04.07.09 - Cameron takes on La Marmotte
3 of us travelled out to Alp D’Huez on the Thursday night nervously entrusting our bikes to BA for the evening flight. Midnight in resort and straight to sleep, well after one medicinal beer, trying not to dream about the 21 hairpin bends we had just driven up that would mark the finish of the event in 2 days time.
Warm up and registration day: Friday, time to put the bikes back together and pedal a bit, eat a lot and get used to the altitude. For 3 ex rugby players the number of skinny people talking bike stuff did not help the nerves. The scenery is absolutely stunning, but enjoyment is tempered by the enormity of cycling across it. The banter was easing off as the day wore on and we got more and more loaded with calories. Kit laid out, ride food prepped, bikes numbered and loaded with water. Time for bed and a slightly restless nights sleep in our 3 man room.
The Morning: Up at dawn & a breakfast of pasta and porridge at 5.30am. Some people are in white paper decorator suits to stave off the cold on the 13km descent to the start in Bourg D’Oisan. The sun is still behind the ridgeline as we whirr down the grey mountainside. There are thousands of riders marshalled into the pens in Bourg as we wait. Lots of bling gear and bling bikes, there is a low hum of nervous multilingual chatter. Our wave is going, we strip off the warm gear and are funnelled into the main street under the bunting and flags, past the band and away.
Col Du Glandon: We roll fast along the flat to a false start of the climb, with a crescendo of changing gears we slow and ascend to a reservoir. A couple of km later the road banks up properly and stays like that for 25.7 km rising 1200m (less one small downward respite). Our jostling river of lycra and carbon surges steadily upwards. The police outriders are blowing whistles try and herd us to the right. The roads are not closed to traffic but this tide of bikes effectively overwhelms the cars. Two hours and 7 mins of pushing the pedals and I reached the melee at the top. A quick addition of layers to ward off the cold going down; there are too many people at the feed station to stop here, I’ve carried food in my pockets and water fountains await in the villages below. The descent is infamously dangerous, the bends are blind and steep, on the first couple I see riders lying prone in the edge of the road with medics working over them, the marshals are frantically waving red flags yelling “Accident!”. The descent plummets 1500m over 23km of terrifyingly twisting roads. The locals are flying down, I am trying not too brake too much to avoid overheating the wheel rims which would leave me prone to a tyre blowing. To add to this the heat is starting to melt the tarmac. This is not much fun, after 30 minutes my knuckles are white and hands going numb – must have forgotten to take my brave pills!
Col du Telegraphe: A blast along a dual carriageway in large packs and we are heading up again, another 1100m and 25.5 km. By now the sun is beating down on us and the temperature has climbed to 36+ degrees. I am watching my heart rate monitor trying to hold the effort below 141 bpm. This is my insurance policy against over lactating and seizing up. The top comes painfully, my feet have swelled and are killing me as they press down and against the sides of the shoe, still takes the mind off any other aches. I gulp a lot more water, refill and the peleton sails down a relatively simple descent into Valloire and on to the next the feed station.
Col du Galibier: What a monster! Peaking at 2642m and I am glad I did not know what was coming, 1200m of up over 17 km. The road rises fairly steadily out of Valloire towards the low point on the horizon. Chatting to some other Brits a few did know what was coming; one is on his 4th attempt to complete this ride. Using ignorance as my shield I pushed on. The valley narrows, the trees recede and the landscape gives way to rocks, then a set of hairpins off to the right soar upwards with a stream of riders grinding their way along them, ouch. It feels like we are summiting as we hit another plateau and the temperature has dropped. There is the ominous crack and rumble of thunder in the mountains below.
