Motorcycle Explorer December 2014 Issue 3 | Page 230

T
he Gorge du Verdun is billed as France’s
Grand Canyon and at first view doesn’t
disappoint. A river slices through huge
limestone cliffs, swirling down to a Lake some
20 kilometres distant. We stop and take in the
breathless vista’s, as Gryphon Vultures swoop,
like dogs on 8ft wings and regard us with
sideways distain. From the highest point,
crossing a bridge over the Gorge while staring
straight ahead to avoid seeing the precipitous
drop, we descend ever deeper. The sun’s
disappeared on the North facing side and we’re
bathed in welcome shade as tightening corners
sweep us toward the lake. We continue to skirt
the edge, the road separated from oblivion by
the skimpiest of wooden barriers on our right.
Clinging to rock walls, we’re let in wonderment
at the skills of the road builders as we swoop
on the traffic, creeping past cars on the few
straights. The lake finally appears as a vivid
green jewel in once more increasing gloom.
Another violent thunderstorm is creeping over
the plains which edge the mountains, sheets of
rain march forward to the lakes edge, thunder
rings out and lightening plays amongst the
peaks, as we’re faced with racing the downpour
back up the Gorge. The pace quickens as the
urgency of our plight increases, soon were
hurtling back up and up into the mouth of the
gorge. Bends melt into one another as the road
clears and we get the hammer down, an endless
progression of left/right sweepers, tightening
to the occasional hairpin. Still we’re only 2
inches of wood away from a one way trip to the
bottom, it keeps the senses honed. As we make
rapid (ish) progress, the urgency dissipates as
the storm crashes into the wall of the
mountains. Big drops continue to pepper us
threateningly, dampening the road to a slippery
skid pan and slowing our pace. The V-max has
fallen back in our hurried-up hurtling, so we
wait for it’s sweating, cursing rider to appear
before continuing at a more sedate pace.
" I quietly shit
myself…"
Sedate that is until we come across an
enthusiastically driven Golf Gti. We dice, drift
and play on the widening bends that mark the
end of the gorge. My brother bruises an
overtake at 100mph plus on a straight, I wait
‘till we’re braking for a bend then drop it over
his nose, standing the bike almost on its front
wheel, way past the apex and lay it down
horizontally to make the corner, score another
one for the excellent Conti Trail Attacks. John,
who was following said it looked really
impressive, I quietly shit myself…
Finally we’re free of the Gorge and back to the
regular diet of twisties and switchback corners,
More smoothly this time, we head home, till
we’re once again on the road to town, 15 miles
of tortured tarmac, forced in and back on itself
by the geography. Through forested glades, up
and down hills, it twists and turns till eventually
exhausted, it peters out in
Pegomas…Thoroughly knackered and satisfied
like lovers, we enjoy a mixed grill and a mixture
of beer and wine, before collapsing into bed.