4.45am. The alarm goes off. It's ridiculously early. Our plan had been to get down to the start line early to establish a place at the front of our starting pen (the rear-most pen!) and thus leave 2000+ sacrificial victims between us and the much-feared broomwagon.
We intended to leave Chateau du Benac for the 8km descent into Foix at 5.20am, which would mean arriving at the start line at approx 5.40am, a good 50 minutes before the closure of the pre-race admission.
Fortunately, flexibility is the hallmark of all good plans. There were two main factors that called for an immediate change. We had certainly not counted on it being pitch-black outside at 5.20am, which would have made the unlit roads a little difficult to navigate... Secondly, we had underestimated the amount of nervous last-minute kit-checking that we would indulge in. Suffice to say that at 6am, rather than merrily being at the front of the pen, we were still pumping our tyres in the garage in Benac. Leaving a few minutes after that meant 20 minutes of racing down to town to ensure we get to the pens before they closed! Not ideal, but somehow we still managed to squeeze ahead of at least 500 even lazier riders.
Race start…
The minutes ticked nervously by until the 7am start. On the tannoy, system the commentator counted down the last few seconds. Cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un... The race klaxon sounded, and we were... going absolutely nowhere. It takes sometime to get 7,000+ riders rolling, but that is of little consolation on the day, and we eventually crossed the start line some 20 minutes later – knowing the broom wagon was due to start a further 20 minutes later. At least we were on our way, which was more than you could say of the guy we saw fixing a puncture 100 yards before the start line.
At last we were rolling. The excitement of getting underway was reflected by my heartrate which was fluctuating substantially and in a manner unconnected to the effort I was putting in. At this point we were just cruising along flattish roads with good protection from a large peloton yet my heart rate was 165 – well over my lactate (or any other sensible) threshold. What would it be when the road started to go upwards… Added to my fears about my knee holding up for the distance, I had plenty to worry about.
The first 20km of the race was a gently undulating leg-loosener for what was to come. It was great to be amongst a fast pack of riders on closed roads swooping through French villages with the locals standing on the roadside cheering us on. Knee and strange heartrate aside, the real concern was the broomwagon. The race organisers had broken down the minimum time needed to avoid elimination into various stages, which we had summarised onto a small note taped to the handlebars. For the first stage, we knew that the 20km had to completed in 40 minutes: an average of 30km/hr.
Although we put in a reasonable effort over that stage, we didn't go flat out as we wanted to keep our powder dry for later in the day. Finishing the first section in 44 minutes meant the broomwagon had gained 4 minutes on us.
Col de Port…
And already we had arrived at the first of the five mountains of the day: the Col de Port, a Category 2 climb.
[Climbs are categorised from 4 (least difficult) to 1 (most difficult) based on their difficulty, based upon their steepness and length. A further category, called Hors Catégorie (beyond category) is formed by mountains even more difficult than those of the first category!!]
Spurred on by the threat of being forced to bus part of the way to Loudenvielle, we tackled the Col de Port with greater vigour. It was always likely to be the easiest climb of the day, although it was still substantially longer than the only other mountains that we had ever ridden (the Dragon Ride’s Bwlch or Rhigos). The broomwagon was scheduled to take an 1hr 12 mins, which meant that when we crested the summit in 48 minutes, not only did we boost our confidence, but rebuilt our margin over the broomwagon. One climb down, four to go. I might just do this.
From the summit of the Col du Port it was time for the first descent of the day. This descent was also the longest, a brake-melting 39km of almost unbroken downhill. It is difficult to describe the feeling of exhilaration that accompanied all five descents in the race: the speed, the views stretching down to the valley floors, swinging round hairpin turns that had taken an age to climb on the other side of the mountain.
