Yes, Riding Bikes in the Alps is Amazing!

‘But why do I now feel sad when looking out at the Eryri mountains of my home?’

This is something I always feel in the weeks after returning from a riding trip in the mountains of France and Italy. After a week of reflection, here are some of my thoughts…

Contrasts

Having just returned from two weeks riding in the beautiful Parc Natural de Queyras in the Hautes Alpes region of France and the stunning Aosta Valley, northern Italy, I am, as always struck by the remarkable contrast in land use, public access rights, attitude towards visitors and biodiversity compared to my home mountains and forests of Eryri (Snowdonia) National Park.

The stark reality of the dark, lifeless conifer plantations and eroded, denuded, sheep-cropped hills of my home, crisscrossed and divided by straggly hedges and barbed wire fences contrasts brutally with what we’ve grown used to in the last few weeks.

Let me describe it in more detail, in terms of a typical alpine mountain bike ride. We begin with a long, dirt road climb meandering up from the pretty, flower bedecked villages and towns. Up, ever higher we pedal in intense summer heat, the air alive with the song of the crickets and the scent of hot grass. Up towards the alp with its lush grass and wildflower-filled meadows where the grazing is good, and the air is cooler. Clear, cold streams and springs feed the frequent drinking troughs, so crucial in this heat and enjoyed by the summer-resident shepherds, hikers, wildlife, and livestock alike.

We arrive, hot, sweaty, and dusty at a high plateau where there is a sprinkling of pretty, wooden, stone-roofed summer chalets, simple barn like buildings used for cheese making and storage and empty electric fenced enclosures. No animals or shepherds are around as they are much higher up the mountain at this time of day seeking out the best and sweetest pastures. We can hear the tinkling of the bells worn by the animals – that uniquely alpine sound- in the distance.

We continue to climb on perfect singletrack now and are greeted by friendly hikers with a smile and a ‘bonjour’ or a ‘ciao’ and ‘bon courage madame.’ We reply with a ‘merci’ and a ‘bonne ballade.’ This is incredibly civilised and refreshing and shows what is possible when all trail users have respect for each other’s right to be there. The higher alpine land shows evidence of the fading early summer flower display but stands of the distinct yellow gentian, from which the areas famous genepi is distilled, are everywhere. The number of different plants, grasses and flowers are too numerable to count. It’s stunningly beautiful.

Now, at around 2500m we come across a herd of sheep and goats, sheltering from the sun in a shaded gully. An enormous, shaggy, fierce looking dog is guarding them. This is the notorious ‘patou.’ Dogs trained to protect the herds from wolf and other predator attack. Signs are placed at trail heads advising bikers and hikers how to safely pass these fearsome looking guards. Luckily for us, the dog is snoozing in amongst his charges and pays us no attention.

In the Aosta valley and Gran Paradiso region there are nine documented wolf packs. A wolf was photographed happily munching a marmot on the summit we are climbing towards. Unsurprisingly, we didn’t see any evidence of the wolves but could clearly see the measures put in place by the local farmers to protect their precious, fontina cheese producing cows from wolf attack. Compensation is paid by the local government to farmers if they can prove their animals were killed by wolves despite the use of subsidised electric fences and guard dogs. Despite this, the relationship between the farmers and conservationists who support the growing wolf populations is becoming strained as the wolf populations grow.

We saw marmots, chamois, black squirrels, eagles, stoat, frogs, we rode through clouds of brightly coloured butterflies, armies of bees were at work in the alpine meadows along with ant colonies, and crickets. We saw carpets of edelweiss and saxifrage, stunning bright blue gentian, pink house leeks and so many more alpine flowers that I have now forgotten the names of. The sheer diversity and abundance of life in these mountains is almost overwhelming.

So, our ride continues. Up we go, pushing our bikes now as the ground steepens and becomes scree and rock. Finally, after an exhausting but short hike-a- bike section, aided by handily placed cables, we arrive at the summit. As on most alpine peaks, there’s a tall wooden cross and a summit book where we write our names and the date of our visit. Below us now snakes our trail, descending almost 2000m along a stunning, exposed ridge line before plunging through the steep, alpine meadows and into the tree line. The riding is perfect. Just the right amount of exposure, flow and rocky tech followed by endless loamy turns in the lower forest. Our trail finishes in a beautiful village with a friendly restaurant and the bliss of a long cold local beer and plates of charcuterie and cheese.

Conclusions

 I’m writing this and wondering why looking out of my window at the mountains of Eryri, is making me feel a bit sad. This is a national park passionately loved by both visiting tourists and the hill farmers who for generations, have kept the sheep (‘white maggots’ as George Monbiot damningly refers to them in his book Feral) which have created this landscape. I think it’s a sadness that comes from imagining what this land outside my window could potentially look like.

Of course, it won’t ever resemble the alpine idyll that I’ve just described but it could be so much richer. As the rowan berries begin to take on their stunning autumnal scarlet and the purple heather comes into full, late summer bloom, I remind myself that our ancient hills support a rich cultural history that is still evolving. Nothing is set in stone. Who knows? With political change in the air, and the rise of organisations such as Trash Free Trails and Right to Roam, as people become better connected to the natural environment around them, will they begin to question and demand more from the powerful few who shape and control, not only what our countryside looks like but the access to our hills, mountains and forests too?

New opportunities and a younger and more diverse generation of countryside visitors are emerging who will see our landscape through different eyes to those of their parents and grandparents. There is so much work to do but, in the future, it would be wonderful to see my beloved Eryri become richer, more diverse and a National Park to truly rival those of the European alps.