On
our first proper day in Chambery on our trip to France last year we were debating
about what we were going to do over breakfast at a small café in the town
centre. The owner, who’s BMW was parked outside, got talking to us about bikes
etc. and recommended a couple of routes we could try while we were there. ‘Other
Terry’ (there were two of them on this trip) and I decided that riding the route around Lac du
Bourget, the largest natural lake in France, looked quite interesting.
So, that’s what we did.
 |
| Gareth, 'Other Terry' & Stuart at sidewalk cafe |
Heading
out from the centre of Chambery the road takes you around the western side of
the lake before rising upwards in a series of tight hairpins with the lake
visible through the trees as you climb ever higher.
 |
| stopped at the viewpoint |
Near the top we stopped
beside a small café overlooking a viewpoint for some photos and to take on some
much needed water as it was beginning to get rather warm again.
 |
| view out over the lake |
Whilst we were stopped,
Norman appeared, said hello and warned us that a large camper van was heading
in our direction, before shooting off to try and keep ahead of it. The camper
van duly appeared and waddled past us. With visions of being stuck behind this
behemoth for miles we were pleasantly surprised to see it heading back towards
us a few minutes later.
 |
| Norman arrives |
We
soon found out why. It looked like the driver had taken one look at the road
back down and decided it wasn't for him. This road became single-track, with loads
of of even tighter hairpins, and all through a heavily forested area. I wouldn’t
have been keen to drive his camper van down it either.
However,
no such problems for me on the Triumph Tiger. This type of machine is ideally
suited for roads like this, and I was throwing it about through the bends and
having myself loads of fun. Other Terry, on the other hand, was finding it much
harder work on his Kawasaki ZZR1400. The sportier riding position, with all his
weight leant forward, and the bike's longer wheelbase meant that he had to
negotiate the twists and turns with a lot more care and attention than I was
doing.
All
too soon it was over and we were back on level ground, much to Other Terry’s
relief, I think. Soon after, we caught up with Norman again at a crossroads as
he was working out his route for the remainder of the day. He was thinking on
taking in another section of high passes and as our intended route would take
us in the opposite direction we said our farewells and went our separate ways.
After
a bit we pulled into a café located next to a small marina right on the
lakeside for a bit of a rest. The temperature was still in the low 30s and the
heat was taking its toll on us, even when riding along the air had a distinctly
warm feel to it. The opportunity of a seat in the shade and a cold drink was
more than welcome.
 |
| marina cafe |
We
stopped for about half an hour before heading off again along the eastern side
of the lake this time. Not long after setting off, however, we got caught up in
some almost stationary traffic and after creeping along for a few miles slipping
the clutch and generally getting hot and bothered we took the opportunity to
pull over onto a beach area for a bit of a breather.
 |
| it was a wee bit warm |
The
traffic didn't look like clearing any time soon and, as we were deciding what
to do a couple of ambulances whizzed past. It looked like there might have an
accident up ahead. That decided it and we sat down to wait it out a bit.
Eventually the traffic thinned out and we headed back. It had been an
interesting day, and it wasn’t over just yet.
 |
| Other Terry & his Kwacka |
Back
at the hotel we had a shower and got changed before heading out for something
to eat with the rest of the lads. After pizza at a small cafe where the owner
insisted we all try what I think was probably his own home-made schnapps we came across some sort of music festival in the
town square.
 |
| The Wooden Legs |
We got ourselves a table in the square and took in the headline
act, an Irish folk band called The Wooden Legs (it maybe makes more sense in
French) who were actually French and who sang in a mix of French and
heavily-accented English. They were quite good, and went down a storm with the
locals, some of whom felt the need to get up and dance. We, being more
reticent, satisfied ourselves by sitting and nodding our heads a bit in time to
the music. A curious, and rather relaxed way to end our day.
 |
| really cheap beer |
What about the really cheap beer, then? Well, when Stuart I went to get a round of drinks in from one of the bars around
the square the barman apparently didn't have change of the 20 Euro note I
proffered, so asked his boss what he was to do. The boss rather dramatically
threw his hands in the air and started gabbling away in staccato French before
leaning over the counter and grabbing a 5 Euro note out of Stuart's hand and
giving it to the barman who shrugged and gave us our five bottles of beer and
my 20 Euros back. We made a sharp exit as this seemed too good to be true. It
was. When the others went back the next round came to nearly 15 Euros. I guess
that they had sorted the problem with having no change by that point. So, my
round was the cheapest of the trip and had the added bonus that Stuart actually
paid for it.
