Taking a gravel bike to the mountain bike capital of the Alps might not be anyone’s first choice, but Sanny has always been contrary like that.
Words Sanny Photography Mark
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‘Buuzzzzzzzztt!’ came the shrill noise from Super Morzine cable car.
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Perhaps the sensor had detected that my bike was a skinny tyred, gravel bike. Much to the bemusement of the armoured and full-face-sporting yoof, I had the look of a middle-aged man who brought a plastic picnic knife to a gun fight. No suspension, no body armour, an open-face helmet – what the hell had I been thinking when I agreed to this madness?
I was now fully committed or perhaps should have been, judging by some of the looks I was getting. But how did I end up here? Having successfully explored trails beyond the usual winch and plummet ones that Les Gets and Morzine are justifiably renowned for, I had taken a notion, to see whether a final day, lift-assisted gravel adventure might round the trip off nicely (or break me). As I made my way up the mountain, by chairlift and subsequent quad chair, I had plenty of time to reflect upon the wisdom of the task ahead.
You came on that thing? You’re braver than I thought.
I was greeted by a grinning lift attendant who was positively thrilled as he unhitched my floaty light machine of choice and ceremoniously presented it to me with a bow. He laughed as I said “I know!”, in my best French accent.
Buoyed with new-found confidence, a passing downhill couple stopped to cheer me on my gravel mission. I was genuinely touched. To a soundtrack of their good-natured shouts of encouragement, I headed down the fire road to the start of the bermed joyfest of Soylent Green. Tempted as I was to hit it up, Mark and Benji reminded me that I was on a gravel adventure and they were less than keen to spend the last day at my bedside in hospital. Rather, we headed along a short but glorious section of shrub-enveloped singletrack with breathtaking views of the peaks that tower above Lac de Montriond before entering the forest on smooth gravel track, the sunlight glinting through the leafy cover. Benji disappeared down a track for some trail reconnaissance, leaving Mark and me to our damned fool mission. After ten minutes of easy riding goodness, we hit the road and the summit of the Col de la Joux Verte. We were at 1,760m and had barely broken a sweat. I was warming to this lift-assisted gravel lark.
Despite the inviting-looking café serving early morning sustenance, it felt just a tad too early to avail ourselves of its charms. Instead, we headed up the 6% slope that would take us into the high alpine ski resort that is Avoriaz. My mind wandered to thoughts of the Tour de France and how Bernard Hinault holds the record for the climb from Morzine in a truly astonishing 33 minutes over 14km and some 870 metres of ascent. I had managed something not far off it, albeit with a bit of lift assistance.
Riding into Avoriaz before the summer season proper is a curious affair. Designed as a winter resort, I have no doubt that it beguiles and charms when covered in snow but even on a blue sky summer’s day, it feels like a Stalin-era architect was inspired by a visit to The Shire. Think Bond villain’s lair meets Appalachian forest chic and you’ll get the idea. It is undeniably visually striking but the lack of people lent it a slight undertone of melancholy, which is curious because in winter or when the Tour visits it is absolutely vibrant.
Leaving Avoriaz behind, we broke off the road for a gently descending gravel track that took us back to the Col de la Joux Verte. For Mark, it was decision time – accompany me on the road descent or take the off-road option of the flow tech Goat Track that would drop him out at the bottom of the Lindarets lift station. This being a mountain bike magazine and not Lycra Fetish Quarterly, there was no call for Mark to join me on the road down.
Parting ways, I got on the drops and put it in the big ring. Being a gravel bike, it rapidly flew up to speed as I hit the first 180-degree right-hander. Brake early, lean in hard on the apex, sprint out the corners and repeat. If you’ve never ridden a drop bar bike down the switchbacks of an alpine pass, you are really missing a trick. Having sampled the multifarious delights of the park trails of Les Gets and Morzine, I have to say that when it comes to flow, this descent had them all beat. Instead of the staccato, physically and mentally intense challenge and associated joy that they offer, this descent was an entirely different beast. The time between turns was greater, the speed considerably higher and the technical challenge, while deceptively simpler, still demanded one hundred per cent concentration. It was not relaxing, but there was a definite feeling of mental well-being that it afforded me. Perhaps it was the lack of variables such as the presence of braking bumps or not knowing what was lurking behind the next bermed turn or simply not having my peripheral vision filled with encroaching trees and branches? It felt bloody good and all the better for being on a fat-tyred gravel bike and not some arse-up, head-down, race-tuned carbon roadie superbike.
It’s a sign!
Of all the street signs in the Highway Code, I don’t recall one for goats but there, staring me and Mark in the face as we reconvened, was definitely one. As we ambled into the hamlet of Les Lindarets, there was a distinctly goaty smell hanging in the air. One or two goats ambled nonchalantly through the village before we encountered a whole herd of them. Formerly a village for shepherds and their families, its chocolate box prettiness has seen it become something of a tourist attraction with bars and restaurants; the herd being a major draw.
“Good grief!” exclaimed Mark. “Look at the size of the testicles on that goat!” Turning to see which goat he was looking at, I couldn’t help but laugh as I gently explained that he was looking at a female goat and those were its udders. Probably just as well Mark was a physics and not a biology teacher in his former life!
