‘I think they’ve made a mistake’ said Wendy Smith, mother of Marcus, Daniel and Nick ‘they’ve got you down as a vet’.
‘I am, I’m 42’, I replied.
She looked a little surprised then ruined it all by saying ‘yeah I suppose vets start at 40 don’t they?’
I took it as a compliment nonetheless and with that slight boost to my ego I took the start line and by the time I’d finished at the top of the hill I felt all of the 42 years 1 month and 5 weeks that I’d been on the planet. Before the start I’d made a point of talking to fellow competitors and club members as much to forget about what I was about to do as anything. Bryan Bevis and Andrew Howe were taking to their tandem and seemed relaxed – how they get that machine up the hill at all is staggering. They more than anything sum up what this event is all about, the enthusiasm of youth and the benefit of experience, where did that leave me as I possessed neither! I talked to Ian Hutchinson as he warmed up on his trainer just outside the café, he didn’t seem too confident but as always he would put in a good performance. John Kelly and perennial organiser Bill Leaver seemed in good spirits as well they might as they were at the top of the hill and would stay there for the duration. Steve Turner looked equally happy to be marshalling at the left hand turn near the cattle grid, I waved as I carried on downwards. Meanwhile at the bottom of the hill Dave Kirton had taken the unusual decision to set his trainer up near a dead rabbit, he offered no explanation for this so focused as he was on breaking 8 minutes, which he did by the way.
The view that everyone else was enjoying from the top
They were calling my minute man to the line, not long now. Here’s a confession for you, I’m a hill climb virgin, yes that’s right I’m glad that’s out in the open, but even so I was surprised how nervous I felt. It’s just another time trial I told myself, except it wasn’t was it? I’ve always considered my relative strength to be climbing as opposed to riding on the flat, or downhill. Trouble was it just dawned on me that most of the people doing this would too, otherwise why do it? This is no event to enter casually and so to some extent a selection is already made before the start line is taken. I’d agreed some modest goals with myself, under nine minutes minimum, 8.40 ideally, a vet placing hopefully. I’d done two training runs around four weeks previous then deliberately kept off the hill so I wouldn’t remember every awful and painful bit of it; well that was the theory anyway. Those two runs took me nine minutes exactly and 9.10 but when I saw where the finish line was when I descended the hill I realised that I had timed myself to a point a bit further up the road, ‘got to be worth 10 seconds’ I thought, also no tools, tubes or water bottle and with fresh legs, maybe I could do 8.30?
30 seconds to go and I’m clipping in while ably supported by Chris Smith, I tell him that I removed the bottle cage and mini pump the night before to save weight, I’m sure he sensed my nervousness. The time keeper says 15. Between my last run up Carlton Bank in early September and now, I’d ridden up a lot of hills, some long, some steep but none as hard. Wilton Bank near to my home has been the most visited and I feel as though I know all of its quarter mile 20% slopes intimately, how I hate that hill. Carlton Bank takes residence in a darker place in my psyche though as it’s the only hill that has defeated me. Last year I decided to see how quickly I could go up it and I underestimated it, set off too quickly and just after the left hand turn after the cattle grid I ran out of gas and had to turn round. No one was there to see it but me and I’ve ridden up it several times since but I’ve yet to exorcise that painful and intimidating experience fully from my memory.
Ten seconds, 5,4,3,2,1 a generous push from Mr Smith and I’m off. I’ve started in the middle sprocket of nine and bearing in mind my previous humiliation on the hill I’m taking the first part easy, I’m not going to look at the computer till I pass Steve Turner on the corner. One thing I had noticed on the ride down to the start was the people dotted all over the place, some going up, some going down, others looking for the best vantage point to watch us suffer. I shouldn’t have been surprised as it was a beautiful cloudless day and I’ve watched the hill climb myself in the past, so I knew that it attracted a good crowd, not exactly Alpe D’Huez or Mount Ventoux but by British cycling standards pretty good, and as such there was a buzz on the hill. Question is will they inspire me or will I buckle under the pressure? I’m hoping that the Coast to Coast ride from 11 days earlier and the 50 in 4 race, sorry tourist trial, will have left me with good legs but as Sean Kelly would have said if he’d been commentating ‘it’s difficult to say’ and so it was as I’d just set off.
The pain is beginning to set in!
