Post-Paris reality check

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Phew, that was some trip!

I think the after-effects are going to be felt for some time – some great new friendships and bonds have formed and will hopefully be maintained, between people who initially three and a half weeks ago had never met, but since then have bonded as, together, they have come through some incredible experiences, some immense challenges, shared plenty of laughs and a few doses of pain, taken on an almost ridiculous challenge, and ultimately shared something, some small semblance, of what it must be like to be riding this thing, the Tour de France, as a professional.

One of the really interesting things has been that French TV has a daily show after the Tour stage in which they follow the Europcar Tour de France team, a sort of fly on the wall affair.  And really, there are many parallels to the lives we have all led over recent weeks:

– get up, get breakfast, get on a bus, get onto bike, ride quite a long way (obviously a lot faster than us!), get to the end, get on bus or straight into hotel / ride bike to hotel, get through the hassle of finding your room, buddy up with roommate, get bike sorted by mechanics, get massage, get briefing on the next stage, get kit ready for the morning, go to bed. Repeat for three weeks.

Yes they are racing, yes they have far more detailed briefings on tactics etc, yes they have washing machines built into their team bus so they don’t have to do their own laundry in the bath /shower then hang it on balconies any any available sunny space to try and dry it; yes they have their own chefs and food (not random beige food we were served in many hotels) and yes they have media commitments.

And they spend half the time we do, actually riding their bikes, because they are so super-humanly fit.

But the parallels are there nonetheless, and I can tell you, there is not a lot of glamour and not a lot of reward for the immensity of ultimate hard graft they put in, day after day after day.  Most teams go through the Tour without winning anything, and sponsors are notoriously fickle, so the rewards can be lean indeed for many of the pro peleton.  And yet, and yet, there is still that aura, the feel of romance among the suffering, the nobility of the efforts, the absence of any hiding place for any rider, the need to hit the mark on every single stage.  How they do it, I simply don’t know.  Specially those like Jens Voight who are well into the double figures for the number of times they have ridden the Tour.  And yet, I love watching it; and I am immensely proud to have done my best to replicate in some small feeble way, their experiences.

More immediately, it is now official – having spent the best part of today in the local minor injuries unit, I can confirm that I cycled all of the second half of the Tour de France route, including Mont Ventoux,  the Alps, & Alpe D’Huez twice, with a break in the wrist end of the radius (helpfully explained to me as the bone in the lower arm that is thicker at the end nearest the wrist; unlike the ulna). So now 3-6 weeks in a cast. Not exactly what I was hoping, although an outcome that I was almost expecting.  A very good job I didn’t get it x-rayed during the trip as that would have been my ride over, all too soon.  10 years ago, Tyler Hamilton thought he was hard, riding the Tour with a broken collarbone.  In 2010, Tyler Farrar rode for 10 stages after breaking his wrist in a crash before finally admitting defeat and pulling out. This year Geraint Thomas is riding with a broken pelvis, suffered during the opening stage.  It seems I am in good company…

So in the space of 36 hours I have gone from:

and:

to:

and now:

and:

and trying to work out how I am possibly going to be able to get to and from work for the next 3-6 weeks.  Ah well, that’s life!

 

Final stage Bastille Day Sunday 14th July – Paris

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I’m typing this on Monday morning in Paris, so we must have finished.  Yesterday while Chris Froome was proving what an extraordinary athlete he is, we were making our way from a goat farm near Rambouillet (yes that’s right) to the Eiffel Tower.

Distance: 47km

Climbing: 397m

Ride time: less than 2 hours
The day began with a 5am start, and at 5.30 the coach trip north from the Alps began. About 7 hours and much sleeping later

we did indeed arrive at the aforementioned goat farm near Rambouillet. As was explained to us, finding somewhere on Bastille Day near Paris that can accommodate 100 or so cyclists, 2 coaches, multiple vans, bicycles, etc and provide lunch, is not exactly an easy task. So the bizarre experience of getting changed in a goat shed took the trip to yet another whole new level. The lunch was great though.  Guess what sort of cheese was involved.

We set off for Paris following our traditional black arrows on dayglo route markers. Initially I rode with my namesake Andy, as we had enjoyed each other’s company but for one reason or another not often cycled together. Fr about 20km we enjoyed great smooth roads, classic French villages, shared a light-hearted follow-up to an earlier 2-man king of the mountains competition, mano-a-mano, Andy vs Andy; and then we approached Versailles.

As a sequence of traffic lights began, and the horde of our main peleton came whooping and hollering up behind us,

we were swept along to a first stop right in front of the palace, where an initialo small crowd of family and friends supporters had gathered; some even were riding the stage alongside us.

Heading on again into the centre of Paris, we caught first sight of the Eiffel Tower after a final sting in the tail mini-climb reminded us that we were required to also go uphill when required – thanks Phil. And tracking through Paris, over cobbles (thankfully for my wrist, relatively few), we appeared at the run -in to the Eiffel Tower, where I am told that Sarah had last-minute negotiated the re-routing of the entire national Bastille Day parade so we could finish in the “right” place. Which we duly did, welcomed by family and friends, smiles, cheers, champagne and hugs. Expecting to see my sister and step-mother I was none the less completely lost for words when I turned around at a tap on the shoulder and there was Tom my son. A complete and fantastic surprise!

Phil clapping us in:

Champagne glugged, photos taken, it was a final 3km ride to our hotel and the end of event party on the 56th floor of the Montparnasse Tower.
I haven’t added up all the stats yet, but we rode about 3,360km / 2,200 miles in 21 days. Although the final day route was not too similar to the pro’s, with their 7 trips around the Champs Elysee cobbles, I for one wasn’t complaining. In every other stage we had ridden the exact route, or as close to it as possible. We had still ridden the Tour de France 2013 route, we had achieved the challenge. It has truly been one hell of a journey. 

