Trans Provence

The scent of lavender and the aromas of the herbs of Provence envelop the breathtaking trails of the French Alps ...
This idyllic notion might do justice to a legendary MTB region in southern France and aptly describe much of what unfolds in the hinterland of the Côte d'Azur. However, they certainly don’t suffice for the adventurous enduro trips with Flat Sucks. Especially not for the "mother of all enduro tours," the Trans Provence, as it stands for six days of shuttling, pedaling, pushing, carrying, and collecting an incredible amount of descent on the best-selected trails of Provence – from Briançon to Menton.

Even when picking up the guests, the week promised to be something truly special. Seven enduro racers, mountaineers, bikers, mountain guides, and legends of bike history had gathered here. And then there were Markus, the head of Flat Sucks, and me, shuttle driver Livi.
It is exactly from this, my, perspective that I captured the adventure.

On the day after our arrival in Briançon, we started quite early in the morning and shuttled up a long pass in rain and fog, passing the ski village La Chalp.
Motivated, the men pedaled up a comfortable 400 meters of elevation and enjoyed the first downhill meters so recklessly that they had to plug a huge hole in the tire with tubeless salami after only a short time. Thankfully, the mud on the trail slowed the group down; otherwise, this euphoria could not have been curbed in the slightest. But who can blame them: On sections of one of the most legendary enduro races, excitement can definitely get the better of you!

Meanwhile, I went shopping at a leisurely pace and tried to fulfill the snack requests. I bought snacks for the next two days, which ultimately only lasted for that one day.
The meeting point was the Saint Pierre Chapel, an idyllic spot where, at this time of year, shepherd dogs, Patous, were driving the sheep down into the valley. When the bikers arrived, they were delighted that the car with the snacks was already there and sat down at the prepared table. For a brief moment, I humorously wondered whether I should be offended that they were happy the car had prepared the snacks. But they would later find out who supported them to the end and who left them in the lurch.

Freshly rejuvenated, 1,000 meters of elevation followed, with nearly half needing to be carried and the other mostly pushed. But a super flowy trail awaited, which also included technical segments and squeezed the last bit of energy out with an additional challenging 150 meters of elevation gain.
A narrow ridge over gray earth led to the final section. Natural berms and endless flow all the way to Barcelonette created great anticipation for the coming days.

Despite 1,400 meters of elevation gain, the car had prepared the snack right on time. And once again, the snack basket was plundered down to the last crumb.
But what to do if the next little mini-supermarket in Colmars is unexpectedly closed? You buy an even better snack, visit the local butcher who also sells cheese and olives, and also cycle to a small boulangerie to get some delicious baguette. "Good car!"

Since buying snacks is not the main adventure, we first shuttled to the Col de Champ, and a descent to Colmars was on the agenda: Cow Rock'n'Roll.
Because the trail was heavily trampled by cows in places, it made for a very unique descent. But once you leave the cow path behind, biker hearts soar. Especially in autumn, the forest shines in all its colors, and as a finale, you are greeted directly by the historic monuments in Colmars.

As a shuttle driver, it's not always easy: While longing for your own bike, you have to master the winding roads with a bus and trailer. But compared to the Trans Piedmont, Provence is a breeze. Thanks to the Tour de France, the passes shine with nearly perfect asphalt and wide curves.
A few gravel climbs? No problem. When I think of the challenging routes of the Ligurian border ridge, every ride in southern France becomes a pleasure.

On the third day, we were surprised by rain, and it quickly became clear: men and water are not the best of friends. A brave hero unloaded the bikes and tried to motivate the others.
Then, 700 meters of elevation gain awaited us, which the group had to tackle by pushing and pedaling. The car drove back to Colmars.
From there, I set out to meet the others again. "If you see 'Livi' at the trail entrance, we are already on our way. Otherwise, wait for us." That sounded simple but was a real challenge in the mud. Every mudhole seemed to whisper letters to me.

But suddenly I heard cheers and questioning calls: "Where's the snack?" The hunger was great. But first, we tackled the descent together, and the adrenaline rush was overwhelming. The flow was simply incredible. Despite many warnings about the risk of falling, we sped along recklessly and completely lost the fear of crashing.

In a curve that appeared out of nowhere, however, my overconfidence abruptly disappeared when I saw a rider hanging headfirst in a tree. Shocked, I jumped off the bike. Expecting the worst, I ran to the accident victim, but he surprised me with a laugh.
He was fine, and his only concern was the condition of his bike. A true stroke of luck in misfortune.

A trail to Entraunes, a lunch break, and another trail highlight awaited us, and this time I was also allowed to bike. The descent on the gray soil – a playground for all bike enthusiasts. A rollercoaster for those who don’t always want to take the same route.
Countless variations lead down to the parking lot. Top-notch photo captures were taken. Hard to believe, two more shuttles were lined up, and we cracked the 4,000-meter descent mark.

After an overnight stay in Valberg, we ascended a relaxed 200 meters on gravel paths to several small reservoirs. Directly from there, you can access the Valberg bike park – for me, a worthwhile and highly recommended detour. At this time of year, unfortunately, the lift was already closed, but the trails were fantastic.
The travel group collected more spectacular impressions while biking over the red soil. The descent to Puget-Théniers led over red rock. Later, Markus’ shots caused renewed amazement, and I also got to see the scenes in the evening.

