Calf-shredded, sleep-deprived, and hauling heavy bikes up hiking trails, a crew attempts the Tour du Mont Blanc in the high season the hard way: mostly on foot. What begins with “why are we here?” turns into an unforgettable six-day push through crowds, glaciers, doubt, and a story they’ll tell at 80. Read Anouk Klapwijk’s full tale of misadventure here…
The pedal-shaped bite marks in my calves are a testament to how much I walked beside this bicycle, dragging it up the hill, carrying it over boulders, and hoisting it over tree branches. When I picked it up from the rental store, the owner told me that it had new pedals. I replied, “Oh, that’s nice!” And it is, when you ride downhill and don’t want to slip off. But when bike-pushing, and you’re basically in a constant wrestling match with your bike, those pedals can destroy your calves.
This is why I kept coming back to one question: What are we doing here? We knew this particular route wasn’t ideal for casual bikepacking, but friend and regular route planner Thomas suggested the Tour Du Mont Blanc for our annual trip this summer. Each year, he gathers friends together for a weeklong bikepacking adventure. This time, our big group is all set to tackle the famous hiking route in the Alps circling the Mont Blanc through the three countries of France, Italy, and Switzerland. His reasoning: it’s the most famous route in the Alps and therefore a “must do.” No questions were asked.
But reading the route guide and the comments here on BIKEPACKING.com already gives away the challenge. Comments such as “be prepared to walk your bike more than roll, in terms of moving hours,” and “the trail isn’t suitable for biking it all,” made all of us question this endeavor. But in the end, it was the classic I’m game if you’re game energy that made all of us hop in the car and drive down to Chamonix last July.
The original plan was to divide the tour into four days with an additional two-day loop at the end from Chamonix towards Lac de Salanfe to finish our week in the Alps in style. After day one, we had already concluded that this plan wasn’t going to work. We would need the full six days to focus on the task at hand and finish the actual loop around the mountain. With all our gear, bags, and tents strapped to our bikes, we were slow. Add the influx of summer hikers on the trail, the sheer difficulty of it, and the fact that there are so many of us—which means there is always someone in trouble with malfunctioning gear—it’s easy to understand why our progress is slow each day.
It’s day one, and I find myself trying to familiarize myself with my rental bike, a Marin Rift Zone E2 e-mountain bike. What makes it interesting is that our group consists of three guys riding regular mountain bikes, and the rest of us have electrical support. Last year, I didn’t want to join the group trip because of some folks using eMTBs. I was reluctant, and I didn’t see the point in renting one while I have a nice analog bike at home—and struggle to keep up with the group. However, this year, I submitted to the e-bike so I could keep up with my friends and join the trip. Either way, I thought it would be impossible to do this route at their pace without assistance, especially considering the elevation gain per day.
But now, trying to push the bike over a set of tree branches, I am wondering if I am really better off with my electrical friend. “Walk-assist” works on a smooth trail, but on this surface, it’s impossible to get it to work properly. The eMTBs are heavier than normal ones, and much heavier when loaded, because we thought weight wouldn’t matter as much, so we packed a little extra. Now, I can’t even carry my own bike, which feels stupid. On our last descent of the first day, we even have to portage each bike in pairs down a high-consequence exposure. I’m paired up with MJ, who starts to pick raspberries out of despair when we need to turn back and do it all again. When we reach the campsite just before sunset, I am depleted, and there’s low morale all around. What am I doing on this hiking trail with this bike? My friend Nick and I discuss whether we should turn back and retreat.
But after a night of rest and breakfast in a cozy yurt at the campsite, the world looks different, and we decide to see what day two has in store. Unfortunately, for Nick, that’s bad luck. He misjudges a steep and small climb, falls sideways, and ends up in the bushes. This results in a nasty cut above his lip, but he gets back on the bike. On day two, my fellow rental buddy and I also decide to toss our “range anxiety” a bit more to the wind. We turn on our electrical assistance a notch up on the climbs to make cycling a bit more comfortable, and we pretend we’re not afraid of running out of battery.
