Sanny reflects upon whether trail nirvana lightning can strike twice.
Words & Photography Sanny
They say that you should never go back. If you have experienced what you consider to be trail perfection, do you risk tarnishing the memory? If the tumblers and stars aligned to give you an unforgettable moment in your riding life, can a return visit ever live up to the image and feeling you have created in your mind’s eye? Distance is said to lend enchantment and lightning is said to never strike twice (although try telling that to Roy ‘Human Lightning Rod’ Sullivan who was struck seven times in his lifetime, after the last of which he encountered a bear which he promptly bopped with a tree branch!), but ever the optimist, I’m not so sure.
And so it was with that mindset I set off from Chamonix with my good friend Dave the Bastard to attempt to disprove the naysayers by riding one of my all-time favourite trails – Emosson Dam down to Martigny on the Swiss/French border. The last time I had ridden it was back in 2011. That day, the skies were blue, the autumnal trails dry and dusty and I had the company of friends Lucy, Mark, Lyndsey, Ross, Ozzie Andy and Gary to share the experience with. At the time, I remember watching Mark come towards us over the horizon in the late afternoon sunshine, the Mont Blanc massif looming large in the background and just thinking: “Yeah, definitely not shit!” Over the intervening years, I have looked at the photos and smiled to myself as the memories came flooding back.
The ride itself is a trail connoisseur’s delight. An 11km road climb up via Finhaut on a route used by Le Tour in 2016 is followed by a brief hikeabike before launching into a rocky, technical traverse across open mountainside down the valley. Rocky step-downs lie in wait for the unwary; the built-up trail demands complete concentration. Once into the trees, the trail undulates along a well-trodden walker’s path that seems to go on for ever before corkscrewing down some classic Swiss switchbacks and depositing you in the village of Les Marecottes. From there, better have your endo-hop skills dialled as you are going to need them as you plummet towards the river. A bit of hikeabike follows before finishing with quite possibly the most technical urban descent anywhere – exposed bedrock with sheer drops to the side make for several minutes of pure, intense concentration. By the end you are exhausted, but elated. Well, at least, that is how I remembered it.
What goes around
This time round, we had another reason to look forward to it. Back in 1993, Dave had been headhunted for the role of ‘jump master’ for the bungee jump at the start of the James Bond film GoldenEye. Sadly, he had just started proper work and had to decline the offer. Going to see where the jump took place was to put paid to a 26-year-old regret and his delight at finally getting there was clear to see.
Winching up the switchbacking road from Finhaut, we cursed the now obligatory kilometre markers up the climb which have become the stock in trade of so many Tour climbs. To be blunt, reading that the final kilometre is at an average gradient of over 12% does not for jolly trail riders make and is a bit of a proverbial kick in the baws. However, all was mostly forgiven when we reached the top and the dam. It is a damned impressive [Boom-tish! Pun Ed] piece of engineering, although the state of the nearby public toilets took the shine off a little. If Renton had dropped his stash in them, I very much doubt he would have tried to retrieve it.
Hitting the trail, it was definitely a lot rockier than I had remembered. Looking back at old pictures, the passage of time, the weathering of multiple winters and the passage of feet and wheels had taken their toll. While I floated over the rocks, Dave endured the jackhammer effect of lumpy trails and an unyielding carbon hardtail frame. Stopping at one particularly technical rocky step-down, I remembered just how satisfying it had been to clean it last time round. This time, however, given my history of twatting myself on the first day of Alpine adventures, I took Shanks’s pony down. I was a little disappointed but having been warned that this section had claimed the pelvises of two guided riders in the preceding summer months, I wasn’t about to risk going for the hat trick.
Reaching the shelter of a high Alpine pasture, I looked back and realised that this was where I had seen Mark coming round the corner. This time, the high cloud meant that we would not be treated to quite the same view as previously. No matter, we still had the sublime forest trails to enjoy. Fast, flowy and fun in my head, they were still all that but this time round, rutted and rooty too. It only takes a little water to strip the top layer off a trail and the erosion was clearly visible. It was still a great trail but its character had changed – more concentration was required with less opportunity to ease off on the brakes and to let it all flow.
Fancy Shally
Les Marecottes came and went in a blur of fancy Swiss chalets and slightly down at heel static caravans (I definitely did not remember those from before…) while the ensuing trail of what felt like a gazillion switchbacks (it was only about twenty or so) was even better than I had remembered. Rebuilt by a local mountain biker following storm damage, I found myself endo hopping for joy with a big grin on my face. This was what I came for! Dave, on the other hand, was not so lucky as he managed to roll his front wheel through what was probably the only dog poo in Switzerland that has never been picked up. Sticklers for efficiency, I can easily imagine not bagging poo being a capital offence there.
A brief hikeabike across the other side of the river we were following down the valley and a mercifully brief trudge through jaggy rocks and awkwardly placed boulders eventually brought us out onto the bridge high above Martigny. We were a tad weary but in my head, I knew the best was yet to come. Starting gently, the trail ramps up the technicality and exposure in double-quick time. I’d been looking forward to this all ride and it did not disappoint. Rounding a corner, I reacquainted myself with the image that had long stuck in my head – a rocky switchback, a vertical drop just a couple of feet to the side and directly below us, a pizza sign painted onto the roof of a café. Riding it once more, I couldn’t help but smile. Despite time passing, my fond memories of the previous ride had not been spoiled but actually enhanced. It didn’t matter that the trail had changed over time – that is just the way of things. The best bits were still the best bits. I was riding a classic trail with a good friend and had made new memories. Never go back? Bollocks to that. If you find trail perfection, go back and experience it again. It won’t be the same, but that is no bad thing. Different is good.
In our hotel room a couple of nights later, Dave and I settled down to watch GoldenEye and bask in the reflected glory of our ride. “Hmm, that looks different from what I remember,” I offered, somewhat unhelpfully. “Emosson Dam! It’s the wrong flippin’ dam!” Dave expleted. And with that we burst out laughing at our comical ineptitude. Oh well, looks like a visit to Contra Dam in Ticino is on the cards for our next trip…