A few km on and after an hour an a half of climbing the full extent of the remaining climb is revealed – oh my god – hairpins twist for 3 steep km up through the scree fields with patches of snow still dotted under the cliffs. A few riders are off and walking or panting by the side of the road – this is far too early to blow. Trying to hold over 7 kph surely I can make the top in 20 mins? I stop counting and put my head down. Pushing and pulling at the pedals to drive the bike on, occasionally riding out of the saddle to ease my legs. By the time I make the top the sky has darkened and I am feeling a bit wobbly. I need to take a break, a photo and eat. I must recover my senses after 1.56 min of climbing and have my wits about me for an hour of descending. Again with warm kit on, clip into the pedals and off we go.
Down to Bourg: Now this is fun, the road is open and visible even if the drop off the side is vertical. No touching the breaks and very few riders pass me – the advantage of 13st of descending weight! On the exposed edges the occasional blast of wind sends chills running up my spine as the bike wobbles at high speed. Through La Grave and the tunnels, I remember to drop my sunglasses down onto the end of my nose and stay well clear of the cars as we whiz down from dimly lit gloom to light and back into gloom again. One tunnel bends for a few km with no dot of daylight. The blue and orange side lights zip by, surreal, the bike is canted over into the bend and whirring down at 60 kph. As we drop the heat envelopes us. Another cyclist lies prone half way down this descent I think he probably clipped a car in the tunnels. Riders glue together again as we head back for Bourg, concentrating furiously we draft each other, centimetres between wheels to save our strength.
The last climb – Alp D’Heuz: Disbelief is the only way to describe it. I feel like this and I have got to climb 1160m & 13 km up to the finish line. I sit massaging my feet in the food station fill my bottles with isotonic and chew on some figs with a honey gel. Here goes nothing – back on the bike and a lot of me is aching. First 4 hairpins are reputedly the worst at a 12 degrees incline, my heart rate has rocketed to over 160 bpm, not good. It is a myth – it is still steep after the first 4 bends. The 21 turns have numbered signs but counting them down does not help. The sun is back on us as we crawl out of the afternoon shade in the valley. Riders are walking heads hung low, resting in the shade or diving under the waterfalls gushing into the culverts by the roadside. This is not for me, no stopping. As I break through into single digit bends my head is pounding. I compromise and stop at the one water station just over half way up. 45 minutes of climbing done but it is difficult to see my clock as my vision is blurred with the effort and sweat. A couple of minutes drinking and pouring water over my head and I am off again. This is all mental now, the fissures in my resolve are everywhere and I am trying to paper over them as fast as they appear. Hazy calculations of speed, time, distance convince me this must finish sometime soon.
As the course enters the resort people in the bars are cheering “Allez! Allez!” but the climbing continues. The sight of the highest roofs in Alp D’Heuz of few bends earlier served as a reminder of how far up the finish is. The incline finally relents 300 metres out, for the sake of tradition I drive the bike into a big gear and stand up, the jump in speed is disconcerting after 90 mins of climbing. The finish pen is a blur, and as the adrenaline drops I start to “crash”. Can’t hold down much food or water but at least I am not throwing up like some riders.
The elation comes later having drifted the short distance back to the hotel. Done it! An 18 month campaign having taken up serious distance cycling with this event in mind in Feb 2008 and there have been many ups and downs on the way.
“The hardest one day event in Europe for amateur cyclists” – I now know the journalists weren’t kidding.
07.06.09 – Cameron at the Highclere Magnificat
Another weekend another sportive in all in preparation for an assault on the Alps. This was to be my longest ride yet billed at 126 miles but the lack of one sign en route made it 133 miles for many of us. Great ride though, starting outside Newbury the roads are in good condition although those with racing tyres on suffered from punctures as a lot of flint had been washed onto the road after 36 hours of torrential rain. I have never seen so many punctures on a sportive, I had my Gatorskins to thank for not suffering one. I had my doubts about riding at all as the windscreen wipers were going at Mach 1 on the M4 and the car was doing the occasional aquaplane on the hour drive from Bucks to get the heart rate up.
