Mont Valerian

"Sure, and we'll do a climb on the way into Paris."

Was he joking? Paris seemed to be flat, especially once the Seine was left behind. The prospect of meeting someone new and being introduced to a new area of the city by an experienced rider was more enticing than getting a bit more sleep in, riding a very familiar loop and heading off to La Roche sur Yon for work. I met Phillipe at 8:15 in front of his daughter's school on the Rue de Schnapper in St. Germain.

A cool morning, but promising sun, we were both bundled up a bit. We climbed towards the chateau, my familiar route to Sartrouville and the Foret de St. Germain, but then abruptly turned half way up and descended on some pave, passed a old chapel and then intersected the chateau road as it descended to the Seine.

It's always interesting to ride with someone familiar with an area. Phillipe is an experienced road and cyclocross rider and he put his skills to use as we navigated over the bridge and into the morning Paris traffic.

"It's a lot like altitude training, your lungs have to do with less oxygen." We rode through plumes of black diesel smoke as the line accelerated at each light. A few blocks, we were on a side road sandwiched between the RER railline and the main road, chatting about riding, introducing ourselves in that peculiar way that cyclists do, a mixture of friendship and excitement that comes with a shared passion and the testing of a hard acceleration and a glance behind to see if the other is still there.

"Mont Valerian." I had asked about the 'climb' we were going to do. "Are you familiar with the history?" I've learned to always say no to questions like this, because inevitably I never know much about the history of a place even when I think I do. So, as we turned onto a street that actually began to go upward and I spotted what looked like a small mountain with a fort on top, Philliped explained some of the history of the place.

It's 1870 and the Prussians have invaded France and pushed into Paris from the north. Napoleone the third moves the government west of the city to Versailles and agrees to let the Prussians have free reign of the city. The residents aren't too happy about this and blockade the roads. The Prussians then move their artillary to the top of Mont Valerian, with Napoleone's tacit approval and shell the crap out of the arrondisements, killing thousands of civilians. Remember, we are climbing right now, so my heart rate, the quantity of diesel fumes in my lungs and the burning in my quads might've distorted some of the details.

We reach the plateau in the climb, now just a short push over the top. The fort now looms on the left along with a brick wall running the length of the hill it rests on. Inset in the wall are stone carvings depicting heroic images. "That is where the Gestapo executed members of the French Resistance." A colleague in La Roche confirms this, "When the Germans said you were going to Mont Valerian, you knew you were not coming back."

This city continues to amaze me. We drop down, the mont, weaving between the traffic and a new revelation, the Ronde Champs. Phillipe had mentioned on the phone that there was a place we could do a few laps with local riders and I imagined some commuters getting together to dodge traffic, but here we were entering a large park in the Bois de Bologne complete with a three kilometer circuit used exclusively by cyclists.

We circled counterclockwise, against the stream, looking for an appropriate group to join. Several went by, collection of retired men excerising in the park, until we found a fellow in an Azzurra kit with two guys following. We joined up and I was happy to see thhat the Mont hadn't totally zapped my legs. Azzurra kept a 20mph pace for a whole loop and then Phillippe took a pull. He had told me of a hill in the course and I had visions of another Valerian, but it was just a small rise. I took my pull on it and raised the pace a bit. It felt good to stretch out and power along the loop. Yesterday's lactic acid flushed away. I looked down, 25 perhaps a bit too much and pulled off. It was just the three of us now.

We did four laps and it was time for Phillipe to head to work. I slapped him on the shoulder and we shook hands, a new cycling friend is made and the there is always joy in that.