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)