Thank you everyone at Tour de Force, the William Wates Memorial Trust (for whom collectively we raised over £300,000 to help provide opportunities to young people without the advantages in life that we all take for granted), the members of the Wates family, including William Wates’ three brothers, all of whom cycled parts of the route, and parents, and my fellow lifers and other cyclists who all contributed to truly creating the trip of a lifetime.
And now it’s Monday, time to travel home. Time to lock in the memories, retain the friendships. The bubble has now burst and normal life will resume.

Stage 20 – Saturday 13th July – Annency to Mont Semnoz

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Distance 125km (pro’s) / approx 135-140 (us) – no data download available yet

Moving time:  to follow; maybe about 6.5 hours?

Average speed: slow

Altitude gained: lots!

In theory, this would be a gentle and short final alpine day to decide the winner of Le Tour 2013 on the final climb.  In reality, it showed us all that looks can be deceiving.  Although only 125km for the pro’s, and a little more for us, and therefore the shortest full stage by some considerable margin, two things make it a whole lot tougher than one might imagine.  First, it contains six categorised climbs – in order, a cat 2, three cat 3’s, a cat 1, and then a summit finish at the top of the final Hors Categorie climb of the event.  Second, it comes immediately after two of the hardest days in the recent history of Le Tour, with no break for any sort of recovery.  So weary minds and bodies simply have to get back on the bike and get on with it.

Which for many people, me included, was an awful lot easier said than done.  The previous day’s stage had 2 hors categorie climbs, plus a cat 2 and two cat 1’s, and the body needs recovery time.  What it doesn’t need is insufficient food, about 5 hours of very poor quality sleep in an over-hot hotel room, a 5am start, and straight into the first climb of the day minutes after starting.

The day was warm, the sky clear, no wind, the early morning view of Annecy lake was spectacular.  All looked set for a great day’s riding.  Only someone forgot to tell my legs. 

pre-ride brief:

To begin with, even going downhill was a problem unless it was truly steep; flat was a struggle, uphill a real challenge.  Suddenly 125km was looking like a really long way.  All of us having dismissed this as a gentle final real day’s riding, before the Paris processional, were being forced to re-evaluate, and rapidly.

Had we been fresh, we would have revelled in the gentle alpine scenery, the quaint villages, their rustic rural semi-scruffiness, the occasional flower-filled garden or house front, the invariably well-maintained Mairie buildings (even in the smallest villages,  proudly flying their local, national and EU flags), the surrounding mountain scenery.  Rolling hills, ravines, gorges, woodland, high peaks, giant rocky outcrops and plunging valleys, the cries of birds of prey circling high above, the sound of cow bells jangling and clanging about the necks of, yes, cows. 

Instead, the focus was mostly on  – how far until it starts going up again, and how steep and for how long when it does.

The answer to the latter point was covered in the stage briefing – over 45km of categorised climbing, over a third of the total stage distance, which is indeed quite remarkable even for the Tour de France.  And as the day gradually heated up, those climbs became tougher still.  Plus all the other bits of uncategorised “up” also needed to be done.

Having started the day in one big bunch, we soon settled into the normal rhythm of a climbing day.  Fast people jet off at the front, everyone else trails out behind them, spacing determined by their own individual preferred climbing speed.  Although it is possible, indeed advisable, to ride in a group and share the extra workload at the front of the group, when riding on flat or undulating terrain, or into a headwind, the same rules don’t necessarily apply when climbing.  There is a fine line between climbing at your own best effort, and going too hard and ending up “in the red”; or indeed too easy for your own particular ability.  The trick is to find your preferred pace at the foot of a climb, such that you can maintain it and still be climbing at that speed by the top, however far away that may be.  In some cases, it will be more than two hours for a single climb.  I think i have pretty much perfected this art, in that I start out at a comparatively steady pace, sedate compared to some, but the fastest I can sustain, and can indeed normally maintain it for as long as needed, without being so slow I never get to the top. 

It has been interesting to see those who have not mastered this approach.  Typically they are people who have only recently joined the trip, to ride just a handful of stages, and often with no experience of riding mountains of the height and duration of what the Tour provides.  What happens is that at the foot of a climb they whizz off ahead up the mountain and out of sight.  Then gradually they get hauled back in and overtaken before the top, having blown up and been forced to stop for a breather, or simply slowed to a crawl (a slower crawl than mine!)

What this means is that very quickly, there are people scattered along the course, and it is not unusual to be cycling alone, with few if any others in sight ahead or behind, for long stretches.  Which makes watching out for directional arrows all the more important.  There is nothing worse than having an attack of arrow blindness which results in riding any more metres (or km) than necessary.  It was clear today that we were all on the edge of totally exhausted, as a number of people did indeed miss marker arrows, in some cases riding an extra 10km to rejoin the main route.

Then when a food stop comes along, things get mixed up again, with people deciding to stop for varying amounts of time whilst eating, to relax and chat.  So for one of the slower riders like me, the trick is to stop for less time than many and get a head start on the next section.  And as that section progresses, those faster people who took a longer stop will go past again.  Of course the faster people often don’t take a longer stop as their challenge is similarly to finish the stage as fast as they can; but on most days some of the faster people “go for it” from the off, while others ride sections fast then take longer breaks.  The real trick is not to dally too long at breaks, since with 4 of them in a typical day, one every 35km or so, time soon drifts away, resulting in a later arrival at the destination , less time for admin at the hotel, and critically for many, less chance of getting wifi.

