Haute Day 7: The final day

With Eric atop Col de Columbiere

The last day of the Haute Route arrives. We are in a delightful chalet with a view of the peak of Mont Blanc out of our window. Weirdly again I couldn’t sleep and got all of four hours before the 4.45 wake up call. Yes, that’s right – before five o clock (I am not an early waker). Today should be easier if only because we are coming down from ski resort to Geneva.

The view of Mont Blanc from the chalet

But there is still 2,500 metres of climbing, including col de Aravis, Col de Columbiere, Col de Terramont and Col de Cou. As we climb the Columbiere I am told “where our wheels are now, just three weeks ago were those of the Tour.” It was the stage excitingly won by the Colombian rider Jarlinson Pantano, out-sprinting Poland’s Rafal Majka at the finish line.

We start with a gentle decline and I am with John again, debating aboriginal rights and also the rise of the right-wing One Nation party. “Jeez, are you guys discussing politics again” I hear from the rider behind. Yep, for me, that’s all part of the attraction. On these 7 days I have learnt about the culture and politics of many nations.

As we start the ascent of Aravis, I am feeling strong. I overtake a few riders and find myself going past Jason, whose wheel I couldn’t hang on to yesterday. I am back in my favourite gear and actually going up a couple of kph faster. Perhaps my legs “have arrived”, as others say here. I begin to wonder if I can make it to the top 350 on today’s timings.

With 4 km to go I spot our Unitarian vicar. “Nathan, how about some philosophical discussion to get us to the top?”. “Henry, I need to breathe” is the response. Are cyclists divided between those who like to talk their way up a mountain and those who just don’t?

I arrive at the top 12 minutes ahead of cut-off and consider going straight past the feed station, as others are. But I remind myself to hydrate. I still haven’t really got the hang of drinking enough on the bike, so my solution is to drink the best part of a litre of water at every feed station. I know the advice is regular sips but this seems to work for me and, as the stations are at the top of the cols, my stomach settles on the way down.

I spend a little more time out of the saddle today. I won’t go into details but let’s just say I’m very grateful for the Compeed blister pads recommended by the doctor.

On the Colombiere ascent I find myself with the ever friendly Eric, a Frenchman working for P&G in Geneva. We cover Brexit, French Presidential politics, the burkini ban (he is against), what my company (Happy Ltd) does and the entire history of P&G, founded in 1837.

“All this talk is good, it has helped me keep up with you”, he states modestly. I think the reverse is true but do manage to pip him to the summit in the race of the last 200 metres.

The descent is fabulous as 10 of us head down through the trees at 30 to 35 mph, braking for the frequent bends. At the start of the week I would have been terrified by this pace but not now. I expect those at the front are going a fair bit faster.

In the valley I find myself on the wheels of Anton and Jeffrey, two French riders who talk non stop while effortlessly heading up the valley at 20mph. On a roundabout my pedal scratches the tarmac and for one scary moment I think I’m coming off. “Stay safe, dude” I say to myself, remembering the words of Shane, one of the other riders. I eventually drop off and am rather disturbed to see a local French farmer head past me on an old crock of a bicycle – until I notice the electric battery on the back.

I am alone. Well, a bit of mountain solitude is okay, I guess. I climb along the edge of a 500 ft precipice, a stunning rocky gorge. I am getting hooted a bit by passing cars but no way am I going near that edge, with just a half-metre wall.

Just as I am feeling I am slipping and losing energy, along comes Francisco, my Brazilian friend from yesterday. We chat our way to the top, this is definitely my way to climb. There is now just one col to go, and it is only 174 metres of ascent, not even three Muswell Hills (my local 70m climb in North London). Touch wood, we have done the Haute Route.

The climb is over soon and we are heading down at speed. At the bottom, with a few km left to go, Francisco gestures to me to get on his wheel. He clearly has something left and heads off at an amazing speed, getting us to the finish (a slight descent, but not much) again at around 30mph.

We have completed the “highest and toughest cycling sportive in the world”. The timed section is over. We have cycled 500 miles, climbed 21 Tour de France cols and ascended 22,000 metres. And I feel great. My legs definitely arrived today. I’d almost like to continue tomorrow! (Except I now find I can hardly sit down….) What seemed totally crazy when we signed up 10 months ago, indeed when I was sat by the roadside on Sunday afternoon: somehow I’ve done it.

Crossing the finish line

I am surprised to find I arrived 1 hour 50 minutes ahead of cut-off and am listed at no 341 out of 413, my best performance of the week.

We head off for lunch and ice cream in the charming walled village of Yvoire and then the whole group of more than four hundred riders head in one single convoy on the 25 km along the lake to Geneva, crossing into Switzerland as we go.

Wow. Just wow. A fabulous experience

See also Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7

In the shadow of Mont Blanc

Topping the Roseland with Francisco

First, check out today's official Haute Route video

Day 6 should be a breeze compared to yesterday. Just 3,400 metres of climbing and three cols: the 1270m Col de Tra, 1,968 m Cormet de Rosland and 1,650m Col de Sasies. Rosland first appeared in the Tour in 1979 and has been in 9 times since. Sasies last featured in 2010, when Pineau won.

One unexpected challenge is sleep. I thought I’d be flat out for 10 hours a night but I’ve woken at 4.30 every day until now. This morning I slept through until woken at 5.25 to find all my roommates had already gone to breakfast. This for a start of 7.30, what is it it with these folk?

