There is no mountain too high

“There is no mountain too high”

The old Giro Air Attack bike helmet has served me well over the last 20 years. It was bought along with my first mountain bike, a Marin Muirwoods. Recently however it’s been the source of much mirth between Jamie and Bonita. “I’m not going up Ventoux with you if you wear that” one of the kinder comments I heard. Even the commentator at a local Triathlon event enjoyed a joke at my expense about my beloved helmet. In the end I decided the Ventoux ascent would be a fitting final journey for a helmet that’s served me well and protected my head on numerous occasions since it’s purchase.

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The day had arrived, 6th June 2008 when Jamie and I flew out to Nimes in the South of France. The discussion on the plane was very animated, excited, both of us relishing the challenge that lay ahead. We’d waited such a long time, put in hours of training and the time had finally come. Ventoux had been chosen once we’d seen it as No 1 in the list of 10 best climbs to do before you die. It wouldn’t have been me to choose No 10!!

We hired a car and signs on the A9 Autoroute warned us of high winds. And there it was; a sign by the side of the road alerted us to Ventoux, her head held high above the menacing cloud; a sign of things to come perhaps? Lets put the scale of Ventoux into perspective again. If I was a chef I'd be saying take one portion of Ben Nevis, add a sprinkling Canary Wharf Tower, mix in the Eiffel Tower on top and even after you've stirred that lot together you'd still be looking up to find the peak!

We stopped at Bedoin, a lovely and typically French town, lots of restaurants and delightful shops where locals walked round with a smile on their faces and we found the bike shop from where we were renting our machines the following day. The Scott CR1 is a £1500 carbon framed machine, much more valuable than my own bike and I was looking forward to the experience. We quickly established that yes, the proprietor was expecting us the following day and no, there were no problems, phew! I have seen Ventoux referred to at ‘The Bastard’ in another account of it’s ascent and we decided to have a look the Bastard in the car. The classic ascent (there are 3 in total) is from the South side, starting at Bedoin and this incorporates 3 stages. First the gentle foothills, followed by approximately of 10km of forest until the final ascent from a junction known as Chalet Reynard, a ski centre which sells snacks and hot drinks in the summer. The final 6km is in the open along the lunar type landscape (white limestone I believe) with twists and turns, passing the memorial to Tom Simpson where he turned his last pedal, until the observatory is reached at the peak.

We started the first stage, in the car, laughing nervously about the reality of what was around each corner and before long, we reached the 2nd stage which starts at a left hairpin, the site of a restaurant. It was here we reached the first cyclists we had encountered since Bedoin. Fit looking lads on expensive bikes, calves like tree trunks and yet already at this early part they were out of the saddle, each turn of each pedal seemingly taken an extraordinary amount of effort. The car had become silent as we both contemplated how each of us would fare the following day. As the ascent continued, we uttered a few expletives until we saw another chap, in his twenties, stopped by the road, hunched over his handlebars, vomiting into the verge. My reaction was to compare his age, his physique with my own; it wasn’t a good comparison from my perspective! As we continued, worse was to come; bikers pushing their bikes - walkers! I couldn’t walk; walking with my bike would represent failure and I hadn’t come to fail. But could it be avoided?

At Chalet Reynard, the weather had changed and thick cloud blotted out the marvellous views that we would otherwise have enjoyed. The temperature in the car dropped and we noticed that the riders now were dressed differently, long pants, arm warmers in most cases although there were a few riders who were braving it out in nothing but short sleeved and legged lycra. We reached the top, shrouded in mist and took the opportunity of buying a few souvenirs in the kiosk. There wasn’t much to see though apart from clouds, and we soon set off back down, stopping to visit Tom Simpson’s memorial which was surrounded by a plethora of discarded riders items; water bottles, sunglasses etc.

Although our hotel was in Sault, (Hotel du Marche), we ate in Bedoin (Pasta Basta) that evening. It’s fair to say that I think we both looked forward to the climb the next day with some trepidation, having now seen what lay ahead. Jamie’s priority had moved from finishing without a stop to just finishing. For me, my thoughts went back to the words of advice from that old sage, Pete Sharpe, my treasured Father in Law who had said to me before we left “Stan needs you, make sure you come back!”. Earlier that afternoon when checking out Sault, we had gone into an open church where a statue of Mary looked benignly down on us. Now despite being brought up Catholic, I’ve had a few problems with Mary over the years, especially statues of her, but I must confess to asking her to put in a good word for me for tomorrow.

7th June 2008. In retrospect, we didn’t prepare too well on the day of our ride, despite months of planning. Breakfast consisted of a croissant (oh alright 2 croissants for me) and a cup of coffee. No banana for energy, no drink for hydration and looking back I’m really surprised as I was covering this aspect for just about every training session. Our trip to Bedoin to collect our hire bikes was via Chalet Reynard and that gave us an opportunity to assess weather conditions. As it had been the day before, it looked cold and cloudy at the top, warm and sticky down below. Having decided to dress for the cold and suffer during the initial hot part of the ride, we collected our bikes, our own pedals having been screwed on for us and a last photo together, a quick hand shake, “good luck greeting” to each other and Jamie and I were on our way. Months of training and here we were, Ventoux and all she had to throw at us lay ahead. Now we would see how good our training had been.

