Riding Up Col d'Agnel and Col d'Izoard
June 21, 2000

Elevation: 9,810 feet
Distance: 107 kms.
Scenery: 10/10
Difficulty: 9/10

Sempeyre-Agnel-St. Veran-Col d’Izoard-Briançon

Summer Solstice, 2000. I distinctly remember what I did the longest day of last year—I got chilled to the bone climbing Passo Mendola out of Bolzano in the pouring rain. This year’s edition appeared to suggest more favorable weather—there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Indeed, I have been blessed with exceptionally fine weather for each of my rides on this trip.

For this, my third and final ride, my itinerary comprised two mammoth climbs—the 2,744 meter Col d’Agnel, a high border pass between Italy and France, and the 2,360 meter Col d’Izoard, a famous pass that’s a Tour de France staple. The route would begin in the Italian town of Sempeyre and finish in France’s Briançon.

Not coincidentally, the 2000 edition of the Giro d’Italia followed this exact route for one of its showcase stages some 20 days before, albeit that stage, having started in Saluzzo rather than Sempeyre, was about 30 kilometers longer. I had that Giro stage on tape, and it was the sight of Garzelli, Simoni, Casagrande and Pantani battling it out that inspired me to have a go at this route (this was the stage that saw Marco Pantani continually "attack" Simoni on the steepest sections of the Izoard—a tactic that actually put pressure on Garzelli, Pantani’s teammate that Marco was purportedly trying to help).

Prior to this ride, I had ridden Mont Cenis/Iseran on Day 1, Petite and Grand St. Bernard passes on Day 2, and had taken Day 3 off to travel to Sempeyre for the start of today’s ride. Each of those rides had accumulated over approximately 10,000 feet in elevation. If, indeed, one’s body comes back stronger after being stressed and allowed to recuperate, then mine should be primed for today’s itinerary.

I had noticed a sign on my way to Sempeyre the day before that the Agnel was "chiuso," or closed. This somewhat puzzled me as the pass was obviously open for the Giro d’Italia just a few days before. As far as I knew, no new snow had fallen to cause the closure.

"Frana," was the hotel owner’s response to my question as to why Agnel was closed. I didn’t know what "rain" was in Italian, but frana wasn’t it (I learned later that frana is mud/landslide). The signore informed me that, though the road was indeed closed, bicyclists are allowed through. I nodded my head though unconvinced that road workers would actually let me through while they’re working.

The Agnel climb from Sampeyre was approximately 30 kilometers long with over 5,000 feet of climbing. Only Cime de la Bonette, at over 2,802 meters, and Col del Iseran, at 2,764 meters, are higher than the 2,744-meter summit of Colle d’Agnello.

After a positively non-sustaining breakfast of coffee and hard Italian rolls, I cycled down to the main road from the heights of the Sempeyre city center and got on my way. The 10 kilometers between Sempeyre and Torrette followed the length of the Susa Valley and were only moderately uphill. Past Torrette, the road started twisting and climbing. The climb felt very steep, coming as it did after a relatively flat start from Sempeyre. The strenuous section continued for approximately 3 kilometers into the settlement of Villaretto. Much of the scenery to this point had been limited to views of the villages that dotted the lower slopes of the nearby hills.

It was also at this point that I noticed another cyclist on a mountain bike (without a helmet, of course), in a cotton tanktop, energetically swaying his bike and riding mostly out of the saddle. When I finally managed to catch up, I noticed he was a middle-aged Italian man probably out to do one of his "local" rides. I asked him whether he knew about the road closure and he responded in the affirmative. He also reassured me that cyclists would be allowed through.

(Above: "Gianni" waving as he crested a steep hill approaching Pontechianale)

The grade hardly relented since the serious part of the climb started a few kilometers back. I couldn’t draw much inspiration from the scenery, so I pretty much stayed focused on the climb itself. The scenery opened up somewhat, and the grade relented, near Lago di Castello (elevation approx. 1,600m), 16 kilometers from the summit. But this was to be the briefest of respites as steep climbing made its return appearance in Pontechianale, one of the more sizable towns in the area.