As we went up the penultimate climb yesterday I mentioned to Clayton that I was finding it tough. “I’m just out for a ride, following the instructions from my power meter”, was his response.

Now I do not own a power meter, a garmin or even a heart monitor. I had some vague idea about going with the body’s natural feelings and now realise how naïve I was. I long for the strange benefit of a machine that can tell me how fast I am able to cycle at the moment.

I did have what is known as a threshold test, at the Olympics velodrome on their Watt bikes. My average power output over 20 minutes was 295 watts. To get your power to weight ratio, the crucial measure, you multiply this by 0.91 (no, no idea why) and divide it by your weight. Mine was 3.6 watts per kilo.

Breakfasting with Miles, the 18 year old wunderkind we have befriended, I mention this. “Wow, that’s good. Why aren’t you higher up the field?”. He checks my latest Box Hill time on Strava and confirms I really ought to be doing better here.

Maybe I am not pushing myself enough. Perhaps this is the day I will make a break and ride up the rankings. Perhaps even top 300? (I was 375 yesterday out of 386, with a further 29 who didn’t make the cut off time.)

Though there are people here who have hired their own “domestique”, or assistant. Not only do they lead them up mountains, they carry their food and – as we pass them – we hear them giving instructions. “Now 85 rpm, go for zone 3 for the next 10 minutes”. Maybe I am doing rather well compared to all these people with mechanic and human support.

Though yesterday I did have the cryotherapy treatment, of which we all get one free session during the week. You go in a chamber, almost naked, with your head above and they reduce the temperature to minus 141 degrees. Yes, 141 degrees below freezing. As I start to shiver and shudder I realise I have no idea why this this is meant to do any good.

“Do you work with people like Froome and Quintana”, I ask. “No, I do not work with Sky and Movistar (their teams)”, he says with disdain, “I only work with French teams”. It is a very French response. I am very relieved when the 3 minutes is up and he opens the door. Has it had any effect? We may see today.

The first climb is similar to yesterday but I am struggling. I try to hold Mia’s wheel again but she makes a break at 6km to go, and I start slipping. I hold Jason’s for a while but fall off and eventually get through to the top with Toby. This is not feeling good, I leave the feed station just 2 minutes ahead of the cut-off and wondering if I can keep up. My legs don’t seem to have it today.

Beginning the descent from Col de Tra

Another glorious descent through wooded valleys and we are soon on to the base of Roselend. I am no longer looking for a faster time, just to get through. And stuff the solitude of the mountains, I need to talk to someone.

I have already had a fascinating conversation with Nathan, our resident Vicar. He is a Unitarian and explains how it has no creed, includes people of all faiths and is based on commitments. Behaviour not beliefs. Fascinating stuff.

Francisco from Sao Paulo comes by and he is a joy. We discuss the Presidential impeachment and Brazilian politics. I try to explain Brexit and he explains how their corruption is being finally dealt with by Judge Moro. The miles fly by as we ascend into classic alpine villages, with the snow covered peaks of Mont Blanc appearing in the background. We both agree it was so much easier to talk our way to the top, and the day is feeling easier.

The 22km descent includes the most beautiful ice-blue reservoir, and more glorious woodland scenes. As we ascend Saisies I find myself with James, Scott from Vancouver and we are joined by Richard from Woking. James feels he has the legs today and cycles ahead.

The view to Mont Blanc

We have the most glorious one hour cycle up the mountain. None of us are looking for special times. We ascend steadily, enjoying the amazing scenery and generally shooting the breeze. It is an absolute joy. The 905 metre climb feels almost effortless.

However we may have relaxed too much. Time is tight and we leave the feed station with 1 minute to cut off. A speedy descent and we have 10km to go on a “false flat”, a 2% ascent. It is crucial to work as a team and we have been joined by David from the UK and Davida from Denver. We get a very effective chain gang together, sharing timer at the front, and speed up the valley. We end up 15 minutes ahead of cut-off. I feel exhausted but very satisfied.

A happy chain gang: me, Scott, David, Richard

I had also laid off the chocolate bars today, switching to bananas, dried apricots and fruit. Maybe eating healthy does actually help.

Just one day to go. One rider comments that he is looking forward to arriving at Lake Geneva and jumping naked into the lake. But he is German. I think most of us will keep our cycling shorts on. 

Haute Day 6: In the shadow of Mont Blanc

Topping the Roseland with Antonio

First, check out today's official Haute Route video

Day 6 should be a breeze compared to yesterday. Just 3,400 metres of climbing and three cols: the 1270m Col de Tra, 1,968 m Cormet de Rosland and 1,650m Col de Sasies. Rosland first appeared in the Tour in 1979 and has been in 9 times since. Sasies last featured in 2010, when Pineau won.

One unexpected challenge is sleep. I thought I’d be flat out for 10 hours a night but I’ve woken at 4.30 every day until now. This morning I slept through until woken at 5.25 to find all my roommates had already gone to breakfast. This for a start of 7.30, what is it it with these folk?

As we went up the penultimate climb yesterday I mentioned to Clayton that I was finding it tough. “I’m just out for a ride, following the instructions from my power meter”, was his response.

Now I do not own a power meter, a garmin or even a heart monitor. I had some vague idea about going with the body’s natural feelings and now realise how naïve I was. I long for the strange benefit of a machine that can tell me how fast I am able to cycle at the moment.

