The Terror of Meribel

After all the distractions, it was time for some challenging days of bikepacking. The next big stage goal should be Briancon. The place where my eagerly awaited new bottom bracket should also be received. But until then, I had to overcome a measly 5500 meters of altitude and 158 kilometers in three to four days, which should take me from the Grajischen to the Cottian Alps.

On the first day of the adventure, I followed the L'Isere and then cycled up to Meribel. I had long considered whether I should incorporate this detour, as it mainly leads to suburban towns and landscapes spoiled by ski resorts. But the reward should be an enduro trail into the neighboring valley. And you could take advantage of that.

So I monotonously covered my altitude meters on country roads until I reached Meribel. From here it should go further to find an unobserved spot for me and my tent somewhere in the hills of the ski area. But suddenly there was a crash. Damn, that was the bottom bracket. It had held up pretty well so far, but now it seemed to want to fall apart completely. It got worse with every pedal stroke. First a crash, then a squeaking of crushed plastic, and again and again the screeching of small balls that had left their rightful place in the bearing and gone rogue. To make matters worse, the parts also jammed in such a way that the pedals no longer had free play, but resistance when pedaling.

I didn't know what to do anymore. Under normal circumstances, I would have said it's high time for a mechanic, and it's impossible to ride until then. But it wasn't that easy at the moment, the next available bottom bracket was still over 100 kilometers away, and if I were to return to Bourg-Saint-Maurice, I would probably lose a week in total. So I headed to a workshop in Meribel for advice. Of course, continuing was not a really good idea, but the mechanic at least said that it shouldn't completely fall apart. But he also didn't know what could happen instead. So I decided to give it a try and actually continue. It will somehow work out.

In the middle of the ski area, I found a quite nice place to spend the night. The next day was all about pushing, so I didn't care about my pedals for the time being. The same goes for the subsequent downhill trail to Saint-Martin-de-Belleville, which had actually been worthwhile. It meandered down almost 1000 meters of altitude to the village center. But now it got serious, as it was now going up 1000 meters of altitude on forest roads. I would have liked to focus on the scenic highlights, as I came to more original, less developed areas for the first time in France. But the persistent creaking and crunching just wouldn't let me rest, as well as the constant resistance when pedaling. How long would it last?

But somehow it went well for the time being, and I finally stood at the Col des Encombres. From here, I could still see Mont Blanc one last time in the distance, and if there wasn't a huge power line leading over this pass, the rest of the view would have been flawlessly grandiose. It was supposed to go downhill from here all the way to Saint-Michel-de-Maurienne. And unexpectedly, I found a nice little path next to my actual track that led parallel to it in the finest flow down to the valley. I was thrilled with this variation. But just as the endorphins were flooding me, a spoke in the front wheel suddenly broke. Isolated, it's not that dramatic, but in combination with my bottom bracket, it was quite annoying that I now had another repair problem on my hands. Anyway, I didn't let anyone take away the trail fun to the valley anymore, and I had managed to significantly reduce the distance to my new bottom bracket that day as well.