In 2010, a year after
one of the most iconic Tour de France battles in history I first laid eyes on
the icon that is the Mont Ventoux.
That battle saw the race’s top 5 riders: Alberto Contador,
Andy Schleck, Lance Armstrong, Bradley Wiggins and Frank Schleck duel as they
approached the summit of “The Beast”. Wiggins would lose 21 seconds on the
group, and his podium spot to Lance Armstrong. That would, of course, end up
being taken away from him after a lengthy USADA investigation.
Wiggins was quick to condemn Armstrong as he pitifully tried
to cling on to results in his 2009/10 comeback, when he claimed to be clean.
The black and white division between clean and condemned meant that any trust
he held had evaporated.
Contador (r), looks for support from Armstrong (c), as he tries to cling onto Schleck's (l) back wheel
It is indicative of a pattern of riders who have done the
Ventoux clean, and the way they hold those that did it whilst doping. In Tim Moore’s book about his 1914 Giro D’Italia conquest, he discusses the anger
he felt seeing Armstrong’s (clearly cheating) teammates chatting with their
hands off the handlebars after a shift of grinding at the front for their
leader on the mountain back in 2002, something he argues was only possible because of their team’s doping.
Another example is when Chris Froome’s 2013 ride was
heralded as being so good it was akin to Lance Armstrong and Marco Pantani’s
drug-fuelled battle in 2000 by a journalist, he angrily rejected the praise,
saying that he didn’t want to be compared to cheats.
The ultimate reason behind this collective defiance stems
from one thing, the Ventoux is considered seriously difficult. So difficult,
that 1965 World Champion and Paris-Nice 1967 winner Tom Simpson tragically died
half a mile from the top as dehydration, and amphetamines, got the better of
him.
That, alongside the images of the free-standing “Giant of
Provence”, the many great battles of the Tour de France and the unrelentingly
steep gradient have made this the most iconic summit in cycling, even if it isn’t
necessarily the hardest.
From the moment I first laid eyes on the mountain I wanted
to do it, but being more of an ‘armchair cyclist’ than an actual one, my keenness
was somewhat misguided.
Alex makes it look easy in this picture, but we were all suffering by then...
I never really got into actually doing the cycling itself.
Bought lots of expensive gear but the moment something went wrong with the bike
or it got a bit cold outside I’d give up for six months, but I always had a
belief (perhaps a misguided belief) that I would be able to do it one day.
Initially we were supposed to do it in 2013, but after it
was pushed back to 2014, then to 2016, then to 2018, we finally settled on this
year.
As with anything, the group fell in numbers as the year went
on with the realities of the logistical or physical challenges setting in for
different riders. Our four-man team had five people who accompanied us on
electric bikes, probably not a bad idea from them.
My godfather Francois revelled in the fact he had beaten a couple of 20 somethings, and by some distance.
The training prior to the climb became really boring after a
while. Partly because of how slowly I would turn the pedals. My average
ascending speed was about 5mph. On steeper gradients it could drop as low as 2.
It’s hard to believe gravity didn’t regularly claim me as a victim.
And it wasn’t the legs that were going to be the only issue.
No matter how much cardio you do nothing can prepare you for the saddle sores
and back pain that leaning over handlebars for two and a half hours gives you.
Anyway, on 12th August I finally got the monkey off my
back and went up there. A combination of its legendary status, quotes from French
philosophers, videos by the BBC among other things had led me to believe
it was going to be hell, and to be fair, it was challenging.
That morning I started to worry about the climb, and
everything that could go wrong, then I worried about using too much energy up
worrying, and worrying about whether I would worry about how much I worried
halfway up the hill.
But ultimately it was the advice of an 85 year old, and
support of a middle-aged veteran of big climbs that proved to be the key. The
former had told me that riding with someone was the key, and it was something I
stuck to resolutely for the first two thirds of the mountain.
I rode with the latter for much of the climb, glued to his
back wheel as the Kms went down. We didn’t chat much but when we did we kept
each other going, pointed out how we were edging closer and he was kind enough
to offer me advice with my breathing and an energy gel which gave me an
unbelievable boost at the end.
I was incredibly grateful to be able to sit on my uncle JP's wheel
Through the final kilometres I rode alone, cheesy music like
“Not Giving In” and “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” keeping me going as well as
the unbelievable scenery that I remember gazing at as a young fan.
But when it comes down to it, it was that support up the
hardest section, and the feeling of knowing that you have other family waiting
at the top (who had helped through some of the more difficult sections in the
middle) that makes it doable.
Though many of my family have, I wouldn’t dream of doing it
alone. In every sport, whether it’s NFL or tennis, a team that support you and
that you care about is so vitally important. It’s something I’ve always banged
on about but it is, for me, the number one thing to any individual or group
achieving their potential.
Perhaps the reason Wiggins fell off the back of that lightning
group (still took less than half the time I did though) back in 2009 was that he had no teammates in it. Armstrong and Contador
were together at Astana, while the Schleck brothers rode together at Team Saxobank.
Mind you, I’m sure the drugs helped Lance too.
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