I did have what is known as a threshold test, at the Olympics velodrome on their Watt bikes. My average power output over 20 minutes was 295 watts. To get your power to weight ratio, the crucial measure, you multiply this by 0.91 (no, no idea why) and divide it by your weight. Mine was 3.6 watts per kilo.

Breakfasting with Miles, the 18 year old wunderkind we have befriended, I mention this. “Wow, that’s good. Why aren’t you higher up the field?”. He checks my latest Box Hill time on Strava and confirms I really ought to be doing better here.

Maybe I am not pushing myself enough. Perhaps this is the day I will make a break and ride up the rankings. Perhaps even top 300? (I was 375 yesterday out of 386, with a further 29 who didn’t make the cut off time.)

Though there are people here who have hired their own “domestique”, or assistant. Not only do they lead them up mountains, they carry their food and – as we pass them – we hear them giving instructions. “Now 85 rpm, go for zone 3 for the next 10 minutes”. Maybe I am doing rather well compared to all these people with mechanic and human support.

Though yesterday I did have the cryotherapy treatment, of which we all get one free session during the week. You go in a chamber, almost naked, with your head above and they reduce the temperature to minus 141 degrees. Yes, 141 degrees below freezing. As I start to shiver and shudder I realise I have no idea why this this is meant to do any good.

“Do you work with people like Froome and Quintana”, I ask. “No, I do not work with Sky and Movistar (their teams)”, he says with disdain, “I only work with French teams”. It is a very French response. I am very relieved when the 3 minutes is up and he opens the door. Has it had any effect? We may see today.

The first climb is similar to yesterday but I am struggling. I try to hold Mia’s wheel again but she makes a break at 6km to go, and I start slipping. I hold Jason’s for a while but fall off and eventually get through to the top with Toby. This is not feeling good, I leave the feed station just 2 minutes ahead of the cut-off and wondering if I can keep up. My legs don’t seem to have it today.

Beginning the descent from Col de Tra

Another glorious descent through wooded valleys and we are soon on to the base of Roselend. I am no longer looking for a faster time, just to get through. And stuff the solitude of the mountains, I need to talk to someone.

I have already had a fascinating conversation with Nathan, our resident Vicar. He is a Unitarian and explains how it has no creed, includes people of all faiths and is based on commitments. Behaviour not beliefs. Fascinating stuff.

Antonio from Sao Paulo comes by and he is a joy. We discuss the Presidential impeachment and Brazilian politics. I try to explain Brexit and he explains how their corruption is being finally dealt with by Judge Moro. The miles fly by as we ascend into classic alpine villages, with the snow covered peaks of Mont Blanc appearing in the background. We both agree it was so much easier to talk our way to the top, and the day is feeling easier.

The 22km descent includes the most beautiful ice-blue reservoir, and more glorious woodland scenes. As we ascend Saisies I find myself with James, Scott from Vancouver and we are joined by Richard from Woking. James feels he has the legs today and cycles ahead.

The view to Mont Blanc

We have the most glorious one hour cycle up the mountain. None of us are looking for special times. We ascend steadily, enjoying the amazing scenery and generally shooting the breeze. It is an absolute joy. The 905 metre climb feels almost effortless.

However we may have relaxed too much. Time is tight and we leave the feed station with 1 minute to cut off. A speedy descent and we have 10km to go on a “false flat”, a 2% ascent. It is crucial to work as a team and we have been joined by David from the UK and Davida from Denver. We get a very effective chain gang together, sharing timer at the front, and speed up the valley. We end up 15 minutes ahead of cut-off. I feel exhausted but very satisfied.

A happy chain gang: me, Scott, David, Richard

I had also laid off the chocolate bars today, switching to bananas, dried apricots and fruit. Maybe eating healthy does actually help.

Just one day to go. One rider comments that he is looking forward to arriving at Lake Geneva and jumping naked into the lake. But he is German. I think most of us will keep our cycling shorts on. 

See also: Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7

Haute Day 5: 7 hours of joy, one hour of pain

Actually from yesterday (Galibier) but the official photos are much better than mine.

Watch the fabulous video of the day here

Day 5 always looked the toughest. It is 4,200 metres of climbing and four ascents. The highlight is the Col de Madelaine, which first appeared in the Tour in 1969 and has featured 25 times since, always as the top “hors categories”. Jan Ullrich won here in 98, the year after his Tour victory, and the last winner was the French Pierre Rolland in 2013.

These are not just mountains. These are places of cycling history. And there are some amazing endurance athletes taking part. There are actually three Haute Route events, each a week long: The Pyrenees, the Alps and the Dolomites.

There are people here who are taking part in all three, with just a single rest day in between for travel. Given that only half the Tour de France stages are in the mountains, but all the Haute Route ones are, this means those folks are on a greater endurance test than the professionals – especially those going fast at the front.

Over breakfast I mention my approach of talking my way to the top. “No”, responds Toby, “for me it’s the solitude of the mountains, thinking my thoughts and going at my own pace”.

We set off with the song “Celebration Time” ringing in our ears, move up a small 500ft climb, the Telegraph, and descend together. As the timing starts, everybody accelerates and long trains of cyclists start to go past. This is basicly the first flat section we have had on our travels. I get on the back of a train and it is exhilarating, carried along at speed, though it does take effort. I notice a speed limit notice of 50kph. I look at my speedo and see we are doing 63.

Yes,w e went up there

We leave the road and start an ascent of seventeen hairpins. Seventeen! It is basicly a road straight up a cliff. I wonder why anybody would build such a thing. In England we would say “just go round it”.