Wifi access is the bane of the trip for many of us.  We arrive at a pleasant quiet hotel somewhere and suddenly there are 80 or more people all wanting to upload photos, videos, blogs etc.  And almost everywhere we have been, the local systems have been unable to cope.  Ingenuity has been called for.  Either – get to the hotel first (not an option for many of us!), try to upload when others aren’t (eg during dinner); find other access locally (eg at MacDonalds, which was the fastest wifi of the entire trip – although this requires there to be a MacDonalds within easy walking distance, as well as the time to get there and back without missing admin time, food, briefing, or sleep).  So all in all the wifi challenge has been one of the biggest ones.

Back to the stage.  Typically, my legs will get themselves properly into action after about 30 miles. However by that point we had already climbed three cat 3 climbs and a cat 2.  It was proving to be a highly demanding ride, despite the scenery.  And then my legs didn’t really start working in any case, as a result of the accumulated weariness of the preceding days and weeks.  So it was all in all a bit of a slog despite the scenery and the supposed shortness of the stage.  After a mid-stage 16km cat 1 climb up to Mont Revard (with the most spectacular views, only diminished by the amount of haze today), lunch in a pleasant meadow being deafened by the cowbells around the necks of a herd of the inquisitive local cows, a long descent, a non-flat flat section, a ravine-crossing at Montcell (a favourite jumping point both for suicides and for bungee-jumpers), we were left with “only” the hors categorie Mont Semnoz 11km between us and the finish. 

Lunchtime: cow eats bike shock:

This one was preceded by an additional 4km of climbing but which is for some reason not included in the official climb statistics.  Then the climb itself kicks in, with such steepness that it is a welcome relief that the climb is almost entirely shaded by forest.  Although the average gradient for the whole climb is 8.5%, the first 4km are all 10%, with sections at up to 14%.  From there, it gets little easier. One solitary flat section drops the overall average, but otherwise every km is either 10%, 9%, or 8%.  What this means is basically being in the easiest gear on your bike, grinding each pedal turn to continue with forward momentum, and alternating between sitting and standing on the bike – standing allows more power to be transmitted, but uses more energy.  When it is really steep, standing is the only option. 

On many cycling climbs such as this, there is a marker post at 1km intervals, telling you how far to the top, and the average gradient of the next 1km.  Seeing a marker post in the distance is a joyous thing; then seeing what it says, when you get to it, can be a somewhat more disheartening experience.  Many people put in earphones and listen to music while climbing, as a motivational aid.  It doesn’t work for me. Instead I play simple mind games, or calculate when and where the next 1km marker post will appear, by estimating each 100 metres of the current km.  I’m quite good at it now, although I have had quite a lot of practice over the last 3 weeks!

Eventually – eventually – the last 1km marked is passed, and finally round a blind bend a restaurant cafe comes into view, with all of those who have already finished, sitting in the sun drinking beer.  And yet even then it’s not over – there is another 200m to the official “top” – so a last push to the shouts of encouragement, round the bend, legs pumping, lungs burning, and there it is, the finish.  Stop 1 metre past it, drag air into lungs, calm the pulse and recover, take photos, congratulate others also there, and then – drift down to the cafe for: coke, ice cream, sandwich, beer, photo’s, hugs and much mutual back-slapping.  Although there is a short processional ride into Paris tomorrow, this summit finish, this cafe here and now, this celebratory beer, really marks the end of the trip, the achievement of having ridden the route of the 100^th Tour de France, cited by many as the toughest for many years in honour of it being the 100^th.  Plenty of smiles, relief, sighs, exhausted bodies going into temporary shut-down, and an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction at a massive target having been achieved.

1 metre past the finisah line:

beers:

some happy cyclists:

After an hour spent thus, it was back on the bike for the 11km descent down to Annecy and 3km on the flat to the hotel.  The descent was fast, sweeping, smooth, exhilarating – and not just because it was “the end” or because of the beer.  It was quite simply the best descent of the entire trip.  Whereas the 3km on the flat – on a cycle path beside the lake – was almost impossible for exhausted legs to complete.  It is probably a very good job that we don’t have any more of this, other than the processional 60km into Paris on Sunday (after a 5am start and a 7 hour bus journey).

I am conscious that I have not written about the friendships formed on the trip, the bonds that have been created, the shared experience binding us.  But I have met and enjoyed the company of many people, riders and staff.  The entire support crew, including those who have been ever-present as well as those who have completed one of other part of the trip.  Without all of them, none of this would have been possible.  In particular Baz who has kept me on the road with strapping to my hand each day.  Riders: Nick (father) and Matt (his son); the “Autobus Ecosse” Scottish crew – John, Trevor, Birdy, Neil, Lee, Marianne; Donald; Peter A-C; “Breakaway Dave”; Rob; Rick, Jonny and Monty Wates; Paul; Anthony; John; Gareth; Sean; Elton; big Phil, middle Phil; Sylvain; Morten; Alex; Adrian; Panzer Dave; Simon; Tim; Jamie; Peigi; Steve; Andy G; Chris; Matt and all the others.  Although as a group of lifers we have naturally coalesced into smaller groups, we have also respected each other’s achievements, no matter who finishes first or last. 

In time, I’ll reflect more fully on the entirety of this experience and write a summary of it all. But for now, for the 40 “lifers” in our group, it is a sweet moment of success.  And somewhat unsettlingly, the imminent re-emergence from our Tour de force “bubble” and the need to return to the real world.  Our simple life of the last 3 weeks can be condensed into: get up early; ride bike; follow arrows, eat, ride; get to hotel; wash kit, get massage, eat, get briefing, sleep, get up early; repeat. 

The bubble is now thinning and on Sunday will burst. Already the daily routine has changed and people are looking forward to meeting up with loved ones in Paris; confirming return travel; rejoining normal society.  And yet for the last 3 weeks we have all been privileged to lead the life we have, enjoying the totality of the experience and each other’s company.  Many new-found friendships will endure for many years; the memories will long remain. 

