2008 Etape du Tour - The Ride
Paul and I flew out to Toulouse on July 4th, along with another hundred or so aspirants. Expectations were high, apprehension even higher. How would we survive? What's it like to ride not just one huge mountain climb, but two, back to back? Would the bikes be good enough? Would WE?
After putting the bikes together late on Friday night, in the depths of the hotel garage, we decided to recce the lower slopes of the Hautacam early on Saturday morning. Good call. The weather was glorious and the views amazing. A complete contrast to the event itself, when we saw precious little of the fabulous mountain scenery. Plus, on Saturday morning we were better able to appreciate it.
Hautacam is definitely a toughie, with uneven gradients and narrow, winding tarmac. This would be an issue when 8500 riders try to climb the mountain at the same time as those who had completed were trying to come back down. Hautacam is, after all, a giant cul-de-sac. For now though we just enjoyed the views and the climb.
At the foot of the climb we stopped and posed for photos, before finding a steady pace up the first 5 km before we had to turn back to Lourdes. At least we now had an idea of what we were letting ourselves in for tomorrow.
The views we enjoyed over the valley, toward the Aubisque and beyond, were truly inspiring. Enough to make you want to cycle up mountains!
Saturday afternoon saw us riding over from Lourdes to Pau to sign on, get our dossards (bibs) and race numbers, and deposit the bikes in Parc Ferme for the night., By now it was raining and I was apprehensive about leaving my bike uncovered overnight in the rain. Not that there was much we could do about it. Ah well. Saturday night it was early to bed, ready for a 4.15am start. Nerves are well jangling by now.
And so Sunday dawned. By which time we had been up for 2 hours! It was a bit of a frantic dash to Pau from our hotel, boarding the buses at 5.15 and then getting caught up in the horrendous traffic at the edge of Pau. 8500 cyclists all had much the same thing in mind - getting to the start by 6.30.
For us it nearly didn't happen, we queued for what seemed an age at Parc Ferme to retrieve our bikes, none the worse for wear given the overnight rain. By the time we were at last in possession of said bikes it was 6.50 and the Etape starts at 7am. We still had a 5 minute ride to the start pens. "Vite, vite" sang one of the race marshalls as we tore into the huge car park where the pens were housed next to the race course.
Not that we needed to worry really as, although the race starts at 7, with so many riders by the time we got underway with our start numbers in the high 4000s, it was gone 7.15.
As we rumbled over the start line, our transponders beeping as they registered on the mats, it all began. We were riding the Etape. A lifetime's dream was being realised.
Not that there was much time to dwell on that as, surrounded by hundreds of cyclists and speeding down the avenue and through the centre of Pau, we had to keep our wits about us all the time. Speeds of 40-45kph keep the pulse racing, and the hum of the peloton is like music. It was quite magical.
Soon we were out on open roads, heading south. The roads are closed to all traffic and riders spread across the full width of tarmac. Some we passed, whilst others came speeding by, intent on their gold or silver awards. For us, finishing was the main aim. The intensity is hard to describe, the feeling of being part of something big is very real.
The first notable climb is uncategorised, which seemed harsh as it was not insignifcant. Some 2 km of uphill certainly sorted out the field, but still we were surrounded by riders, something that didn't change until we rolled over the finish line much, much later.
After about 50km we came to the first of the day's categorised climbs, a cat 3 lump at Labatmale. Again, we found ourselves passing riders who had earlier come past us when the road was flat, quite a satisfying feeling. Quite whether we would be going so well later as we tackled the Tourmalet and the Hautacam remained to be seen.
The descents off these small climbs were fast and furious, and there were numerous crashes. Rider discipline was not all it could be with many wandering over the road without checking behind. It raised the stress levels significantly, but we were going well.
At 70km we came into Lourdes and the first feed of the day. Talk about chaos. Hundreds and hundreds of riders were making a beeline for the sandwiches, cakes, fruit and water to take on much needed sustenance. Feeding is paramount on an event such as this, and we were being careful to manage our food and dring intake as we rode. Nevertheless a stop was good, and we took full advantage. We actually bumped into Karen, another Border City Wheeler rider. She was going well, and there was every prospect of a good finish for the team.
