Climb: 2,642 metres
Distance: 60 miles returnCalories burnt: 5,127
Top descent speed: 38.2 mph
Average speed: 11.2 mph
Average gradient: 7%
A bit of respite at about 12 miles gave a sweeping downhill
section...only to go back up of course.
Some interesting tunnels, with no
lights which made things even more fun.
Arrived at Col de la Tourette, after three hours of steady
climbing. This is 80% towards Galibier.
A nice pace, to here, but hard work nonetheless.
At the top, the temperature is dropping like a stone. On with the arm warmers and gilet. A quick sugar rush of coke, and Lion bar, and
off for The Killer, which is the last 5 miles.
We set off for the grand finale. A shockingly steep ascent
of 12%. Five miles all the way to the top. This ascent is hard, real hard. No, actually, really really hard! There is no
give, no let up at all. Heels down hard, concentrating on lifting the pedals as
well as pushing down, not daring to look up. All I hear is Joe saying don't
look up! So what do I do? I instantly look up. I'm confronted by more incline,
more hell. Real hell.
Three miles from the summit and I hit the wall. Legs gone .
Completely shot. Breathing all a cock, head playing tricks. I just want a hole to crawl into, to
hibernate, to avoid looking at another foot of tarmac.
We stop for a leg and back stretch. Some rest and some
fluids. Refreshed (?), we set off again
targeting the mile markers, counting
down in 1/10 stages. Bite size pieces. Two miles to go, another quick stop, legs
like jelly, in fact, I'm not sure they are actually attached to my torso
anymore! I decide to stretch my quads.
Aargh! Severe cramp sets in to my left leg and I fall to the ground in agony.
Nurse Andy quickly comes to the rescue and takes over, saving my leg and the
day. A nice little break in the Alps. NOT!
So, off we head again. Another mile, then another stop.
It's relentless. Bloody ridiculous. And again, for the last mile. This climb is not
going to beat me. This mind over matter stuff is all good in theory. In
practice, though I'm not so convinced.
I'd read, before coming out, that exhaling expletives, when
in pain, can dampen that pain by as much as 46%. I tried this theory, calling
Andy everything under the sun. Even the photographer, towards the end, gets the
wrong end of my tongue when he asks for a smile. "You gotta be 'bleeping' joking pal"
(sorry Mum!)
But you know, it's actually kind of working, I'm thinking.
Only 200m to the summit. I can see the others. An old chap is walking up the
slope. Where the hell did he come from I gasp.
I have no lung capacity left. I have no legs left. I have no head left.
I've lost it. I can see the end. But I
just can't pedal any more
Suddenly, I get a sharp push in the back. "You're
going to @#**ing do this, there's only 100 metres left." was shouted at
me. All the guys are encouraging me. I
can't get this far and fail. I just
can't but all I want to do is die. I am dying. I'm there.
I collapse. I'm spent. I can't talk. I can't stand. I can't
function. Everything that I had left was put into that last leg. I'm starting
to get emotional. I'm just thinking about the Tour guys who go storming up
here. Whippets on wheels, how the hell do they do it? Respect, total utter
respect. That has to be the hardest physical thing I have ever done.
We take photos for the scrap book, but the chill is overwhelming. We head off
back down to Col de la Tourette to warm up and refuel.
Time for a crepe, then, and a coffee to warm back up a
bit. Hands frozen by the draft. Back and arms stiffened by both the elements
and the concentration of the descent.
From there it was pretty much downhill all the way apart
from one nasty, but manageable climb.
It's warmer now. Adrenaline rushing through the veins as we take on a
six man peloton, bombing back home. Four bleeding hours of hell to get to the
top. One hour to get to the bottom.
What a contrast.
What an experience!
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