Ben Jones' Mont Blanc Enduro

Being an adventurous kind of rider, I’ve never fallen into the trap of going to the same holiday destination to ride the same polished trails. Now, there’s nothing wrong with retreating to Morzine every year to hone some skills on long descents, but aren’t you left wanting more?

If you’ve ever stumbled across a local downhill route tucked away under a ski lift, or blatted down a foot path you probably shouldn’t have, or slipped off the downhill main line by accident and found yourself on something wilder, and you liked it, then maybe it’s time to quench your thirst for something a little more off-the-beaten-track, where breaking bumps and queues are a distant memory. Enter Ben Jones MTB Adventures.

Offering custom or pre-planned guided trips, Ben Jones is a master of piecing together trails you may not otherwise consider from the comfort of way-marked routes in your usual haunts. From epic adventures in the Alps, to wild trail-hunting in Scotland; Ben has collected some of the best descents in Europe, and has spent five years tweaking loops to cram as much of them as possible into one week. We couldn’t resist an invite to the Mont Blanc Enduro trip, for it’s title if nothing more, which took in around 300km of stoke, and 23,000m of descending glory.

Here’s my ride diary:

Arrival Day

Arrival in Chamonix saw our transfer bus drive straight through the crowded centre and slightly uphill to a quiet wooden chalet complete with hot tub and views of Mont Blanc. A group of seven strangers are welcomed by the chalet host before being prepared a three course meal. As one lad described how he chopped down a tree on his local trail with the power of Red Bull and a hand axe, I wondered how Ben’s routes and “unlimited trail snacks” would stand up to such connoisseurs or trail and sweet-toothery.

During pudding, Ben lays down the law about stray bags, bike maintenance, and his idea of ‘trail mix’ being a freezer bag full of salted nuts, dried fruit and haribo. Ben’s golden rule was “don’t break yourself on the trail”. None of us wanted to disappoint him. Julia Hobson, our second guide and all round alpine Hopetech queen, finished the speech with an alternative look at what Ben really means when he says things like “it’s only a four minute climb”. We all looked at each blankly when Ben said our first climb was to be 90 minutes.

Day 1. Chamonix to Grand St. Bernard

The day started with a hike near the Croix de Fer, a regular mountain pass for the Tour de France, but we were in Swiss territory now and steering clear of tarmac. Ben taught us to carry our bikes on our shoulders properly and we merrily followed him up to 2,000m on a rooty pathway. The views didn’t disappoint. A row of mountains stood opposite the patchwork valley, with Verbier just about visible on the opposite mountain, a nod to how far removed we were from the hum drum of bike parks.

After a 90 minute walk, ahead of us was hours of descending fun, starting with the rocky and unpredictable surface of the Mont Blanc Trail. Tyres were woken up with loose scree and rolling baby-head rocks causing us to all pin-ball down the pathway as we desperately tried to get into a rhythm. One lad was pretty sure he did an x-up with both wheels still on the ground. I’m pretty sure I did the same, only mine ended up with a torn pair of gloves and some dented pride.

The trail eventually relaxed into open off-camber fields full of cows with tinkling bells. The occasional patch of traffic included walkers leaping aside, and big black Swiss bulls that looked like they were powerlifters in a previous life. I crept passed them slowly, the Scottish lad behind shouts “get te fook!” and blasts through a stream.

once we were off the beaten track of the Mont Blac Trail, we barely saw a sole all week

Coffee at the refuge saw us far removed from civilisation, however, it didn’t take long before we go onto the topic of Pokemon Go and wondered what yellow-goggled enduromons we could capture up here. It seemed not many. In fact, once we were off the beaten track of the Mont Blac Trail, we barely saw a sole all week. Just stunning hour-long descents with no one in the way. Ben says the most common question at the end of a day is “why was no one else riding that?!”.

In the valley, all hyped up on a morning of mental riding and near-misses, we grabbed a coffee and met the tour bus for an assisted uplift. Now that’s my kind of climbing. We had arrived in Switzerland and waiting for us was flowing natural single track with a hairpin addiction. Pine needles were your loam and drifting corners was a dream. We were popping off side walls and using everything as a take-off opportunity. The odd fierce rocky section kept us on our toes, catching pedals and testing our nerve. Descents ranged from rocky wide tracks to skinny, wiggly stuff that had me dancing on the bike, bouncing from left to right, and feeling like a total trail Jedi.

Descents … had me dancing on the bike, bouncing from left to right, and feeling like a total trail Jedi

We got back to the van just as thunderstorm hit. A big flash was followed by a loud crack that sounded like someone was banging on the van roof with a hammer. We loaded up, grabbed some ‘unlimited trail snacks’ and headed for a hotel that, if it were in a film, would sit somewhere between the Grand Budapest Hotel and that place from The Shining. We scoffed a three course meal that was somehow both Swiss and Italian; unbiased food from somewhere that sat directly on the boarder.

Day 2. Switzerland to Italy, via Aosta

We descended straight from the hotel with a rude awakening from a slick rocky trail, followed by a dewy rock-strewn grass verge. The tyres pinged and popped underneath, then, as if to announce the arrival into Italy, the clouds parted and we were greeted with an epic bowl-shaped green valley and a trail skirting its way around a mountain, like a shelf of single track. It was exposed and testing with a big drop to the right if you get it wrong. Descending style was not a million miles from the recent Enduro World Series Round held at La Thuile, which was in fact just over the other side of a nearby mountain.

It had been an epic day already, and it wasn’t even over.

We hit the woods and then sunk into switchback corners down the side of the mountain, for what seemed like miles. Mental chicanes on roots and rock had us all waiting for each other to clear tricky sections, lined up across the mountain edge shouting and cheering each other on like a World Cup crowd. Later, our slow-moving tech skills were rewarded with a super fast track that had us hitting off-cambers at full throttle with dust kicking up everywhere. One lad found solace in a bush off the edge of the trail, another cuddled up to tree after overshooting a corner. After a few child-like screams and made-up enduro slogans, we finished on a street in front of the van, all pumped full of adrenaline, wide-eyed with heart rates at max. It had been an epic day already, and it wasn’t even over.

Later we hacked through some back alleys, down flights of steps and through some steep shoots that connected the roads like we’d stumbled across an urban down hill track. We stole sandwiches from the van, melted in the valley heat for a bit, then got on with the afternoon’s adventure.

Gazing up at a baron cliff face, with toothy rocks jutting out, it was hard to imagine we were capable of standing up there, let alone riding

The afternoon treated us to yet more fast, open, dusty, rocky stuff near the Aosta Valley. Then, Ben took us to ‘that cliff descent’. After reaching the top and looking over the edge of the trail, a point which looked to be more like something for base jumpers than mountain bikers, we knew we were into something quite advanced. The trail was extremely exposed, super technical, really narrow, and with tight switchbacks on rocks. One lad innocently asked “what was that flowery smell, rosemary or something?”, no mate, that was Death’s deodorant. Gazing up at a baron cliff face, with toothy rocks jutting out, it was hard to imagine we were capable of standing up there, let alone riding.