In June 2012 I rode Mt Ventoux with my good friend Ian, seems like an age ago now and this brings back good memories.
The southern climb, from Bedoin to the top via Chalet Reynard and the Tom Simpson memorial. The big one, steeper, harder, more exposed to the weather. THE climb I’ve watched on TV a hundred times, the reason for the drive, the reason for a winter of riding in the rain at home, the reason for hours on the turbo trainer in the garage, the reason for 2,500 miles of training. The climb that draws tens of thousands of cyclists to the area every year.
Fewer trees now, and there, around a corner is Chalet Reynard, carry on up into the moonscape that is the last 6km, bare, broken limestone reflecting the heat, no shade and it’s a lot harder now, or is that in the mind, Garmin says 10%, no harder than before, heart rate still below 160, no stress there.
The road and landscape now immediately recognisable from hours of TV footage, it’s intimidating. This is where fans line the road 6 or more deep, a narrow corridor available for the riders. Madness but intoxicating. This is the place where Simpson zigzagged across the road, dying on his bike with every pedal stroke, killed by the heat, by amphetamines and alcohol in an age where drug abuse in sport was just starting and the effects of those drugs weren’t understood. Killed by his naivety, by his determination to win Le Tour, to beat this mountain. I ride past the memorial to him and cross myself, it’s not a religious shrine but it seems to be the right thing to do.
Rolling back down the way we rode up stopping at the Simpson memorial, silence for a few minutes. We roll on, stopping at Chalet Reynard for coffee, a cycling Mecca on a cyclist’s mountain, the dress code is lycra and silly shoes. Helmets optional. Bike compulsory.
Back to Bedoin, past KM 0 and into a cafe. The descent like yesterday was amazing, road surfaces that at their worst are significantly better than home, cars moving out of the way as we’re faster, the video later shows the view we missed as we concentrated on the task at hand, fast and smooth to keep the brakes from overheating, concentrate, and look ahead. 24km downhill and I’m more tired at the end than after the climb, Garmin says… 23 minutes.
Mt Ventoux
That was the thought when we
got to the campsite in the shadow of Mt Ventoux on Monday afternoon after 6
hours on a ferry and a 700 mile drive. Up close, proper mountains look
enormous, more so if your intention is to get on your road bike and ride up
them, emulating, albeit slowly, riders from the Tour De France. Looking at Mt Ventoux,
the Giant of Provence for the first time in the flesh I think we were both a
little concerned that this idea, hatched as the 2011 Tour was in progress, was
a bad one.
Tuesday morning, bright,
sunny, warm. Couldn’t be more different to the weather back home. Bikes
checked, bidons filled, riding gear selected, sun block applied liberally and we’re
off, the plan being to have a bimble around the area, to ease our legs into
riding and enjoy the sunshine after 2 days of travelling. We definitely weren’t
going to ride up the mountain today but the mountain had other ideas.
Today We Explore
I’m sure that all roads in
Provence do not lead to the bottom of Mt Ventoux but an hour or so later after
rolling through some beautiful little villages on perfect roads we find
ourselves in the village of Malaucene looking at a signpost at the bottom of a ‘small’
climb, ‘Mt Ventoux 24km’. Pointing out
to Ian that it’s 24km to the top I suggest that we start the climb to ‘see what
it’s like’ and of course we could turn around any time. That small climb didn’t
stop, 24Km of climbing at an average gradient of 7.2%, pedal all the way to the
top.
2 and a bit hours later we’re on top of Provence.
Mt Ventoux is infamous, if
you’re a cyclist. The southern ascent is regularly used by the Tour De France,
the northern road, from Malaucene, is used less frequently by Le Tour so we
didn’t know it at all. A grey ribbon of tarmac decorated with the names of
cyclists, from professionals we recognised to messages encouraging family
members and friends, winding ever up through an increasingly arid landscape
with stunning views to both sides. Every kilometre a marker at the side of the
road, shaped like a gravestone engraved with the altitude, distance to the top
and the average gradient for the next km.
