Cycling La Ventoux

France is a country that is basically mad about cycling. Every weekend in every region there are numerous randonnées (cyclotourism events of any distance), cyclosportives (timed rides with personal age-based awards) and criteriums (full-on race events). Since I had already ridden a selection of events in the Paris region it was time for the Bandidos – Légion Etrangère, (the Paris-based cycle club of expat road cyclists) to head south and try one of the Cyclosportives that make up the Grand Trophée.

The ride in question: La Ventoux, 170km or 102km (Master or Senior), starting from and finishing at Beaumes de Venises and including the infamous climb of Le Mont Ventoux. That climb is famous for its unique moonlike landscape, for being one of the most difficult to feature regularly in the Tour de France, and because of the death in 1967 of the British rider Tom Simpson.  Simpson was competing for the lead in that year’s Tour de France, in baking hot conditions, and under the influence of amphetamines and alcohol he collapsed and died just 1.5km from the summit.

Arrangements for Le Ventoux were last minute and involved a near eight-hour car journey to a basic but clean hotel in the town of Orange, about 30km from the start in Beaumes.  We only had time for the briefest of dinners before trying to get some sleep before the ride.

Wake-up call was at 5.45 a.m. in order to be ready for breakfast at 6:00 and out of the hotel well before 7:00. We needed to get to the start early to complete our registrations and to pick up our numbers and timing chips. Parking near to the start was provided in Beaumes, and all the arrangements were well organised. We picked up our numbers, assembled our bikes, prepared our bidons and got ourselves together for the long day ahead in the saddle.

Start time was 8.30. Three of us were riding the Master (170km) and one the Senior (102km). In hot early-morning conditions we set off, along with around 2000 other riders, more or less equally split between the two ride distances. The 17km to the bottom of the climb was a delight, with no cars allowed on the roads and junctions closed to allow the vast, snaking peloton through. For that first half hour it was like being in the Tour de France.

The climb starts from the town of Bedoin, and it is here that my personal story of this grand, day-long adventure begins. The climb to the top of Mont Ventoux is around 23km long at an average gradient of 7.1%. It starts with a fairly gentle few kilometres at the bottom, steepens through a forested section, and eases slightly as it ends in the famous lunar landscape near the top. I rode more or less the whole climb in 34×26, my new compact chainset serving me well, I didn’t want to push it because I knew there were 130km still to ride to the top. It was a beautiful experience yet very, very hard, especially in the heat through the long forest section. I stopped briefly for water at the feed station at Chalet Reynard, 6km from the top, and then pressed on to the top. I really enjoyed the last section: I felt good, the view was incredible and all the time I was nearing the famous tower at the summit. When I got there I was the happiest I have ever been on a bike. I spent a minute or two to take in everything around me before putting on my light wind jacket and starting the descent.

And what a descent! Wide cambered roads with smooth tarmac. Even though I am not the greatest descender I still managed to reach 80km/h! In a flash I was back at the bottom, and only a few km later I was at the next feed station, at the 61km point, whereas the route plan had said it would be at 76km. It was here that I made a disastrous mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking, I felt great, I was still on a high after climbing Ventoux; maybe I thought there was another feed at 76km, maybe I wanted to catch up two of the other Bandidos, who, though I had reached the top of Mont Ventoux before them, had (as usual) caught me on the descent. Whatever the reason I only ate a half banana at this stop. I paid for this very dearly.

The most unimaginable hunger set in almost as soon as I left the feed, and by the time I reached the point where the ride splits in two, one way for the 102km ride and another for the 170kmm the stomach cramps had started. I stopped right there. I had registered for the 170km, but I could take the turn for the 102km and be back in an hour. However, if I were to realise my dream of riding La Marmotte (another even harder cyclosportive) in July I had to do the 170km. I had no choice. I ate one of my two energy bars and continued on the long route. The energy bar seemed to work, but for only about 10km, and my stomach was crying out again. There was still 50km till the next feed, which was at the end of another long climb, back at 1400m! Suddenly, this was my worst experience on a bike. I went into energy conservation mode. Occasionally, small groups would pass me and I would follow their wheel for a few km and then have to ease off. Somehow, I rode through the pain and disorientation of those 20km to the bottom of the climb. But there was still 30km to go to the feed, including the climb. I felt like I couldn’t go on. I stopped at the side of the road. This was one of the lowest moments I had ever experienced.

Then what turned out to be my saviour came by–a French rider a few years older than I. He was riding not too fast but a little bit quicker. I said to myself, this is my only chance, I have to follow him as far as I can. I ate half my last bar there and then and tacked on to his wheel. The road started uphill and I just dug in and followed, trying to shut everything out. When he stopped at the water fountain for a drink, I stopped too (at least I wasn’t dehydrated). Along this section, route organisation motorbikes and vans regularly passed by, checking if riders were o.k. I saw two riders abandon and get into the back of a van with their bikes and wished it were I. But on I went, still on that wheel, into the main part of the climb, and with 15km to go I finished off my energy bar. Occasionally I found the strength to take a small turn in front. My stomach was really hurting, my legs were gone, I was almost in tears on the bike. I knew if I  stopped I would have just broken down at the side of the road in tears.

Finally, finally, we reached Chalet Reynard at 1419m and the feed stop. I went up to the French rider (we had not exchanged a word before now, just ridden one behind the other) and said to him “Merci, vous avez sauvé ma vie, monsieur”. I don’t know what he said back to me, I remember his smile though. I then ate about 10 segments of tomato and some pieces of bread. I got myself back together–there were just 40km to the arrive, all downhill. I was going to finish now.

I set off, and again what an amazing descent, high speeds, sweeping corners, fantastic! I had wondered how 40km were going to be all downhill to the finish, and I soon found out that the route organisers had a truly sadistic streak and had decided to add two small cols of 400m and 500m in the route to the finish. But, it didn’t matter, I was back. I was tired yes, but everything was back in my legs, it was incredible. I could climb, I could follow the wheel in front, everything. And I had maybe, just enough time to sneak a silver medal (there are three time based awards for these rides, gold, silver and bronze). Over the first col, over the second, and for the final descent I reckoned I had 12 minutes to cover 8km! I went for it, chasing a female rider just in front of me. There were many impressive female riders on the course, and nearly all of them could descend like a bullet. On I sped, counting down the minutes and the kilometres: 8 minutes – 4km, 5 minutes – 2km, 3 minutes – 1km. I zoomed into Beaumes, swept round the final corner and didn’t ease up even to the line. I made it, by 40 seconds! Even though my final time was getting on for 8 hours, which I had thought I would have been disappointed with, after all I had been through I was delighted.