I've just spent a great week-and-a-half at a campsite by a lake in the French Alps, with my wetsuit, bike, running shoes, with great people, a massive tent, and a beast of a car christened the "Panzerwagon"...
I spent the summer of 2005 working in a hotel in Aix-les-Bains, not too far away from where we were this time around. I can't believe that was 9 years ago. Back then, I had never done any serious cycling apart from having a clapped-out bike for scooting around Aberdeen and scooting around university. 9 years ago I went to see the Tour de France in the flesh (I saw them all - Lance, Jan Ullrich and "Mr Shut Up Legs" himself, Jens Voigt, who was in the yellow jersey at the time). Having been a fan of the Tour de France since the days of big Miguel Indurain back in the early 1990s, seeing it up close was brilliant.
I learned that the Tour is not necessarily something you go to see, it's something you can go to be a part of, something you can go and do and experience for yourself. I rented bikes on my days off and went up a pile of mountains. I remember hauling myself up the 2645m Col du Galibier on a crappy rented mountain bike. It was properly tough. I remember hauling myself over the 2000m Col de la Madeleine on a crappy rented road bike, with terrible gearing. I remember bombing down the other side of the Madeleine to the small village in time to catch the last train back to the hotel, and I remember everything hurting - legs, arms, neck, back, and boy did my ass hurt too. The Alps are awesome. I've always wanted to go back and do a few more of the climbs.
Also, seeing as the Wales bike course is obscenely hilly, the Alps were an ideal place to train. I'm much more of a proper cyclist now compared with what I was 9 years ago, so I was looking forward to going and riding the mountains as a reasonably fit cyclist on a decent bike.
As I don't have a great deal of time to write this blog post (I have cooking, washing, ironing, cleaning, tidying and weights still to do, and I want to be in bed early), I am going to upload a pile of photos, with a few comments and thoughts on each one. They say a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, so I guess this will be a massive essay about the Alps...
The lake on a calm evening. Most of the time it was quite choppy, which made the swimming tough. But the Ironman Wales swim isn't going to be particularly benign, so this was good practice.
First big cycling day. A 3-hour drive over the Col du Lautaret to Briancon, to do a big loop on the bikes which took in the Col d'Izoard. The Panzerwagon needed fuel so we stopped in Bourg d'Oisans at the foot of Alpe d'Huez. We tried about 4 different petrol stations. None had Panzer fuel (Unleaded 98). The sat-nav ended up directing us to the top of Alpe d'Huez for fuel. Just a 90-minute, 1000m altitude detour. Madness. We got to the petrol station running on fumes. The photograph shows Steve, a relieved man. This was my first time on Alpe d'Huez and it was seriously steep. But then I always find that hills seem worse in the car than they do on the bike. The Ironman UK bike course looked awful when I drove it. The Ironman Wales bike course looked even worse. And I got round them OK on the bike...
Some of the famous hairpins on Alpe d'Huez. I knocked off another 100km that day, including two more climbs. It rained and I got soaked. I got off the bike knackered, cold and wet, and forced myself to go for a run. Surprisingly, I felt really good on the run.
The summit is calling...
The summit of Mont Ventoux.
All in all, a great time in France. I enjoyed speaking some French again, and it hasn't done my fitness any harm. But it was very hard to come back to London after spending time out there.
I spent the summer of 2005 working in a hotel in Aix-les-Bains, not too far away from where we were this time around. I can't believe that was 9 years ago. Back then, I had never done any serious cycling apart from having a clapped-out bike for scooting around Aberdeen and scooting around university. 9 years ago I went to see the Tour de France in the flesh (I saw them all - Lance, Jan Ullrich and "Mr Shut Up Legs" himself, Jens Voigt, who was in the yellow jersey at the time). Having been a fan of the Tour de France since the days of big Miguel Indurain back in the early 1990s, seeing it up close was brilliant.