The organisers must have suffered up to a 50% drop out looking at the results because of the weather. The start of the route is fast and gently undulating out to the 16% climb up West Woodhaye Down. From there you turn south and loop down to cross the M3 to the south of Winchester. Country roads, all pretty traffic free and plenty of packs of riders moving at a decent pace. I latched onto a couple of the Army team for some of these miles until I got cut off at a junction and concluded they were younger, leaner and meaner than me and too much more of this would punish me later. The first feedstop was at 42 miles and I was kind of peckish by then after a 5.30 am start to get to the event.
The next section is in the South Downs. Great climb out of Warnford up Old Winchester Hill. Over the A3 and then we climb up and turned towards South Harting and Petersfield. running in the big chain ring and feeling pretty good at this stage – had the C100 Gran Fondo put some endurance in the legs? Not by the time I reached the feed station at Steep 84 miles done. Found Eddie from Veralum also stuffing as much in as possible and hunting for suncream. Stoner Hill was a bit unexpected, it just kept going 3.5km and 150 metres so not severe but feeling it a bit by now. Off the top and 3 of us got a train going, the miles were flying by again now. But as we came to the South of Basingstoke and crossed the M3 we still had the back of Watership Down to plod up. Snap – lost the speedsters and from Hannington at 112 miles onwards started the now familiar suffering routine. Sore feet, feeling slightly hollow and wondering why I do these events. Found an RAF rider in similar condition and we chatted for a bit to push this out. Joyous fast descent & through Kingsclere – hmm sounds a bit like Highclere so must be close, farmer tells us 3 miles to go, he is wrong. Never trust someone who doesn’t pedal the miles to judge distance for you! Finished 7.53 missed silver by 8 mins, that will have been down to the 7 mile extra loop then. Still it is all training miles and I was in the top third of riders so about typical for me. Might have to come back to get silver another year though
23.05.09 – Cameron at the Richmond 5 Dale 100
Spare Bank Holiday weekend in May at a loose end, then this ride is the one for you and it is very good. The 100 miles and 6 major ascents are advertised as being in the same league as the Etape du Dales and the Fred Whitton Challenge and with around 500 riders on the course it isn’t overcrowded.
The Richmond Cycle Club did a great job organising this great food, clear signs, friendly marshalls and the sort of camaraderie among riders you don’t get on some of the busier sportives. The ride climbs out of Richmond to Co. Durham before taking you up The Stang and onto the moors. The tops are blustery but the roads are in great condition with fewer cars than you could count on your fingers. The descents are exhilarating, no hedges, no walls, the occasional jink in the road and they go on for miles – sit back and enjoy the rush! The mid section climbs rise steadily up the edges of the valleys with evermore breath taking views. As you come off the top of each ridge the beauty of the dry stone walls and the spring landscape in the dales is there to greet you. Well apart from crossing the border into Cumbria where the rain was waiting along with a cheeky head wind, I had to console myself with the thought that riding this solo was doing my Alpine training regime some good.
There are a couple of infamous and steep climbs later on in this ride at 50+ miles as you come out of Hawes running south the road rises for 5 km and 300m to Fleet Moss with a real stinging 1:4 section at the top which leaves the legs reeling and me zig zagging to prevent a total halt. All this is done with the knowledge that there is another one of these to come. Running down along the gurgling River Wharfe it would be easy to forget that heading out of Kettlewell now with around 70 miles in the legs Park Rash awaits. 250m ascent in just under 2km this has a 1:3 hairpin starter, 1:5 main course and a short desert 1:5 to finish, thankfully the wind was on our backs for this. I am getting more confident that one day I will manage a track stand having spent so much slow time out of the saddle on these last 2 hills. The run home is less eventful but very scenic. For those who have saved something the jinking run towards Leybrun and then down Swaledale to Richmond allows you to pull back some of that hill time. 6 hours 37 minutes for 100 miles and around 3000m ascent I was pretty pleased and managed to dispose of the post race chilli and rice in about 30 seconds.
