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

Etape 2010: The Ecstasy and the Agony

It is 6.20 as we gather on the boulevard in Pau, ready to cycle one of the toughest stages of the Tour de France. The start point is atop a cliff with a stunning view of forested hills in all directions, the mist rising and birds flying between the trees. It is a big contrast to two years ago. Then we were fenced into a car park, drenched by torrential rain, and cycled out through the industrial areas of Pau, seeing no reason ever to visit again. I think the Tourist Board must have had some influence this time.

Last time it was a physical challenge like none I had done before. I rang home from the first peak to say “Don’t ever let me do this again”. So what has brought me here to the challenge of cycling 112 miles and climbing mountains? As I wait for the start I do wonder why I’m back.

We’re Off
There are 10,000 cyclists clustered here, ranked by our number. I am 6706. I chat to a Canadian who is worried about his 6,000 number – he has heard there will be traffic jam on the first mountain, the Marie Blanc, and is desperate to get there early. A friend of his is number 23. Mind you, that man had once won the Tour de Switzerland, so fair enough.

At 7am the gates open at the front and at 7.15 we are moving. It is a glorious sweep down off the cliff, past the station and out of town. The roads are closed, just like on the real Tour, and it is great to have no traffic all day. Soon we are gliding through a magical valley, past fields of corn with the sun coming up over the hillside – and hundreds of cyclists in front and hundreds behind.

It is a long day ahead. The 3,500 ft Marie Blanc, the 5,000 ft Soulor and the 7,000 ft Tourmalet - with temperatures predicted to hit 29 C (86 F). And all with the threat of the ‘broom wagon’ that will sweep you off the course if it catches you. The wagon has set times of arrival at each point and so I know exactly how fast I must go to keep ahead. Each year it is a different stage of the Tour that is open to the public. But this one is starting in Pau, as two years ago, and the Tourmalet is included again - though this time from the Southern ('more difficult') side.

This time I have tried to understand the nutrition, and move beyond my strategy of eating lots of bananas. Apparently you need to drink 1.5 litres an hour in the heat to stay hydrated. And 60 g of carbohydrates, ideally at 6% dilution to be ‘isotonic’, so I have lots of electrolyte packs to dilute in water. I have made sure of two 1 litre bottles on my bike to provide enough liquid.

We slow for the first climb, the Cote de Gaye. Just 2 km, this is an appetizer. As we come down through local villages, crowds are gathered to cheer us on. Most of the cyclists go straight past but I discover that if I wave back I get my own personal cheer. It feels good. I skid on some cobbles in a village and almost hit the cyclist next to me. I am hit with a torrent of French – I don’t understand a word but it is clear it is not complimentary.

Normally the aim is to join a group – you can go up to 40% faster by cycling in the slipstream of others. But there are really no groups, just a huge mass of cyclists. I try to keep together with James, my cycling partner, but after two hours we lose each other – and there is no way to re-find somebody amidst this number. I reach for my front water bottle and … it is gone. It must have fallen off on a descent. All my careful plans….

By 9.20 we are at the base of the Marie Blanc, a 9km climb. The advice is to take it easy early on as the last 3km are said to be the toughest of the whole stage.

In search of the perfect gear.
I hold to the philosophy of the perfect gear. I believe that for every gradient there is a gear for you at this moment. Other gears can be a struggle but hit that perfect gear and everything falls into place. How to find it? There is no way I know of, but I know when I am there.

At each km pt there is a sign to tell you the current height and the steepness of the next km. At 3 km to go, it reads 13%, the highest of the day. But suddenly I hit that gear. My legs tell my brain they can go faster. I move to the left into the quicker section and step up a pace. I am at one with the bicycle and the mountain, rising up through the trees, and feel truly in the zone.

(When I say faster, of course, I’m talking relatively - I go up from 7 kph to 9 kph. When the tour comes up this hill on Thursday they will ride up in excess of 25 kph and make it look effortless.)

And then the road is blocked. We have hit the traffic jam and everybody is walking. A loud Dublin accent shouts “riders to the left, walkers to the right”. But they are not walking from choice and there is no getting through. Though my gears allow me to cycle at walking pace and I am determined to stay on the bike.
An ambulance somehow comes through, reminding us of the risks here. There are 12 ambulances spaced across the route. I move in to cycle behind the ambulance, feeling pleased with myself for finding a way through the crush - until it suddenly rolls back, almost crushing my wheel. That would be a way to go, having to drop out because the tour ambulance crushed my bike! But I stay on and can say that I was about the only rider in my section to cycle the whole course.