I learned that the Tour is not necessarily something you go to see, it's something you can go to be a part of, something you can go and do and experience for yourself. I rented bikes on my days off and went up a pile of mountains. I remember hauling myself up the 2645m Col du Galibier on a crappy rented mountain bike. It was properly tough. I remember hauling myself over the 2000m Col de la Madeleine on a crappy rented road bike, with terrible gearing. I remember bombing down the other side of the Madeleine to the small village in time to catch the last train back to the hotel, and I remember everything hurting - legs, arms, neck, back, and boy did my ass hurt too. The Alps are awesome. I've always wanted to go back and do a few more of the climbs.
Also, seeing as the Wales bike course is obscenely hilly, the Alps were an ideal place to train. I'm much more of a proper cyclist now compared with what I was 9 years ago, so I was looking forward to going and riding the mountains as a reasonably fit cyclist on a decent bike.
As I don't have a great deal of time to write this blog post (I have cooking, washing, ironing, cleaning, tidying and weights still to do, and I want to be in bed early), I am going to upload a pile of photos, with a few comments and thoughts on each one. They say a picture is worth a thousand words anyway, so I guess this will be a massive essay about the Alps...
The lake, view from the campsite. The water was surprisingly warm. Most people were fine without a wetsuit. I'm a skinny wimp, so I was only fine with the wetsuit on. Such a great place to swim.
More views of the lake. It was at almost 1000m altitude. This photo is looking north, down the valley. For most of the trip, a cold north wind funnelled up the valley. Nights were chilly!
The lake on a calm evening. Most of the time it was quite choppy, which made the swimming tough. But the Ironman Wales swim isn't going to be particularly benign, so this was good practice.
In the early morning (admittedly I didn't see many early mornings...), the air temperature was low - lower than the water temperature, so the lake was always steaming. Very atmospheric.
First big cycling day. A 3-hour drive over the Col du Lautaret to Briancon, to do a big loop on the bikes which took in the Col d'Izoard. The Panzerwagon needed fuel so we stopped in Bourg d'Oisans at the foot of Alpe d'Huez. We tried about 4 different petrol stations. None had Panzer fuel (Unleaded 98). The sat-nav ended up directing us to the top of Alpe d'Huez for fuel. Just a 90-minute, 1000m altitude detour. Madness. We got to the petrol station running on fumes. The photograph shows Steve, a relieved man. This was my first time on Alpe d'Huez and it was seriously steep. But then I always find that hills seem worse in the car than they do on the bike. The Ironman UK bike course looked awful when I drove it. The Ironman Wales bike course looked even worse. And I got round them OK on the bike...
Briancon (and France, and Europe in general) embraces cycling... These bikes were on the first roundabout coming into town.
Approaching the Broken Desert on the ascent of the Col d'Izoard, arguably the most scenic col in France. The hills are usually 15-20km of steep climbing, usually taking over an hour to ascend. I usually went up these hills pretty hard, sometimes getting the heart rate over 180bpm. I'd get to the top, turn around, and head back down to meet up with Steve, wherever he had got to. He was usually about 5 minutes behind me. Then we'd ride to the top together and I'd take a few photos.
Selfie at 6000 feet on the Col d'Izoard, at 175bpm. That's not a smile!
Final turn before the summit...
Approaching the summit...
Les grimpeurs sur le sommet...
Post-ride reward - awesome stuff!
Home for a week and a half...
At the foot of Alpe d'Huez, maybe the most famous road in cycling...
...21 hairpin bends and 50 minutes of pain later! I went up Alpe d'Huez as hard as I could. The top pros (possibly with the help of doping, but cycling is cleaning up its act) can get up the Alpe in 40-odd minutes. Marco Pantani went under 40 minutes. Lance Armstrong time-trialled up it in 2004 in under 40 minutes. When the Tour goes up the Alpe, a million people line its 14 kilometres. It is awesome to watch. I'm going to watch the Tour there someday...