On this ascent, the markers tell you the % gradient of the next kilometre. “Are you kidding me?”, exclaims Mia from Australia, whose wheel I have attached myself to for this climb as we see a 13%. But somehow it doesn’t seem too difficult.

The scenery is again incredible. At one point the road is dug out of a vertical cliff, with a 1000 ft precipice off the edge. And I find myself not talking but taking some time to contemplate. After my odd experience yesterday of becoming a “social media phenomenon” there is a lot to reflect on. 

My gillet (which I need for the cold descents) falls out of my back pocket and my fellow cyclists alert me. I stop and get ready to turn back to get it but then hear that distinctive Australian twang: “Henry, you dozy bastard”. John has picked it up and brings it up to me. My saviour again.

As we rise up the Col de Chaussy I find myself so lost in my thoughts and the splendour of the views, that I’ve lost track of the kilometres. When I see one saying it is just 3km to the top I almost respond “Oh, couldn’t it be more”. Almost, but not quite. But maybe this "solitude of the mountains" stuff has a point.

I get to the top feeling good. But caution myself that I felt great at the first peak, Turino, on Sunday and look what happened then. But the second climb, the mighty Madelaine, feels even better. I am moving past others as I spin, spin, spin. The sun is out but it feels like a gentle English summer, just perfect for cycling.

But a sudden concern is that I forgot to put on sunscreen and will burn badly if I am out all day without it. We pass the race doctor but she has no cream.

On the last km, a 9% ascent, myself and Clayton (an anaesthethist from Vancouver) take turns on each other wheel and then have a race to the summit. I am pipped at the post but it feels great to have the energy to do that.

As we approach the food stop I see a man standing there holding a tube of suncream. It is John. That man comes to my rescue again. How does he do it?

There is a very attractive café off to the side. I am 50 minutes ahead of cut-off and do consider it, especially as we are now between timing zones (they often don’t time the descents, to avoid dangerous behaviour). But it would be tempting fate.

The 25 km descent is glorious, down a wooded valley with snow-covered peaks towering above. I find out that Graeme, from St Albans, lived across the road from me for 8 years and we never met. But neither of us were seriously into cycling then.

We now head up a curious route. It isn’t an official col, wasn’t really included in the briefing and has no distance markers. But it turns out to be a 600m climb in the now intense heat. It is a detour that is entirely unnecessary. “The organisers are sadists”, I suggest to Andre (from Brazil) as we cycle on. “That is true”, he agrees “But we are masochists”.

I have now been over 7 hours in the saddle and am running out of energy. I pull into the 4^th foodstop, ignore the healthy bananas and and take a couple more of the chocolate snack bars that have become my favourite bite. Strava (the cycling app) tells me I’m using up 5,000 calories on each ride and they need replacing.

“Henry, you should water the flowers”, Toni (from Finland) shouts out as he passes, 6 km from the top. “Pardon?”. “You have two full water bottles and you are almost finished. Empty one, it will slow you down.” I water the flowers.

I mention this to somebody later. “You took two full water bottles on the last ascent”, he responds. “You are mad.” Is this obsessive? I see somebody cleaning their bike and comment on how impressive this is to do in the middle of the week. “Ah, if you clean off the dirt, it is lighter.” Wow. Am I taking this event seriously enough?

I have made it with 15 minutes to cut-off. I feel exhausted and a little sick. Perhaps the 8^th chocolate bar was a mistake. Asked by Neil, of the British Omani team, how it went I say “7 hours joy, one hour pain.”

On Sunday afternoon I sat under a tree, devastated and wondering if I would be able to finish any of the stages. As I agreed to pull out for that day, I was in tears. Now I do feel like a man transformed. The last hour was tough but I felt strong through most of this toughest of races.

I wonder what my family will think if I suggest the full three weeks?

See also Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7

Am very excited by this. On the Strava September cycling climbing challenge, after today, I am 6th out of 90,000!! (Yes, I know its only been one day)

Haute Day 5: 7 hours of joy, one hour of pain

Actually from yesterday (Galibier) but the official photos are much better than mine.

Watch the fabulous video of the day here

Day 5 always looked the toughest. It is 4,200 metres of climbing and four ascents. The highlight is the Col de Madelaine, which first appeared in the Tour in 1969 and has featured 25 times since, always as the top “hors categories”. Jan Ullrich won here in 98, the year after his Tour victory, and the last winner was the French Pierre Rolland in 2013.

These are not just mountains. These are places of cycling history. And there are some amazing endurance athletes taking part. There are actually three Haute Route events, each a week long: The Pyrenees, the Alps and the Dolomites.

There are people here who are taking part in all three, with just a single rest day in between for travel. Given that only half the Tour de France stages are in the mountains, but all the Haute Route ones are, this means those folks are on a greater endurance test than the professionals – especially those going fast at the front.

Over breakfast I mention my approach of talking my way to the top. “No”, responds Toby, “for me it’s the solitude of the mountains, thinking my thoughts and going at my own pace”.

We set off with the song “Celebration Time” ringing in our ears, move up a small 500ft climb, the Telegraph, and descend together. As the timing starts, everybody accelerates and long trains of cyclists start to go past. This is basicly the first flat section we have had on our travels. I get on the back of a train and it is exhilarating, carried along at speed, though it does take effort. I notice a speed limit notice of 50kph. I look at my speedo and see we are doing 63.