Day two on the trail passes through Switzerland, where there is a signposted TMB route for mountain bikers. It’s a fun ride. My battery only has two bars left, and I’m in the red when we arrive at the campsite. I think I unlocked the code of how this works, and my faith in the trip is somewhat restored.
Our first big climb is on day three. The beginning section is rather wide, and we can pedal up steadily, propelled forward by battery power. The second part is like playing Pac-Man: hikers versus bikers. There are countless times we need to step off, say sorry, and get back on the saddle again for maybe five meters before repeating the process. At first, I feel bad for disturbing their hike, like we should get off the trail. But it’s a matter of being polite, and when we arrive at the top, we’re rewarded with beautiful views of a glacier and the surrounding mountains.
After some high-fives and refueling, we realize we are missing MJ. We scan the trail but don’t see anyone biking on it. We just sit and wait. To kill time, my friends try to cycle up the last part of the climb to the top. A crowd of hikers enjoying the scene is cheering them on, with ooohswhen they don’t make it. The sun is shining, and I feel like we’re generally accepted by the hikers since we’re providing some entertainment during their break at the top of the peak. Finally, after 45 minutes, MJ reaches the top in tears. Her bag fell off, and her bike rack was not cooperating. While she gathers herself, we set up her setup, as a big downhill section lies ahead.
My moment of confidence and acceptance turns out to be short. The downhill isn’t rideable for the most part, and I feel like a fool dragging this heavy bike down in between hikers. After lunch, we decide to skip a short section to cycle a few kilometers on the road. Luckily, we end up on a downhill that is actually rideable. When Mont Blanc appears beside us, I begin to enjoy myself again.
At the end of day three, we pass the Mont Blanc Tunnel sign. The only tunnel through the heart of the tour, and our only way back to Chamonix in case we don’t want to continue on the route. Nick cycles beside me and says, “You’ve found the rhythm by now, huh?” And indeed, when I think about it, it’s day three, and I finally feel confident that I am going to finish this loop, one way or another. There will be more hike-a-bike sections and more sweating and swearing, but I’m committed.
Days four, five, and six are filled with new adventures and new heights. We ride a detour to Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme over a beautiful ridge. It starts out slippery, but fear is conquered, and we get rewarded with beautiful views. From the refuge down, the first part is not rollable, but it’s worth it for the descent on the other side, which is fun. I feel more comfortable riding downhill with our packs, and it all seems more secure. We are finally getting some great descents, and on our last day to Chamonix, we pass a bike park. Everybody is excited to go in and follow the blue trail signs. We are finally riding on terrain that’s meant for us!
After six days, we completed the route. There’s an undeniable unease that persists while bikepacking a path meant for hikers—especially on an eMTB. Should these paths be reserved for hikers, or just those who travel unassisted by any means? Biking a hiking trail in high season is already questionable, but without e-assist, at least you share the fact that you have achieved every meter without electronic help. E-mountain bikes make the trails more accessible for more people, which is a good thing, but will this make fragile trail systems harder to sustain? A regular mountain bike is already intrusive, let alone the uphill speed, weight, and sound that an eMTB introduces. So, do I recommend riding this route on any bike during high season? Probably not. Is it a suitable route for a big group like ours? Probably not, either. Did I know what I was in for? Definitely not. But did it feel like an achievement? Yes! It is an incredible adventure despite all that.
When I ask Thomas what his thoughts were afterwards, he says he’s still happy he can cross it off the must-do list. And I guess that’s the answer to the question I asked early on about what we were doing there. In the end, we didn’t do it because this was a perfect, purpose-made mountain bike route. We did it so that when we’re 80 years old, we can sit together and say, “Hey, do you remember that time we went on a hike with our mountain bikes?”
Further Reading
Make sure to dig into these related articles for more info…
Please keep the conversation civil, constructive, and inclusive, or your comment will be removed.