It is fair to say that the exhilaration was occasionally tinged with moments of fear, or at least caution. Two days before the race, at the Chateau Benac, the elite rider staying with us had told us of his friend who was recce-ing the first two climbs and descents the previous day, until hitting a stone at great speed on the descent, he punctured both tyres, crashed and broke his leg in several places. On the first descent I passed a rider who had obviously come to grief only seconds before, lying motionless, being attended by a motorcycle saftety officer, with what appeared to be a broken arm.
For us, exhilaration won the day, and leaving concern behind, we pushed on. At the bottom of the Col the road rises for a few hundred metres through a small town and then it follows the river and it’s downhill all the way to St. Girons. The heart rate’s dropped into the 120’s and it’s time to stretch the legs a little. We see a long peloton of what must be a hundred riders snaking downhill in single file. We bridge the gap and join the back taking a few with us, pause briefly and then push on, working our way up the line until we reach the outskirts of St. Girons. I completed the 39km descent in 68 minutes, which was a further 10 minutes quicker than the time allowed by the broomwagon. It was the last time that I worried about the broomwagon all day.
The feed station was carnage. People and bikes everywhere. We scooted under some tape and up the back of the food tables. That’s better. Right, quick, grab some food and plenty of water. I’ve not drunk enough. My schedule said 3 bottles by now – I’ve only just finished my second. I fill up 3 bottles for the next leg, scoff half a banana, and a bag of apricots and we’re off…
Dist: 70.0k. Ride Time: 2:33:53. Av Spd 27.3kph
“BroomTime”: 3 hrs 10 mins.
Portet d’Aspet & Col du Mente…
My knee has stiffened after the long descent and the quick stop. At the feed station I had applied some more ibuprofen gel and taken a couple more pills. I upped my cadence and tried to spin away the pain – wincing through the next 30,000 pedal strokes was unlikely to be sustainable – I found that if I could keep the cadence above a hundred or so then pain subsided. That’ll have to do for now.
The road from St. Girons is, unlike most of this course, pretty flat. This offers the chance to form up and work together as a group. I say work together, but, really mean do a little to help while making the most of opportunities to sit on someone else’s wheel. A few cyclists with egotistical thighs come to the front and power the line towards the mountains. And they aren’t far away now.
The road started to climb gently at first, it almost looks and feels flat, but the pace drops a little. And then we get to the village of St. Lary, the road bears right and rears up and the climb proper starts. The ascent of the Cold de Portet d’Aspet is regarded as an 18km climb, however whilst the first 12k are tame, the final 6k are more strenuous with gradients nearing 10% in places. I keep glancing down at my trip computer to help get me through the ascent. With 5k to go I’ve got just “two box hills” to get to the top. Then “one box hill”. Then we hit the switch backs. 2.4k to go. Dig deep. It’s fifteen minutes from here to the top and the feed station. Just before the summit we pass a big yellow race sign: just 100k to go…
At the summit we pause for a quick ‘comfort break’ and to put on the gilet. The early weather has yet to reach the forecasted 31/32 degrees. Cloud cover has been protecting us but this has started to burn off and it’s beginning to get much warmer…
The challenge of the Portet d'Aspet isn't the just climb, but also the descent. In the 1995 Fabio Casartelli fatally crashed here and with the road dropping away at as much as 17% it's easy to see why. The descent swoops through shady woods as we reach the fastest speed of the day so far. After only 4.3k and 7 minutes its sharp left and we start climbing again past the Col de Menté 11.7k signpost.
