Giant Pygmy

“Your eyes stay glued on your front wheel, and it’s your innards you’re staring at there.  Ventoux simply feeds back your fatigue and fear. It has total knowledge of the shape you’re in, your capacity for cycling happiness, and happiness in general. It’s yourself you’re climbing. If you don’t want to know, stay at the bottom.”

Well, staying at the bottom wasn’t on the itinerary on Monday July 20 2009, so it was with a deep breath and a sense of foreboding that I set forth into the unknown…

My Etape started early, way too early, the alarm went off at 4:10am which felt like 3am what with my body clock still tuned to BST!  I jumped straight into my riding gear that I’d prepared the previous evening and headed down for breakfast.  The coach was scheduled to leave at 5:00am so after a quick croissant and a bowl of cereal Rob and I headed out.  The traffic was already building as we approached Montelimar but with a bit of a detour around the ring-road we were dropped off at the bike store with plenty of time to get to our start pen before the 6:30am cut-off.

The signage to the start pens was a little lacking; we easily found signs for pens 1-6 but we were looking for 7!  We followed our noses and soon discovered our pen.  Thankfully it was almost empty and we made our way towards the front (the pen held 2000 riders!).  It was 6:15am, 45 minutes before the start so we settled in for the wait; it was comfortable, the sun was rising and it was warm enough to be okay in shorts and a jersey.  Typically, at about 6:45 my body started to realise what was going on and I needed the toilet; you would have thought that there would be toilets in abundance, given the 9500 entrants and the nature of the event but no.  Nothing.  I climbed over the barrier and found a big bush, big enough to hide inside and did the necessary.  I have to say that the sight of a french rider taking a dump in the gutter in plain view did little to improve the mood of an elderly french lady who took out her frustration on me as I emerged!

Returning to the start pen we started to pick out english voices, and we in turn were identified as brits by a lady standing right beside us.  Brief introductions revealed that, in a pen of 2000 people I’d found Karen Popplewell – a lady whose blog and twitter I’d been following over previous weeks!  Unbelievable!  Anyway, it was a briliant way to pass the next half hour and get us to the biggest anti-climax of the day: The countdown to the start.  Trois, deux, un… cheers and applause, then nothing.   Nothing at all…  It took 20 minutes before we started to roll forward and 26 minutes to cross the timing mats into the Etape proper.  Finally, we were off!

Everything rolled really easily, there was no real problem with the volume of traffic and things settled into their own pace easily.  Rob and I took a few minutes to settle down but we were soon riding comfortably at our own pace, making a little progress through the bunch but not going crazy – there was a long way to go.

We rolled along for a few km until the landscape ahead dictated that the first climb, the Cote Citelle, was imminent.  The sight of the wind turbines on the ridge confirmed it.  As it turned out it was pretty straightforward; riders slowed and bunched up and we started to pass people more quickly, I set my own pace and was really comfortable rolling along enjoying the views, Rob was tucked in a little way back and everything was good.  The descent was a bit crowded and we were witness to the first incident of the day, a crash of some sort with riders strewn in a ditch on the left of the road, that was quickly replicated a little further on and served to slow the pace of the group.  Race security was very visible and the poor victims of crashes were all getting attention.  We all started to pay a little more attention to how we were riding…

That was pretty much the way of things for the rest of the morning, rolling roads with beautiful scenery wherever you looked.  Huge numbers of riders but no real organisation, we seemed to be burning a lot of energy chasing pace lines as they came past only to have them promptly evaporate a little way down the road.  The next big climb was the Col D’Ey, taller and longer but still easily overcome, I was feeling fantastic – eating and drinking well, coping with the heat and climbing like a demon, literally hundreds of people were passed on the way to the summit.

The first feed station was at Buis de Baronnies, at the bottom of the descent from the Col d’Ey, 70 km in.  I made sure I emptied my last bottle at the 2km sign and rolled in pretty much unprepared for the carnage that was to greet me.  It was almost medieval, all riders alighted on the first table they saw creating a melee of bikes, bodies and empty bottles.  The herd nature of the following riders found themselves drawn to the crowd: ‘looks like the right place’ they obviously thought and piled in, adding to the chaos.  It was only afterwards that I discovered that the feed station was at least 100 yards long and tables at the far end were fully stocked and completely accessible.  I stopped at the far end to grab a cereal bar and another water; the french girl looked on in horror as I took a swig then poured the rest over my head!  A quick appraisal of my surroundings revealed that Rob and I had become separated in the scrum, we didn’t have a plan as such so I pressed on, assuming he was up to his neck in a fight for water behind me!

