One of my most interesting—and gratifying—bike rides took me through a tunnel.
The day before, I’d pedaled up the Alpe d’Huez, with a few hundred other riders, before it was closed for the Tour de France peloton. I was riding southeast, toward Italy, along a narrow Alpine road. Ahead of me , I saw a sign: Route Baree. A gendarme directed traffic—which, at that moment, consisted of a Citroen and me—away.
I watched the Citroen turn toward a wider road. I looked at my Michelin map. (That’s what we used before GPS.). I could see a couple of roads that trailed off in fields or forests. So I followed the trail of the Citroen to a road that, according to the map, led to a mountain. But it didn’t seem to go up or around the col.
After a few minutes of riding, I saw a bottleneck—at the mouth of the tunnel. There was another sign: that Caution! Caution! Eclairage Interrupte.
The rockslides that blocked the other road caused power outages. So that tunnel—about half a kilometer long—was very dark. I had a headlight, but it was more for being seen than to see.
Oh—and the two lanes that passed through that tunnel looked about half as wide as a single American lane. One of the lanes was closed. And there was no shoulder.
Traffic stopped at the entrance. So did I. A man emerged from the first car.
“Allez,” He motioned to the other drivers. “Nous vous suivrons. Pouvez rouler sur le chemin de nos phares.”
I rode through that tunnel—in the wake of their headlights. None of those drivers honked, and all of them drove behind me all the way through that tunnel.
I thought of that ride when I heard about the Round and Round the Underground Race. On 29 March, several hundred riders will thrust and twist their way through the Springfield Underground, a limestone mine in Missouri.
As far as I know, none of those riders will have to worry about lighting.
Somehow it seems less daunting than a ride through the subway tunnels of my home town!
The day before, I’d pedaled up the Alpe d’Huez, with a few hundred other riders, before it was closed for the Tour de France peloton. I was riding southeast, toward Italy, along a narrow Alpine road. Ahead of me , I saw a sign: Route Baree. A gendarme directed traffic—which, at that moment, consisted of a Citroen and me—away.
I watched the Citroen turn toward a wider road. I looked at my Michelin map. (That’s what we used before GPS.). I could see a couple of roads that trailed off in fields or forests. So I followed the trail of the Citroen to a road that, according to the map, led to a mountain. But it didn’t seem to go up or around the col.
After a few minutes of riding, I saw a bottleneck—at the mouth of the tunnel. There was another sign: that Caution! Caution! Eclairage Interrupte.
The rockslides that blocked the other road caused power outages. So that tunnel—about half a kilometer long—was very dark. I had a headlight, but it was more for being seen than to see.
Oh—and the two lanes that passed through that tunnel looked about half as wide as a single American lane. One of the lanes was closed. And there was no shoulder.
Traffic stopped at the entrance. So did I. A man emerged from the first car.
“Allez,” He motioned to the other drivers. “Nous vous suivrons. Pouvez rouler sur le chemin de nos phares.”
I rode through that tunnel—in the wake of their headlights. None of those drivers honked, and all of them drove behind me all the way through that tunnel.
I thought of that ride when I heard about the Round and Round the Underground Race. On 29 March, several hundred riders will thrust and twist their way through the Springfield Underground, a limestone mine in Missouri.
As far as I know, none of those riders will have to worry about lighting.
Somehow it seems less daunting than a ride through the subway tunnels of my home town!
Ah! riding in France... Civilized.
ReplyDeleteD’accord!
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