With a wide cycle lane on the
lower slopes and very considerate drivers further up, the climb through the
trees wasn’t effortless but it was enjoyable, made all the more so when passing
other cyclists. We passed a lot more than passed us which surprised me but I
wasn’t complaining.
I was running out of water though, with temperatures over 30 degrees C and a poor kit choice back at the campsite it wasn’t surprising so the sight of a Chalet bar with 7km to go was more than welcome, schoolboy French engaged to procure de l’eau and then off again, the lack of trees at this height making the remaining climb look ridiculously hard, barren white rock with the road zig zagging up it at a stupid angle, or so it seemed.
I was running out of water though, with temperatures over 30 degrees C and a poor kit choice back at the campsite it wasn’t surprising so the sight of a Chalet bar with 7km to go was more than welcome, schoolboy French engaged to procure de l’eau and then off again, the lack of trees at this height making the remaining climb look ridiculously hard, barren white rock with the road zig zagging up it at a stupid angle, or so it seemed.
Once back on the bike and
into a rhythm it wasn’t too bad, the gradient offset by the view to the side as
we approached 1912m and the top. Wow.
 |
| Wish I'd put the base layer away. |
The descent wasn’t too bad
either, 30 minutes of fun carving through corners at speeds approaching 80km/h.
Harder than the climb in many ways as the punishment for not paying attention
wasn’t worth considering.
Today We Ride
The southern climb, from Bedoin to the top via Chalet Reynard and the Tom Simpson memorial. The big one, steeper, harder, more exposed to the weather. THE climb I’ve watched on TV a hundred times, the reason for the drive, the reason for a winter of riding in the rain at home, the reason for hours on the turbo trainer in the garage, the reason for 2,500 miles of training. The climb that draws tens of thousands of cyclists to the area every year.
Mt Ventoux and I’m worried.
The previous day’s
‘accidental’ climb was frankly no problem at all, my heart rate monitor only
chirped at me once as I strayed into zone 5, the rest was in zone 3 or 4, nice
pace, easier than the climb from Tavistock to Princetown. Just a heck of a lot
longer. It was unknown and therefore no problem.
But this it is ‘it’. This is
where Armstrong and Pantani raced, this is where Eros Poli escaped to victory,
where Louison Bobet won the Tour and Simpson lost his life. This is Mt Ventoux,
the hardest climb in Le Tour according to many professionals. Not the longest,
not the steepest but the hardest. It’s just there, towering over us ominously,
it’s an impressive lump of limestone, a very big lump of limestone from this
angle. And I’m standing in a car park in
Bedoin looking at it. I’m too heavy for this, is the bike OK, have I got enough
water, are the tyres pumped up. Why on earth am I here?
Dozens of skinny cyclists
pass our spot, KM 0 is 500m down the road and this is a relatively flat bit, 2
or 3% so some are flying past making the most of it. They all appear to be a lot fitter and lot lighter
than me. Oh merde!
And we start, the first 500m is easy, freewheeling the wrong way back to KM 0 so Ian can get an accurate time for his climb. Round the roundabout, take a photo and start to ride. 5 minutes in and I’ve settled into a rhythm, this is astonishingly easy and what was all the fuss about, then we turn left and bang.
How a monster of a climb can hide so easily is beyond me, it’s not like it could get behind the vines in the area but from nowhere we’re looking at a ramp of tarmac, my Garmin says 10%, then 11% and 12% then it eases back to 7. Mon Dieu! No chirping from the Garmin so I’m not about to explode, which is a relief.
Ian off in front somewhere, I can see him passing someone, and I’m catching the same man. Quelle Surprise. HR at 150 or thereabouts, plenty left in the tank, I’ve overtaken someone else, still see Ian, 16km to go. Start to enjoy it but it’s hard, harder than the other side, Garmin reports that the road hasn’t dropped below 9% for an age, just steep enough to make it hard but not too uncomfortable, HR up to 160 or thereabouts. Pretty good.