Over the Col de Fontaube, which was my favourite climb of the day (and first good view of Ventoux) and on to Sault, where there was another water stop.  Given the weather I had made the conscious decision to get water whenever possible so I applied the learning from the first feed and rode past the gaggle of riders at the first table towards the far end where I was served directly and very quickly back on my way again, still no sign of Rob…

After Sault came the penultimate climb, the col d’Notre Dame des Abbeilles.  This was slightly more serious, a little steeper and harder work.  I still felt fine but this was definitely pushing me, I held back a bit, not wanting to empty my tanks before Ventoux.  I started a new energy bar and knocked back a gel for good measure.  Riding conservatively is something I find difficult to do, so I was glad to get to the top and stretch out for the descent.  Ah, no but this isn’t the top, it’s a false flat – a couple of rollers that fall and rise about 40 metres before the official end of the climb.  Cruel.

Over the top of the col the descent opened out ahead, long, wide and fast.  For the first time I really regretted losing my wheel magnet; it felt like high 40’s mph but I’ll never know, it was at least 12 km of speedy descending; fantastic fun.  About 4 km in I thought something had gone horribly wrong as I lost an energy bar from my back pocket, it felt like everything went and I got in a bit of a wobble looking back and checking.  As it turned out it was a half eaten bar – my camera and gels were all safe.  I pressed on with a group of speed freaks, full aero tuck, caning it off the hill towards Bedoin at the base of Ventoux.  I was suprised to see Rob stopped at the side of the descent; the brief glimpse suggested he was okay so I called his name and tucked in again to enjoy the descending.  I was sure I’d see him at the bottom.

Sure enough, Rob and I got back together on the road to Bedoin, we compared notes about our experiences of the ride since the first feed and stopped together at the last  feed station in Bedoin to fill bottles and grab some food; I needed to replenish from my losses on the previous downhill.  Now was the time: we had ridden in the shadow of Ventoux  for nearly 100 km and it was finally here, time to get on with it and strike out for the summit, just over a mile vertically and 22 km of pain and suffering lay ahead.

The first 5 km after Bedoin are fairly gentle, going from 2% to 4% in open countryside with good views of the bald summit.  It lulls you into a false sense of security.  Then, when you reach St Esteve you realise the gravity of the situation, the road turns left and ramps up immediately to 9%.  It stays like that for 10 long kilometres.  No breaks, no respite, nothing other than pure and simple suffering.

I’m very quickly into my lowest gear trying to spin and conserve energy.  I’ve seen the recon video and I know it’s a long way to go, the phrase “Avoid going into the red on the lower slopes” plays in the front of my mind and I check my heart rate; at 165 it’s too high.  I can’t go a lot slower without stopping.  Concentrating on my pedalling stroke I manage to calm down 5 beats and settle in for the long haul.   Then the mental challenges start.

It’s somewhere between 36 and 42 degrees in the forest.  There’s no air.  No shade.  I’m riding at 6 or 7 mph in full sun and I’m starting to realise that I feel cold, chilled; wrong.  Has to be heat stroke, I’m still passing riders and keeping my heartrate under control but I might just be falling apart.  I pull across to the right and stop, fish out a caffeine gel and some water.  I’m still feeling odd but I press on for now, I’ll give it 10 minutes to see how the food helps.  There are people already walking on the road and the urge to join them is strong but the fact that Rob is somewhere behind me serves to quells that urge for a while. But as I ride on and the kilometres stretch out ahead, each one taking longer than the last, walking looks like a welcome relief to the pain.

