Day 46 - June 24th: Trifecta

Day 46 – June 24

Nice to Bordighera: 29.52 miles / 1,229 total

Danny G commented, Monica said it was time, and I think I heard John fall out of his chair—so yes, it’s official: after a two-year run (many of those with John chasing our Grand Slam dreams), my trusty hat has been retired!

I’m not exactly sure why Nice feels like such a pivot point in this journey. It’s not quite halfway. Maybe it’s just the last major city in the long crossing of France, or maybe it’s the emotional whirlwind of the weekend. Or maybe it’s the scale—after so many quaint villages, Nice felt vast. Even Coach Lisa sensed something was up; she called and said I sounded “hungover”—a pretty accurate emotional description. We agreed to keep focused on one day at a time, namely today and stay within marathon range which felt “easy”. I had a plan.

In Nice, we saw homeless people for the first time on the trip. One even shoved a woman on the sidewalk. Then at dinner, a waitress asked us how much we wanted to tip—a first in Europe, where tipping isn’t the norm. It all felt too big, too much. We both thought it was time to move on.

But rest brings energy. I woke recharged and ready for what I hoped would be one of the most memorable days of the crossing: three countries in one run—France, Monaco, and Italy. Jax and I hit the promenade at 7:10 a.m. under overcast skies and humid mid-70s air, with the Mediterranean just one block away.

We made a left on the promenade and a few kilometers in, we dipped into Nice’s old city, where the grand architecture signaled a deep history. Nice itself, once part of the Duchy of Savoy, was only annexed by France in 1860. That blend of French and Italian heritage lingers in its vibe.

We climbed out of Nice via Mont Boron, stairs merging with road, and descended with sweeping views over Villefranche-sur-Mer. Once a strategic naval port used by the French fleet, Villefranche’s bay is one of the deepest natural harbors in the Mediterranean. High on the ridge, an old fortress still watches over it.

After the next hill came Beaulieu-sur-Mer, once a favorite winter retreat for European royalty and home to Villa Kerylos, a reconstruction of an ancient Greek noble house. The vibe here was all old-money elegance: early morning cafés, vendors setting up, and a timeless, small-town square.

From there I passed through Cap-d’Ail, the last French town before Monaco. A resort haven since the Belle Époque, it was once frequented by Winston Churchill and Greta Garbo. Massive yachts lined the marina. For the first time this trip I saw a Ferraris and Rolls Royce’s being driven by men who looked at me running to make sure I was looking at them to which I pointed to my feet and smiled. 

If you are in the market to drop $25mm on a small villa in this area, I would definitely prefer Beaulieu-sur-Mer because it felt quieter and more exclusive although if you had a driving aged child looking for driving school, you would have to forego the Cap-d’Ali driving school red Porsche 911 Turbo that I saw a young girl learning in!

At 20km on the day, Jax and I ended up on nice street. and decided to pop into a patisserie. I ordered a Coke, two small waters, a café au lait and chocolate croissant. The girl told me €18. “Where am I?” I asked. She told me Monaco! That explained it. At least Jax got a bowl of water out of the deal.

After leaving and making a right out the door, everything changed fast: sleek architecture, polished sidewalks, to our right the formula 1 road and then the famous Monte Carlo Casino. Jax posed for a picture in front of the Hôtel de Paris as a Ferrari and a white Rolls-Royce crawled by. Gucci bags swung from arms. Tourists posed for photos. It was dazzling, but it wasn’t us. Time to get back to real life.

Luckily, we found a trail that snuck us out of Monaco and onto the coast. For several kilometers, we ran beside the rail line, cliffs dropping to beaches below—some busy, some nearly empty, others… quite nude.

Then came Menton, the last French town before Italy. What a gem. Nestled between sea and mountains, it was once known as the “Pearl of France” and has strong Italian roots. Even Queen Victoria wintered here. Pristine streets, elegant buildings, a charming marina—I’d take Menton over Nice any day.

Jax was flagging at mile 21, and with temperatures climbing over 90°F and high humidity, Christina arrived at the perfect time to extract him. I fueled up on falafel and fries and pushed on solo up a final long rise. Looking back, I saw France—Monaco and the entire Côte d’Azur coast—stretching behind me, shimmering.

Then I hit a small checkpoint with the Italian flag and crossed into Italy. Around the bend, France vanished and only the Ligurian coastline remained. Same sea, same mountains—but now the language changed, the signs shifted, the architecture and vibe transformed instantly.

I passed through several more urban towns—Ponte San Ludovico, Latte, Ventimiglia, Vallecrosia—and finally arrived in Bordighera, our stop for the night. The town was once favored by British aristocrats, including Queen Margherita of Savoy, who helped put it on the map in the 19th century.

It was an incredible day. My energy was back, my legs felt solid, and emotionally, I felt light again.

All of Italy lay ahead and I see a lot of pasta on the horizon.

Thanks for the support. Cheers,

David