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July
It feels like I've just made one of those beautiful, long-ball one-twos; thanks for playing-me-through chaps.
I had one of my greatest day's on a bike in Provence swaying up to the summit of Ventoux. Pumped after a week in Les Alpes and at least a stone under-weight after a recent spell of Gardia picked-up in the Himalayas the scene was set for me to really do myself justice on the greatest hill of them all.
I took this picture an the way down after visiting the Simpson memorial. It was using a throw-away camera but I was mindful to use black & white film. And I gave the neg to my Grandad so he could bleach it and up the contrast in his dark-room. The only reason I tell you this is because I didn't just want a picture of the place, I wanted it to capture what I saw as I cycled through the final few miles up to the summit. I wanted it to try and convey my state-of-mind as I completed what was one of the most memorable sporting experiences of my life.
Ventoux is a difficult hill to climb partly because of it's reputation which starts to weigh heavily in your mind days before you arrive. It's also a particulary difficult climb because of the gradient and cadence of the road itself.
I'd previously ridden some really big alpine ascents: from the bottom of l'Alpe d'Huez to the top of Galibier (via Lautaret) is the best part of 30 miles and (give or take a couple of miles) it's all uphill. But the great thing about most Alpine roads is that they're engineered to cycle up. They traverse up the mountain in a series of switch-backs. So the gradient is never too steep and there's a rest on every bend. And if you're in the mood you can chalk these up all day.
On Ventoux there are 2 distinct sections: 2/3 of the ascent is in woodland then the last 1/3 is on the open mountain. The woodland section is steep and there's no switchbacks. It's not dead straight, it just meanders through the woods. The bends are actually slightly steeper than the straighter sections. So there's no logical restpoint and it's very difficult to get into any rythme.
So you're just working at a very intense rate the whole way up. In and out of your saddle working, working, working.
I can't remember how long the whole climb is: 12 or maybe 15 miles. The point is that when you come out of the woods you've given it absolutely everything you've got. It's relentless.
And now you're out in the sun and wind into this lunar landscape. And the gradiant relaxes slightly. And the road winds through these big bends. And the rest of the climb is all there, layed-out before you up to the weather station. But you'd rather not see it. Because you're spent. And it's incredibly hot and windy and bright and that last few miles is a phenomenal effort that drags it's feet through your parched, heaving lungs.
And then some tw*t gets his mountain bike out of the back of his car, tucks his trousers into his socks and starts to cycle along side you. You've already got 60 miles under your belt, you're hanging out, and there's plenty to go and you weren't looking for a pacemaker. I digress.
Something clicked that day. I knew I'd done well becasue I'd beaten 'Mad' Pete. An ex-infantryman who specialised in running mountain marathons and who managed to abstract and objectify pain in the same way people do with accounts.
Whenever I smell lavender I smell the sweet smell of that day's decent as the moutain reverted back to colour and we headed back to Saut.
What a day.
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