After a few minutes (time has pretty much lost all meaning at this point) the gel kicks in and I stop feeling cold, I slip back into the real world and the real cloying heat, it’s stifling.  It’s carnage on the road too, most people are riding but the walkers are increasing in numbers and there are people sitting or lying in the shade looking utterly spent.  I’ve long since stopped thinking, thinking is the preserve of the weak on this climb.  All there is now is the road ahead and the rhythmic mental count of my cadence, the occaisonal distance marker on the road showing incline and distance to the summit.  The numbers are bigger than I can comprehend; 12km to go – not even halfway.  I want to cry.

I know that there should be a hairpin, left or right I’m not sure (it’s right, as it turns out), with some sheds on it that marks the end of the forest and the last few hundred metres to Chalet Reynard and the water stop.  I’ve spent the last 2 km promising myself a stop there and it’s a most welcome sight indeed.  My recollection is a little blurred now but I was handed a 1.5 litre bottle of water, lent my bike against a railing and sat on the hot tarmac.  I poured water over my shoes and socks; my feet had felt like they would burst into flame at any moment and the cold water treatment is exactly what’s required, blissfull!.  More water goes on my head and down my jersey, the remainder fills my bottles.  It’s only 6km to the top from here, you can see it clearly, 6 short kilometres.  Hopefully less than an hour’s riding.

The gradient is easier out of Chalet Reynard, around 7%, and the bare rock surface and incredible views to the valley make this section much more enjoyable.  My feet are feeling better and the thought of finishing is more of a reality.  My thoughts of a cold beer drives me on.  The 5km board comes up and it’s a shocking smack in the face to me, still 5km!  How long did that last km take? Oh my god.  I’m still so far from the finish.  Legs continue to turn, progress still being made; I switch off my brain for the second time and immerse myself in the road and my suffering.  I promise myself that I can stop again at 3km but when that marker comes up I tell myself that I need to pass the board before I stop, that way it’s LESS than 3km to go, great.  I don’t stop.  At 2km the same process is repeated, a carrot and stick game played with myself, knowing that I’m not actually going to stop at all, but still going through the motions to avoid total collapse.  I must have gone a little bit vacant at this point, tunnel vision or something because I’m suddenly aware of the Simpson memorial right beside me.  1.5km to go.  I stop.

I can fully appreciate how Tommy Simpson came to die up here, looking around me most other people do too.  I drink and eat, take a couple of photos and press on.  The last mile before the summit.  Up ahead there’s the 1km board, 1000 metres, just beyond that I recognise the Dulwich Paragon jersey of a chap I’d exchanged  pleasantries with somwhere down the hill – how did he get ahead?  Must have been at the memorial.  I fix him in my sights and push on.  500 metres to go and the last hairpin is visible ahead, I’ve close the gap on the Dulwich guy but he’s still dangling there; I drop a gear and get out of the saddle – time for the finishing sprint with 300 to go.  There’s a pretty large group of riders finishing with me, I decide to take the steep line around the inside of the hairpin and sprint hard for the line.  I cross the timing mats with my arms aloft grasping the top of my helmet, I’ve done it.  Tears flow.

After a couple of minutes composing myself and taking pictures I rolled down the hill to the finish proper, queued and gave up my timing tag and waited for Rob.  He was 12 mintues behind me, but he’d taken a couple more stops and spent time at the memorial too.  We headed down the road a little way until we found some clear ground  where we could sit, stretch and consider our achievements.  After that it was a further 16 km of full-on mountain descent in traffic to Malaucene – I had a blast, racing camper vans, cars and motorbikes through the curves (and winning)!  At the bottom we found the coach park, sorted out our bikes and ourselves then headed to a little bar/shack nearby who had beer on draught!  To top it all off we sat and chatted to James Cracknell, a fellow ‘etapee’ (who finished in an amazing 5:56!! ).

What a day!  Simply my hardest day on bike.  So, results by the numbers then: I finished in 7:41:00 in 2493 place, 958 in my age group. Average heart rate was 146 and I burned nearly 7000 calories according to my Polar (my max was apparently 230 so I take that with a pinch!).  I ate 2 Torq bars, started a 3rd but dropped it.  3 Torq gels, a banana and a 2 cereal bars.  In retrospect I should have had more but the heat really made that difficult.  Would i do it again?  Emphatically, YES!  A magical achievement and a great ride.

My only problem now is what to do next.  I’m quite enjoying being this fit and thin so maybe cakes and beer isn’t the answer…