Tour de Prapic

TOUR DE PRAPIC

'These are unusual times' has to be the most overused phrase this year but, yes, these are unusual times and time, itself, has become distorted. Some days drag on while weeks and months flash by. Annual events, festivals, sports events and school holidays, our usual reference points, have either been cancelled or postponed. Without these markers my biological clock, or rather my biological calender, has become confused. Frequently during the various phases of lockdown and semi-lockdown I have woken up with no idea what day it is and even worse, what time of year it is! One of the reference points in the Dutch calender, maybe surprisingly, is the Tour de France. Not because The Netherlands is a land of bicycles but because, in a country where the summer holiday is almost a religion, the 'Tour' is closely associated with summer and the annual pilgramage to the sun. Nostalgic tales of summers past often involve caravans, campsites, and fathers bent over a portable radio trying to pick up Radio Tour de France. For the Dutch, whether they enjoy cycle racing, hate it or are totally disinterested, the Tour de France is July , July is summer and summer means VACATION!

The postponment of the Tour and other annual sporting events and bike rides I may well have taken part in, along with the cancellation of our planned trip or trips this year,  have seriouly affected my sense of time and seasons. Mentally and physically I'm still waiting for the summer to arrive and we're already a week into September. To confuse my biorythms even further the Tour de France has just started!

However, as a famous Dutch footballer once said, every disadvantage has it's advantage.

I will now be able to follow the whole three week race on TV, usually I miss most of it.

Glancing at the the race itinery I noticed that the route will pass several, for me, memorable places. At this very moment the riders are heading towards a finish on the Mount Aigoual, a mountain I have cycled many times, mosty while working as a tour leader in the Cevenne. Yesterday's stage ended with a climb to the ski resort Ocières – Merlette. The race turned left in Orcières but if you continue straight on for a couple of kilometres where the road ends you will have arrived at the village of Prapic. Prapic has a few houses, a church, a restaurant and a bus stop.  Oh yes, and there is a simple campsite. A gateway to the Parc National des Ecrins Prapic is a popular starting point for tough mountain hikes, leisurley walks or picnics. To prevent daytrippers from using, misusing or abusing the toilet facilities campers are issued with an impressively sized golden key on a red ribbon.

We were not in the best of spirits when we arrived. That year we had just a ten day holiday. We were used to being away for all or most of the summer. Our mood, however, soon changed. We had chosen well, the campsite was made to measure, during what we thought a short holiday we hiked two mountains and cycled up to the ski resort. I took my mountain bike by cable car further up the mountain and rode my one and only downhill. I made friends with a marmotte  but the friendship cooled when the sweet biscuits ran out and there was only dry bread left. 

The Tour de France passed close by, a bike ride and a hike took us to an ideal spot just before the top of the last climb of the toughest stage that year. Very close to witnessing one of the most memorable incidents in the race's recent history.

The film of Lance Armstrong riding into and across an alpine meadow after narrowly avoiding an accident is often repeated on TV. For the Spanish rider Beloki the crash marked the end of his career, at that time he was one of the few serious challengers to Armstrongs supremacy.

Despite, or maybe partly due to, our low expectations it was a thoroughly enjoyable break, sun, fun and never a dull moment. More memories surfaced when we found the photographs and, for the first time during this Corona period, I realised just how much I miss mountains, the great outdoors and brief encounters with marmottes....