So many people ask the question "how was it?"
On this occasion, there is to be no simple answer...
-20km: Woke up at 4:00am CET, looked out of the window: dark and wet. Must have rained during the night – it’ll be ok. Packed a gillet just in case. Nibbled a ham roll for breakfast and forced a glass of juice down my as yet unawoken body. Coach trip to the bike storage. Listened to training music playlist on ipod to get myself in the mood (and stop me falling asleep).
-3km: Picked up bike from bike storage (tennis centre on outskirts of Issoire). Re-checked tyre pressures, wheels, handlebars. All ok. Lots of people wearing Sky kit, but unlike me, they work for Sky. Spot Dean Downing of Rapha Condor Sharp. Too tired/shy to say hello. Friendly chap (Nick) from coach has a bright yellow bike. Says hello then joins long queue for toilets. Decide to ride to start with other Sky-kitters.
-2km: Roads still wet. Hit traffic jam in outskirts of Issoire – lots of French dropping off partners and bikes as close to the start as possible. Picked our way through stationery traffic. Having to concentrate far too early for my liking in order not to crash before getting to start line.
-1km: Elderly chap on steel framer overtakes our group at speed. Surely too energetic so early on?
0km: Take up position in front of start pen 9. Can’t see start line, too far back. Wait interrupted by tannoy announcements in French. Something about bad weather. Then it starts to rain. Heavilly. Jump over barriers and take shelter under apartment block car park entrance with several other cyclists. Spot Nick’s yellow bike, then Nick, in the pen – he’s off to meet his mate further up. Will I see him again? I wish him good luck. Rain stops and I rejoin the start pen…very busy now. 45 minute wait until we’re off.
1km: Pass through Issoire centre – lots of people out cheering and clapping, despite the early hours and unsociable weather.
5km: Rain starts again. Getting windy as we leave Issoire towards our first objective, the cat 3 climb at Massiac. Fairly flat so far, average speed about 18mph. Hope to keep this up before the climbing begins.
20km: Rain getting heavier and struggling to find groups to work with on the exposed roads. Headwind now. Get behind some Sky-kitters, who slow down. Go off the front – overtake quite a few, then decide I might be going too fast, too soon. Need to save energy fighting this wind
23km: Wind a real problem, but groups riding too slowly. No-one wants to put any effort in on the front. Rain so heavy that some people are cycling back the other way to find cover. Surely better to push on?
25km: Hailstones make an appearance. In the middle of summer. In France.
27km: Notice motorcycle outriders for first time and yellow Mavic vehicles. Just like the Tour! Doesn’t feel like France though – more like Siberia.
38km: Enter town of Cantal. Cyclists sheltering in barns and bus shelters. They’ll need to get a move on if they want to keep ahead of the sag wagon.
40km: Getting cold now. Wishing I had packed arm warmers and bought those overshoes I had been considering before coming out here. Oh well, I have a gillet and it will brighten up later, surely?
43km: Climb Cote Massiac. First experience of a cat 3. Nothing too difficult. Rain stops near the top. Road starts to steam and glasses fog up. Is it getting brighter?
45km: Rain starts again. Some people are cycling down the Massiac back towards the town.
50km: More soggy cyclists cycling the wrong way with hollow looks on their faces. Where are all these people going? Why not find shelter further ahead? Can’t work this out. Must push on into the wind, need to get that average speed up.
62km: Arrive at the first feed station in Allanche. Lots of bikes abandoned in the road and cyclists wandering around, looking to refuel. Surprisingly easy to find food and water, but need something hot. Alas, nothing hot on offer – only ice cold water. Get back on bike and realise I am so cold that all of my limbs are shaking uncontrollably – I can’t ride my bike! Get off, stamp my feet and wave my arms around to get some circulation going. Others, no doubt suffering from the same problem, follow my lead until there is a small group of us in what would appear to the casual passer-by to be some sort of ‘extreme winter cycling aerobics class’. Get back on bike and follow group onto high street…but have to turn back as I realise what is going on. It looks as though everyone is abandoning right here. I ask a policeman which way the actual route is – there is no way I am giving up – not after six months training. The policeman, who couldn’t have been far short of seven foot tall and with features chiseled like a retired boxer, points down the high street and gives a cut throat sign: “fini”. Then points up the hill: “death”. I cycle up the hill, along with a couple of Italians who’s laughter was either gallows humour, or sign that they simply had no idea what was coming. I don’t know what I was more scared of: the prospect of ascending into worse weather, or that policemen who couldn’t speak much English, but knew the word “death”. The climbs of the Massif Central await.
90km: Dienne. This was the food stop I saw on TV when the pros raced the stage a week earlier. Start thinking of sitting on my dry, warm sofa with my feet up, eating bread and cheese.
100km: Near top of col du Pas de Peyrol, a cat 2 climb tackled slowly but steadily. Field thinning out – there must have been hundreds of people abandoning up to this point.