Bryan and Andrew will have finished on the tandem by now I thought, and what’s more Andrew will be riding back down the hill to compete as an individual too, does he love this hill!? The road suddenly rises, one of its many infernal ramps, and I click down a gear, only three below this one, but I’m feeling good, so far. Why didn’t I do this in my twenties when I had lungs? At the end of August during a club run I suggested going up Scarth Nick and after a few groans everyone complied, but soon it was me that was groaning as Harry Tanfield and Richard Lilleker disappeared ahead round the hairpins. Richard had said earlier that he was doing the hill climb, well that’s that I thought.
The green fence appears on the left, another ramp and another click down, then another, only one to go, then the cattle grid, my minute man is within reach and I close as the road steepens to the corner, I knew he set off too fast. I turn left as Steve offers some encouragement and someone takes a photo, John Main I think, and there it goes another click and my last gear is gone. I look at the computer and it says 4 minutes something, I think it was at 5 minutes something on my training runs but I can’t be sure. When I looked at the start sheet I picked out two names to aim for, Paul Howe and Ian Hutchinson, both Cleveland Wheelers, both vets, Ian normally beats me in the club time trials, Paul does half the time, most of the other names looked too fast, even the ones that were not familiar.
The next ramp and the first of the crowds, what an awful climb why can’t the gradient make its stupid mind up? I pass my minute man and now it’s hurting, someone is stood out in the road yelling at me to try harder, or words to that effect, I don’t know who he is. An easing of the gradient then another little ramp, I recognise Steve Binks and Phil Meadows, I think. My legs, normally my limiting factor, feel okay but my breathing is starting to sound like an ancient pair of bellows. If I was a true competitor I would now be thinking ‘right give it all you’ve got every second, in fact every tenth of a second, counts’. Instead what I’m thinking is ‘there’s that wonderful chequered finishing board, the pain is almost over’. I later find out that Paul Howe has beaten me by point three of a second; surely I could have eked out that bit more couldn’t I? Probably not. I glimpse down at my computer as I pass John Kelly and Norman Bielby on the finish line, 8 minutes 20 seconds or so then I ride on over the hill gulping for oxygen.
Where am I going, ride straight you fool!
After a partial recovery I ride back to join my wife and cheer in the rest of the competitors. She’s stood next to Richard Lilleker’s relatives, he does 7.05, sixth overall and fastest Cleveland Wheeler, I knew he was going to be quick, Richard Meadows wins in 6.20 – he would have caught me on the line for two minutes!
After all the riders have finished Mrs Smith comes past, has she walked all the way up the hill?
‘Did you do a good time?’ she asks
‘Good for me’, I reply.
She smiles ‘That’s the main thing’, she says.
As the winners collect their prizes I notice that they are uniformly thin and mostly young, I’m hardly a heavyweight myself but all of a sudden I feel a bit lardy. Geoff Robinson’s untimely puncture means I get the prize for sixth veteran and Dave Kirton and I agree that we are too old for this, saying that Dave is only 35. Then we talk about entering a tandem next year and having glimpsed a view of the unique trophy for that category we almost convince ourselves that it is a good idea.
That’s the way to do it, Richard Meadows takes the honours
Top three
1st
Richard Meadows
Velo 29
6.20.7
2nd
Tony McKenna
Middridge CRT
6.50.7
3rd
Chris Leverton
Altura
6.56.8
Cleveland Wheelers’ riders
6th
Richard Lilleker
7.05.9
14th
Jack Thompson
7.37.9
15th
Dave Kirton
7.57.9
18th
Paul Howe
8.20.6
19th
Paul Christon
8.20.9
20th
Ian Hutchinson
8.24.2
25th
Andrew Howe
10.02.06
26th
Vicki Howe
11.17.2
28th
Katie Howe
11.37.4
1st
Bryan Bevis and Andrew Howe (tandem)
12.22.6
Well done everybody and see you next year, though I’ll probably revert to being a spectator!
As you know long time club member, John Johnson, was tragically killed whilst out on a ride on Saturday 12th September, 2009.
John joined the club around 1974 as a 16 year old and soon became one of ‘the group’. He very rarely missing a club run and competed in most types of events: time trialling, road racing, and cyclo cross. His name appears on a number of club trophies and his main claim to fame was winning the TCA hill climb at Kildale in 1977. He was also elected to the club committee for a short time in the late 70’s.
However my main memories are of those club runs and his fearless descending. Two instances spring to mind :-
Descending from the Bilsdale mast and bouncing off the safety barrier but keeping upright and
Descending the side of Clay, missing a corner and disappearing down into the woods. The rest of the club run laughing at his misfortune.