I’ve never spent much time in the company of goats but these seemed particularly untroubled by the attention and were clearly well fed. They clearly enjoyed human interaction and it was with some reluctance that we bade them farewell.
Picture postcard prettiness
At this point, we had options – take the gravelly footpath down the valley or stick to the road. In theory, the footpath was the option of choice but having ridden down the unrelentingly steep and loose ski piste that it joined up with on the previous day, the road won out, which was no hardship. Passing a roadie who looked like they were about to burst from their exertions, we zipped down the swooping corners and through an avalanche tunnel in jig time before rejoining the gravel trails that wend their way down past the Ardent waterfall. If this was in the UK, it would be heaving with tourists but we had it to ourselves, such is the multiplicity of nature writ large in the Alps. With the ground levelling off, we raced along the smooth gravel track that lay under cover of all manner of broadleaf trees and which afforded welcome relief from the beating down sun. We could have been at home were it not for the fact that we were spat out at quite the most gorgeous, turquoise-blue glacial meltwater lake that is the Lac de Montriond. Created by a landslip several thousand years ago, it sits in a vast glacial valley with vertiginous cliffs soaring above its southern flank that seem utterly impenetrable, yet less than an hour before, we had been above them. If you want a sense of the scale of the Alps, there are worse places to visit. With time on our hands, we allowed ourselves the luxury of taking in the passing scene. Not much was happening and truth be told, on a quiet Tuesday at the start of the summer season, it felt pretty special to have it mostly to ourselves.
The stomach is evil and must be punished with beer!
Eventually managing to tear ourselves away from the lake’s remarkable charms, we rode the final descent to the village of Montriond on a mixture of gravel track and minor roads, rejoicing in the early afternoon sunshine. With a couple of hours until our pick up for Geneva Airport, we decided to do the decent thing and squeeze out the very last drops of the trip by swinging by The Wood Yard, home to the Ibex Brewery.
As we swung into the outdoor seating area of the mercifully open bar and restaurant, to our delight, we were greeted by Dave, the founder and owner of Ibex who took great delight in giving us an impromptu tour of the brewing area. As the smell of malty goodness filled our nostrils, Dave told us how his liking for bikes and a mid-ride beer on trips to the Alps had made him realise that many local beers were simply too strong, thus providing the impetus to create the likes of the 1.2% Low Rider for those who love the taste but would prefer to ride rather than fall asleep in the afternoon sunshine. Looking carefully at the label, we laughed as Dave told us that it was an homage to the Kia Ora advert of the ’80s with the barking crows. We liked Dave. Beer leaves me utterly cold but I can appreciate the craft and passion that goes into it. Mark, on the other hand, is a connoisseur of IPAs and nodded approvingly as he necked down a half of session pale ale. Remarkably, there was only one post-beer incident when his bars came within a gnat’s crotch of a deceptively stationary tree as we made our way along the final section of riverbank trails that took us into the heart of Morzine proper. How ironic would it have been if he had well and truly twatted himself on the last ride of the trip on a flat, hazard-free trail? That he was on an ebike would have been the icing on the schadenfreude cake.
Reflections of a gravel rider
What seemed from the outside to be something of a fool’s errand turned into a gem of a mini adventure. With a bit of map gazing, some local knowledge and a dash of uplift, we experienced a genuinely fun gravel adventure in the beating heart of mountain biking in the Alps. Lionel, proprietor of Netski/The Hub, and all-round gem of a human being, had lent us a map and the benefit of his wisdom to help us pull together a smashing route that had a bit of everything and one which the average gravel biker could attempt. Poring over the map later on, I could see multiple options that would piece together some great gravel rides from two-hour loops to all-day epics. Gravel uplift is the new downhill. You read it here first.
Tempted to get your gravel Jones on? Portes du Soleil Ski & Bike produces a dedicated road and gravel bike route map for the entire area, encompassing both France and Switzerland. While the focus is on road biking, combine it with an IGN Top 25 Bleu map for the area (the French equivalent of Ordnance Survey 1:25,000 maps) and you can unlock some incredible gravel routes. Or just go in and see Lionel in The Hub. Tell him we sent you and he will keep you right.
Bike Check: Saracen Levarg SL
- Price: £975.00 currently
- From: Saracen
With the Levarg SL, Saracen have achieved something quite remarkable. The aluminum frameset is genuinely all day comfortable, no doubt helped by the inclusion of the carbon fork while there are enough frame mount points to satisfy almost every possible kit carrying proposition your feverish bike packing brain could imagine. The geometry makes for a riding position that feels stable off road while allowing you to really get into the drops and carve long Alpine road descents with real confidence. The spec’ing of a double chainset Shimano GRX groupset had me almost jumping for joy. I have yet to find a 1x gravel group set that offers the full range of gearing for combined on and off road adventures. The groupset means you don’t have to compromise. The flat mount brakes were more than powerful enough on even the steepest of descents. The wheels felt like they were perhaps an area of compromise to keep the price down but they seemed perfectly serviceable. I would swap the bars out for something a little wider with more flair and ask the bike shop to supply with the steerer uncut for the taller rider. Other than that, for the price, it is a great option that outperforms much more expensive opposition.