A casual glance through a cycling magazine on the long coach journey back from Picardy in 2008 and an article caught my eye. It described what can only be termed the ultimate sportive, 3 full ascents and descents of the legendary Mont Ventoux, one from each of the three villages nestling at its foot. All in one day. Completion of this foolhardy route qualifies the rider to join an elite group, the Club des Cinglés du Mont Ventoux, better known as the Madmen of the Ventoux. Now this certainly appealed to me and I started to plot and plan an attempt.
Riders are not constrained by date, time or route. The logistics are simple. Pick a day, pick a route which takes in each village in turn and then go do the ride. OK, let's do it....
After much thought I plumped for August, primarily because this was one of the few windows open to me this year. When a bounced the idea off Paul he was certainly up for it, so long as it didn't cost too much! So, I opted for driving to Provence rather than flying. This would give us much more flexibility over where to stay, what rides we could do and also allow me to judiciously add a few bottles of wine to our load on the return journey to celebrate the event (hopefully).
Provence is a really long way from Cumbria. A really, really long way, Especially when you drive it. Over 1100 miles means a lot of motorway driving, and several tanks full of (expensive French) petrol. Not to mention the motorway tolls, also not cheap. Nevertheless, come the evening of August 3rd we found ourselves in a cosy Etap hotel in the ever so slughtly unselubrious town of Bolene, just north and west of the Ventoux massif. I am not sure it is on the main tourist trail (though it does
have an office de tourisme) and there was certainly an air of downmarket depression about the place. But it served a purpose. And we had air con. What more could we ask?
Ventoux Circuit
Tuesday morning dawned bright and sunny, not a cloud in the sky It was going to be a hot one. We had hatched a plan the night before, poring over the map with our pizza and felt that a circuit of the Ventoux would be appropriate as a warmup before the big ride. At about 100km it offered a serious ride, but not TOO strenuous. And it would offer us an intimate view of the mountain from all sides, with the added bonus of taking us on a major part of the roads used in this year's Etape du Tour. We eschewed the magnificent Etap breakfast for a couple of pain au chocolat and a coffee in the nearby supermarket plaza before driving through the Ventoux foothills to the village of Malaucene, the village on the mountain's western flank.
We chose to ride clockwise, to pick up the Etape route on the Col de Fontaube. This took us through some wonderful Provencal countryside and villages with tantalising glimpses of the Ventoux to the south. Crikey, it's big! The Fontaube climb is a delight, never steep, and long enough to pick up a rhythm. On the ascent we came across the usual painted encouragements on the tarmac urging the TDF riders to greater effort. Bradley Wiggins featured a lot. As we neared the summit Paul suddenly found his legs and nicked a cheeky few mountain points having lumbered on the lower slopes. I made a mental note. From the summit the Ventoux dominates the view south, its pale rocky summit quite distinct. Somehow it was impossible to draw one's eyes away from its slopes.
The descent off the Fontaube actually rises over a couple of kilometres to the Col des Aires (where I equalised, much to Paul's disdain) before a long and enjoyable descent to the valley below and the road to Sault, Ventoux's eastern village.
What did hurt was the 8km climb (unclassified) required to the village of Aurel beforehand, something we had not really expected. In the heat of the day this was deemed a tad unfair. At Aurel we decided that food and drink were in order and made an unscheduled cafe stop. Good call.
Sault dominates the valley of the same name where lavender is the principal crop, so it would seem, much of it recently harvested. From here our route took us across the valley and up the wonderfully named Col de Notre Dame des Abeilles, a cat 3 climb on the Etape. At about 9km in length and with some slightly steeper drags this was altogether a harder climb than those earlier in the day. It even had a couple of steep descents mid climb - rarely do I reach speeds in excess of 50kph on a climb! Casting my mind back to Paul's cheek earlier in the day I made no mistake here and waited for Paul to join me on the summit.
The descent to Bedoin was fantastic, not too steep, and good roads, with sweeping curves and long straights. I'm sure Etapists would have enjoyed this part of the ride before the final onslaught. We arrived in Bedoin, the Ventoux's third and most famous village, in time for a boisson fraiche at a cafe and a brief visit to the local bike shop (always a bad move). Then it was over the Col de la Madeleine and down to Malaucene to find the car and reflect on an enjoyable day's ride, despite the heat.
Le Cinglé Wednesday August 5th 2009. A momentous day. Hopefully. The plan was an early start to avoid the worst of the heat on the climbs. With an hour's drive from Bolene to Bedoin this was always going to be a big ask. By the time we had messed about getting ready in the car park in the centre of the village the belltower was chiming 9 o'clock and we still had to get our Carte du Jour stamped. The administration of the Cinglé relies on honesty (why would anyone want to do otherwise?) and a system whereby the local shops
and businesses provide a cachet (or stamp) on your route card which has to be obtained in advance.The rider gets the card stamped in each of the 3 villages and once on the summit.