He was also a member of the quartet who used to always sing (very badly) at the top of our voices as we rode along. The other members being Andrew Allen, Steve Maidens and myself. John loved his music, The Moody Blues being his favourite band after he was introduced to them by my brother, Mike.
John met his wife in 1980 and they got married in 1981 a day I again remember very vividly as I was his best man, a job which I was very proud to undertake.
John leaves behind his wife, Angela, and sons and daughter, Andrew, Philippa and David.
RIP John
Happier days – left to right Steve Maidens, Steve Binks, John Johnson, Ray Burnett and Geoff Reynolds. Sadly, Steve Binks is now the only one still with us. Steve Maidens died around 1988, Ray Burnett in 2006 and Geoff Reynolds in 2008.
I watch quite a lot of cycle racing on TV, an unhealthy amount some might say. So the voices of David Harmon and Sean Kelly have almost become part of the household. I’ve never really given it much thought I just assumed that everyone enjoyed them as much as I did, until the other day that is. Over the last year my wife Shelly has started to enjoy watching cycling, and Mark Cavendish in particular. While I’m a fan of Cavendish myself it is a little like supporting Man Utd, ‘oh he’s won again, what a surprise. Somewhat naively though I assumed that she enjoyed the whole experience. So imagine my horror when during a stage of the Vuelta she referred to the legend that is Sean Kelly as ‘that boring bloke’. First I went upstairs to get my Kelly biography from 1985 so I could start reading out his palmares, and remember that he raced for a number of years after this. ‘He won the Green Jersey four times’ the Paris Nice seven times in a row, the Vuelta, Paris Roubaix twice…’ and on and on I went. It wasn’t until I mentioned that he likes donkeys that she started to warm to him a little, sadly this wasn’t enough though and she stuck by her view.
I struggled to come to terms with this to be honest and found myself offloading my anguish to Dave Kirton as we trained for our upcoming Coast to Coast ride. As I recollected my wife’s comments he sympathised saying that his fiancée Rebecca had much the same opinion (she confirmed this later when she met us as we looked at Dave’s collection of bikes – something that gives us all pleasure). Dave said that he finds Kelly’s voice quite soothing which adds to his enjoyment – maybe the great man should develop a sideline of reading children’s’ bedtime stories? I must remember to write to him to suggest that he gives this some thought.
What troubles me more though is that fellow riders who are too young to remember Kelly as a rider, or are new to the sport of cycling, might have much the same opinion ‘that boring bloke on Eurosport’. In the modern peleton there isn’t really a rider that you could compare to Kelly, someone who can compete for an overall classification in a Grand Tour as well as winning the points competition yet can also dominate in the classics. On Eurosport David Harmon will often attempt to coax Kelly to talk about his career but he tends to avoid it and remains silent. In fact he famously nodded when asked a question in a radio interview. Kelly is much more comfortable when giving the view from inside the peleton as it were and there are few more qualified to do this. For example he rarely gets it wrong when asked if he thinks a break will stay away, ‘it’s going to be difficult’ he will simply say more often than not and leave it at that. What I like about him is that he doesn’t get drawn into that tendency to be over analytical that so many ‘experts’ do preferring to give simple and straightforward answers that aren’t designed to impress the average viewer. However if you find him difficult to listen to there are a few things that I could suggest that may help. Having spent some time defending him I have to admit that he is economical in his use of vocabulary, so to add interest to your viewing you can play ‘Kelly Bingo’ and count the times that he will say the following and then compare them with subsequent broadcasts:
‘He’ll pay the price’ (when someone is expending effort unnecessarily)
‘It’s not majorly difficult’ (when referring to an easy climb)
‘It’s difficult to say’ (classic Kelly non-committal)
‘He’ll struggle to hang in there’ ( when a rider is suffering like a dog at the back of the bunch)
‘It’s a difficult one’ (a subtle Kelly variation on number 3)
‘errrrm’ (used to get most of his sentences underway)
Or, as Dave does, you can tape him then listen to his soothing tones as a means of relaxing after a stressful day. Either way your life will be enriched and you’ll wonder how you ever got by without him.
In the book Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance it has a disclaimer in it at the start which effectively says that it’s not much use if you want to find out more about Zen Buddhism or motorcycles. In a similar vein this article will not inform you much about cycle maintenance or Len for that matter.
