Cycling in the Haut Jura National Park

 


Cycling in the Haut Jura National Park - Podcast

We awake on Sunday morning and leap out of bed, after a cup of tea and a croissant, throw on our cycling gear, pack our day bags with picnic and essentials, load the bikes on to the back of the car, although Lily is a tad reluctant until we remember the exact position she likes to be in, and off we go. 

It’s about a forty-five-minute drive on quiet winding roads to Les Jouvencelles ski station car park near Les Rousses. It’s empty. There’s no snow it’s August.

The views are already far-reaching, and Lily poses for a photo.

Lily and Red are ready, and so are we, except we forgot the cream for our butts, maybe we got out of bed too quick! We find a small pot of Vaseline, that will do. (In fact, it worked very well.)

It’s a cool fifteen degrees with blue skies and a few clouds. Fresh but no goosebumps, and it will get warmer.

We turn right out of the car park and are on a slightly busy road, although any cars that pass us are going slow as the road is being prepped for resurfacing, not the nicest to ride on but we soon turn onto a quiet road which is a sharp warm-up climb for our bodies. It’s a short cut through the Stade Nordique des Tuffs.  We pass under a couple of tunnels, and I ring my bell. Okay they are bridges, but a girl can play, and onto another road before turning off towards Mijoux. 

We are immediately in a high mountain valley, with views of forested slopes, farmhouses, and cows who swing their bells in greeting. We do love that sound. 

Clouds are clinging to the trees on our left and it is beautiful. 

We smile. It’s a good day.

We share the road with a few cars and groups of happy motorbike riders. All enjoying the day. It’s getting warmer but is still a pleasant riding temperature as there is a slight northerly breeze. I relax and enjoy the mainly downhill ride, stopping to take photos and some short videos that Martin will use when he makes the vlog of the ride. 

We pass some caravans on a flat piece of land and some of them have pointed snow roofs fixed on the top. They look funny, but practical. I’m not sure if they will be cosy warm or bone-aching cold in the winter, and I’m not planning to find out. 

The wildness of the valley changes to manicured grass, posts, and large coloured balls placed in groups, it’s a golf course. The Jura is not famous for its golf, but this is a hidden gem. It’s not a sport for me but there are three couples enjoying the quiet, the challenge, and the fun of being outside doing something they enjoy together. They probably wouldn’t consider cycling up mountains to be a pleasant way to spend the day.  

We cross a small bridge over a dry stream bed and are now cycling close to the mountain side and the clouds hang above us. Goosebumps pop up on my arms. We laugh and shiver and enjoy the cool. Most of the cars along this narrow road are kind, they wait for a safe place to pass us, but there is always one who thinks they can see around a corner. It overtakes me and then stops next to me as the car coming the other way brakes, then reverses so the overtaking car can pass me and be on the right side of the road. I am not totally polite, although I don’t speak to the driver, I just throw some words into the air, and fling my hands up in the universal gesture for ‘what the f***. I am pleased the driver did not have the time to swerve or I may have been in the dry riverbed! The car passes me but is then stuck behind Martin and I grin. This time the driver waits for an appropriate place to overtake. In fact, they are now very hesitant about overtaking. Lesson learned and no harm done. 

We enter the village of Mijoux and turn right.

‘Fancy a coffee?’ Martin asks.

‘Oh yes.’

But the café is not a café, but a boulangerie. We continue past and out of the village, gulping our water instead.  

We are now on the other side of the valley again, going back in the direction we came, but we are not retracing our peddle strokes. We are climbing and it’s hot. Some of the heat generated by our hard-working muscles, and the rest because we are no longer under the clouds. There are trees though, giving us puddles of shade.

It’s a gentle 4 km climb of about 5 or 6 percent, but we are surprised by some steeper sections especially on one corner when I didn’t change down in time, luckily, it’s very short. It reminds us of the switchbacks in the Swiss alps. Wonderful memories.

All these cycle rides are filling our memory banks, so when we are sad or tired, we can close our eyes and be back in the fresh air, open spaces, pine scents, and stunning beauty. It’s good to make memories. 

The views are still gorgeous as we continue up to the village of La Joux where we turn towards Bellecombe. 

What a stunningly valley we are now cycling through, and we can’t stop smiling and exclaiming. We can see the Crete de Jura and Col de Focille on our left. They are proudly standing tall and promise us another climb another day.

The valley is green and speckled with pale mauve autumn crocus. A high valley with clean fresh air. I feel my lungs open, and my mind expand. 

We are loving this ride. 