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50 metres from the summit of the Col du Pas de Peyrol
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102km: Top of col du Pas de Peyrol. Freezing fog prevents sight further than a few feet. Spot a Kingston Wheeler and say hello. He appears too cold to hold much of a conversation, but says he is waiting for a friend to make it up the climb. Hundreds of bikes stacked up together, but where are the cyclists? Some very low race numbers too, so I have caught up with those that started almost an hour ahead of me. They’re all in the visitor centre! Looks warm, but I eat a power bar and prepare mentally for what will be a tough descent.
110km: Actually looking forward to the next climb so I can get some blood going. The descent off Puy Mary leaves my fingers frozen and braking/changing gear becomes difficult. Starting to lose feeling in my feet at this point and pedalling feels somehow disconnected from my leg movements. Not enjoying this “bike ride in France”. Realise I have passed halfway point some way back and feel motivated again.
112km: Pass the barrier where Vinoukorov came off and broke his Pelvis. Roads are dangerous, but not at the speeds I’m travelling.
118km: Reach top of Col de Perthus. Toughest climb on the route apparently. Feel strong. Wet and cold, but strong.
120km: Get blocked off into a corner on the descent off Col de Pertus by an overly cautious and nervous looking Italian. We both go “off road” and our speed almost takes us off the mountain too. Dismount, point my bike back onto the road. If the Italian wasn’t familiar with the more colourful elements of the English language, he is now as I give him a ten second blast of random expletives. Italian now has something else to be nervous about.
128km: Roads widen and lots of slippery white lining negotiated at some speed, before a long hill begins and small groups start to form again to combat the wind. Someone pats me on the back – it’s the Italian chap! He apologetically invites me to get behind him, which I do, and he rides on the front all the way up the hill.
130km: Hatchets officially buried as I shake the Italian’s hand and we part company at the top of col de Cere.
143km: Passing a cyclist trying to fix a puncture, his wheel suddenly explodes with a “whoosh” of air escaping the inner tube. He throws his bike into the hedge and walks off, mumbling something that sounded French.
145km: A familiar yellow bike flies past in a faster group – it’s the friendly chap from the coach! A brief hello, see you later, and he’s gone. Need to pick my pace up.
146km: Overtake large group of Sky-kitters. Feel better.
151km: It stops raining and the sun comes out! Start climbing col de Prat de Bouc and French lady spectator shouts words of encouragement (I think?) at me.
152km: Bike begins to make a horrid creaking noise. On further inspection, my gears are bone dry – the rain has washed all the grease off and the first few minutes of sun has dried them out!
153km: I flag down a yellow Mavic car with bikes on top of it. Explain problem in English, mechanic responds in French. Oh dear. Thankfully “WD-40” translates into both languages and with a few sprays over my rear mech, I’m fixed and away again.
154m: Starts to rain again. Down to 5mph on the hill. Average speed suffering as much as I am.
155km: Since when did hills last this long anyway?
156km: Summit col de Prat de Bouc. Feed station not very busy – not many riders have made it this far perhaps, or are we just a long way behind? The race clock (back of the race) pulls up and we all immediately get back on our bikes and push on – surely they can’t eliminate this many of us in these conditions? They don’t. We are simply waved on. Allez allez!
157km: Decide to throw caution to (the quite considerable) wind and up my average speed on the descent. Need to get as far ahead of that race clock as possible. Fast descent made easier by lack of traffic and long sweeping curves.
160km: Ambulance comes screaming past, sirens on. Cyclist right behind it taking the draft. Looked dangerous to me. Stayed in my group.
170km: Passing through various towns now, all with plenty of spectator support. Someone sees my Sky kit and shouts “go team Sky!” Cycle a bit faster for a few hundred metres.
175km: Dutch family, who appear to have parked their camper van up at the side of the road to make a day of it, cheer us on up a small climb. One Dutch lady starts to run beside me up the hill, clapping and shouting “come on, you can do this!”. Start to realise that I am actually going to do this. Cycle a bit faster for a few hundred metres.
190km: The Chateau d’Alleuze comes into view – a very recognisable part of the stage – and the sun comes out. Can feel warmth of the sunlight thawing my toes and fingers. Cycle a bit faster for a few hundred metres.
195km: Official photographers take my photo as I climb the cote d’Chateau d’Alleuze. Can’t help but grin and feel that the resulting picture won’t show just how horrific the conditions have been up to this point.
196km: Stop to take on my first energy gel – only had power bars up to this point – and phone Kelly to advise her that I’m near the finish. Thought of that final climb into Saint Flour and seeing her at the finish line has kept me going thus far.
200km: Flying through small villages now, past the narrow roads that saw a French television car plough into Juan Antonio Fletcha and Jonny Hoogerland last week, causing them both horrible injuries. No cars on the road here, just lots of cyclists and I am overtaking them, one by one. Finishing strongly now the finish is within reach.
203km: Enter Saint Flour.
205km: Start climb to the finish. Looking out for Kelly & Kelly. Still quite a few spectators around, but can’t help thinking it must have been busier for those that came through earlier.
208km: Spot Kelly & Kelly at the finish line, cross it, almost fall off my bike as I dismount and receive the hardest earned medal I have ever received. Time for photos and letting this achievement sink in. Hardest thing I have ever done. Need a beer.