At 1 km to the top it suddenly clears and we are all cycling, heading for the summit. As we approach, with a huge sense of achievement, a couple of spectators wave a union jack and I am moved almost to tears by the combination of achievement and belonging. I can’t say I’ve ever felt that about our national flag before!

We come down off the top and immediately to an ambulance, with a cyclist recovering from having overshot the bend. A useful warning sign – overshoot later on and you go off a cliff! On the Plateau de Benou I get to the first feed stop. Water, cake, bananas, dried fruit and energy shots. I refuel and am off down a glorious descent, sweeping round bends at 35 mph (being overtaken too) and with a glorious panorama of the peaks of the Pyrenees on all sides.

The Most Beautiful Place
A cyclist from Michigan, who has a French wife, tells me they have live in the US but have a house here for the summer. “For me, it is the most beautiful place in the world”, he explains. I can see what he means. From the luxuriant fields to the ancient villages to the mountain peaks, it is glorious to look at. I must come back with the family. Especially with all the activities available: canoeing, rafting, canyoning, cycling, horse-riding, walking, water parks. (This blog is not sponsored by the local tourist board…)

Down In the valley I find myself suddenly almost alone. Half an hour ago there were so many cyclists that the road was blocked and now there are just half a dozen in sight. Partly this can be explained by mathematics (at 8kph we are packed 5 times tighter than at 40 kph) but it is still weird.

We start to form into a group and then catch sight of a peloton, over 100 cyclists strong, in the distance. No words are exchanged but we all know what we must do. We form a line of 10, one behind the other, barely a couple of centimetres between the wheels. We pile it on and chase them down. After about 5 km we catch them and get our reward. Behind this massive group we barely need to pedal. We are carried through the most glorious undulating French countryside at 25 mph.

And now to a long wooded valley. As we pass a tavern by a bridge, by a bubbling brook, we are serenaded by a man on an accordion. Can it get more perfect? I get to the 2nd feed stop at Ferrieres and calculate that, even if I take 15 minutes, I will be an hour ahead of the dreaded broom wagon. I note a text from a friend who was caught by the broom wagon at the top of Marie Blanc.

Solour: The Long Climb
So onto the second big climb, the Soulor. This is said to be less steep but long and relentless, 21 km of ascent. We emerge from the shade of the trees with about 8 km to go and suddenly the sun is relentless. James tells me later that his Garmin computer measured it at the peak of Soulor at 98.6 F (36 C). This is a struggle. I begin to doubt the philosophy of the perfect gear. This is just hard grind in the beating sun.

I stop for a rest at 5km to go and notice the silence. As 100 cyclists pass, I hear only one conversation. Amidst so many people this is a strangely solitary activity. (My wife thinks this is a boy thing, a bit like fishing - just with more physical activity.)

It is a pity as chat makes it easier. On my last sportive in England, as we approached the biggest climb I was in conversation with my neighbour and she asked where I worked. “Happy”, she exclaimed. “I am in HR and Happy are HR legends. I used you as a case study to win flexible working in my company.” The ensuing conversation carried me effortlessly to the top!

But there is a beauty in the determination. And something about the human form, lycra clad, working at its best. On the Tour itself I love the sight of Contador (last year’s winner) as he stands up on his pedals and seems to dance his way up a mountain. Few people stay on their pedals for long but, as I restart, I am caught by a lithe form ahead. As they stand on the pedals for over a kilometre I am transfixed by the perfection of the movement and forget, for a while, the challenge.

At 2 km to go, the ascent suddenly falls from 8.5% to 6% and I find again the perfect gear. The others don’t seem to have reacted to the change and have their minds set at the previous speed. I move past, feeling on top of the world – both literally and metaphorically. We turn a bend and you can see the road twisting round the edge of the mountain to the pass, one long line of cyclists. We drove here yesterday but couldn’t see any of this. It was cold and covered in mist, with visibility down to 10 metres at times. What a difference a day makes.

This is beautiful. Absolutely unspoilt countryside, peaks on all sides, the sound of cowbells. Hardly a person in sight (apart from several thousand cyclists, that is.) It looks like Sound of Music country. (Yes, I know that’s the wrong country. If anybody knows of a film with stunning Pyrenean scenery, please let me know.)

This was the point last time at which I rang home to say “Don’t ever let me do this again”. This time I want to say “more, more , more”. What could be better than being in the zone, cycling to the top of a mountain and surrounded by some of the best scenery on Earth? Magnificent.

