l’Échappée Belle 96k

In late summer I stood on the start line of the 96 km Traversée Nord of l’Échappée Belle, a high-elevation ultra that crosses the wild Belledonne range at the edge of the French Alps. Beginning at midnight in the town square of Allevard, the route climbs more than 7,000 m, linking a string of legendary passes—Valloire (2,751 m), Comberousse, Morétan, and Arpingon—before plunging to the valley and the ringing finish bell in Aiguebelle. It’s a journey that moves from the hush of moonlit forests to the rawness of alpine wilderness, as breathtaking as it is demanding.

Distance	Elevation +/-
97.2 km (60.4 mi)	7,367 m (24,170 ft) ↗️ 7,380 m (24,213 ft) ↘️

Arriving in Grenoble

I arrived in Grenoble two weeks before the race, eager for a mountain setting and a long-planned adventure. But a week prior, on what was meant to be a routine training run, everything changed: I landed awkwardly and felt the sharp pull of a high ankle sprain. After an orthopedic visit and an MRI, the verdict was blunt—torn ligaments and no running for six to eight weeks.

This wasn’t the usual ankle twist. A high ankle sprain is stubborn and slow to heal, and any thought of racing was suddenly off the table. Still, I decided the trip to France was worth it. My friend Arnaud was running the 96 km Traversée Nord, and although two of his other friends had to withdraw, I could still join him on training runs, support him during the race, and soak up a summer in the French Alps.

Grenoble proved the perfect consolation. Cradled at the foothills of the Alps, the city blends a laid-back vibe with quick access to high-mountain trails. Arnaud welcomed me as if I’d always belonged—cooking delicious meals and introducing me to his circle of friends.

We spent a few days wandering central Grenoble, even celebrating Arnaud’s birthday, before moving to Saint-Egrève, a quieter spot nearer the mountains and a cooling stream.

Later we escaped to a mountain cabin in La Bâtie, where the view opened toward the striking limestone tower of Mont Aiguille.

Even with an injured ankle, I found ways to move—hiking and cautiously jogging on soft trails—enough to breathe the fresh mountain air, support my recovery, and put a hint of elevation back in my legs.

Race day

Arnaud’s parents kindly took charge of race-day logistics, driving us first to Aiguebelle to pick up our bibs and then on to the start in Allevard. At bib pickup we caught a welcome break— microspikes were no longer required as part of the mandatory gear.

I had packed my running kit with the modest plan of joining Arnaud for a short section of the course—more for moral support than as a participant. But during the 30-minute drive to Allevard, I closed my eyes, and the thought crept in: Why not start with him? My ankle had already handled a 26 km run and a 42 km slow-paced run the previous week, so I reasoned that as long as it stayed wrapped and supported, I should be able to manage. If it didn’t hold up, I could always drop out at one of the checkpoints where we planned to meet his parents.

As the car wound through the darkening foothills, my mind ran a gear checklist. Everything was in my pack—almost. I was missing just three items from the mandatory list: a collapsible water cup, a second headlamp, and an emergency blanket. I opened my eyes, looked at Arnaud, and blurted, “Let’s do this.”

His face lit up. “Yeah?! Ok, let’s go!”

Immediately his parents joined the impromptu scramble. His father pulled an emergency blanket from the car’s first-aid kit. His mother handed over her neck buff, which could double as a head covering. Arnaud lent me one of their headlamps. The only thing left was a water cup.

By the time we reached Allevard, the town square was alive: spectators crowded the cobblestones, a local band played, and the evening sky glowed gold. We found a café and settled in for an apéritif, soaking in the music and the growing hum of anticipation. Afterward we ate the simple meal we’d packed and tried to grab a bit of rest before the midnight start.

While I repacked my gear, the missing cup nagged at me. Just then Arnaud rummaged through the car and triumphantly held up the plastic lid of an aerosol can. It wasn’t foldable and barely qualified as a cup, but it would do.

We had about two hours until the start, so we reclined our seats and tried to sleep. My mind refused to settle. Excitement and nerves pulsed through me. I focused on keeping my eyes closed and my breathing slow, hoping to steal a few minutes of rest.

With an hour to go, I gave up on sleep, checked my gear one final time, and put on my running vest. We walked to the start and lined up ten minutes before our wave. At midnight the first wave set off to cheers and cowbells, and from the corral of the next wave Arnaud and I joined the crowd in sending them off—hearts thumping, adrenaline rising, waiting for our own turn under the midnight sky.

Allevard

Just after midnight we left the town square of Allevard, headlamps flickering through the quiet streets. The route quickly left pavement for a service road and then singletrack. Cool night air and the gentle first climb helped me settle into a steady rhythm.

I’d never tested my headlamp’s battery on a single long charge, so I took precautions—occasionally switching it off and letting the glow from nearby runners guide my steps. The trail climbed steadily toward Refuge Crêt du Poulet (1,695 m), a perfect warm-up of soft forest paths, fresh legs, and a comfortable pace of about 5.8 km/h.

As we began to contour around the mountainside, flickers of city lights appeared far below, tiny constellations against the dark valley. I reached Refuge Crêt du Poulet in just under two hours, feeling strong and eager for the bigger climbs ahead.

Centre Cévéo

The descent toward Centre Cévéo (1,046 m) was smooth and quick—my fastest section at about 6.7 km/h. Here the race truly came alive as the first faint hints of dawn brushed the horizon, headlamps glowed like a string of lanterns along the ridge behind me, and a crisp alpine breeze carried the promise of the next climb.

Col de la Valloire

Daylight broke as the trail tilted skyward for the race’s biggest climb: over 1,800 m of gain to the Col de la Valloire (2,750 m). The path wound through rocky switchbacks and past the trio of alpine lakes—Blanc, Noir, and Glacé—their surfaces catching the first light of morning. Cresting the pass felt like stepping into another world—a sea of cloud pooled in the valley below while mountain peaks pierced the sky.

