Briançon’s morning was crisp and clear. I rolled out past old fortresses, ready for a classic Alpine stage: the Col de Vars. The ride began gently, luring me into a false sense of ease. Vars is a strange pass—not a steady grind but a broken rhythm of steep ramps, flats, and even a descent. It plays tricks on your legs.
The final kilometers hit hard again—steep, open slopes, alpine meadows giving way to scree and stone.
At 2,109 m, the summit of Col de Vars offered sweeping views of the southern Alps. No ski lifts or cafés—just quiet and sky. I took a moment, proud to have crossed another col under my own power.
The descent toward Jausiers was pure flow—fast and framed by cliffs. I skirted the Lac de Serre-Ponçon earlier that day, and now the landscape was clearly changing: drier, rougher, almost Provençal. In Jausiers, I checked into a simple lodge. The air was warmer, the houses older and flatter. I strolled to the village lake, legs heavy, heart full.
