Tour Story

Tour Story (click any image for larger picture)

Last July, Dave and I took our girlfriends on holiday for a week in France. As luck would have it, we stayed in an Alpine town which happened to be hosting a Tour de France stage that week. Funnily enough, Dave & I happened to have taken our bikes along too. It was almost as if we knew the Tour would be there and planned our holiday around it! The town in question was Bourg d’Oisans, not far from Grenoble, South East France, and was the starting point for the Tour’s unprecedented Alpe d’Huez mountain time trial.

The Reconnaissance

The day before the stage was going to be the big one for Dave and I – we were going to cycle up the famous 21 hairpins to the ski-station summit. We’d already driven up it in the baking heat a couple of days previously, so we had some idea of the task in hand. The road then was gridlocked with cars, campervans and cyclists trying to make their way up the climb. Now here’s a tip: if it’s hot inside your stationary car, don’t open the door to cool down without first looking out for passing cyclists. I’ll never forget the look of fear in that old man’s eyes as I nearly pushed him and his bike straight over the barrier and down the cliff face! Funnily enough, I stayed in the car after that – nearly killing a man has that effect on you! Apart from this little setback, seeing all the other cyclists riding up the slopes made us eager to tackle it ourselves.

The Leg Loosener

As a practice ride to acclimatise to the heat, we set off that evening for a jaunt along the valley. I say ‘jaunt’, what I really mean is a 2 mile climb along a baking hot road (including a long tunnel) crammed with traffic trying to get down into the town. Little did we realise that this was to be one the highlights of our trip. There we were in our matching Ludlow kits, sweat dripping off us, steadily grinding our way up the hill, when the people in the traffic jam on the opposite side of the road started leaning out of their windows to shout encouragement. Just one or two at first, then they all joined in, banging their hands on the car doors shouting ‘Allez Allez!’. We’re talking around thirty cars here. We were getting cheered! We felt like pro cyclists, (all be it slow ones), and were pretty impressed at how people over there go bike crazy during Tour time. Thrilled, we stopped for a drink at the top and decided to head back before it got any darker. As the sun set behind the mountains ahead of us, we flew back down the ravine, the traffic now cleared, with the warm evening air blowing in our faces. It reminded us of why we love cycling. We got back to the campsite feeling pretty pleased with ourselves and, as we sipped on our beer (just the one!) that night, we could see the endless train of twinkling car headlights snaking their way up the hairpins to Alpe d’Huez high above us. Ideal preparation for tomorrow’s big climb.

The Main Event

The next morning was humid and wet, but at least the sun wouldn’t burn us. We got ourselves together, had a quick breakfast then head off. We nervously joked around and chatted, but we both knew we were in for a tough couple of hours. We’d both agreed that we would stay together during the whole climb and help each other (or rather, me!) out if it got difficult. Neither of us knew for sure if we’d manage it without climbing off, but we were pretty determined we weren’t going to.

The first 3 or 4 ‘ramps’ are the steepest and longest. The plan was to take it easy and conserve energy for later on, so we steadily pulled our way up the gradient. We passed lots of riders of all ages on all sorts of bikes. It has to be said that quite a few passed us too, ripping past at, what looked to us to be, suicidal pace. We stuck to our plan and kept it steady. There was a constant stream of cars, buses, bikes and pedestrians in both directions, so there seemed little point in racing ahead only to be held up by traffic further along the road.

About 8 turns in, our plan seemed to be paying off, as we started to pass many of the early tearaways as they stopped for a breather. This, and the fact that we were into the ‘flatter’ middle section of the climb, filled us with confidence. It was about this time we noticed Steve Bent & family in their car passing in the opposite direction, who gave us an encouraging peep on the horn and thumbs up out of the window. We were getting nicely settled into the climb now. We started to put in little accelerations to move into gaps in the traffic or to pass riders who seemed to be in trouble. The further we rode, the more party-like the atmosphere got. Music was pumping out at every corner, especially as we passed the Dutch encampment. Those fellas were seriously tanked-up – I guess you’d need to be to wear bright orange dungarees and a pair of clogs all day.

By now the sun had come out and the early morning cloud was gone. The heat was bouncing back off the tarmac and the air was full of exhaust fumes from all the traffic. But we also knew that the hardest parts of the climb were behind us, and there was no way we were going to stop before we reached the top. I was actually beginning to enjoy it and take in the spectacular scenery. We even managed a bit of chat, cursing posey tanned Italians who would speed by on Colnago’s or saying hello to people in stationery cars with English number plates as we passed by.

The last four turns were sapping. We’d been climbing at an average of 8% for over an hour and my legs were getting heavy. But as we entered the outskirts of the town, I could see the official Tour banners, people sipping coffee outside cafes and TV crews setting up. This was no time to look knackered, and it’s surprising what an audience can do for your energy levels!

We changed onto the big rings, stood up on the pedals and drove past everything that got in our way until there were no more pedestrians, hotels or shops - just a big grey ski-lift and an abrupt end to the tarmac road. We’d made it – we’d just conquered the Alpe d’Huez. It took us 1hour 22 minutes, some 45 minutes longer than the pros would take the next day, but it still felt great.

We trundled our way to the nearest café and ordered bin-lid sized pizzas and cokes – we’d earned it. We hardly said a word to each other for ten minutes. We didn’t need to - too busy scoffing our food and quietly contemplating our achievement. About half an hour later though, it was helmets on for the exhilarating descent - stopping now and again for a photo, or a drink, or to avoid smacking into the back of a tourist bus! We rode back into town feeling proud and cocky and full of beans. Next stop, shower, food and then a night of beer – ‘bish, bosh’, job done!