Link to the route: http://www.richmondcyclingclub.co.uk/sportives/2008/5Dale2008.pdf
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04.07.09 - Cameron takes on La Marmotte
3 of us travelled out to Alp D’Huez on the Thursday night nervously entrusting our bikes to BA for the evening flight. Midnight in resort and straight to sleep, well after one medicinal beer, trying not to dream about the 21 hairpin bends we had just driven up that would mark the finish of the event in 2 days time.
Warm up and registration day: Friday, time to put the bikes back together and pedal a bit, eat a lot and get used to the altitude. For 3 ex rugby players the number of skinny people talking bike stuff did not help the nerves. The scenery is absolutely stunning, but enjoyment is tempered by the enormity of cycling across it. The banter was easing off as the day wore on and we got more and more loaded with calories. Kit laid out, ride food prepped, bikes numbered and loaded with water. Time for bed and a slightly restless nights sleep in our 3 man room.
The Morning: Up at dawn & a breakfast of pasta and porridge at 5.30am. Some people are in white paper decorator suits to stave off the cold on the 13km descent to the start in Bourg D’Oisan. The sun is still behind the ridgeline as we whirr down the grey mountainside. There are thousands of riders marshalled into the pens in Bourg as we wait. Lots of bling gear and bling bikes, there is a low hum of nervous multilingual chatter. Our wave is going, we strip off the warm gear and are funnelled into the main street under the bunting and flags, past the band and away.
Col Du Glandon: We roll fast along the flat to a false start of the climb, with a crescendo of changing gears we slow and ascend to a reservoir. A couple of km later the road banks up properly and stays like that for 25.7 km rising 1200m (less one small downward respite). Our jostling river of lycra and carbon surges steadily upwards. The police outriders are blowing whistles try and herd us to the right. The roads are not closed to traffic but this tide of bikes effectively overwhelms the cars. Two hours and 7 mins of pushing the pedals and I reached the melee at the top. A quick addition of layers to ward off the cold going down; there are too many people at the feed station to stop here, I’ve carried food in my pockets and water fountains await in the villages below. The descent is infamously dangerous, the bends are blind and steep, on the first couple I see riders lying prone in the edge of the road with medics working over them, the marshals are frantically waving red flags yelling “Accident!”. The descent plummets 1500m over 23km of terrifyingly twisting roads. The locals are flying down, I am trying not too brake too much to avoid overheating the wheel rims which would leave me prone to a tyre blowing. To add to this the heat is starting to melt the tarmac. This is not much fun, after 30 minutes my knuckles are white and hands going numb – must have forgotten to take my brave pills!
Col du Telegraphe: A blast along a dual carriageway in large packs and we are heading up again, another 1100m and 25.5 km. By now the sun is beating down on us and the temperature has climbed to 36+ degrees. I am watching my heart rate monitor trying to hold the effort below 141 bpm. This is my insurance policy against over lactating and seizing up. The top comes painfully, my feet have swelled and are killing me as they press down and against the sides of the shoe, still takes the mind off any other aches. I gulp a lot more water, refill and the peleton sails down a relatively simple descent into Valloire and on to the next the feed station.
Col du Galibier: What a monster! Peaking at 2642m and I am glad I did not know what was coming, 1200m of up over 17 km. The road rises fairly steadily out of Valloire towards the low point on the horizon. Chatting to some other Brits a few did know what was coming; one is on his 4th attempt to complete this ride. Using ignorance as my shield I pushed on. The valley narrows, the trees recede and the landscape gives way to rocks, then a set of hairpins off to the right soar upwards with a stream of riders grinding their way along them, ouch. It feels like we are summiting as we hit another plateau and the temperature has dropped. There is the ominous crack and rumble of thunder in the mountains below.