The Col de Menté is an epic climb having featured in numerous Tour de France’s. And it is not just because of its beauty – the average gradient is 8.1% and there are several long stretches of over 9%. I change down a gear only to find that there are none left. This is going to be a grind. Looking up the valley I can see what’s to be done – a series of sharp switch-backs snaking up to the right. It’s now a little after midday, the sun is at its highest and the cloud cover is a distant memory. The heat and 100+km under the belt so far have started taking its toll. The road is now littered with people ‘crashed-out’ by the side of the road, against the rock walls or under trees making the most of any bit of shade available. There are plenty of others walking – not able to turn over even their lowest gear in this heat. We slowed, but we don’t stop. In this heat I’ve not had a problem getting the liquid down. I finish off a bottle mid-way up the Mente, reach for the last one to find it empty. Hmmm. I’ve finished them all already and I have another 20 odd minutes to go. I’m working hard now, the heart rate is in the high 150’s but I can see the final few hairpins. But there are still 2k more to go, through the forest to the summit. The locals line the road, clapping us, cheering and urging us on. “Allez, allez, cinq cent metres…”. And there is the feed station. Three down, just two to go…
The last feed had been in a spacious supermarket car park. This is just buy the side of the road at the top of the col - there are riders and bike everywhere. We jostle towards the table but there’s now way through. I hold the bikes, MM goes for supplies. He’s back with six bottles of water. Hands them to me and goes back for another six. After running out on the last climb I’m taking on all I can. I fill all four of my bottles, that’s 3 litres and 3 kilos but I have a feeling I’ll be needing them in the next few hours. We grab some food and put on the gilet & arm warmers. The knee has not been bothering me too badly over the last section, the flat was a good opportunity to warm it up and keep it moving. It ached a little on the climbs but with my strategy of getting out of the saddle every 250 yards or so to stretch it a little and change my body position the aches had not been to acute. More ibuprofen pills & gel and it’s time to set off again.
Dist: 47.7k. Ride Time: 2:34:39. Av Spd 18.5kph
“BroomTime”: 3 hrs 05 mins.
Port de Bales…
The descent of the Col de Mente is fast. After a few turns the road is pretty straight with just a few twists to keep you honest. I’m averaging a little over 48kph down here (30mph) and eating up the 24 miles from here to the biggest challenge in this year’s Etape, the Category 1, twenty kilometre climb of the Port de Bales.
Between us and the Bales is some flat open road and a cross wind. A group is forming and we jump on the back. The wind causes the line of riders to echelon across the road protected from the wind. A strong rider moves forward up the outside of the line and follow, when the peloton splits into two after a roundabout we are able to get into the front group and keep the momentum going.
But soon the pace is slowing, as we’ve started climbing again. We go through the village of Mauléon, turn sharply right and were onto the start of the climb up the Bales. The first 5km follow the river up the valley and, to be honest, this is all too easy. This is not what Hors Categorie climbs are made of. The Bales is 19.2km long with an average gradient of 6.2% but this is a harsh misrepresentation, these early kilometres are between 2-4% and they just store the pain up for later allowing the latter stages of the climb to reach 9%, 10% & more.
Each kilometre of the Port de Bales is marked with a sign showing the distance to the summit and the gradient of the next kilometre. The first seven signposts, all between 3 & 6% are behind us, we now turn left and up the forest road. I’m already in my bottom gear, the road steepens and I just have to allow my cadence to rise. My knee pain is still there, but its at the back of my mind now, its my heart, lungs & thighs that have started to ask for mercy.
Its 2pm and the day is at its hottest. The tarmac is melting, there are patches that feel like treacle as we drive onwards and upwards. The side of the road is littered with riders seeking respite from the sun and the slope. Filling their water bottles and taking ten to allow there heart rate to drop below anaerobic thresholds.
I’ve read the reviews and know that once I get to the “rock gates” the view will open up and I’ll be able to see the summit and the easier last 3k to the top. I’m not at the gates yet, but I’m using that thought to push me on. The next three signposts are all 10%. We’re crawling along now, barely above 8kph, but still making progress. I hear the gates before I see them, well, not the gates but the brass band that is playing us through the rock bluff.
Just over one “box hill” to go to the summit, but this is much steeper and harder than any ascent of box hill. The 19.6km climb had taken us an hour and 44 minutes of what is best described as steady progress, but we’d reached the top and the feed station. This feed stop was certainly no efficient grab & run. I stocked up on water, apricots and ate a couple of orange segments. The knee is now a constant ache on the climbs but I’m managing the pain as best I can and I’m now sure that I won’t let the knee come between me and a finishers medal. Yet another dose of pills and gel. I clean some of the tar and gravel off my tyres and could not delay things any longer, its time to do the final section…
Dist: 43.9k. Ride Time: 2:33:55. Av Spd 17.1kph
“BroomTime”: 3 hrs 40 mins.