Many years ago, about 23 or so actually, I knew a guy called Len and he rode a bike. Not a very good one it has to be said, especially after he had owned it for a few years. Maintenance was an alien concept to him you see and he would often be mocked by his cycling friends. They would point out that riding around with fraying brake cables, a chain that had no relationship with oil (fancy lubes and the like hadn’t yet been invented) and tyres that had bits of their carcass hanging off them was simply courting disaster. But he took no notice, he didn’t care and poo pooed their advice, until that is his front brake cable snapped as he descended Saltburn Bank. These were the days when brakes were made by Weinmann and didn’t really do much at the best of times, especially the back ones – you don’t know you’re born with modern brakes, you really don’t. A near death experience followed as he used the not to be recommended technique of jamming your foot between the fork and the front tyre. From that day onwards I, I mean Len, became a reformed character but now it’s getting out of hand.
Okay time to come clean, yes it is me I’m talking about, I was that maverick character. Trouble is I’ve become obsessive about everything being just so on my bikes, and what’s more it’s spreading to the bikes of others. It’s been getting worse over the last year as I’ve been doing the club runs. Harry Tanfield’s loose mudguard is driving me to distraction – he knows this and taunts me with it – John Kelly’s loose headset, Mick Rennison’s cassette that wasn’t secured properly, they make me want to stop and fix them. I know that this is unreasonable, they don’t care so why should I? I don’t really know the answer to that. I struggle to ride a bike now if there’s anything wrong with it, the other week I developed a squeak, or rather my bike did, and I convinced myself that it was the bottom bracket but after stripping things down I found it to be a misbehaving saddle! So off it went, no second chances as far as I’m concerned, and it was callously thrown into a spare parts box never to see the light of day again. Similarly some ancient squeaky brakes that I had on my winter bike, ironically they were made by Weinmann, just kept doing it despite my warnings, so they too have gone and will probably make an appearance at the Bring and Buy Sale. Classic Weinmann brakes in resplendent gold circa 1975 anyone?
On reflection though I think that it’s all worth it. Is there anything more enjoyable, more perfect than a well maintained machine as you glide along on smooth bearings, a well aligned chain and properly secured components, it’s almost like achieving a state of Zen isn’t it?
Like most cyclists, I always imagined how it would feel to ride those climbs in the Tour de France that I saw every year. What would it be like to follow in the footsteps of all those great riders? This year, I finally got the opportunity to find out, on some of the climbs anyway.
I got together with Mike Rennison and we decided that we would take a week out and go to France to see some of the action, though my main aim was to ride the mountains. We chose the last week of the Tour, as not only did it have the best climbs, but would surely be the most exciting time to see the pro’s. That proved true as the first two weeks were pretty dull
Our first stop was in Kent, where Mike wanted to take part in the National Disability Championships taking place there. There was a circuit race on Saturday afternoon and a time trial the next morning. With good prize money on offer, we hoped Mike’s hard work would boost the holiday coffers. There were very few competitors in the circuit race and they were staggered in three groups. From memory, only two riders went off first, then three more, then three more in Mike’s group. The defending champion set off over a minute ahead of Mike so it was always going to be tough reeling him in. Despite finishing first in his group, Mike was unable to catch all early starters and finished just outside the medals in fourth, but getting a nice cheque to pay for our shopping in Dover the next day. The following morning, Mike lined up in the time trial, but due to space limitations, he had no TT bike and had to ride on his standard bike and not a tri bar in sight. This proved too much, and he had to settle for sixth place in a very complicated and confusing handicap system. Lack of TT equipment meant he ended up behind people he had ridden away from the day before. Still, a few more euros were added to our funds.
MONDAY
So into France, and immediately the less crowded roads and better weather were in evidence. Our target on the first day was to reach the place Mike goes skiing. It also happened to be on the Tour route this year. He always wanted to do the climb on his bike, so he got his chance. We didn’t get to Les Carroz on Sunday despite making good progress, we had to finish the drive on the Monday morning. We parked the car near the bottom of the climb and headed off to do the Cat 2 climb which the pro’s would do as part of their route the next day. If my memory serves me right, it was named Col d’Araches. The climb was in the region of 6-8% gradient and we rode it together. After 6 km we reached the point that the peloton would turn left, but we carried on up the hill to Les Carroz and then carried on still further to Flaine, the ski resort at the top. I had 26 km on my computer at the top, though 3 or 4 would be flat before we got to the climb. We went back down and had something to eat, then in a while I wanted to ride up again at my own pace for the first 6 km. Not a wise move on a stomach full of recovery drink and rice pudding. I did go up a little faster than before and even managed to keep my food down on the way.