Finally, thank you to my gorgeous and long-suffering wife Lucy for agreeing to keep the household afloat during a manically busy time, to enable me to live this dream.

What a trip.

Now, what’s next?

 

 

Stage 19 Bourg D’Oisans – Le Grand Bornand

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Oh. My. Goodness.
What a day.
130 miles / 205km.
5 mountain summits.
Started riding 7am.
Got to the hotel 7.30pm.
A long. hard. day.  Probably my hardest ever day on a bike.

I can’t download my data yet for exact information on speeds, metres climbed, moving time, etc but will do so – I am told it was about 5,000 metres climbed.   About 1,000 more than any other single day. Phew.

At the start, the sun was just lighting the top of the mountains opposite our hotel in Alpe D’Huez, and cloud filled the valley below.  A chilly start with 4km downhill, then a cut across the side of the mountain on a “balcony” road perched on the mountainside, which after 15km brought us onto the official route (which will start in the foot of the valley).  We started high becuase thats where our hotel was. 

Before long, after some adventurous descending, we were below cloud level and within half an hour were at the foot of the Glandon – a 1,200 metre, 14 mile,  climb to the summit at 1,924m, including a mid-climb descent losing precious height only to have to regain it later.  About two thirds of the way up, the scenery – already spectacular – opened out in all its majesty.  Snow-covered peaks on all sides.

The climb actually got easier towards the top, which I reached two and a half hours after starting. out in Alpe D’Huez.  Then a flashing descent – plenty of tight hairpins – not great on my damaged hand but fun nonetheless – was followed by a short flat that brought us to the foot of the 19km / 12 miles climb up to the Col de Madeleine. 

My brother joined me for this climb and the subseuent descent, which was great, sharing a chat for the lower kms before quietly climbing the final dozen – through and above the upper ski station – to the summit at 2,000 metres, and the inevitable photo-opportunity. 

Another flashing descent, then a super-hot and gusting strong headwind rather ruined the 25km / 15 miles of  flat to Albertville.  Waving goodbye to Martin, he went straight on to his hotel; I turned right to the 6km of the col de Tamie.

And having cracked that, in the heat of the day, in about an hour , we moved on to, and then up, the col de L’Epine.  Another hot climb, another couple of hours.  Another monster.  Then finally the Cat 1 Col de Croix Fry.  Bigger than both the two previous climbs.  Longer, and steeper.  Where the cruncher was the hotel with an open air swimming pool next to the road 2km from the top, people enjoying the coolness of the water as well as the views.   Cruelty indeed.

Thankfully after that final killer climb, it was 25km downhill to the hotel and – eventually – a shower and food and beriefing and bed by 10.30 – ready for a 5am wake-up, luggage loading 5.45, breakfast 6, transport 6.30 to the start, ready to hit the road on the bike at 7.15.  For a shorter but helpfully still challenging day.

Sadly no time lo load photos, I will put up a gallery after the end of the trip (loading each picture takes up to 5 minutes and frankly sleep is essential).

So a massive day in the bag, and only 2 to go – one hilly but shorter than most (about 125km) ; the other, a celebratory 135km into the finish in Paris.  Phew.

Stage 18 Gap to Alpe d’Huez

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Only a short blog although today deserves more; its late and we have an early start. Finally however we do appear to have semi-decent wifi (for almost the first time in the entire trip).

So this was the first of the three Alpine “big ones”:

Distance ridden: 170km / 106 miles
total climbing: 4,385 metres
total moving time: 8hrs 57 mins
average speed: 19kph / 11.9mph (woeful but it was in fact rather hilly, and the descents were mostly terrible road surface so equally slow going)

max speed (which happened to be in a 1km long unlit tunnel – very scary): 67kph / 42mph

The pain began early with a cat 2 climb out of Gap; then further cat 2 and 3 climbs before arriving after about 105 km at the foot of Alpe D’Huez. It is famous in cycling, not becuase it is a beautiful alpine road – it’s not; not because it has fantastic views; generally it doesn’t; but because uit has 21 hairpin bends within its 13.5km / 9 miles of constant ascent; and each is named after a Tour de France hero who has won a stage culminating at the top. And they are all numbered, so you can tick them off mentally as you go up. Although sadly some are a lot further apart than others…..

Having an average gradient of over 8% meabns there are some steretches at over 10%, as a result of the gradient on the hairpins being virtually flat for at least 20-50 metres. Already the camper vans are in place in force ready for next week. And there were a multitude of mountain bikers, getting trucked up the hill only to then shoot down off road. Throw in some paragliders, a ski lift carrying yet mountain bikers to the top, and lots of traffic – trucks, cars, coaches and more camper vans – and there you have it – a 1hr 45 minute slog. Compared to the (drug-fuelled) record set by Marco Pantani of 38 minutes back in the early 90’s.

Having reached the top, we then went higher, straight up a cat 2 climb, Col de Sarenne, which whilst remote and spectacular, also has the worst descent I have ever come across. Completely lumpy, bumpy, lots of sharp bends, vertical drop-offs (many without any sort of protection) – all in all, a bit of a nightmare. Particularly on a damaged hand.

Looking down the col de Sarenne

 

However eventually the road surface improved, and having got back around to the foot of the Alpe (via the afore-mentioned tunnel, and having crossed a major new dam under constrcution), it was second-time up. Having ridden it once already in the day didn’t really feel as though it helped, as it was just as long, as hot, as steep, as painful, as challenging. However something must have been working well, as I somehow miraculously made it up more than 10 minutes faster than the first time. Cheered over the line by some of our early finishers (thanks!) and a quick photo stop at the offical finish point, it was then straight into the hotel and massage / cold bath / dinner / briefing on tomorrow – a killer of a day for sure – and so to bed.