(Below: Pontechianale)

To this point I remained apprehensive lest I wasn’t allowed to go around the road block and climb over the pass; this would put a serious dent on my intentions to finish at Briançon. A cursory look at the map showed that the only other way was from the east through Sestriere—an impossible detour because of the distance.

Another steep climb came after Pontechianale, then a series of moderate rollers. Shortly thereafter, just past the town of Chianale (1,797m), I saw ahead a backup of cars and motorcycles, and tractors and fallen trees. It seemed odd that these cars decided to ignore the "road closed" signs on the way here and then act surprised that they were not allowed through.

(Above: The road block after Chianale; a steep road is cut on the slope of the
mountain on the left)

My guy on the mountain bike, who had fallen slightly behind in the uphills, then came up and motioned for me to follow him. I put one foot down to better negotiate the narrow space around the barrier, and just like that, we were through! I was quite amused by all of this and couldn’t help but think that, had this been California, a road closed for repair would be just that—closed. To everyone.

On the other side of the barrier, I was able to see immediately the damage wrought by the recent 3-day spate of rain: there was a sinkhole on a narrow bridge that spanned a river. Here and there, fallen pine trees dangled over the road. Dried mud on the road had made the area dusty.

(Above: My erstwhile riding companion "Gianni" takes a break; sinkhole also
partly visible behind him)

But the condition of the road was not what I noticed; it was the steepness of it. Agnel has had a fearsome reputation among cyclists as a killer climb. And therein lies its attraction. Atlas des Cols shows that the nine-plus kilometers to the summit from Chianale have per-kilometer average grades of 10%, 9%, 10.5%, 10%, 10%, 10.5%, 10%, 9%, and finally 10%. That’s one steep mother!

I had only rounded one bend when I noticed how far above the road block I was already. This steep section functioned like a dividing wall between civilization and remoteness. Though I could still hear the faint humming of chainsaws of the workers down below, all I could see ahead of me were the majestic peaks of Parc Naturel Regional du Queyras and the Matterhorn-like peak of Le Pain de Sucre (sugarloaf peak, I suppose).

(Above: The first "serious" climb past Chianale)

The road closure turned out to be a blessing in disguise as, for the most part, we cyclists had the road to ourselves that day.

The grade eased momentarily. As I came upon a right bend, I noticed what appeared to be a castle perched atop a nearby peak. On the side of the road was a sign: "14%." And who was I to argue? I felt every percent of that gradient. However, this section having come relatively early in the ride, I was able to "attack" it by staying in a smaller gear and by taking standing surges. In a couple of places, the turns provided just enough easing to allow for one’s recovery. The road continued higher and higher and twistier and twistier. True, the climb was not 14% throughout, but it wasn’t much less than that, either.

(Above: Looking back at the second steep stretch; the structure faintly visible
on the middle left appeared to me to be a castello)

Approximately 4 kilometers from the summit, I had some difficulty maintaining traction in places where the mud had slid on the road that remained wet from continuing runoff. It was a challenge to stay on my bike with the simultaneous challenges presented by the steep and slippery road and the obstacle-course of road debris.

(Below: Yup, it gives me goosebumps too...)

Soon I reached the tough, finishing 3 kilometers rated at between 9%-10.5%. The summit itself did not appear until there was less than 1 kilometer left to climb. The final stretch came following a hairpin turn to the left, with the road doubling back on itself.

(Below: Nearing the summit from the Italian side, less than a kilometer to go)

The summit-cum-border was very quiet presumably because of the road closures (the French side was also closed). Besides me, there were a couple of cars and another cyclist who had come up from the French side.

(Above: Summit sign in silhouette. It says "France" on the left, "Italy" on the right)