TUESDAY
View down from Le Grand St Bernard
After my ride, we packed the bike and headed off towards Switzerland. The highest climb on the Tour route would be to Col du Grand St.Bernard, and we wanted to be there. From the start town it was apparently 54 km to the top of the Col. We went a little outside the town to park, then began the ride up the route. It wasn’t as hilly as appeared on the profile, early parts being flat, but that changed later. We rode 40 km and arrived at the summit, I would say most of it was 5-6% until the last 5 km which kicked up a little more. We went down to view the race near the 1 km sign with the best view of the roads below. After a long wait, two breakaway riders went by, Karpets and Pelozotti I believe, then a few more chasers. We had to wait quite a while before Cavendish appeared, being dragged up by team-mates near the tail end of the field. I got a good photo of him as he passed, and soon we were on our way back down the mountain, trying to dodge roads full of fans on foot making the long walk back down. The descents are pretty scary, and I for one am not a fan of going downhill at speed, especially on twisty roads. One reason for this became apparent on one bend. I was just behind Mike on the descent and we approached a turn. we both braked and Mike’s front tyre blew, right on the bend. He lost control and went down picking up a few minor bruises and cuts. Luckily it was a slow bend and we were already going snail’s pace. We were both to be more cautious after that. A major problem was heat in the rims from continual or hard braking. I had two flats that same day due to it, and Mike had another the next day. On the ride home we were able to do a few hard bit and bit efforts on the flatter roads. A couple of Frenchmen had the audacity to go by us as they were doing the same thing. We let them go, and as they weren’t getting away anymore after a few miles we decided to catch them up. The hammer went down and the next thing we knew we were on our own again. We were already back at the car and changed by the time the two appeared sheepishly riding by having been taught a lesson.
WEDNESDAY
Mike waiting on the Col de la Colombiere
Wednesday was to prove the most difficult day as far as gradient goes. We had two 1st category climbs to get over. We parked the car right at the bottom of the first one on a small “pull-in”. Some events on the day proved just what a small world it can be. We were just making final adjustments and getting food and drink ready for the ride, when I heard a voice behind me say “Hiya”. I turned to see someone I didn’t know from Adam, but he had recognised my Cleveland Wheelers top and walked across the road to chat. He proudly proclaimed to me ” I designed that top”. It seems he was an old CWCC member who came up with the idea of a more snazzy design. I remember he was called Adrian and that’s all I remember. He headed back to his wife and continued on his way up the hill along with many others on foot.
The ascent was the steepest we had encountered so far, not only steep but very twisty roads and huge drops into the valley at the side. We had only gone around a couple of bends and already the town was miles below us. This was the Col du Romme It wasn’t long, maybe 8 km, but it was steep, in the 8-10% range. I rode alongside or just behind Mike, letting him go at his own pace. I was already worried on the way up about going down the same way. We had a back-up plan in place in case of such a problem and we both agreed we’d rather find a more gradual and less twisty way back to the car. With the Romme behind us we headed downhill to the next climb, the Col de la Colombiere another 1st cat. On the descent it started to rain, not only that, Mike had another flat tyre. We checked his wheels, his rim tape was all twisted up and basically melting with the rim heat build up of braking. We couldnt untangle the rim tape, all we could do to stop the inner tube going down the spoke holes was to put a patch over it. It worked for the rest of the ride, but the next day Mike changed to his spare wheels for peace of mind.
It rained quite heavily on and off as we climbed the Colombiere. We stopped maybe two or three times on the ascent to shelter, and maybe that’s why it didn’t seem so tough to me. It felt like the easiest climb we had done all week, it wasn’t even long, I think 6 km at most. In my opinion the Romme was much more difficult, and Mike agreed. In a way I felt disappointed. I knew the name of this climb and yet it proved no harder than four times up Clay Bank at 80% effort. While the Romme gave the impression of a 10% climb, the Colombiere seemed more like 7-8%. Maybe my view will change if I go up on a hotter day without a breather on the way up.