At 9.11am, having been stamped and having taken a few obligatory photos, we embarked on the first climb, the 22.5km ride from Bedoin with 1610m of ascent. The Bedoin ascent flatters to deceive along the first 6km, with gentle gradients through vineyards, the mountain looking benign and welcoming to the north. Then you round a hairpin and the pain begins. Into the forest and for the next 11km the road rises relentlessly to Chalet Reynard at about 10%, no respite, no variation. The trees swallow the hapless rider, offering a few tantalising glimpses here and there but for the most part just endless upward purgatory. I am told that this section was carnage during the Etape and I can believe it. Today, with the temperature still only in the mid twenties, and with fresh legs, the climb was positively enjoyable. Saving enough for what was to come, Paul and I set about the climb with a rhythmic gusto and both rode our own pace. Even at this early hour there were hundreds of riders on the road, each going through their own private hell. Finally you emerge from the trees to see the welcoming sight of Chalet Reynard, the road levelling off for a brief respite. Then you turn left and suddenly the summit looms in the distance. Only 6km away, it looks forever to the uninitiated. And again the road kicks up. Without the shelter of the trees the rider is now subject to a barren wasteland reminiscent of the moon. The white rock offers no respite, absorbing and reflecting the heat of the sun, and when the wind blows as it often does up here there is no hiding place. It can be brutal.
Being the thrid time we have done this climb, Paul and I were better prepared for this than many and made relatively light work of this last section. Even the last steep ramps at a kilometre to go hardly broke the rhythm, and after 1 hour 59 I sprinted (well, something like that) round the final hairpin and over the summit line. One climb down, two to go. By the time I had got my card stamped Paul too was sprinting up the ramp and we high-fived our first success. The summit was buzzing, not only with cyclist, but hundreds of tourists who drive up here and scurry about. with limited parking places and little passing room it is a recipe for the chaos which it becomes later in the day. We left them to it and began our descent to Malaucene.
This is a fairly technical descent with adverse camber and some tight hairpins, not to mention some exposed drops to the north. Spectacular though, and soon we were cruising down the long western flank of the mountain and into Malaucene, where the motorised chaos was even worse. It was just after midday and the sun was now getting very warm. We opted for food and drink before embarking on the second climb, knowing that it was going to be hot, whatever.
The ascent from Malaucene is slightly shorter at 21.5km, and just 1535m of ascent. But the gradient is uneven, with steep ramps of 12.5%, and the position of the sun in the sky made it by far and away the most unpleasant of the day's
climbs. I quickly dropped Paul, finding my own sweaty rhythm and painfully pulled my way up the mountain. At Mont Serein, the ski station 6km below the summit, there is an easy section of almost flat before, again, a sharp hairpin takes you onto the final 6km section. At no point on this climb do you see the summit until, finally, with about 3km to go you round a corner and it towers almost impossibly above you. Both awesome and intimidating, the heart can sink or swim at this point. The heat was oppressive in the extreme and I struggled my way up those last kilometres, enjoying the views by way of distraction. The distant snow-capped Alps were a surprise. The last kilometre was like a slalom race as I wound between the chaotic cars both parked and trying to negotiate a way up or down from the summit. Bikes certainly ruled. Finally, after 2 hours 23 I didn't sprint my way up the final slope and onto the summit. Two down, one to go.
I sat in some shade I managed to find, stretching my aching legs, and enjoying the mayhem waiting for Paul to appear. After 20 minutes ther was no sign and I decided to ride down some of the way to meet him. The chaotic drivers made this almost impossible and after a kilometre or so I saw no sign of him and made my way back up to the top to carry on waiting. The minutes ticked by. By now I was getting concerned both at what might have delayed Paul and by the fact that the amount of daylight available to us might become an issue. Eventually, after over an hour Paul finally came round the final bend and laboured up the slope toward me. He looked awful. His problem was water - or lack of it. The kind patrons of the Chalet Liotard down at Mont Serein had refused his request for water, and he had all but broken down. And I can't say I blame him. Paul is a doughty soul though, and somehow he hauled his way up the last 6km and joined me. We legged it down to Chalet Reynard where the water is on tap for all and sundry, a point worth noting.
The descent to Sault, the third and final village, is long and gentle, you almost have to work at it at times. The benefit of this is that we knew the last climb would be rather easier, which given our tired legs was very welcome. At Sault we had time for a boisson fraiche in a cafe where they stamped our cards for the final time. All that remained now was the third and final climb which, at 26km was significantly longer, but with only 1250m of ascent. Easy? Well, not quite. Once again it was a question of managing at yoiur own pace and Paul again dropped back behind me. I stopped for a couple of photos but made good progress and almost before I knew it came round a bend to find Chalet Reynard right there, in front of me. A quick top-up with water and it was the last 6km - again. This time the legs were heavy, the muscles sore and the gradient somehow steeper. I stopped at the Simpson Memorial near the summit to pay my respects and then it was one final effort and it was done. I had made it, 3 climbs, one day. What a feeling. By now
, approaching 8pm, the summit was all but deserted. Much more peaceful and a place to reflect on what we were achieving. A few minutes later Paul too pedalled his way up to join me and we embraced emotionally. It was a magic moment, not unlike our completion of the Etape du Tour last year. A family of Brits shared our moment and took some photos of us. Then we donned arm warmers and legged it down to Bedoin before the failing daylight got the better of us.
The rest of the day was all about emotion, fatigue and anti-climax, as is so often the way with achievements like this. Within a couple of hours we were back in our hotel room and crawling into bed, looking forward to a few hours uninterrupted and well-earned sleep.