Col de Peyresourde…
As I clip back into my pedals for hopefully the last time and the next descent I glance at my cycle computer – the time is 15:15. We’ve been going for 8 hours & 15 minutes. The elimination schedule allows us an hour & twenty five minutes to get home from here. I’ve never published any ‘goal time’, just that I wanted to finish. However, secretly I had always thought that ten hours was a time I would love to better. That meant that we had 20 minutes “in-hand” if we were to scrape in under ten hours. I told MM, knowing that on the surface he would be disinterested, but that subconsciously it would motivate him.
The descent of the Port de Bales is long and fast; all hairpins at the top and then sweeping turns through villages on the lower slopes. If I wasn’t concentrating so hard I’d be whooping with delight – lose focus for a split second and I’ll follow the guy in front of me that has just failed to break sufficiently for the left-hand hairpin and gone straight on into a field – two turns before and there would have been no field to run off into… Sixteen km was dispatched in a little over 25 minutes – we’d made up a further four minutes and now had 24 minutes in-hand.
Turning off the Bales the climb of the Col de Peyresourde starts immediately – I knew that from the top it was pretty much downhill all the way to the finish and all that was needed to be done was to get over this 9.7km hill, but the tank was now pretty much drained.
In my mental preparation for this event I had never really dwelt much on the Peyresourde. My thought process was that the first two (category 2) climbs would be fine, being something like what I had crested in Wales. That the Mente and the Port de Bales would be very tough but that I could conquer them. And that the Col de Peyresourde would take care of itself. Having got this far, I was confident that I would do what it takes to get over this category 1 climb.
Someone with a sick sense of humour had rigged up a radar speed checker on the early part the climb – 7kpm flashed up – it felt like we were going backwards.
This climb is relentless – the gradient is a fairly constant 7% to 9% with very little respite – and proved to be the toughest point in the race, and was, basically, an hour of pure suffering. The road to the top stretches up the valley in front of you and with 6k to go you can see the col and the task ahead. Eventually there was just 3k to go, then two… I wanted this over, I dug deep and pushed on, putting my all into the last three switchbacks that lead to the top. I checked the watch again, and saw it flick past 17:00. The climb had been scheduled to take 36 minutes at elimination pace, I’d put everything into this, but at this late stage it had cost me 56 minutes. I now had just 19 minutes to descend the last 11k to the finish if I was to beat the 10 hour mark. No time to hang about, put on a gilet or anything else…
The descent from the Col de Peyresourde is beautiful, and with just one major turn, it’s fast. Someone rips past me, I change up and gave chase. 60kph, 65kph, I’ve never been this fast, 70kph… There’s just 3k to go, the road flattens and then there’s sting in the tail, a sharp little rise, change down, out of the saddle and push hard ‘til we’re over the top over the ridge. I can see the lake, and at the other end Loudenvielle. I am in the drops, pushing for home. We cross the line together, arms aloft. I feel my emotions grip me. It’s a mixture of elation and relief. I’ve aimed for this moment for a year, trained for it for the last eight months and in a little under ten hours I’ve finally done it.
Dist: 36.3k. Ride Time: 1:38:23. Av Spd 22.1kph
“BroomTime”: 1 hrs 25 mins.
The End…
If you had told me that 2,600+ (38+%) wouldn’t make it to the finish, what with my 8005 starting number, I would have been more than a little concerned that I would be one of the folk arriving in Loudenvielle in the broom wagon. So to have made it in under 10 hours, under my own steam, up those mountains and in that heat is immensely satisfying.
This was the toughest ten hours of my life… But it was also one of the most enjoyable and rewarding things I have done. I think I’d like to be back again next year for more…