Yes,w e went up there

We leave the road and start an ascent of seventeen hairpins. Seventeen! It is basicly a road straight up a cliff. I wonder why anybody would build such a thing. In England we would say “just go round it”.

On this ascent, the markers tell you the % gradient of the next kilometre. “Are you kidding me?”, exclaims Mia from Australia, whose wheel I have attached myself to for this climb as we see a 13%. But somehow it doesn’t seem too difficult.

The scenery is again incredible. At one point the road is dug out of a vertical cliff, with a 1000 ft precipice off the edge. And I find myself not talking but taking some time to contemplate. After my odd experience yesterday of becoming a “social media phenomenon” there is a lot to reflect on. 

My gillet (which I need for the cold descents) falls out of my back pocket and my fellow cyclists alert me. I stop and get ready to turn back to get it but then hear that distinctive Australian twang: “Henry, you dozy bastard”. John has picked it up and brings it up to me. My saviour again.

As we rise up the Col de Chaussy I find myself so lost in my thoughts and the splendour of the views, that I’ve lost track of the kilometres. When I see one saying it is just 3km to the top I almost respond “Oh, couldn’t it be more”. Almost, but not quite. But maybe this "solitude of the mountains" stuff has a point.

I get to the top feeling good. But caution myself that I felt great at the first peak, Turino, on Sunday and look what happened then. But the second climb, the mighty Madelaine, feels even better. I am moving past others as I spin, spin, spin. The sun is out but it feels like a gentle English summer, just perfect for cycling.

But a sudden concern is that I forgot to put on sunscreen and will burn badly if I am out all day without it. We pass the race doctor but she has no cream.

On the last km, a 9% ascent, myself and Clayton (an anaesthethist from Vancouver) take turns on each other wheel and then have a race to the summit. I am pipped at the post but it feels great to have the energy to do that.

As we approach the food stop I see a man standing there holding a tube of suncream. It is John. That man comes to my rescue again. How does he do it?

There is a very attractive café off to the side. I am 50 minutes ahead of cut-off and do consider it, especially as we are now between timing zones (they often don’t time the descents, to avoid dangerous behaviour). But it would be tempting fate.

The 25 km descent is glorious, down a wooded valley with snow-covered peaks towering above. I find out that Graeme, from St Albans, lived across the road from me for 8 years and we never met. But neither of us were seriously into cycling then.

We now head up a curious route. It isn’t an official col, wasn’t really included in the briefing and has no distance markers. But it turns out to be a 600m climb in the now intense heat. It is a detour that is entirely unnecessary. “The organisers are sadists”, I suggest to Andre (from Brazil) as we cycle on. “That is true”, he agrees “But we are masochists”.

I have now been over 7 hours in the saddle and am running out of energy. I pull into the 4^th foodstop, ignore the healthy bananas and and take a couple more of the chocolate snack bars that have become my favourite bite. Strava (the cycling app) tells me I’m using up 5,000 calories on each ride and they need replacing.

“Henry, you should water the flowers”, Toni (from Finland) shouts out as he passes, 6 km from the top. “Pardon?”. “You have two full water bottles and you are almost finished. Empty one, it will slow you down.” I water the flowers.

I mention this to somebody later. “You took two full water bottles on the last ascent”, he responds. “You are mad.” Is this obsessive? I see somebody cleaning their bike and comment on how impressive this is to do in the middle of the week. “Ah, if you clean off the dirt, it is lighter.” Wow. Am I taking this event seriously enough?

I have made it with 15 minutes to cut-off. I feel exhausted and a little sick. Perhaps the 8^th chocolate bar was a mistake. Asked by Neil, of the British Omani team, how it went I say “7 hours joy, one hour pain.”

On Sunday afternoon I sat under a tree, devastated and wondering if I would be able to finish any of the stages. As I agreed to pull out for that day, I was in tears. Now I do feel like a man transformed. The last hour was tough but I felt strong through most of this toughest of races.

I wonder what my family will think if I suggest the full three weeks?

Am very excited by this. On the Strava September cycling climbing challenge, after today, I am 6th out of 90,000!! (Yes, I know its only been one day)

Haute Day 4: In the first 30 to top Galibier

Ok, that title is an entirely misleading statement but it was so nice to write. Today was a time trial and so, just as in the Tour, the slowest riders went first with a 20 second gap between each one. I was in the first 30 riders to leave Valloire. By the time I got to the top, most of the faster riders hadn’t even started.

Today was just one climb. After three days of ascending half the height of Everest each day, this is almost a rest day. The 1,250 m (4,130 ft) climb is a little less than Ben Nevis, Britain’s highest mountain.

But it is still the mighty Galibier and my aim is to get there in under 2 hours. Its all in the mind, I say to James over breakfast. I know from the final ascent on Day 2 that my body is capable of more than my mind sometimes wants to do.

Though it was a weird start to the day. I awoke to a text from my daughter: “Dad, you’ve gone viral in Cambodia.” Surprisingly this was not people eagerly reading this blog. A letter I wrote on the train down, about burkinis and men in suits, was published in the Guardian yesterday and seems to have a got a lot of attention.

Off the ramp

Anyway, we start off a ramp just like in the Tour with people shouting our name. Just fabulous. And with a rider 20 seconds each side of you, the competition is on. When I am out riding and see a cyclist ahead of me I accelerate to catch them up. I don’t have to think about it. Its automatic, like breathing. And on this climb there is always a cyclist ahead of you.