Another challenge faced and achieved. And another one to follow.

Stage 17 time trial Embrun – Chorges 32km

 

 

 

The aim today was to not get out of breath at any point, therefore slow but steady, in order to preserve as much of my rapidly dwindling energy as possible, for the three-day alpine challenge that follows.

Time trial Embrun to Chorges

32km

1hr 42mins

18.5kph

832m climbing

Beautiful scenery yet again, the lake of Serre-Poncon glittering below as we ascended the first of two climbs that make up this 32km test.

It would be fair to say that I am now firmly into the territory of getting to the finish in Paris by a combination of pain management, fatigue management, and motivation management. For the first time I am really feeling quite tired, compounded by the continuing pain in my right wrist, my right rear ribs, and a twinge in my left hamstring. And as a result I have to admit I am not particularly looking forward to the challenge of the Alps. Therefore, today was a gentle ride to take in the scenery, a ride that just happened to consist of two Cat 2 climbs, each just over 6km and just over 6% average; although with some sections up to 12%.

From the relatively small number of people who overtook me, it was clear that many others were adopting the same principle as me. Even though it was barely a warm-up ride, I slept during the 30 minute bus ride back to the hotel; and slept again during the afternoon. And still felt tired. No doubt it is simply the cumulative effect of so many long rides over the last 18 days; mental maths tells me we have about 400 miles / 600km left to ride, including multiple alpine climbs. Therefore we must have ridden about 1,800 miles / 2,800km.

The next few days are going to be tough. Hopefully the weather will be kind to us, as every possible advantage in our favour is what I am now hoping for. Tomorrow is the 168km to Alp D’Huez, including the first every double ascent during a Tour de France stage. Plus two other categorised climbs, one right at the start of the day as we leave Gap; the other immediately after the first ascent of Alp D’Huez. Should be fun….and will show whether the training really was sufficient (it never really is, but hopefully it won’t be found to have been too woefully inadequate)

The highlight of today’s stage was a coffee and cake stop in the village where it finishes, before heading back to Gap for a quiet afternoon of sleep, food and bike-faff (i.e tinkering with bikes when they don’t really need to be tinkered with…)

Chorges:

Bike faff:

Stage 16 Vaison la Romaine (Bedoin for us) to Gap

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168km Tour de France (177km / 110 miles for us)
2,250 Metres climbing
Moving time 7hrs 26mins
Average speed 24.1kph / 15mph
A longer stage for us than the pro’s as we start from where we ended after the Ventoux, and where we also spent yesterday, the first proper rest day of the trip – the village of Bedoin.
After a lazy morning and lunch in the village, a session of handwash laundry, a spectacular thunderstorm nearby in the afternoon/evening, and a decent sleep, it was back to the business of cycling.
Today was a transition towards the Alps, not too long and not too much climbing, but again some spectacular scenery.

First, lavender fields, final views of Ventoux, and an entire village that smelled of thyme.

Then another spectacular gorge, a series of towns and villages perched on or below rock faces, and the first hint of snow-capped mountains.

By early afternoon the morning sunshine had turned to muggy hear and billowing storm clouds. Definitely a day to get a wiggle on and avoid the predicted mid afternoon deluge.

As a result I spent most of the day riding alone rather than with a group, and had minimal breaks at food stops. Although this made it harder when on gradual inclines into light headwind, it meant I could ride at comfortably my own pace, as well as getting photos on the move.
By 2.30 I was descending into Gap, then navigating the busy traffic-filled streets and starting the final climb up and out of Gap, before turning tight and dropping back down to the town, along a stretch of road made famous by Lance Armstrong going across a field to avoid a crash, and rejoining the road some hundred metres further down the hillside.
By then it was clear that rain was sweeping in across the city, and although I had only 3 km to ride, once again on the flat and through the heavy traffic, it proved to be a heavy and sustained rainfall, and inevitably I was caught in it for the final minutes of the ride. A disappointing end to an otherwise scenic, unspectacular but enjoyable day’s ride.
What followed was far more spectacular – another thunder and lightning extravaganza and an hour-long deluge of almost Ventoux type proportions. Fortunately this time I was watching it from a third floor hotel room window, while keeping an eye on the progress of the Tour, including the dramatic finale in St Malo (bathed in sunshine unlike our visit on a grey day a week ago) when in the final 200 metres Mark Cavendish appeared to elbow another rider to the floor at about 45mph……

Stage 15 Givors to Mont Ventoux

For Le Tour, 242.5km and a summit finish. For us, 266.7km including the descent back down to the town of Bedoin at the foot of the climb.
Why is Ventoux famous?
Because it is a place of extremes – of wind, of heat, of cold, of rain – and sometimes all four in the same day. (Read on.)
Because it is hellish hard to ride up on a bike. (Read on.)
Because it is a place of outlandish geography, totally out of context with its surroundings. (Read on.)
Because it is where, on the barren moonscape of its upper slopes, legendary British cyclist Tom Simpson lost his life on the 13th July competing in the 1967 Tour de France – an event that he had a good chance of winning. (Once again – read on.)
Mont Ventoux has featured in the Tour de France many times since 1967. But not since then has there been such a long stage ending in a summit finish at the top of the Ventoux. Tom Simpson’s death continues to cast a long shadow.
Before the riders get to the Ventoux, they will, like us, have ridden South for over 220km through the Rhone, the Drome, and the Vaucluse, before finally arriving in Provence. They may have noticed the increasingly Mediterranean feel to the landscape and the villages. Wide expanses of wheat fields giving way slowly but irrevocably to rolling hillsides of olive trees, fields of lavender, sunflowers and vines.

