Where we ride is a high powered training destination, a visiting cyclists' Mecca and a local riders dream. But once upon a time it was also home to a plethora of pro-races. A selection of events that took advantage of the best conditions in Europe but which, despite many having a gloriously storied past, have disappeared into the mists of time, as thick as those which periodically cover the local peaks. They are the ‘lost races’ - Les Courses Disparues - of the Côte D’Azur.

Like so many others, the Nice - Mont Agel race was invented by a sports journal. Sometimes known as Monaco-Mont Agel, the exact point of departure varied considerably during its fifty years of existence. Higher than Col de la Madone and with numbered switchbacks à la Alpe d’Huez which are now frustratingly out of bounds, Mont Agel itself was the immoveable constant across that time.

The original idea may have been to generate interest and income from an early season race in a glamorous location, and attract the rising stars of a growing sport, but what was created was effectively an uphill group time trial. In simple terms - a brutal war of attrition, from the relative comfort of the lower slopes start to the rocky heights of Mont Agel via the famous Mont des Mules lacets, lying then, as they do now, in the eastern shadows of the neighbouring Tête de Chien.

Wars shouldn't be re-fought but wheel tracks can be followed, with a little help from Michel (who actually competed in the last amateur version of the race back in 1984) and Kong Fùfù who can beguile an audience with tales of training on the slopes of Mont Agel alongside pros such as Alexander Blain.

The only way was, and still is, up. Sixteen kilometers to the top and as Henri Pélissier said 'It is a question of breathing out everybody, of not letting anyone rest or recover…”. Here speaks a man who should know. Along was his brothers, Henri was an early pioneer of the race and won the first three editions (plus a Milan San-Remo, two Paris-Roubaix and the 1923 Tour de France).

1923 was a dramatic edition, with thick snow and treacherous ice covering the final lacets on the approach to the fort and forcing all but one of the racers to climb on foot. Not a scene you would associate with a French Riviera race.

Retracing the route, it's clear that it's once you reach the upper slopes, after a brief dalliance with La Turbie, the Mont Agel test really gets tough. The average gradient increases to 8% for the section between the Route de Peille and Monte-Carlo Golf Club.

It remains a lesser-known road for many local and visiting riders but a fine testing for resident pros who litter the top of the Strava leaderboards. The views from the switchbacks cut into the rock over Cap Martin and Monaco are stunning.

Unsurprisingly then it’s the super grimpeurs that dot the history books of the event. It was here that the Eagle of Toledo, Féderico Bahamontes – recognised in 2013 as the best climber in the history of the Tour de France – took his first professional victory in 1954. Kong Fùfù may not live in quite such exalted company but he breathes a similar air. On the preceding Mont des Mules section which measures 4.2kms at 6% he has second fastest time of 10:33, 36 seconds behind professional Lieuwe Westra. Not quite an angel but close.

The real angels of Agel are those who prospered most on the same strips of hardcore. They weren’t Frenchmen but an Italian, Luigi Barral, and a Spaniard, José Gil. Each took five victories in the race and should have ridden their names into cycling legend but instead lie forgotten to all but a diminishing few.

The race eventually disappeared because of the rapid spread of development and the increasing population density. The complications of threading the event through the ensuing chaos providing too much for those charged with finding a way. And when it did the names of the angels of Agel disappeared with it. The lost racers evaporating with their lost race.

All that’s left are fading memories for some, just grainy pictures for others. Both conjuring a sense of purity in that hill climb format, a sense of excitement at the combination of the battle against gravity and the one day do-or-die ethic. And the roads themselves. More lonely now perhaps than they once were but still offering the same challenge they always have. A challenge we’re all free to take on in any way we so choose.

Read more about the races that gone but not forgotten in our Courses Disparues series.