Today is an individual pursuit, its you and the mountain and there seems little chance for the chats that got me up the Galibier yesterday. It is 18 km in distance. I only need to average above 9 kph to beat that 2 hours. With nobody to talk to, I find myself doing a lot of “stem watching” (checking my computer to ensure I’m above that speed).

Every kilometre on this, and all French cycling climbs, there is a marker with the distance to the peak and the current altitude. You develop almost an obsession with when the next one will be, when you are 1 km closer.

I reach the half way marker in 45 minutes and as it flattens out a little, Andrew from Surbiton comes past. “Can I get on your wheel?” I ask. “Drafting” would not be allowed in the Tour and the rules are unclear here. “Fine by me” says Andrew and I speed up to 10 mph with little extra effort. We take the turn to the start of the steep ascent and I hold onto the wheel for a few minutes but he is too strong.

Is it just me or are the right-hand hairpin turns always a bit easier? My mind is convinced of it and I always manage to put in some extra speed after the turn.

I also see now the point of power meters. Serious riders (including many on this race) use them. In the gym they find their potential power output and then they can compare what the meter reads as they go uphill, to what they know their body can do. Those figures must be a very a powerful antidote to the message from the mind that you are doing all you can.

Gareth from Guildford (Andrew’s cycling buddy) reaches me on the 9% inclines and we stick together for a while. Finally another person to talk to. “Spin to win” was the advice I heard shouted a month ago as we went up Leith Hill (a mere 320 metres, but the highest hill in South-East England) on the London Ride100. I remember changing down to an easier gear and speeding up, and passing the other cyclists.

The trick is not to push those pedals but instead to be in a gear where you can simply spin them at a high cadence. “Spin to win” I keep telling myself and manage to keep up with Gareth as we pass 7 km, 6km, 5km.

"It says 3. It really does"

“3. It says 3 km” I shout as I see the marker, wondering if I am hallucinating. “It can’t be, its wrong”, he says. “It does, it says 3” We have been so happily occupied discussing the gentrification of Hackney (where I live) and completely missed the 4km marker. It is hard to describe the sheer joy of that moment.

Another kilometre and an organiser shouts “2km to go”. But what a 2km. It looks vertical with nine hairpin bends, although it is actually an average 10% ascent. And, of course, half of them are the easy right-hand ones.

I feel fresh. I feel good. We are not yet at 90 minutes. A very fast cyclist reaches me, but we are on a right-hand bend and I accelerate holding him off for 25 metres. If only I could persuade my mind that every ascent is as easy as the right-hand ones.

Yes, we came up that way

The col is in sight, I manage to hit 14 kph on the 9% final stretch and am absolutely elated to be, once again, on top of the world, and to have done it in 1 hour 42 minutes. There is joy on all sides as we share the moment, have photos holding our bicycles in the air (slightly harder for me, as mine seems to be heavier than everybody elses).

Every club cyclist knows that any decent ride includes a café and cake. Sadly in the Route the rush is always on to either get a good time or finish. Today is gloriously different. We are only timed on the ascent and so coming down we stop at an alpine bar. We sit among the most beautiful scenery you can imagine, stunning peaks on every side, sip our coffees and hot chocolates and watch the faster riders go past.

With Andrew and Gareth at the post ride cafe

This is a place of history. Gareth points out the bridge where Pantini launched his famous break in 1998 to take the stage. We may not have gone anywhere near his pace but we climbed those same roads. It is a great honour to, in two days, have climbed both sides of the great Galibier.

Where did I actually come in today’s ratings? Number 354 out of 390. I’m happy with that. The fastest cyclist somehow did that climb in 53 minutes. Unbelievable.

I retire to our chalet (the delightfully named “la joie de vivre") in Valloire to discover my burkini letter is on Mashable, Huffington Post and all over twitter and facebook. Life is strange. 

See also: Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Reflections

Haute Day 3: On top of the world

For a real sense of the day, and especially the scenery, check out the Haute Route video. And you can see me in the video (at the end) from yesterday.

Day 3 of the Haute Route could be a little easier than the previous ones. There are just two peaks, though they are Tour de France classics: the 2,360 metre high Col d’isourd and the 2,645 metres Gallibier.

The Galibier was first used in 1911 and on the 100^th anniversary in 2011 was won by Andy Schleck after an incredible 60 km break away. A fellow cyclist here reckons it was the most exciting Tour de France stage ever, almost enabling Schleck to take the title from Cadal Evans [in the last year when British riders weren't favourites to win]. The Col d’Isuard was last climbed in 2014 when the Spaniard Joaquim Rodriguez won it.

After two days of blistering sunshine, we are told to prepare for storms. They expect rain from 11am, temperatures of 10 degree and possible ice on the descent from the first peak. The key is to get to the Isourd by 10.30 to have a safe and non-slippery descent.

I am wearing or carrying my thermal overshoes, winter jacket, gilet, waterproof top and full waterproof gloves. I feel a bit overloaded but very well prepared.

Friends back home have asked if its painful. Now it may be for those riding at the front. Somebody on the next massage table to mine today commented “it hurts every day, just in a different part of the body”. I’m not in pain, just battling the exhaustion.

The key is the search for the perfect gear. For me every ascent has a gear that is just right. When you get there, you know it. You feel in tune with the rhythm of the mountain and just able to go on and on.