After the action was over, we followed the peloton over the top in search of a gentle downhill to get home. The stage would end in Le Grand St. Bornand. We were both delighted to find a nice route with less twists via Petit St. Bornand, a nice downhill followed by flat roads through the valley back to the car. We were even able to get a spell of “Time Trial effort” going on the way back. As we cooked our meal, cars were still coming down from the summit. A voice from a car shouted “Hi, I saw your Cleveland Wheelers shirt, I’m from Stokesley”. Truly a small world.
THURSDAY
Geoff at the top of Alpe d’Huez
With the rather overcrowded Annecy time trial as the Thursday stage, I for one preferred to go and do something more challenging that pushing shoulder to shoulder with Americans trying to get a peep at blurs going by at 35 mph. We headed off to the Mecca of cycling, Alpe d’Huez. Mike is already an old hand at going up this epic climb. On arrival we decide to drive up first, and it will give me a look at the route before I tackle its 21 bends. This was to be my first “solo” ride, as it was the one I wanted to time myself on the ascent. We headed down to the bottom on our bikes having parked near the finish line in the large car park. Mike being a downhill specialist and on his trusty spare wheels, went on ahead and was already around the roundabout and starting the climb as I limped down, I got a flat again just after the last bend luckily. The heat in the afternoon was almost unbearable, and here we were attempting to ride up the iconic climb. I set about fixing the puncture and Mike stopped to see if I was OK.
Puncture fixed, Mike carried on up the climb as I fiddled to secure my crash-hat to the bars somehow, as I didn’t want to be wearing anything on my head going up there, it really was baking hot, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was blowing a gale too. A couple of minutes after Mike left me I headed off in the opposite direction to the roundabout which signals the beginning of the climb. As I rounded the roundabout, I set my mileage to zero and started my stopwatch. I wasn’t sure of the exact place to start the watch, as it turned out, I started it a little early, but only a couple of seconds early. The first couple of minutes is flattish, then you get to know what a Hors category climb is all about. I was sweating buckets. The gradient is only supposed to be 7.6 on average, I was expecting to hold 14 kph comfortably as I do up Clay Bank sitting in the saddle, but it wasn’t to be. Most of the time i was hovering between 11 and 12. I was constantly wiping sweat from my eyes. i hadn’t sweated so much since I rode a similar climb in the Philippines, but that was only 7 km long, and this was 14.5. The only kind of recovery I found was on many of the bends, which seem to level off, especially towards the outside. I took a wide turn on each one and at the same time a mouthful of water. I started with 1.5 litres and it only just lasted, i could have done with a little more. I passed Mike who was really feeling the heat too. I was sure he would be stopping to put his head under one of the waterfalls at the side of the road, but he promised me he didn’t. I wouldn’t blame him, they were very inviting. I kept passing rider after rider, but the numbered turns seemed to be going by very slowly. Eventually I got to what is the first finish line, my time was 60:25, I carried on to do the full climb as done by the tour riders, on through the tunnel, and a little more climbing before the route turns right and downhill over cobbles and a mini-roundabout, and on to the final roundabout, where it is left and uphill to the finish line. I stopped the clock exactly 65 minutes. Not bad in the heat and gales. In better conditions i would hope to be getting nearer to 60. I had a warm down and was getting food when Mike arrived in view. I went over to the side of the road to cheer him on the last few metres as he sprinted for the line. His time was 1:21:20. It was a PB for him and he’d attempted this climb three already times, so a great effort in the conditions.
I hoped to do another ride that evening, Col du Galibier but the weather turned to rain after we parked the car a few km from the bottom, and with Ventoux looming the next day, I decided to call it a day and we had supper.
FRIDAY
Another warm day but not quite as hot as Thursday when we set off on our ride of the “mythical”climb. We had deliberately set off a little later in the day. it was around 5.30 when we left the car park at Mormoiron. I’d have left it later, but Mike was worried of failing light before we got home. Mormoiron is 7 km from Bedoin which is where the climb to Ventoux begins. From there it is 22 km to the summit. I missed the actual start point of the climb, so I can’t be sure of the exact time it took me, but I have a rough idea. Next time I’ll know better having seen the marker on the road when I came back down. The route was already full of camper vans who had probably been parked up there for days, if not for most of the Tour. Flags of all nations lined the route. I was surprised how many Aussies we saw. It was encouraging and a little amusing to hear some of the comments shouted out from fans lining the route. Of course I couldn’t understand them all, but I got the general idea. At around 5 km into the climb itself or maybe a little less, I started to up the pace and Mike said he was going to back off a bit as it was still quite hot. I headed on alone, weaving through all shapes and sizes of riders, some pulling kids in buggies, some young, some old, some fit and some obviously novices stopping to rest. The encouragement continued from the roadside “Allez” “Forza,Forza”. I carried on, latching onto three cockneys who were going not much slower than I was going. I didn’t try to race by , I just kept to my own pace and sat among them for a while. I was surprised just how steep Ventoux is. It’s not as steep as d’Huez in the books, but in reality the lower slopes seem to be. It might even be steeper, or maybe I just had tired legs from the day before.