Certainly they will notice the temperature rising to the low 40’s through the middle of the day. They might even notice the changes to the architecture of the small towns along and near the route, more Italianate in feel and colour and style, in architecture and in their churches.

At several points they will have found it difficult to ignore particular geographical features – a massive volcanic plug forming an impregnable hill; a softly flowing river providing ample places for visitors to wade and walk and paddle and lounge among its free flowing but gentle passage over irregular and shallow sculpted bed rock. A dramatic rock wall gorge beside a small village, that the road approaches but doesn’t dare enter, turning back at the last.

Like us, they will have enjoyed the predominantly gentle undulations, although still sufficient to warrant three category 4 and one category 3 climbs: more than enough to get the heart and lungs pumping and pounding.

They may get to enjoy a predominantly tailwind airflow, as we did; or may face a headwind throughout the long journey South.
But in the back of their minds, as in ours, remains the looming realisation that the white-topped mountaintop on the horizon, getting ever closer, will soon have to be tackled.

Eventually after the final bout of pre-ascent climbing and descending, arrival in Bedoin marks the start of the 22km climb. Unlike yesterday, they won’t have the luxury of stopping at a cafe for coffee, ice cream and coca cola to reinvigorate already-tired and stressed muscles.

The road will be closed to all traffic, keeping the hordes of boy-racers on 4 wheels and 2, out of the way. All the camper vans will have been parked up and perched on assorted levellers and piles of wood and rock. All possible vantage points along its 22km route will be occupied, by tens of thousands of cheering fans.

The junction and signposts that mark the start of the climb:

After 5km at 3-6%, through villages, vines and the first pine trees, and with the giant observatory on the summit looking down on you from the high left, a left turn marks the start of the proper climbing, you enter the forest and lose sight of the summit. The next 5 miles are marked by pine forest mixed with beech, stretches of road several hundred metres long between corners, and always climbing at between 8% and 13%. A grinding, slow and laborious ascent, already in the lowest possible gear and wishing there were more available, the ever-upward trajectory gratifyingly shaded, but irritatingly progress being slower than the haze of flies that trail each rider as they haul themselves ever upwards. A well timed water stop after 11 tortuous kilometres provides a momentary respite, before continuing the next 4km to Chalet Reynard – an evocative name but one which ultimately deceives – a 60’s style soulless building alongside the only flat section in the entire 22km climb – all 200 metres of it – and which marks the transition from the scrubby pine forest into the sun-bleached rock moonscape of the final 6km to the summit.
Blessedly, it also marks a slight reduction in the gradient. Whilst welcome for us, we were climbing between 5pm and 8pm, as the day began to cool. Whereas the professional peleton may well be hitting the upper slopes several hours earlier. At which time, if the weather is like yesterday, the heat bouncing off the white rock will turn it into a cauldron of heat, far outweighing the benefit of the reduced gradient (8-11%, with some stretches at 5-8%), and turning the challenge for the top into a survival exercise as much as a bicycle race. And again, throughout this final 6km, the route will be lined with fans, some having spent the last week in their chosen spot in their camper vans, a combination of aficionados and nutcases, cyclists and the genuinely interested, plus those looking to witness some sort of freak show. Which it truly is. When it is too hot to stand still without instantly becoming drenched in sweat, it has to be freakishness that enables these men to race up through the thin air of such an unforgiving landscape to the summit at 1,912 metres above sea level.

the final 2 km from the top just before the rain moved in:

The record is something like 51 minutes from Bedoin to the summit (on fresh legs). When the summit was first achieved by bicycle, in 1907, it took Jacques Gabriel 2 hours 29 minutes. When included within a stage in the Tour de France, the best climbers typically reach the summit in under an hour. When I rode it yesterday, after already completing those first 220km, it took me 2 hours 25 minutes.
The mountain is an oddity, a brutish lump isolated in an otherwise flat area, it generates its own weather patterns and is truly a beast. In 1967 it claimed the life of Tom Simpson, the 1965 world champion and genuine yellow jersey contender. Less than 2km from the summit, he fell from his bike, was helped to remount, pedalled two or three more yards, then fell again. His eyes glazed, he fell into a coma and despite later being airlifted to hospital, never regained consciousness and died. Allegedly his final words to his team manager, who was by his side when he fell for the second time, were, “put me back on the bike”. The combination of the heat, his exhaustion, a stomach infection and traces of alcohol and amphetamines in his bloodstream (often used by cyclists in the 1960’s to help keep them going on long and relentless stages, most of which were longer than those ridden in the modern day race) all contributed to his death in this hostile and barren place high above the lavender fields and vineyards of Provence far below. A simple memorial now marks the spot where he fell, and many cyclists stop there to pay tribute and regain their energy for the final push. For me, it was more a case of mentally noting it, but no point in stopping, as the day was drawing to a close and I still needed to reach the summit as well as get back down before dark.
The top of the mountain looks permanently snow covered, however it is in fact bare rock, exposed after centuries of deforestation for fuel and building by the local population, and bleached by the unforgiving sun. On the summit sits an enormous observatory, which itself can be seen from 65km / 40 miles away.

The stage finish is at the observatory (although as noted, we also have to get back down to Bedoin). Sometimes it is so windy it is impossible to get to the observatory. Even in summer. The highest windspeeds in France have been recorded here. The observatory is not a delicate-looking structure. It is not a scenic entity in the traditional sense. But if you like your architecture to be rugged, industrial, unforgiving and adamant, this is the thing for you. It is built to withstand the worst that nature can throw at it, in the same way a lighthouse is. But where a lighthouse has curves and therefore a semblance of charm and attractiveness, the observatory on Mont Ventoux has straight lines and square edges and “utility” stamped all over it.
At other times the peak is indeed snow-covered (there is a ski station about half way up). Fortunately for us, the heat of the day had started to dissipate, the wind was relatively light, and those who reached the summit early, got back down in fine conditions as well, descending at speed. However by the time I and many others reached the summit at 1,912 metres, the weather was turning – and fast. Within moments, the wind speed increased, a wall of cloud blew in from the East, thunder could be heard.
Cutting short our stay at the top, a number of us began to descend.