The aspect that makes the Haute Route difficult is the cut off times. For me and those around me, they are tight. You know when you are in danger when the “Lantern Rouge”, a cyclist in a red top bringing up the rear, comes in sight. If you don’t make the cut-off time you are out for that day. Today it is 7 hour 10 minutes for 74.3 miles and 13,610 ft of climbing.

The Haute Route organisers has made sure every rider has their name, flag and team name on their back. It makes it so easy to start a conversation with total strangers and I love it. My cycling mate Alan and me reckon that climbing ascents is so much easier if you talk all the way up.

Oddly not everybody feels the same. As we near the top, reactions include “I’m in the zone” or even “I’m meditating” or "Sorry, I can't ride and breath and speak". But I while away the first hour with a discussion with Sophie, who helped her company win best workplace in the UK and now runs www.challengesophie.com to encourage women (and men) to become more active.

Atop L'Isourd with james

But it is hot. And, like most around me, I am regretting my winter top. Drink more water, I keep reminding myself. I don’t want to dehydrate again. After a 2 hour, 27 mins climb we get to the top of L’Isoard. There is no sign of rain, so there is a glorious descent through stunning alpine scenery.

As we come out of Briancon, we start a long 25k drag up to Lautaret. The advice was to become part of a group but it is me and James on our own. Then a beautifully attired group in blue and yellow, sporting the ‘HC Cycling’ tag come by. “Allez, Henry” one shouts, reading the name on my back. 

They are not even part of the Haute Route, but a group of Romanians on their own 7 day cycling tour.

We jump on and join their group, discussing Romanian cycling peaks, Top Gear and Jeremy Clarkson (there is a connection between these). For 10 km we are swept along in their slipsteam, taking us out of danger on time. Thank you, Romania. And thank you again for cycling comraderie. We reach Lautaret with 15 minutes to spare.

Only 5 miles from here

“Is that almost the top?”, I ask pointing up to where the road turns a corner a fair bit up. “Er, no, not quite. Its up there,” comments the guy on the feed station, pointing to a far and distant peak. “But its only five miles.”

I look down and see the Lantern Rouge coming up the valley behind, leading a group of four. It Is time to set off. I find myself with John, my saviour from yesterday. It is again an 8km ascent and we decide to go up again together. “But not like yesterday. That wiped me out.”

We came up that way

We have an hour and discuss everything from Australian Prime Ministers to whether Corbyn is the best leader for the British Labour Party (we don't agree on this). As we ascend steadily upwards and look round at the peaks and alpine valleys, he comments “this is the weirdest place I’ve ever had a political discussion.” But it takes us to 1km from the top, before that final effort.

What could be better than a steady cycle up a Tour de France classic col, stunning scenery on all sides while discussing the state of the world? 

We did it. We made it up the two classic peaks still with 10 minutes to spare. I feel elated, and on top

of the world – in more senses than one. To finish, there is only a 16 km descent to Valloire. I am exhausted but feel good, the first day I didn’t feel in danger of ending up in the "bus".

As we ascended I longed for the promised rain. Instead it was sunny, 23 degrees and I was still in my winter cycling jacket. But it does prove rather useful on the cold, cold descent in the shade from Galibier.

Tomorrow is the “rest day”, just one climb – back up to the top of Galibier, a 1,300 metre ascent in a time trial. But no cut-off so I am safe until Thursday, the toughest day of the week.

See also: Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Reflections

The monument tot he founder of the Tour, below Galibier

Haute Route Day 2: 2nd highest road in Europe

The second day of the Haute Route involved three fierce cycling climbs, including La Bonette. The organisers say this is the third highest road in Europe but Google puts it at No. 2. 

Oddly, it has only appeared four times in the Tour de France, the last time in 2008. However it was the scene of a then rare British victory for Robert Millar in 1993.

I have to admit I was nervous, having had to drop out towards the end of Day 1. Was it just that I hadn’t drunk enough water or had I perhaps not put in enough training or simply am not up to “the highest, toughest cycle sportive in the world”?

Chatting to others it was clear that nobody had found it easy. “Mental torture” and “in terms of suffering, it was in a league of its own” were among the comments.

So we put together a plan. Team Happy consists of me, James and Toby and our aim is simply to finish. We leave the fastest times to the others. Toby had proved himself the strongest cyclist on the first day, being the youngest in the team at just 49. So Toby would lead us up la Bonnette and we would hang onto his wheel. We would cycle together as a team until the point where we were in danger of missing the cut off time, and then it would be okay to go on alone.

La Bonnett: The View Down

And the ride up La Bonnette - up through the valley, round a dozen hairpin bends, through an abandoned military outpost and onto the moonlike landscape at the top – was a joy. It is remarkable how the psychological will to hang onto a wheel can help you up the longest climb.

It was huge boost to get to the top with a half hour gap to the cut off time. It was the biggest climb I’ve ever done at 5,000 ft of ascent, more than the 4,000 ft of the Tourmalet in the Pyranees for which I had to stop many times. La Bonnett was without a break, a climb of 2 hours 14 minutes.

On top it felt like we were on top of the world, at just under 9,000 ft. Amazing views of the Alpine peaks, and picture book villages. Some of the best views I’ve ever seen.

The 20km descent was another delight. I’m definitely getting the hang of long descents and kept with my team today. Though the sound of an ambulance siren behind us did bring a note of caution and visibly slowed all the cyclists around me. [We later found out that a cyclist had hit a motorcyclist, coming the other way, head-on. He continued and finished the course, before being taken to hospital and being found to have several broken ribs.]