Col du Morétan

A high-mountain traverse linked the two great passes. Col du Morétan (2,488 m) rose ahead with jagged granite walls and an untamed, alpine feel. The terrain turned technical—boulder fields with lingering patches of snow—and the climb became a slow, deliberate slog. But the cheers of race supporters at the top, their voices echoing across the cirque, gave us a burst of energy for the final push to the top.

I put away my poles and focused on big, deliberate steps, hopping from boulder to boulder while keeping my heart rate in check. The strategy worked, I body felt steady and composed, allowing for me to conserve energy for the steep descent that awaited on the far side.

Périoule

From the cool air of Morétan, the trail plunged toward Périoule (1,808 m). I let gravity take over, moving at 4.15 km/h and gripping the fixed rope on the steeper pitches. The route past small alpine lakes before easing onto softer meadow trails—a welcome change to my feet and a much-needed mental reset after the brutal climb.

Super Collet

Rolling climbs carried us to Super Collet (1,642 m), a ski area that turns into alpine meadows in the summer. The midday sun beat down, but the gentle terrain allowed a steady 4.37 km/h. We met Arnaud’s parents here, taking a moment to recharge: refilling water, grabbing salty snacks and soup, and mentally bracing for the rugged afternoon that lay ahead.

Arpingon

This was where the race demanded patience: a relentless climb to Arpingon Pass (2,196 m) and the wild ridge beyond. My pace slowed to 2.72 km/h as rocky scrambles alternated with steep grassy ascents, and the midday heat began to take its toll.

Yet the views were unforgettable—Belledonne’s serrated skyline stretched out before me, with distant glimpses of the Chartreuse catching the eye across the valley.

Val pelouse

This section proved one of the hardest for me. Perhaps it was the time of day, or the succession of passes, but my energy levels hit an all-time low. I began feeling dizzy and unsteady, needing short breaks at each pass to regain composure.

Once we cleared the final pass, the trail finally descended toward Val Pelouse (1,714 m). A balcony of green slopes and wide horizons opened up, and I was finally able to pick up speed, running freely toward the checkpoint.

Le Bourget en Huile

At this point, I checked in with Arnaud. He was feeling strong, so we decided he would push ahead and finish the last 30 km on his own. After he left, I paused briefly to rest, shutting my eyes for a moment. Feeling renewed, I began the ascent out of Val Pelouse, evening light stretching across the valley as I cruised at 4.01 km/h, headlamp back on, savoring the cooling air and the first glimmers of the finish.

Darkness returned as I descended toward Le Bourget en Huile (819 m). The trail twisted through a series of switchbacks, and I mostly ran alone, feeling steady despite tired legs. At the checkpoint, I refueled on fresh fruit and soda and caught up with Arnaud’s parents. They had just missed Arnaud, who had passed through at lightning speed. Seeing them cheering me on gave me the strength to continue. I promised I’d see them at the finish line. As I set off again, fatigue was real, but my mind was calm and focused—ready for the final push.

Aiguebelle

The last climb before glimpsing Aiguebelle was steep and relentless, a single track without switchbacks that seemed to stretch on forever. A few runners accompanied me at first, but as I neared the top, many had fallen back, leaving me alone once more. Running along the ridgeline, I kept anticipating the trail’s descent—only to be fooled by a few false drops.

Finally, in the closing 7 kilometers to Aiguebelle (319 m), I found a rhythm and began to pick up the pace, settling into a comfortable run as I caught sight of other runners ahead. The descent tested me. I wondered if I'd started the final stretch too hard and whether I could hold it. Yet after nearly 25 hours on the move, I managed to sustain 5.76 km/h through the forested descent.

When I finally rang the famous Aiguebelle bell, the weight of the Belledonne lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a quiet, exhausted joy—a culmination of pain, determination, and an appreciation for the mountains.

Checkpoint	Dist. (km)	Cum. Dist. (km)	Elevation +	Speed (km/h)	Time	Rank
Allevard	-	-	-	-	00:00:00	-
Refuge Crêt du Poulet	10.7	10.7	1,385	5.84	01:50:24	141
Centre Cévéo	10	20.7	277	6.71	03:19:49	194
Col de la Valloire	8.9	29.7	1,822	2.95	06:36:26	157
Col du Morétan	3.5	33.2	411	2.48	08:02:10	183
Périoule	3.7	36.9	10	4.15	08:55:34	180
Super Collet	10.3	47.2	890	4.37	11:17:22	174
Arpingon	13	60.2	1,643	2.72	16:03:52	184
Val pelouse	4.9	65.2	276	4.01	17:17:41	186
Le Bourget en Huile	15.5	80.6	972	3.41	21:50:41	197
Aiguebelle	16.5	97.2	681	5.76	24:58:05	180
Total	-	97.2	8,367	3.89 (km/h)	24:58:05	180

Reflections

The 96 km Traversée Nord of l’Échappée Belle was more than a race to me. Deciding to participate only four hours before the start made the experience all the more memorable. I’m incredibly grateful to Arnaud, who ran alongside me and supported me throughout, and I’m equally happy that we each got to run our own races in the final 30 km—making both our experiences even more meaningful and fulfilling.

The route is a full alpine crossing, from moonlit forests to high mountain passes and back down to valley towns. Each section demanded something different—speed, patience, resilience—and offered its own rewards: lakes glowing at dawn, misty ridgelines, and the deep satisfaction of reaching Aiguebelle with the bell ringing in the night.

Thanks for reading! If you have any questions or just want to chat about the race, feel free to reach out on Instagram: @andrewtpham.