Not wanting to hang around too long, we got back on the road and rejoined the mayhem. By now the groups had settled down and we were able to find a few big pelotons to shelter in. The second categorised climb, to Loucrup, was soon upon us, and the effort of climbing silenced the usual peloton chit-chat. Another furious descent and we were heading towards Bagneres and the gradual climb toward destiny, and Tourmalet country. As we looked back we found we were at the head of a huge group, some 60-70 riders sheltering in our slipstream. Another satisfying moment. Perhaps we weren't quite so out of place in an event like this after all.
Pretty soon we were rolling up to Ste Marie de Campan, the foot of the Tourmalet. 100km gone, and we had made good time, about 3hr45. No worries about elimination, something which had troubled my sleep the previous night. Now the hard work was about to begin. And still we were surrounded by cyclists.
The first few kilometres of the climb are fairly gentle and it was possible to keep good tempo. Then, just when we were ready to hit the steeper slopes we had our accident! I was actually hit by an ambulance, and took Paul out too, as I went down. How ironic. Despite the cuts and bruises, and some thankfully superficial bike damage (we need to get them thoroughly checked out later), we were up and riding again after a few minutes. It was a Lance Armstrong type moment, as the adrenalin burst coursed through our veins and the next 5km flew by (all relative of course as were heading up 8% gradients). Gradually this wore off and Paul started to struggle, then as we approached the second feed at La Mongie I suddenly felt the onset of low blood sugar and energy drain. The feed came not a moment too soon, looming out of the mist. I was saved!
We still had 4km to the summit, but we were in sight. The cold was biting, and the rain and cloud made it decidedly unpleasant, but the focus of turning the pedals, heading ever upwards, scanning for the top, was almost mesmeric. And then I was there. And shortly after Paul came stumbling up behind me. Phew, that was tough.
Now for the descent which, given the wet roads and thick cloud, was going to be an ordeal. The first 2-3km was cagey, then suddenly we were out of the cloud and the road was dry. Now we could make up some time and the next 30km was awesomely enjoyable. Reaching speeds of up to 75 kph, we loved it.
And then, too soon, we were approaching the foot of the Hautacam. Dread and gloom. One last superhuman effort was required, as the prospect of 15km of pain and suffering loomed. At this point we came across the Pyractif team, Chris and Helen, who had pledged support for those of us who had spent time with them. What a lovely sight, and a couple of gels, some cake and water lifted our spirits no end. Now we were ready. Bring it on!!
The last 80 minutes were all about suffering. The road was narrow and the right hand side was full of weaving and walking riders making progress tricky to say the least. Paul headed off into the mist, obviously feeling good. I struggled, but kept my pace. Then a couple of km later I came back to him, we rode a bit, and then he dropped back. I wondered if I would see him again, but with about 3km to go he suddenly appeared alongside me, quite jaunty and somewhat recovered. We rode the last stretch together and finally the last kilometre banner hove into view through the thick fog and rain. Only 1000m to go.
We crossed the line together, arms raised, hand in hand. Triumph. No award. No victory salute. Purely elation at reaching the end of a gruelling marathon. The medals which were thrust into our hands were indeed hard earned. And we savoured the moment. Our time was 8 hours 17 minutes and a bit. Not amazing, but more than good enough for us.
We sat on the wet tarmac, trying to take it all in, and recover a bit. Drink. Eat. Breathe! Enjoy. Riders were coming in all the time, each enjoying their own magic moment as they too completed after their own private hell. Shared suffering is a wonderful thing.
Looking back on all this a few days later, with time to reflect, it is truly difficult to put into words the emotions that the day has spawned. What is probably true to say is that this is an event that every cyclist would, at some point in their life, like to ride. My advice to them is 'do it'. Believe in your own ability, and go for it. We did. And we were not disappointed.