As we set off up the valley from the feed station we formed into a 40 strong peloton and sped along effortlessly though the stunning valley scenery. James, who had got little sleep last night was struggling and me and Toby had a quick consultation on times. The cut off time was tight but not desperate so we resolved to guide James up the col.

We came to what had been described as the “brutal” last 5 km of the Vars, at an average 10%. We ascended at 7kph, as did those around us. It was a sobering thought that the summit was just 5km away but would take us 45 minutes to reach, with the sun blazing down. I took the lead for this climb. Going at a slower pace than I could have, made it a bit easier.

With 1km to go to the top a nice lady from Haute Route, by the side of the road, made an unexpected offer: “water on the head?”, she asked. At that moment I could think of nothing in life that would give me greater pleasure than a bottle of water poured through my helmet. I accepted eagerly, and swear it sped me up by 25% on the final ascent.

More beautiful views but no time to waste. Another marvellous descent and then the final climb. We had one hour to make 900 m of ascent. For comparison it had taken 2 hours 14 minutes for the 1,500 m of La Bonnette, and that was when we were fresh. With 8km to go I had to rest at the refreshment point. I doused myself in water and drank lots.

That chimp inside my head was telling me that I’d done enough, that I should get in that nice bus that would be coming along shortly. Success or failure is so much about getting your head straight.

My saviour, John

And then along came John from Australia, who I’d not met but was to be my hero, my good Samaritan.

“They’ve given us another 15 minutes”, he said. “That’s still 8km in 30 minutes, up an 8% slope, in 30 degree heat”, I responded. Hey, I was tired. “Let’s give it a crack”, he said and off we set, me following his wheel. 

Every time I slipped back he shouted out at me “get back on my wheel”, without looking back. How did he know I’d dropped off? “I stopped hearing your heart beating”. I think he is joking but am not sure.

That is the camaraderie that makes cycling so satisfying. Thank you, John, I wouldn’t have got there without you. Indeed I'm still astonished I did.

I learnt that giving up, like yesterday, can sometimes make sense. And that sometimes it just doesn’t.

Across the finish line I collapse to the floor in the shade, totally exhausted and just lie there for 10 minutes. I have given all I can.

My bum aches. My legs hurt. I feel great.

See also: Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Reflections

Haute Route Day 1: The view from the back

Wow, what a day. Incredible scenery, amazing climbs and a great spirit of shared purpose among the more than 400 cyclists who took on the challenge of the Haute Route Alps.

I met Sinya from Japan, the well named Steep and his four colleagues from Costa Rica, Olga and her team of ten from Russia and a group of 15 from Brazil. There were cyclists from just about every country in the developed world, the most international group I’ve probably ever been with.

We started with the Col de Nice. At 414 m it was described at the briefing as a mere “pimple”, not worth worrying about. This pimple is a fair bit higher than any hill in Southern England, but it did serve as a very nice appetiser.

Next came the beginning of the Col de Turini. As we rode up its initial 8% and 9% inclines, mainly in the shade and with little traffic, I discussed the consciousness of the brain, new atheism and the politics of health with cyclists of many nations. While taking in amazing views of the beginnings of the Alps. A joyous experience.

By comparison with the steep initial climb, the top is fairly flat. As a group of Canadian doctors sped past, I joined on the end. It seemed a good group to be with in case of difficulty. There were anaesthetists, heart surgeons. One of them is even able to do a little light brain surgery if needed. And Terry is the oldest person on the Haute Route at 65.

This felt fabulous. By the time I reached the 1,607 m peak I had hardly been out of breath. Could this epic challenge really be achievable and even rather fun?

But then I failed to keep up with my colleagues in Team Happy on the descent and found myself alone and in a fair bit of traffic. And, as we started up the Col de St Martin I started to bonk. (I should mention that “bonking” is the cycling term for running out of energy. So if I ever say I bonked at the top of the mountain, please don’t get the wrong impression.)

I waited, drank, ate my energy bars and willed myself to get back on. I pass through a charming village (St Martin-something), with a market and open air cafes. It is a tempting sight, but it is clear I am close to the cut-off time and need to keep going.

On to the top of the 1,500 metre Col de St Martin. About the most discussion I had on that one was “muy alto, muy caliente” with Street. That was a tough climb.

After a stunning descent through a beautiful alpine valley my colleague Toby, who had waited for me at the top, gathered together a group of stragglers into an effective peloton and took us up the valley towards Auron.

But I had to drop out, after 68 miles, two huge mountains and over 10,000 ft of climbing. I had not taken enough account of the heat, which was now at 35 degrees, and really should have got through more liquid. Suffering from dehydration, with a bloated stomach and mild delirium I sat by the roadside to rest. Nope, not so easy after all.

This is a well organised event. Within 10 minutes I had a mechanic, a doctor and a passing motorist helping me out. The doctor gave me a pill and advised to wait for the Haute Route bus to take me to the finish, to rest and try again tomorrow. It means my chance of a podium place is gone but I can live with that. I still get to ride the next six days, and to realise what a challenge this is. And I still got the free (and much needed) massage.

Tomorrow we start with the Col de Bonette, the second highest road in Europe at 2,715 metres (8,959 ft). That’s quite a climb, and its only the first of three. It should be fun. As long as I drink a lot more water.

Am hoping for cooler weather and even a bit of rain!

See also: Day 1; Day 2; Day 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Reflections