We are so lucky this landscape is on our doorstep, and we are healthy enough to experience it on our bicycles. It would be pretty to drive through but too fast, and beautiful to walk through but too slow. Cycling is the perfect speed for us to absorb everything.

We follow this beautiful valley to Les Trois Chemines from which many people are setting of on walks. We can continue down the valley no further on our bikes, so we turn right and up. It’s a little steeper than the climb before, my legs say, but not a problem.

We are feeling a little hungry so share a fruit bar and plod on up. It’s funny on these switchback roads, how the views are on the right, then the left, then the right as we climb up to Les Mousieres. 

The landscape changes here, it is still green and dotted with autumn crocus, but the landscape is bumpy rather than flat meadows. It’s very quiet. 

There are a few farmhouses, and small metal huts in the fields. And then something in the road. Oh my it’s a donkey, and in the field it has escaped from is a mule. At least I think it is, it looks like a cross between a donkey and a pony, but I don’t take a photo as the grazing donkey decides to inspect our bikes. Sadly, the donkey is not well kept, its coat is matted, and it struggles on hooves that need to be trimmed. I guess it’s old, too. There are two farmhouses but no sign of anyone around, the donkey is easy to see and can get back into its field if it wants, so we say goodbye. A couple of cars pass slowly, respecting the animal and its search for the greener grass on the other side of the road. 



We turn onto a larger road, but it is still quiet, and we are looking for somewhere to eat our lunch. We are hungry, but we are now travelling through small hamlets and tight valleys with no views of the mountains. We do like a view when we eat.

And then I spot a sign to the Belevdere de Roche Blanche. It’s only a kilometre and although we know it will be uphill, that’s okay. A viewpoint is perfect for lunch. 

The road starts off undulating but then it’s steep, like 15 percent steep. I am in my lowest gear and struggling. Halfway up I decide to walk. Martin manages to get to the top. We are both puffing and smiling at the challenge. But we have not yet reached the viewpoint. We push our bikes up a rocky pathway made by Chamois more than humans and arrive at the top. 

It is worth the puff up. It’s hard to take in the vast view as we are hungry so picnic time it is. Pizza, croissant, fruit, and yogurt, except we forget the yogurt. We are full anyhow, so we didn’t need it. 

Two things forgotten today, but neither has caused a problem. 

We stand at the barrier and look straight down at a river of pine trees, smooth pushed up rock formations, one named le chapeau des gendarmes, the distant hills, St Claude nestled in the valley. It’s a lot to take in. 


It’s frightening to imagine the forces that pushed the rocks up from the seabed to here, awe inspiring. 

We could rest for hours but that’s not good for our bodies, so we push our bikes over the rocky path and then cruise down, it’s much easier going down, although my brakes protest a little.  Back on the road we are travelling in the direction of St Claude but are not planning to go all the way. 

We turn right, up into the forest on a smaller road, it is so beautiful. The scent of pine is strong. It’s green and full of life although there are autumn-coloured leaves littering the ground. Birds are chattering, we think they are Jays. Moss clings to rocks and tree trunks twist and bulge in mystical shapes. 

Markings and names on the road tell us we are following in the wheels of the Tour de France, going up through the Forest to Les Gruets.

It’s cooler under the trees and not too steep, but my thighs are telling me we’ve done some climbing today. 

We reach the small town of Lamoura, there are large houses here, and many are new, this is frontier territory, close to Switzerland, where demand for houses is high, and expensive. But they are tastefully made, with large windows and lots of wood. 

The road is a busier one now, but it’s not continuous traffic and there is a cycle lane at the edge. I remember coming to this town in the winter with Ben, we enjoyed a peaceful cross country ski track while Martin and Harry zoomed down the slopes at Les Juvencelles. I can feel the fresh crispness of that day even though the sun is hot. 

We pass Lac Lamoura, it’s teeming with walkers and the car park is almost as full as it is in the winter when the lake is frozen, and people ski around it. It looks so different today, but its good to see so many people enjoying the fresh air. 

We continue along this undulating road, with fire weed seeds floating in the wind, the tall plant with its pink flowers is pretty. It covers any barren ground it can find. 

Arriving back at the car park, which is still empty, our bodies are pleased the ride is over, but our minds are still processing everything we have experienced and craves more, but not today. We know our limits. 

We load the bikes on the back of the car and gratefully sit on a soft seat.

My eyes are heavy and close for much of the journey home, luckily Martin is not as tired as he is driving. 

Our legs ache a little, but by the morning this ache will have gone, but the memories of this ride will remain. 

We are going to explore more of the high Jura on our bicycles and share these rides with you, for you to enjoy reading, listening to, or cycling.

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