intense everything was out there. I could never fully grasp it, though, because he was so calm and stoic about the whole matter. After 15 minutes, I demanded he get a move on and marched him outside. He gave me the biggest kiss — holding on to my face for dear life. Seeing his face light up as he spotted us in the village was worth all the extra windy driving in the world. He looked tired, but resolute, and said the view I had missed up at Le Grand Col Ferret was as spectacular as advertised. I was equal parts proud and jealous. Dom came into Champex-Lac like a champ, once again beating his predicted arrival. As in, not at all. His only request was that I have food for him when he finished, since food establishments in Chamonix might be closed. Coming into the next aid station, Dom looked like a new man on account of what I can only assume was legit delirium. But here he was en fuego. The great thing about Vallorcine was that they had a place where you could buy tickets. And the great thing about those tickets is that they could be redeemed for beer. I no longer had any idea what day it was, what time it was, what country I was in or when, if ever, I had to go home. That called for a celebratory beverage, in my opinion. He was going to beat the projected splits again, and this time I successfully convinced the aid station controllers to let me in early. No sooner had I set up than Dom came bounding in. For the last time, he chased a plate of salami and half a PowerBar with a full Coke, as I fought back the urge to puke in my mouth a little. For the last time, I emptied almost all the pockets of his pack and replaced the wrappers with more calories and the bottles with fresh, full ones. For the fifth and final time, I walked him out of the aid station, gave him a huge hug and kiss and told him how much I loved him, how proud I was and how I never doubted for a second he could do this. And for what seemed to be the millionth time, Dom reminded me to make sure there was something hot and involving meat for him to eat at the finish line. On our way out of town, I suddenly realised that we would be going through Argentiere. My room was in Argentiere and my room came with a shower. This was Friday night in Chamonix! I pinned the little red bracelet-clipping over my heart and headed into town. At 11pm, it looked more like Wellesley at the Boston Marathon. People lined the street four and five rows deep, cheering and slapping the hands of the victorious runners. Suddenly, his orange shirt appeared and everything I pictured was becoming a reality. He weaved from side to side of the street, high-fiving the cheering spectators as I fought my way to the front to snap photos. I jumped and waved wildly just to get his attention, still not knowing if he really saw me even when he was across the line and in my arms. Something seemed off. I surmised it was the fact that he had just been running for 29 hours straight, climbing a total of 32,ft up and down the Alps. Knowing how important it was to him, I informed him that I had a cheeseburger with avocado and bacon waiting for him. No, I have to ask you a question. I have the cheeseburger. And it has bacon on it. As he repeated the statement about the question once again and fumbled with his pack, I suddenly began to understand that maybe something crazy was about to happen. What was he looking for? He had to ask me four times before I figured out that I was supposed to move my lips and make sounds. I was so surprised, so happy, so shocked by how un-Dom this was and mostly, so tired. Was this real life? Well, according to the photos, it was in fact real. Truth is, I committed to Dom a long time ago, official paperwork and the branding of a particular finger aside. So the fact that Dom not only bought a ring before our trip, but kept it hidden throughout our travels. The fact that it was actually a bit heavy and he sacrificed the added weight to his pack. That there were so many people and cameras and general hoopla at the finish line, and it was about the opposite of private. The fact that it was so utterly romantic. The daze of it all followed us to the fountain where he ate half the cheeseburger and to the kerb where we waited for our friend to bring us our car. And as the daze dissipated, we realised there had been a webcam capturing the whole thing. And that a friend back home had screenshotted the moment and broadcast it to our Facebook network. We immediately tried her number. And so a text to call us as soon as possible would have to suffice. It was the sound of a million songbirds, suddenly and horrendously mass murdered. My mom was completely freaking out. Again, totally not how I ever imagined telling my parents their oldest child and only daughter was getting married, but totally memorable nonetheless. Sleep-deprived, in the middle of a traffic circle in France, screaming into a dying phone and talking about two entirely different subjects. Then there were no more cameras, no more lights, no more noise. It was just Dom and I in our little rental car, only I had a rhinestone ring shaped like the head of a panda around my finger and Dom had his pumpkin spice latte vest. So am I. I can barely drive this car anymore. Or talk with real words. Or say yes, apparently. And so Dom and I went directly to bed where we remained for a great number of hours. Before drifting off to sleep, though, he plugged in his phone, which he had been required to carry for his lap around the mountain in case of emergency. He only pulled it out of his pack once, and he needed to show me why. As it buzzed to to signify it had enough battery to be used, he handed it to me. It was the most beautiful picture of a perfectly sunny day, a green pass completely surrounded by gigantic glaciers. You must be logged in to post a comment. Remember me Log in. Lost your password? Leave a Reply Cancel reply You must be logged in to post a comment. Search for:.

Buying coke Courmayeur