Is this why I came back? Having gone through the pain last time, is this the reward? Is this how life works. If you face the pain and return again for more, you get to the next level and reap the rewards? (Or maybe its just that cycling up a huge mountain when you are cold and wet, like last time, really sucks.)

Camper Vans Everywhere
Over the peak and the scene changes. I have never seen so many camper vans in all my life. (Though I am to see many more on Tourmalet.) Every flat space is crowded with them. Every parking spot has one, many sat on the edge of precipices. Now I understand where all those spectators on the Tour mountain slopes come from. These people have come for the week, to do some walking and some cycling and then to watch the Tour go past.

Another glorious descent, more stunning views, more groups of cyclists forming and re-forming. A group of women in pink, with pink balloons - dancing and cheering us by. A family of four does a Mexican wave for us. Kids hold out their hands to be high-fived. At one point I suddenly wonder where everybody has gone and notice they have all lined up behind me, on my wheel. I quickly catch up with a group ahead, to avoid the exposure of being at the front.

The third feed stop, I am out of electrolyte mix and I make the mistake of taking just water and no mix. And its lukewarm. As I cycle through Lus Saint Savour I fantasise about a cold bottle of water, a cycling shower (they had these at the Beijing Olympics, a shower above the track to cycle under) and an ice cream.
I turn a corner and a man on the pavement hands me a cold bottle of water. His neighbour has his garden hose out and drenches me. And then, as if a mirage, an ice cream stall. I feel fate is on my side.

I am still an hour ahead of the broom wagon and decide to stop and have an ice cream. I know it’s the ’wrong kind’ of carbs or sugar or whatever. It works for students at Happy Computers so why not for me? (Possibly because we don’t then make them undergo extreme physical activity, but there you go.)

It is an 18km relentless ascent, 8% all the way. We turn the corner and we see the entire route up to the pass, towering 5,000 ft above us. And my gears go. I am about to tackle one of the most brutal climbs in cycling and my climbing gears are suddenly slipping and unusable. I curse myself for never having learnt proper bike maintenance.

I struggle on in an impossible gear for 2 km and then find a Trek Travel stall. I throw myself at their mercy and a wonderful man called Jesse takes a look. “Its nothing, the cable has loosened.” He tightens it up and, like magic, all is well.

Tourmalet: water all the way
The Tour holidaymakers are out in force and here to help. Kids and adults eagerly pour water over us as we pass. A man refills my bottle from a mountain stream. One group is sitting on a bridge, with a bucket on a rope – pulling up water, filling bottles and then pouring it over passing cyclists. It is an incredible help. At times you can’t go for 20 metres without somebody offering to pour water over your helmet or down the back of your neck.

Many of us afterwards agree that, exhausted and dehydrated, we could not have made it up that mountain without being regularly drenched in water. It is a wonderful display of community and support. Have these people been doing this for five hours, since the first cyclists came through?

I stop to rest at 12 km and again at 10 km. With 8 km to go there is no shade. I am parched but can hardly hold down water. My body tells me it has been cycling for 10 hours, has climbed two huge mountains, and there is more? It is as though the mountain is teasing me, telling me I have to rest.

I pass people collapsed at the roadside, some with medics in attention. Nothing seems more attractive than the idea of laying down by the roadside and waiting for the broom wagon to pick me up.

But I repeat to myself Lance Armstrong’s mantra: “Pain is temporary. Quitting is
forever.” I meet somebody the next day who puts it another way. “You cannot quit. That would be no respect to the mountain. You must respect the mountain. And then you can conquer it.” I had hoped to beat my time of two years ago. I no longer care but I must finish. At 5 km, a couple lets me lie under their sunshade – the only shade anywhere in view - to keep off the sun for a few mins rest. It reminds me of the Jonah story, will it be snatched away?

On the bike I am in a good gear and am going at 8 kph. It doesn’t sound much (5mph) but it is fast enough. At least I’m overtaking the walkers! But my mind – fuddled and exhausted – finds it hard to concentrate. My legs will turn but it is hard to keep going. Again, looking back, I wonder what stopped me simply going for it. Calculating and re-calculating that I do have long enough. Half the cyclists are walking. James tells me later he saw a young man come back down from the top and say to an older cyclist, with 1 km to go and the broom wagon approaching, “Dad, get on the bike. You can do it.” The reply: “I can’t son, I just can’t”.