I found myself drifting to the front of the three southerners, then off the front. I heard their disgruntled comments as I slipped away and they couldn’t decide if they would try and stay with me. It didn’t take them long to decide not to try, using the excuse that I was lighter, or so they were presuming, and that’s why I was leaving them in my wake. They didn’t look overweight to me and they were all younger too. I was tempted to ease up and ask their weights out of interest, but I ploughed on. More than an hour gone and the end was nowhere in sight, I didn’t even know how far I had gone or how much further I had to go. I just knew I wasn’t to the “moonscape ” so I still had a fairly long journey. There were km posts and altitude posts on the roadside, but they didnt help, as i didnt know the altitude or what the last km post would read. All I could see were cyclists and camper vans and all I could hear were drunken Dutchmen and the odd ghetto blaster here and there as people had parties along the route.
I didn’t really notice when it happened, but suddenly the trees disappeared. I was aware that I had arrived on that famous barren landscape. At least I knew the end was in sight, literally, you can see the observtory at the top from a long way off. My legs were running out of fuel. I could see my pulse had been dropping for quite a while already, though I was still working hard. I just hoped I wouldn’t “bonk” before the top. I noticed how the road had levelled off now. it wasn’t as hard as the lower tree lined slopes and I was able to click up a gear. On some bends there was even a downhill, it gave me fresh heart and I clicked up another gear and really upped my effort as I passed those who had done too much on the lower slopes or had run out of energy or water. Some had given up and were pushing their bikes for the last part. With 2 km to go, the road rises a little steeper again. By now we had cloud cover and a break from the heat. I was concentrating totally on my effort and on the road in front, so much so, somehow I forgot the Tom Simpson memorial which of course I wanted to see, but I hoped to be back up the next day with my camera anyway. At last the final turn, and wow it’s a steep turn too and very uphill to the top, but thankfully short. I pressed my lap timer. 2 hours and 3 mins from our car 29 km away. 1 hour 32 from the first line I saw painted on the road, which I found later was already past the start point, I estimate around 1.40 would be my time for the climb itself but that part is guess-work. It was cold on top of the mountain by then, no sun, and a few raindrops appeared. I put on my cape and headed down after eating some malt loaf to re-fuel. At 2 km from the summit I saw Mike on his way up. I rode beside him, he had little or no water left and was pretty tired out. I was going to ride back up with him, but realised he’d probably catch me on the way down anyway. I turned and headed steadily back down to Bedoin.
SATURDAY
Mike with Mt Ventoux in the background
Our last day, no ride planned, just watching the ascent of Ventoux by the pro’s. Mike had made his Wiggo sign a couple of days ago, we rode to a fairly open part of the route so it might be seen by the helicopter cameras. We pinned it down to a grass bank with rocks, and settled down for a long long wait until the caravan, and then the first riders. Thousand after thousands of people passed by us on their way to the summit or higher vantage points. I saw later that the organisers claim half a million were on the slope that day. I wouldn’t be surprised. It seemed like all the world walked by. As soon as the last rider had gone by, we got on our bikes and picked our way through the people and cars to watch the finish of the stage on the big screen in Bedoin. We had to climb on top of dustbins to see, there were so many people there too. It was a great atmosphere. The applause and cheers as Schleck attacked again and again, Pelozotti too. The crowd really appreciated someone going for it. It was disappointing to see Wiggins keep dropping off the back, but at least he had a go and wasn’t far behind the more experienced road racers.
Waiting on the lower slopes of the Ventoux for the race to pass
We set off back to the car 7 km away as soon as the leaders finished, we had another TT burst on the way to blow the cobwebs out. As soon as we got to the car we got away from the area as soon as possible to miss the certain road chaos which would soon follow. It was bad enough when we left, in an hour or less it would have been impossible to move on the roads. We got onto the motorway roads and stopped at a parking area to cook our last meal and get changed ready for the long journey back to Blighty.
Cleveland Wheelers 