The journey with the bus and trailer through the red canyon was a very special moment. Not only did the panorama provide adrenaline, but also the flashing of a warning signal in the car. The beeping startled all of us out of our midday slump.
"AdBlue malfunction. Engine start not possible in 800 kilometers!" And after another ten seconds: "AdBlue malfunction. Engine start not possible in 0 kilometers!"
Of all times, we were driving through a construction zone at that moment. A lot of finesse was required to maneuver the car between construction vehicles and rocks without it stalling uphill with the trailer. Tense and very worried, we arrived at the top, right in front of Roubion. Of course, we didn’t turn the car off and kept it running.

Information about workshops and possible solutions was sparse. Eventually, Markus sent me off with the bike group. A mountain guide was already familiar with this trail and led us to Saint-Sauveur-sur-Tinée. With my thoughts on the vehicle, I neither noticed that I had forgotten my water bottle nor the effort of the cross-country section. Up and down, dig in or push, enjoy the view or think about the car.
We rode through beautiful, quaint little villages, thoroughly impressed by the trails and hopeful that our shuttle vehicle would already be fixed. But things were about to get even worse.

When we arrived at Markus's place, he held out a wheel bolt to us with a horrified look. Another one had broken off and was still stuck in the wheel. How could this happen? What should we do? That’s when the real drama began.
I would never have thought that there would be a taxi company in this small town. I jogged over there, and despite language barriers, the friendly driver not only transported us to the accommodation in three trips but also took our trailer with him.
While Markus stayed behind, a towing service was called, which later brought him to the mountain village of Rimplas where we were, while the car was towed to Nice. Two weeks later, sitting in front of the computer, the thought crept in: “And it’s still standing there today!”

Nevertheless, we made the best of the situation. Tour de France passes like Col de Saint-Martin and Col de Braus were conquered. The pleasant gradients made the ascent easier for us. And when you’re also cheered on by small schoolchildren at the roadside, you feel – even though technically you’re following in the footsteps of the Enduro elite invited to the former MTB stage race Trans Provence – like an absolute road cycling pro.

The carrying, pushing, and pedaling sections really drained our energy, but in return, the fear of Patous (guard dogs) also subsided. A short bark, a greeting, dismounting, talking – and then you were allowed to continue on your way.
After what felt like an endless cross-country section, partially shrouded in mist, the final 40 meters of elevation gain particularly pinched in the calves. But the crocodile gummy bears on top immediately made up for the effort. The red crocodiles provided energy, and the green ones soothed the eco-conscience.

Wet, flowy, and rooty traverses presented quite a significant challenge once again, but these endless Provençal trails were and still are simply indescribable. Massive switchbacks, rock sections, and a first-class view were added as a bonus on top.
Passages through streams and chestnut forests provided a very special autumn flair, and the bakery in the village of Lantosque impressed with its selection. From onion spread to quiche, pizza, and cola, everything was included.
While we waited for our new shuttle vehicle, we only then realized how lucky we had been with the weather. Rain set in, and we sat comfortably with coffee and beer.

An enduro pro in his prime silverback years picked us up with his self-built trailer. Scaffolding and a hose provided optimal bike security and brought us to the Col de Turini, to the next accommodation.
Markus also followed us there with a taxi and trailer along with our luggage. But it soon became clear that there was no good news regarding a replacement vehicle. We were stranded at the Col de Turini, and on top of that, no one knew exactly where the car was. In the workshop? No, because after several calls, we were informed that it had been rejected there. Why? Nobody knew.
The odyssey with the car had begun. A breakdown abroad is a nightmare—marked by endless calls, high costs, and an emotional rollercoaster—from laughter to tears. The prevailing sentiment: "You can't be serious!

The icing on the cake awaited us at the accommodation: an e-cross-country race was taking place on-site this weekend. The hostel had no record of our booking. Shocked and with a sinking feeling in our stomachs, we looked at each other. If it doesn’t go right, it just doesn’t go right.
Awakening from our state of shock, Markus pulled out his phone, searched for the deposit, and at the same time, I frantically rummaged for the booking confirmation. With our last hope, we slapped both onto the table in front of the owners. After some back and forth, they finally managed to pull four rooms out of their hat – small but charming. Exhausted, we collapsed into our beds after a quick dinner.

The next day was also our last biking day: the queen stage to Menton. The first trail, Disneyland, ensured we woke up quickly. As a shuttle driver, I benefited from the fact that our car had let us down, as I was able to accompany the group on the bike and fully enjoy the trails.
I discovered the unique trails to Sospel together with the others and climbed the ascents with them. The view of the sea somewhat lessened the effort, but we were all glad there was an Orangina break at the top in the small village called Castellar. The best refreshment in between.

Step by step, we descended towards Menton. And then came the special moment - the sea lay before us. A group photo was taken, and then we headed into the cool water.
The waves invited us to splash around, but somehow the skin started burning. Most of us quickly got out of the water again, and I too looked around: jellyfish! There were small, brown jellyfish everywhere. There was clearly still another level of excitement...

I have finished telling my story as a shuttle driver without a vehicle. The vehicle, with its tale of an adventurous journey through Provence and a stay in Nice, could probably fill an entire book – a seemingly endless story that eventually found a happy ending.
But: Who would ever dare to get into the car with me again ...?