A few km on and after an hour an a half of climbing the full extent of the remaining climb is revealed – oh my god – hairpins twist for 3 steep km up through the scree fields with patches of snow still dotted under the cliffs. A few riders are off and walking or panting by the side of the road – this is far too early to blow. Trying to hold over 7 kph surely I can make the top in 20 mins? I stop counting and put my head down. Pushing and pulling at the pedals to drive the bike on, occasionally riding out of the saddle to ease my legs. By the time I make the top the sky has darkened and I am feeling a bit wobbly. I need to take a break, a photo and eat. I must recover my senses after 1.56 min of climbing and have my wits about me for an hour of descending. Again with warm kit on, clip into the pedals and off we go.
Down to Bourg: Now this is fun, the road is open and visible even if the drop off the side is vertical. No touching the breaks and very few riders pass me – the advantage of 13st of descending weight! On the exposed edges the occasional blast of wind sends chills running up my spine as the bike wobbles at high speed. Through La Grave and the tunnels, I remember to drop my sunglasses down onto the end of my nose and stay well clear of the cars as we whiz down from dimly lit gloom to light and back into gloom again. One tunnel bends for a few km with no dot of daylight. The blue and orange side lights zip by, surreal, the bike is canted over into the bend and whirring down at 60 kph. As we drop the heat envelopes us. Another cyclist lies prone half way down this descent I think he probably clipped a car in the tunnels. Riders glue together again as we head back for Bourg, concentrating furiously we draft each other, centimetres between wheels to save our strength.
The last climb – Alp D’Heuz: Disbelief is the only way to describe it. I feel like this and I have got to climb 1160m & 13 km up to the finish line. I sit massaging my feet in the food station fill my bottles with isotonic and chew on some figs with a honey gel. Here goes nothing – back on the bike and a lot of me is aching. First 4 hairpins are reputedly the worst at a 12 degrees incline, my heart rate has rocketed to over 160 bpm, not good. It is a myth – it is still steep after the first 4 bends. The 21 turns have numbered signs but counting them down does not help. The sun is back on us as we crawl out of the afternoon shade in the valley. Riders are walking heads hung low, resting in the shade or diving under the waterfalls gushing into the culverts by the roadside. This is not for me, no stopping. As I break through into single digit bends my head is pounding. I compromise and stop at the one water station just over half way up. 45 minutes of climbing done but it is difficult to see my clock as my vision is blurred with the effort and sweat. A couple of minutes drinking and pouring water over my head and I am off again. This is all mental now, the fissures in my resolve are everywhere and I am trying to paper over them as fast as they appear. Hazy calculations of speed, time, distance convince me this must finish sometime soon.
As the course enters the resort people in the bars are cheering “Allez! Allez!” but the climbing continues. The sight of the highest roofs in Alp D’Heuz of few bends earlier served as a reminder of how far up the finish is. The incline finally relents 300 metres out, for the sake of tradition I drive the bike into a big gear and stand up, the jump in speed is disconcerting after 90 mins of climbing. The finish pen is a blur, and as the adrenaline drops I start to “crash”. Can’t hold down much food or water but at least I am not throwing up like some riders.
The elation comes later having drifted the short distance back to the hotel. Done it! An 18 month campaign having taken up serious distance cycling with this event in mind in Feb 2008 and there have been many ups and downs on the way.
“The hardest one day event in Europe for amateur cyclists” – I now know the journalists weren’t kidding.
07.06.09 – Cameron at the Highclere Magnificat
Another weekend another sportive in all in preparation for an assault on the Alps. This was to be my longest ride yet billed at 126 miles but the lack of one sign en route made it 133 miles for many of us. Great ride though, starting outside Newbury the roads are in good condition although those with racing tyres on suffered from punctures as a lot of flint had been washed onto the road after 36 hours of torrential rain. I have never seen so many punctures on a sportive, I had my Gatorskins to thank for not suffering one. I had my doubts about riding at all as the windscreen wipers were going at Mach 1 on the M4 and the car was doing the occasional aquaplane on the hour drive from Bucks to get the heart rate up.