At the top, extra layers added as the weather rolled in…

Before covering even 3 of the 22km, and passing many other riders still on the way up, the rain began. A wall of water began to be violently thrown down from the sky, huge drops, massive volumes, gusting winds, matched by flashes of lightning very close by, and instant cracks and surround-sound rumbles of thunder. Almost immediately the road was awash in several inches of water; the rainfall was bouncing up off the road; despite having put on a light waterproof and arm-warmers at the top, in moments I was soaked and shivering. The temperature had dropped from 40 degrees to 14 degrees in minutes.
The road as well as being awash, had occasional muddy rivers of water superimposed diagonally across several corners. Rocks and debris were being washed into the road. It was almost impossible to see, even with a cycling cap under my helmet to provide some protection. Some riders gave up the attempt to descend, and sought refuge under the awning of a fortuitously-placed camper van. Other sheltered under the trees. Those who were the last to reach the summit, sheltered in the Tour de Force van and came back by 4-wheeled transport. Allegedly the entire van was rocking side to side at the summit with the sudden strength of the wind.
Several, like me, continued, even though it was almost impossible to see ahead. The only way to progress, was slowly, with extreme caution, meaning both hands applying both front and rear brakes continuously, to try and keep the speed down – constant braking a practice normally frowned on as it wears out the pads, heats up the rims which can cause punctures (no danger of that here though) and leads to cramped hands. Indeed, after 20 minutes of this, feeling in fingers was being lost, cramp was setting in, and still the rain pummelled from the sky. I began to realise why my bike was shaking as I continued to descent to hopefully warmer and less wet altitude – it wasn’t a slowly deflating tyre, but my body shivering uncontrollably.
My focus was entirely on keeping the speed down, despite the relative ineffectiveness of the brakes under such conditions, and not to crash. Eventually, I emerged on the lower gentler slopes where the rain eased and then stopped. Despite the warmer temperature, it was by now after 8pm, we had been cycling since 7am, and I was unable to control the shivering. So it was a case of trying to grit teeth and soft-pedal back to Bedoin and our accommodation, where, finally, I could step off the bike and into a dry building to try to get warm and dry and stop the shivering.
It’s not often that you can get sunburn and hypothermia on the same day – but Mont Ventoux is no ordinary mountain, and just when I thought I had it beaten, it put me right back in my place, with a vengeance.
And that is why the Giant of Provence is such an iconic location for the Tour de France.
Total distance: 266.7km . 166.6 miles. By far the furthest I have ever cycled in a single day.
Total moving time: 11hrs 15 minutes
Total ride time (including all stops): 13 hours 23 minutes
Total altitude gained: 1,965 metres
Average temperature: 31 degrees. Highest: 41 degrees. Lowest: 14 degrees.
What a day.

Stage 14 Saint Pourcain sur Sioule to Lyon

Just a short update today as we have a 5am start tomorrow to ride 167 miles culminating in the mighty Mont Ventoux.  It will be the hardest day so far and sleep is calling….

So, and having forgotten to put my Garmin recording device on the bike this morning;

190km / 119 miles

8 hours 2 minutes riding time excluding stops

average moving speed 15mph

– exact details to follow from a fellow rider who I was with all day.  And who did have his Garmin.  Clever boy.

A day of rolling countryside, increasing heat, seven categorised climbs (cat 3 and 4), some interesting scenery and generally quiet roads and great tarmac.  Thank you France!  And the villages and towns we passed seemed much more ready for Le Tour, with many more roadside celebrations and displays already in place:

The intention was to deliberately ride slowly to try and minimise effort in preparation for tomorrow’s monster stage – which involves 221 km / 138 miles then 22km / 14 miles up Mont Ventoux, at an average 8%.  And then back down again.  The sums may not be exact but they are about right, 267km is the big number.  Oh Lordy!  Also my legs were quite tired today, so I really didn’t feel like, nor was I capable of, going much (or indeed any) faster.

A scenery shot to close and more to follow on the rest day that follows the Ventoux experience….

Stage 12 Fougeres to Tours and Stage 13 Tours to Saint-Amand Montrond

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Stage 12:

216.5km / 135.3 miles

1,510 metres climbing

Ride time 7hrs 35

Average speed 28.5 kph / 17.8 mph

The first of the long apparently flat stages that over the coming days will deliver us to Mont Ventoux and then the Alps.  Setting off in light drizzle, it didn’t really warm up until the very last few km.  A long long stage, typified by straight roads (some of them up to 15-20 km without a noticeable corner – thanks Romans),

and generally little of significance until, towards the latter part, a series of castles, chateaus and rivers. 

But by then I had somewhat lost interest.  Due in the main to the fact that after about 85km I crashed. 

Riding in a group, the rider immediately in front of me braked without warning when a car looked like it was going to pull out of a side junction into our path.  I was watching his wheel, and from where I was, couldn’t really see the car anyway.  So, he braked, I didn’t see that coming, my front wheel hit his rear, and although sometimes that isn’t a problem, it is all a matter of how you are balanced at the time.  On this occasion, things didn’t work out in my favour and I was immediately flipped over the bars and piled into the road, bike on top of me.   By all accounts it was quite spectacular. 