Remember to look at the view but still in trees, not the same as the other side where the view opens up, this is almost claustrophobic at times, “Go Cav!” painted on the road, messages for “G” (Geraint Thomas) and “Wiggo” too, faded Union Jacks indicating the effect that Sky ProCycling are having on the peloton right now. “Go Chris”, not me but Chris Anker Sorenson, he probably passed this spot at twice my speed. Overtaken, a very skinny man in full AG2R kit and going like a sports car. Pro? Maybe given the speed and gear choice. Incredible. I’m still passing people as I make steady progress upwards, Ian slows regularly waiting for me and we ride together for a bit, I take the lead as the gradient eases soon to be passed as it imperceptibly increases.
And we start, the first 500m is easy, freewheeling the wrong way back to KM 0 so Ian can get an accurate time for his climb. Round the roundabout, take a photo and start to ride. 5 minutes in and I’ve settled into a rhythm, this is astonishingly easy and what was all the fuss about, then we turn left and bang.
How a monster of a climb can hide so easily is beyond me, it’s not like it could get behind the vines in the area but from nowhere we’re looking at a ramp of tarmac, my Garmin says 10%, then 11% and 12% then it eases back to 7. Mon Dieu! No chirping from the Garmin so I’m not about to explode, which is a relief.
Ian off in front somewhere, I can see him passing someone, and I’m catching the same man. Quelle Surprise. HR at 150 or thereabouts, plenty left in the tank, I’ve overtaken someone else, still see Ian, 16km to go. Start to enjoy it but it’s hard, harder than the other side, Garmin reports that the road hasn’t dropped below 9% for an age, just steep enough to make it hard but not too uncomfortable, HR up to 160 or thereabouts. Pretty good.
Remember to look at the view but still in trees, not the same as the other side where the view opens up, this is almost claustrophobic at times, “Go Cav!” painted on the road, messages for “G” (Geraint Thomas) and “Wiggo” too, faded Union Jacks indicating the effect that Sky ProCycling are having on the peloton right now. “Go Chris”, not me but Chris Anker Sorenson, he probably passed this spot at twice my speed. Overtaken, a very skinny man in full AG2R kit and going like a sports car. Pro? Maybe given the speed and gear choice. Incredible. I’m still passing people as I make steady progress upwards, Ian slows regularly waiting for me and we ride together for a bit, I take the lead as the gradient eases soon to be passed as it imperceptibly increases.
Fewer trees now, and there, around a corner is Chalet Reynard, carry on up into the moonscape that is the last 6km, bare, broken limestone reflecting the heat, no shade and it’s a lot harder now, or is that in the mind, Garmin says 10%, no harder than before, heart rate still below 160, no stress there.
The road and landscape now immediately recognisable from hours of TV footage, it’s intimidating. This is where fans line the road 6 or more deep, a narrow corridor available for the riders. Madness but intoxicating. This is the place where Simpson zigzagged across the road, dying on his bike with every pedal stroke, killed by the heat, by amphetamines and alcohol in an age where drug abuse in sport was just starting and the effects of those drugs weren’t understood. Killed by his naivety, by his determination to win Le Tour, to beat this mountain. I ride past the memorial to him and cross myself, it’s not a religious shrine but it seems to be the right thing to do.
Ventoux from Bedoin, THE
climb. C’est magnifique. Garmin says just over two hours for the climb, Ian
just under the 2 hour barrier. Pretty good.
Rolling back down the way we rode up stopping at the Simpson memorial, silence for a few minutes. We roll on, stopping at Chalet Reynard for coffee, a cycling Mecca on a cyclist’s mountain, the dress code is lycra and silly shoes. Helmets optional. Bike compulsory.
Back to Bedoin, past KM 0 and into a cafe. The descent like yesterday was amazing, road surfaces that at their worst are significantly better than home, cars moving out of the way as we’re faster, the video later shows the view we missed as we concentrated on the task at hand, fast and smooth to keep the brakes from overheating, concentrate, and look ahead. 24km downhill and I’m more tired at the end than after the climb, Garmin says… 23 minutes.
Ecstatic.
Footnote – ‘Tomorrow We Ride’
is the story of Jean Bobet, he and his brother Louison were post war professional
cyclists, Louison was the first rider to win Le Tour 3 times, Jean his support
throughout.