The organisers must have suffered up to a 50% drop out looking at the results because of the weather. The start of the route is fast and gently undulating out to the 16% climb up West Woodhaye Down. From there you turn south and loop down to cross the M3 to the south of Winchester. Country roads, all pretty traffic free and plenty of packs of riders moving at a decent pace. I latched onto a couple of the Army team for some of these miles until I got cut off at a junction and concluded they were younger, leaner and meaner than me and too much more of this would punish me later. The first feedstop was at 42 miles and I was kind of peckish by then after a 5.30 am start to get to the event.
The next section is in the South Downs. Great climb out of Warnford up Old Winchester Hill. Over the A3 and then we climb up and turned towards South Harting and Petersfield. running in the big chain ring and feeling pretty good at this stage – had the C100 Gran Fondo put some endurance in the legs? Not by the time I reached the feed station at Steep 84 miles done. Found Eddie from Veralum also stuffing as much in as possible and hunting for suncream. Stoner Hill was a bit unexpected, it just kept going 3.5km and 150 metres so not severe but feeling it a bit by now. Off the top and 3 of us got a train going, the miles were flying by again now. But as we came to the South of Basingstoke and crossed the M3 we still had the back of Watership Down to plod up. Snap – lost the speedsters and from Hannington at 112 miles onwards started the now familiar suffering routine. Sore feet, feeling slightly hollow and wondering why I do these events. Found an RAF rider in similar condition and we chatted for a bit to push this out. Joyous fast descent & through Kingsclere – hmm sounds a bit like Highclere so must be close, farmer tells us 3 miles to go, he is wrong. Never trust someone who doesn’t pedal the miles to judge distance for you! Finished 7.53 missed silver by 8 mins, that will have been down to the 7 mile extra loop then. Still it is all training miles and I was in the top third of riders so about typical for me. Might have to come back to get silver another year though
23.05.09 – Cameron at the Richmond 5 Dale 100
Spare Bank Holiday weekend in May at a loose end, then this ride is the one for you and it is very good. The 100 miles and 6 major ascents are advertised as being in the same league as the Etape du Dales and the Fred Whitton Challenge and with around 500 riders on the course it isn’t overcrowded.
The Richmond Cycle Club did a great job organising this great food, clear signs, friendly marshalls and the sort of camaraderie among riders you don’t get on some of the busier sportives. The ride climbs out of Richmond to Co. Durham before taking you up The Stang and onto the moors. The tops are blustery but the roads are in great condition with fewer cars than you could count on your fingers. The descents are exhilarating, no hedges, no walls, the occasional jink in the road and they go on for miles – sit back and enjoy the rush! The mid section climbs rise steadily up the edges of the valleys with evermore breath taking views. As you come off the top of each ridge the beauty of the dry stone walls and the spring landscape in the dales is there to greet you. Well apart from crossing the border into Cumbria where the rain was waiting along with a cheeky head wind, I had to console myself with the thought that riding this solo was doing my Alpine training regime some good.
There are a couple of infamous and steep climbs later on in this ride at 50+ miles as you come out of Hawes running south the road rises for 5 km and 300m to Fleet Moss with a real stinging 1:4 section at the top which leaves the legs reeling and me zig zagging to prevent a total halt. All this is done with the knowledge that there is another one of these to come. Running down along the gurgling River Wharfe it would be easy to forget that heading out of Kettlewell now with around 70 miles in the legs Park Rash awaits. 250m ascent in just under 2km this has a 1:3 hairpin starter, 1:5 main course and a short desert 1:5 to finish, thankfully the wind was on our backs for this. I am getting more confident that one day I will manage a track stand having spent so much slow time out of the saddle on these last 2 hills. The run home is less eventful but very scenic. For those who have saved something the jinking run towards Leybrun and then down Swaledale to Richmond allows you to pull back some of that hill time. 6 hours 37 minutes for 100 miles and around 3000m ascent I was pretty pleased and managed to dispose of the post race chilli and rice in about 30 seconds.
Link to the route: http://www.richmondcyclingclub.co.uk/sportives/2008/5Dale2008.pdf