Anyway, I'd like to think I am reasonably fit, I have a reasonable bike, and it was a reasonable day, and I hammered that Alpe as hard as I could. There are two "summits" a few minutes apart. The first summit is where all the ski station shops, restaurants and bars are. This first summit is where the road flattens for the first time, then it winds its way through the town, over a couple of roundabouts, through a tunnel, and it rears up again towards the upper ski station where it finally finishes. I got to the first summit in 50 minutes and 3 seconds, and had nothing left at all for the final stretch. I got to the second summit in 55 minutes. Then I freewheeled back down to meet the others, and climbed up again with them.
Allez, allez...
Some of the famous hairpins on Alpe d'Huez. I knocked off another 100km that day, including two more climbs. It rained and I got soaked. I got off the bike knackered, cold and wet, and forced myself to go for a run. Surprisingly, I felt really good on the run.
The campsite toilets even had instructions for use. "Ouah I'm dying to go..." and "Oups I stink!"
The others did some "Via Ferrata", which translates as "The Iron Way". Basically it's rock climbing, but built into the rocks and cliffs are iron rungs, bars, ladders, tightropes, rickety bridges, you name it. There is a safety rope also secured beside the fixtures so you can't fall (far). It looks terrifying. I really wanted to try it, but I was afraid I'd injure myself or cack myself. There are Via Ferrata courses all over Europe. They are not for the faint hearted. They can take hours to complete, and can involve altitude gains of over 1000m, with sheer drops.
Swimming in the lake on a grey day. My wetsuit is 3 seasons old. It's a very good wetsuit, but the more expensive these wetsuits (and therefore the faster the wetsuit), the more fragile they are. My wetsuit has been patched and glued a few times and I think the arm/shoulder seams could go at any time. I had to glue it in France a couple of times. It also doesn't feel as fast as it used to, and the seals are starting to deteriorate. It's letting in more water than it should, which means I get cold and more fatigued. I think I need a new one before Wales, but they aren't cheap...
The "Dead Man's Pass" on the way to Mont Ventoux.
Selfie on Mont Ventoux, just before reaching the lunar landscape. There are three routes up Ventoux. Our strategy was to do each of them. So we took the first ascent at a comfortable pace. We got to the top, but the weather down the other side, where we intended to descend, was awful. And it was blowing over the mountain towards the town of Sault, where we had parked the car. So we descended 6km to the hotel/shop, where I decided I would go back to the summit as hard as I could, and descend back to the hotel, while Steve bought a few bits and pieces. I got to within 400m of the summit, and decided it was getting too wet, so I turned and headed back. We descended all the way to Sault in drizzle. Back in Sault, the weather was good, so I decided to do a bit more. I did 10 hard hill repetitions, each of 3 minutes. I almost fell off the bike at the end. The repetitions were tough. But, being handed a Yop drink perked me up again.
The summit is calling...
A poignant spot. Just before the summit of Mont Ventoux, there is a memorial to Tom Simpson. He was a British cyclist who died here in the 1967 Tour de France. The Ventoux is a tough climb, some would say the toughest. It is very hot, windy and exposed. We got it on an usually wet, cool and calm day. Tom Simpson had been ill with stomach pains and diarrhoea before the Ventoux stage. This, and a combination of brutal heat, relentless pace, pressure, and a cocktail of alcohol and amphetamines (the primitive doping that many riders were involved with), led to his death.
The barren lunar landscape of Mont Ventoux.
The summit sign.
Looking over Provence from the summit.
The summit of Mont Ventoux.
The town of Sault. Little French towns are great places. There were so many people out playing "petanque" (French bowls) in Sault. There was also a bike shop in Sault. In this bike shop was a really cool framed picture, which wasn't for sale. I should have asked more about it and taken a photo of it. I'm currently trying to track it down on the internet, without much luck. It was a painting/drawing of the main street in the town of Sault, with the residents totally absorbed in a game of petanque. Even the police were looking on. They were all oblivious to the fact that their game of petanque was holding up the entire Tour de France, and all the riders were waiting on their bikes with peeved looks on their faces. Petanque is obviously taken very seriously in Sault!
Post-Ventoux filth!
All in all, a great time in France. I enjoyed speaking some French again, and it hasn't done my fitness any harm. But it was very hard to come back to London after spending time out there.
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