The Col d'Ey was next on our agenda. This was a category 3 climb, so not too tough, but it was the first longer climb and a preview of what was to come. Little did I know that it was nothing close to what was to come.
One thing that impressed me the most was how people came out along the route. The real Tour de France would follow us in about 5 days, but it was great to see so many people come out in small villages to cheer us on. There would be signs for fresh peaches and apricots as we approached the village, and then the town, young and old, would be out offering water, fruit and encouragement. I was amazed at the number of seniors out helping at the rest stops, climbing over each other to give out water and cut up oranges to give to the sugar craving cyclists.
That said, the pre-assigned rest stops were completely insane. The following is a first hand example of the madness from the first stop on the way.
The next climb was the Col do Fontaube. I believe it was a category 4 climb, so not too intense. I captured a bit of video along the way, and the Col crested in a charming village.
First, the happy start of the climb - we are riding together as a group for once - apologies for the sun tan lotion smeared on part of the lens. Did not clean it until further down the road.
Didn't realize how hard I was breathing during the climb - actually felt pretty good at this point.
Finally, the summit. Apologies for the 10 seconds of my right gear shifter.
Now as we swing north of Mt. Ventoux, we start to get teasing close-ups of the climb yet to come.
We've now been in the saddle for over 5 hours and the heat (95 F) starts to take its toll. Here is a flat section outside of Sault and my first admission that the pace (over 18 mph since the start) was starting to catch up on me.
At this point I caught up with some of the other riders of Team Cannondale, but knew that there was the challenging Col de Notre Dame des Abeilles on the horizon. I chose to hang back and not try to chase the young guys up the climb.
We had a very long, but straight descent after Notre Dame. Although I did not have a way of measuring speed, others reported speeds of 45-50 mph on the descent. I did let the bike roll here for a bit, but I found myself feathering the brakes if I was coming up on other riders.
Although I did not have the course map in front of me, I thought I knew most of the climbs from advance reading. But all of a sudden the road pitch started to pick up, and I was not sure if somehow they slipped in another climb without telling us. At the end, it was probably because the heat was catching up, and my stamina was getting diminished. It was not until I asked someone on the side of the road for the name of the area, so I'll just call it the Col des Aurel, even though it is not an official climb.
We started to now swing south around the eastern edge of Ventoux, and finally arrived in the village of Bedouin. Bruno caught up with me, and knowing that Ventoux was soon to arrive, we made sure that we were well rested, water bottles were full and we had something to eat. As we were ready to leave, Bob Baird showed up, so we let him top off his water bottle. Just before we arrived in town, the road started to get steep again, and I was wondering whether the climb to Ventoux had started, but it was just the entry road into town.
As we left Bedouin, a sign marked the official start to the climb of Mt. Ventoux. We had 4 riders together, but had agreed in advance that the climb was going to require us each to ride at our own pace. So within the first 2 km of the 21 km climb, we began to separate. At the start, the grade was fairly gentle. Although we were tired, it seemed pretty reasonable and I felt OK. Little did we know what the next 5-10 km had in store for us.
The pitch gradually picked up to between 7-8% - what we expected at that point. I knew that there was some sort of forest that we had to go through on the way, so I thought there could be a chance for some cooler temps and shade. I don't know the formal name for this forest, but I have since named it the Forest of Hades. The climb continued in the range of 8-10%. While in this pine forest, the trees went straight up, so there did little to protect from the sun. They were very effective in limiting any breeze, so we were on our own to moderate our body temperatures. The challenge was that the grade did not relent. It continued at the same pitch without a stretch of flat road for recovery. I felt my heart rate climb as I became more and more winded. I tried pedaling slower - no recovery. I tried pedaling faster - made matters worse. I started wishing for a 27 cog rear derailler - none magically appeared. I then started to think how all those people with triple chain rings (formally very uncool in my book) looked like the smartest people on the mountain.
I started to feel very sleepy in the saddle, and also started to feel cold prickles on my arm - almost like water was being sprayed on them, but there was not water to be found. At this point the voice of my daughter came back to me, and I thought of a strong running friend who collapsed at mile 22 of the NYC Marathon, only to be carted away in an ambulance and not finish the race he worked hard for. A hundred other excuses popped in, and I concluded that time did not matter as much as to finish safely. So after seeing dozens of riders napping under trees on the side of the rode, others being treated for heat exhaustion from the ambulance and gendarmes, I chose to pull to the side of the road under a shady section and catch my breath. It probably took 4-5 minutes to get my heart rate down, and I did feel a cool breeze. I ate some gu, drank some more of my nauseating gatorade endurance with an extra salt tablet, wished I had plain water and collected my thoughts. It was amazing what a difference a few minutes made. Then I got back on the bike (without walking) and continued the climb.
The forest seemed to never end. I continued with a repeat pattern of about 500-800 meters of climbing, then as I felt my heart rate climb and breathing became heavier, pulled into some shade and recovered. This strategy killed my hopes for finishing under 8 hours, but it gave me a greater confidence that I was going to be able to finish. It was amazing to see how much suffering was going on in that forest. There were campers already there for the Tour that would follow in a few days, and many of them just watched in awe as riders clawed their way up the mountain. Many offered encouragement, some offered water to friends, although I was hoping some would offer some for me. I heard about firemen spraying down riders somewhere along here, but I must have missed that part. I did see someone pouring water over riders heads, but as I approached this kind soul, the rider in front of me fell off his bike and was then hit by another rider - and a bunch of swearing in French ensued, so I turned off to the left and missed that opportunity to cool off.
I knew that the next thing that pulled me through the Forest of Hades was the thoughts for Chalet Reynard, which was 6 km from the summit. It was the next water stop, and I knew that it was clear of the forest. As the forest started to thin, a slight breeze picked up and I was more motivated to get to the next break point. I pushed through the last km and finally arrived at Chalet Reynard. It was the usual rest stop mob scene, and I quickly rushed over to the volunteers in hopes of some water. Unfortunately, just as I arrived, the volunteers announced in French, "sorry sir, there is no more water."
I stood there in shock for about 30 seconds before reacting. I heard that they ran out of water in previous races, but thought they had learned their lesson. I guess not. At that point, survival skills kicked in. I saw other cyclists smartly start to scour the "empty" water bottles that were strewn on the ground for a few sips of water. I soon joined them, and did find a bottle or two with an inch of backwash remaining. And it tasted great.
I started to walk over to the actual Chalet Reynard, and saw a bunch of riders clamoring around a water pump. Water was trickling out while someone manually pumped, and a bunch of very thirsty riders were shoving each other around to get their bottle filled. I was unsuccessful in getting my bottle positioned to get water, so decided I would pump and eventually negotiate my bottle to the nozzle. After about 5 minutes, this strategy paid off - and I did get a full bottle.
I quickly drank the whole thing and realized that I needed more. There were a bunch of people lined up to get in the snack bar - so I joined the group. Inside I found that they were selling small bottles of water and cans of coke for 3 euros each ($4.50). I happily paid the price, and took my water and Coke and had a seat with the other tourists. I looked out from the covered snack bar and watched the mass of humanity arrive to discover that the race organizers ran out of water. You can see several of the $3-5K bikes strewn on the floor as riders just dropped their steeds on the road and came into the snack bar for refreshment.
After about a 20-30 minute recovery at Chalet Reynard (at this point time was not a factor for me), I picked up my bike, charged with the sugar and caffeine from my can of Coke, and started up the last 6 km. I'll let the video and my corny narration speak for the last 6 km of climbing.
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