Back to the top

Let me finish the tale of my visit to The South of France.

I've done a shed load of training on the Island in the last 12 weeks and I've improved my level of fitness to the extent that I have completed a 100 mile race in less than 6 hours. Not too bad.
The big problem is that when I do the Etape in 4 weeks time, the challenge that lies ahead is not only the distance of 125 miles, but it's the 5 severe Pyrenees mountain climbs in temperatures which are likely to be in the high 30's. So I needed to test myself on some proper high altitude French roads.

We were in the Cevennes region. My mate Chris had taken some advice from members of his local Velo Club and decided to lead me up Col de la Luzette. We had descended from Mount Aigoual for a brake melting 26 miles before heading out the back of a small village called (I believe) Pont L'Hereux to begin our climb back home.
The road ramped up quickly and pretty soon the only sound was the chirruping crickets and the heavy panting of two sweaty blokes trying to keep those pedals spinning. It was tough in the midday sun, and after 40 minutes with no respite Chris reached his breaking point. In his defence, I must point out:

• Chris is a 90-odd kilo muscle machine... a sprinter rather than a climber
• He rides a bike that weighs more than himself
• He's not a cycling nutter... doesn't use proper cleats or shoes, doesn't pump his tyres up, doesn't weigh his inner tubes etc
• He's been out of action with a knee injury for 3 months or so until a couple of weeks ago
• Since learning that I was coming to stay, he's ridden himself to pieces without any respite, including an ascent of Mont Ventoux 3 days before my arrival
• He's a diabetic. Now I'm stating that not to suggest that he would use it as an excuse in any way, but it is a complicating factor given the energy expenditure coupled with impending dehydration.

Chris is no fool, and no amount of cajoling and motivational crap was going to help him keep going up this particular route. We had reached a tiny hamlet and could hear a car coming. After a brief discussion, we split. We both had feelings of anxiety that we might be making a silly mistake, and the risk of diabetic hypo was certainly on the agenda. The fact that I didn't know where I was, where I had been, or even really know where I was going slightly concerned me too. I only speak un peu de francais.
I continued up the hill ultimately aiming to reach a town called L'Esperou, while Chris hitched a lift from the passing car (the first we had seen for an hour) back down the road. We both had our phones and a couple of bottles of water.
I immediately felt pretty isolated on my own, and tried to clear any thoughts of quitting or negativity as the road continued to wind up towards the tree-covered peak above. My technique is pretty basic...pedal and don't stop.
There's not a lot else to say except the road climbed at between 8 to 14 % for an hour or two until a series of ridiculous hairpin corners signalled a mile of 16%. I could see what I thought was the summit over to my right, but my progress had slowed to as little as 4mph.
The problem (apart from the severe incline) was dehydration and the heat. The remains of my High5 drink couldn't slake my thirst and the temp was peaking in the mid-afternoon sun with no shade. At this slow pace, the sweat doesn't evaporate, and I could feel my heart pounding through my sternum and the back of my eyeballs were throbbing in unison. My mouth and throat had dried up miles back, and every breath seared all the way down my trachea.
The mental fight and desire to give up were compounded by not knowing how far I had to go. I was praying to see the end around each bend, only to be confronted by yet another stretch of road extending to the next corner.

It's amazing what goes through your head when you're suffering on a bike, but I had a series of thoughts along the following themes.
1. Equipment paranoia. My gears aren't low enough, my saddle hurts, my shoes are too big, the cleats are in the wrong place, my wheels are creaking, my tyres are too soft, the stem is too high, there's a stone in my shoe, my brakes must be binding and so on....
2. Body paranoia. I'm going to collapse with an heart attack/stroke/dehydration, no one will find me for days, my legs are too thin, I'm a fat get, there's sweat in my eyes, I'm burning, my throat is sore, my bum is killing me, I can't feel my extremities, my teeth are rattling, double vision etc

Eventually, I realised I was nearing the summit as the scenery had changed a little with the appearance of pine trees and the gradient had relaxed. Don't ask how far or how long it had taken because I have no accurate idea. I had missed all the opportunities for some spectacular photos. I had drained my water an hour back and just when I was starting to worry about serious dehydration, a car approached. I flagged it down and a little grey-haired old lady gave me some water and wished me well. Bliss. I had a series of false peaks to tackle and another 3 or 4 miles before I started to descend through a wooded section, avant finally rolling into my intended target namely L'Esperou.

Chris, God bless him, was grinding his way up to the same spot by another route which, although not as steep, was a lot longer. Ironically, the sky rapidly clouded over and the temperature dropped dramatically just as we were completing our rides.

We slept well that night!