Fortunately the bike was still rideable, after straightening the bars and the right sided shifter.  But I had gone down on my right side, and my right wrist was not pleased by the experience.  My fear was that it was broken.  Other than that, I had a bang to the right arm and a bruise to the right side of my back where I hit and rolled, and the mini pump in my right rear pocket dug in.  Riding on after sorting the bike, I checked in with the physio 25 miles later at the next feed stop, and got some strapping.   The rest of the ride was a case of protecting my right hand and wrist from jolting, although my right hand still had to be used for the front brake, and to change the rear gears.  So, pretty important really, both for making progress and for riding safely in a group.  As a result the rest of the ride didn’t really interest me in terms of the surroundings, so no photos of chateaus, or anything like that.

Restrapping after completing the ride, and a collective medical opinion that it probably wasn’t broken, but we’d know more the following day, rather left me in limbo.  It didn’t help that my hand swelled significantly during the evening and I had to remove the strapping and use an ice bag to control it.  Along with plenty of brufen and paracetemol.

So all in all a day to forget.

Stage 13:

176km / 110 miles

 1,147 metres climbing

Ride time 6hrs 17 mins

Average speed 28 kph / 17.5 mph

This stage would be the first test of the hand.  The wrist was still swollen, but re-strapped and ready to go.  Another apparently flat stage although one category 4 climb (not that anyone noticed it); some pleasant towns and villages, one or two more chateaus, then yet more arrow-straight roads and wide rolling terrain, typically forests or cornfields, and occasional poppy fields and lavender.  Although there were sunflower fields, none of them have flowered yet, so they just look like green plants about a metre high.  For the first time I had no ideas where we were going to, other than in the most general of terms, and knew only that it was a “flat” stage of 173km.  And that it was expected to be sunnier and warmer than previous days.  That seemed to be about the minimum necessary information.  And so it proved.

So it was another ride where motivation was a challenge.  The hand was ok as long as the road was flat and a smooth surface.  In the middle of the ride, we had to ride about 35km on really rough surface, which was the sort that gives you pins and needles in hands and feet, even if you are completely physically fine, due to the continual vibration.  Which led to me mostly riding one handed, again in a group but taking care not to endanger myself or anyone else, as a result of not having both brakes covered at all times.

Knowing it was a relatively short stage, we all pushed on, and after minimum time at food stops, cracked on and with better smoother tarmac later, were soon passing the geographical centre point of France, and quicly thereafter, arriving at our hotel for the night.  Having finished by 3pm, there was time to do some washing, get it out in the sun to dry, dangle tired legs in the pool, and generally chillout.  Bodies are now increasingly fatigued after two weeks of mostly long hard days, and the limited recovery time available.

The hand ended the day swollen, as a result of the rough tarmac section, but not as swollen as last night, so with an ice pack and some TLC it will hopefully be ok for tomorrow – when we have five cat 4 and two cat 3 climbs to attack, between Saint-Pourcain sue-Sioule and Lyon – within a ride of some 191km.  At least one of those will necessitate riding standing, not in the saddle, and that will be the real acid test for my hand, in advance of the Mont Ventoux and alpine stages that follow – where there will be many hours in total spent in exactly that way – climbing out of the saddle.  Which puts more weight on the hands.  The consensus of medical opinion for now, is more firmly of the view that I have not broken any bones, but need to keep on with the icing and if possible elevate the hand overnight. Not exactly sure how I’m going to do that, but will see what inspiration can produce.

I also promised to write a little piece about food.

We, the lifers, are like a plague of locusts attacking any food that comes within range.  We are burning somewhere between 6,000 and 9,000 calories a day, so need to eat a lot!  New arrivals soon end up following the same regime.  Typically at breakfast I’ll put away two pain au chocolat or croissant, a bowl of cereal and yoghurt with fruit, a coffee, fruit juice, and a chunk of French bread with ham or cheese, or jam, or all three.  And an egg if there is one available.  An extra chunk of French bread with ham and cheese gets made up and goes in the back pocket for “later”.

Once on the road, we have a food stop once every 40km or so.  Some are in villages, others in lay-bys, some in parks or beside lakes. 

lunch stop stage 12:

lunch stop stage 13

Each food stop of the day has its own character.  The first one typically has bananas, dried fruit and peanuts, pastries or similar. 

All of those get eaten, and a handful of dried fruit and peanuts normally go into the back pocket for “later” i.e. for eating between food stops.  It is important to keep energy levels up at all times!  Stop 2 at about 80km typically has bananas, sandwiches (peanut butter or jam or both, or pate, or cream cheese), and fruit.  Stop 3 after about 120km is lunch, typically two of three of a cold pasta or cold rice or cold cous-cous dish, each enriched with peppers, tomato, peas, or tuna (tastes a lot better than it sounds!), plus melon, and sundry other items, e.g. cake… 

All of these get eaten.  Finally, food stop 4, after about 160km, typically has cans of coke, sweets, crisps, mini cakes.  Just enough to get us through to the finish. 

All the various foods provided, are good for quick-release and slow release energy during the day, and water is available at all stops, along with fruit squash, and of course hand wipes and suncream!  At the finish, any remaining uneaten lunch rice etc is available.  Plus there’s the option to buy sundry other small items. 

Finally, at 8.00 normally, although 7.00 on occasion, dinner.  This is the most variable culinary episode of the day, often involving beige food, mystery meat, rarely enough (or any) salad or vegetables, but hopefully enough to see us through the night.  Despite the best attempts of the Tour de Force team to explain exactly what our needs are, the hotels vary in their ability to interpret this and turn it into tasty interesting food.  Sometimes the offerings are bizarre, other times simply beige, and on occasion just not very much or not very good.  In these cases, we tend to get a morning pastries treat at the first food stop the next day as payback.  Our every culinary need therefore being catered for!