The last km. The sign says 10% but the first half is virtually flat. For the last half km there is a hairpin bend and then it looks like a 45% rise - its probably 20%. But I can do it. One last push and I am there. At the top. I shout in triumph, and get off the bike. The ascent of Tourmalet has taken me 2 hours 53 minutes. I haven’t beaten my time but I have got to the top, I have made it through the heat. And, finding a colleague at the finish line - in tears, I join them. And, yes, I am in tears too.

I have lost time on Tourmalet but still finish 25 mins ahead of the wagon. 6,600 finish – that means 3,000 did not make it. Definitely two experiences: The first 164 km were some of the most glorious I have ever done, a hugely uplifting experience. The last 18 km were total agony, staggering up the ascent with frequent rests.

Will I do it again? Maybe. Maybe somewhere dry and cool. Perhaps Iceland.

Postscript
It is two days after the event and I know now why I came back and why I must return again. I feel already the call of the mountain. For I have climbed the mighty Tourmalet (twice) but, in my mind, I have not conquered it. And I will come back to do so. That is true respect to the mountain and to myself.

Timings
Elapsed time: 10 hours 52 minutes
Start place: 6,706
Finish place: 6,114

Nutrition:
Breakfast: Muesli, banana, 2 boiled eggs
In start pen: Banana, electrolyte water (50 g carb)
On ride: 4 x electrolytes (200 g carbs), 3 bananas, dried fig, 3 energy gels

Bike: Giant SCR2, triple front gears

The Red Light Question

"Are you one of those cyclists that goes through red lights?" is often the first question somebody asks when they discover you are a cyclist. My response is diversionary. Don't accept the premise of their question, as AnnaBeth advised Leo in West Wing.

My response: "Can I ask you a question first. Do you ever drive over the speed limit?" The answer is, of course, always yes. To which the natural follow up is "So you believe cyclists should obey the law but motorists don't need to?" Or, if I'm feeling a bit more pushy, "So you believe motorists don't need to obey the law, even though it could (and does) kill people but cyclists should always obey the law, even when it is more dangerous to do so?"

Speeding is only one example. The truth is that if there were a society of law abiding motorists they could probably meet in a telephone box. Virtually all motorists break the speed limit some of the time and many also drive while using their mobile phone, having drunk alcohol, turn without indicating, or themselves go through lights that have turned red. All are either against the law or the highway code. And all are dangerous, contributing to the 2,500 people killed on UK roads each year.

Many criticise the self-righteousness of cyclists. But our attitude is nothing compared to that of motorists. Witness the outrage at speed cameras, and the idea that there should be restrictions on the car driver's innate right to drive fast and dangerously.

The fact is that it is often safer for a cyclist to go through a light while it is still red. This is often in the pedestrian green light, though I am always careful to give any actual pedestrians right of way. It is argued that it annoys motorists but I'd rather have the passive annoyance of a motorist seeing me head off ahead of them than the active annoyance of the boy racer, or the truck driver turning left, who finds me in their way when the light turns green. Probably the most dangerous point for a cyclist is when that light turns and car drivers speed off or, worse, take that left turn.

And be honest, if you are stopped at a red light and a cyclist stops in the green box in front of you - are you really willing them to stay put until the light changes. Or, like me when I am a driver, do you wish they would head off early leaving you free to accelerate away?

Of course some cyclists do crazy and dangerous things. I myself have been so angry on a number of occasions with the reckless behaviour of a fellow two-wheeler that I have cycled furiously after them to question them. Calmly and reasonably, of course (!?). There are crazy cyclists just as there are crazy motorists. But there is one crucial difference: Crazy motorists kill people, crazy cyclists in general don't (not even themselves - 86% of cycling deaths are the fault of the driver).

So, yes, I do cycle through red lights. I definitely cycle through them when it is safer, where it gets me through a potential danger spot and where it gives me a minute or so of safer cycling without the cars. And I will continue to do so until our road systems are redesigned towards the needs of pedestrians and cyclists rather than the car driver. We could certainly start with London, where less than 15% of people get to work by car - but so much of the transport system is orientated to the motorists' needs.

But cycling on the pavements, the bugbear of pedestrians, is different. Thats just naughty!

Etape 2009: Route Announced

And its back to the alps for Mont Ventoux. Click through for:

Official site and altitude map
Approximate Route

At 3,715 metres of climbing I think its a little less than last year - but with a hell of a climb at the end.

Have you got an Etape 2008 Account?

Did you ride this year's etape? My account is below. If you've got a blog of it, I'll add it to the list on the right. Or email the account at henry@happy.co.uk & I will add it here.