I must admit to being slightly worried as we traversed the first “easy” bit. OK, it was a slight incline (the whole bloody lot is an incline) but I was breathing hard and wondering how I was going to manage the tough bits if I was panting like a thirsty dog now. Before long we had reached the restaurant where the tree lined ascent begins, the steep section with gradients of up to 11%, the 11km stretch which seemingly never ends. I was spinning nicely, tucked in behind Jamie which helped, and we soon caught the 2 riders who had been ahead. We passed them, both of us comfortable with our cadence rate although my concerns were raised as I knew I was already in bottom gear. I had nothing in reserve, no extra help available when the going got tough(er).

It’s tradition in France that on The Tour, spectators chalk messages to their favourite riders on the road. I felt in awe to be riding on the same stretch as some of the best riders in the world, but amongst those names was a message to Audrey. “Go Audrey go – on your 50th birthday”. Here I was, 50, looking over my shoulder expecting to find Audrey dancing on her pedals as she flew past me. I then made myself laugh thinking that perhaps someone had seen me in Bedoin and thought I looked like an Audrey!

On we went, breathing hard and I remembered the words of my colleague Jon Divers who had texted me the night before to tell me this was the worst section; survive this and you’ll survive the rest, I thought. It was he who had told me nothing prepares you for Ventoux. He’s right. I’ve climbed steeper hills in training but it’s the sheer length of gradient that gets you. There are no flat sections, no downhills, the climb is just relentless. I’d passed Jamie to take my turn at the front and by this time, we had become part of a race up our mountain, amongst hundreds of other riders, the ones we saw fitter than us as they passed us and yes, some of them older too. And after, oh 20 or 30 minutes of this, my body told me to stop. My head told me to carry on, until I realised I would probably fall off if I ignored the message. I stopped, expecting to see Jamie whizz on by but as I turned my head, I saw him 50 metres down the hill, pushing his bike towards me. When he reached me we had a quick drink, water for me, water with a gel for Jamie, agreed with other that this is the hardest bit (even though it was the only bit we had done) and that Ventoux really is a Bastard and then looked for a gap in the race traffic to set off again. If you’re not a rider, let me tell you that getting your 2nd cleat into the pedal, uphill, is no easy feet and fortunately, my foot snapped straight in, first time. Amazing, but suddenly, despite a stop of no more than a couple of minutes, my legs felt good, breathing was better and I felt good. Jamie obviously did too as he forged ahead of me and before long, we were actually passing some of our race companions who were also stopping for respite.

Feeling good doesn’t last for long on Ventoux and I was reminded of that phrase that rolls off the tongue so easily on occasions such as this “no pain, no gain”. Well I can tell you there was a lot of pain for not much gain as I laboured slowly up, content with my pace and surprised to pass Jamie who was stopping for another drink. We had agreed beforehand to ride our own ride, at our own pace, and as I felt in what I can now call a rhythm (it didn’t feel like it at the time) I carried on. Again, Jamie came past and I began looking for the building by the roadside which would tell me we were nearly at the end of this section, this utter bastard of a section, but it was miles away, or at least what felt like miles. By now, I knew it was a question of survival. I’d hoped that perhaps I may complete the ascent in less than 2 hours but my lungs and legs told me that completion alone would be an achievement. Once more I passed Jamie, asked if he was ok and a thumbs up told me he was. On and on the road went, as I passed some wives who had parked cars in the little lay – bys to pass fresh drink bottles to their husbands, shout support , proffer wet sponges. I took the liberty of asking one woman “et moi aussi?” She shouted back at me and although it was lost in translation, I’m sure it was along the lines of “Keep going Chris, you’re doing really well”. Or perhaps it was “Go Audrey go”!!

Chalet Reynard – at last! Out in the open, above the trees surrounded by mist/cloud, the drop in temperature quickly made itself known. In danger of overheating during the wooded section I was pleased to have made the decision to use 2 layers of clothing and I made my 2nd stop to zip my gilet and have a quick drink. I turned around but saw no sign of Jamie. Off I went, big push on the pedal, 2nd foot, click, straight in. Cheers Mary!]

Round the hairpin and up the steep, dead straight section ahead. But whats this? The wind is actually pushing me up and I needed to change up 2 gears. RESULT! Round the next bend and ye gods, what had hit me? The wind that had pushed me up that last straight section was now in my face and what force, what power. Every turn of the pedal became an achievement now as the Bastard threw everything she had at me. 6km remained, well past halfway and Jon had told me this was the easier section. In terms of gradient it may be, but still it continued upwards without a pause and now it was the turn of the weather to throw it’s mighty force against me. The limestone completely covers this top section which is often described as lunar like. The cold wet cloud added to the effect. It was good to comer across landmarks we had seen in the car the previous day but in my mind they were nearer the peak than the reality. I think it helped not being able to see the observatory, the peak, at this last stage. Seeing how far away it was, how high it seemed would have killed my wavering morale. As it was, I was buoyed by the fact that I was on the last section now. I remembered the words of the famous Eddie Mercx, 6 times Tour winner who said “There are many ways to gauge man’s fitness, but no way to judge his will” and these words gave me the inspiration to carry on when the wind seemed determined to blow me backwards.

The next landmark was Tom Simpson’s memorial. Bonita I had seen a documentary about him and his death on Ventoux on 13th July, 1967. He was the world champion, the best British rider in history. But he’d allegedly necked a cognac (or two) in Bedoin before he started the stage and amphetamines were later found in his pockets as well as his bloodstream. He may have been drugged but it was still a shock to see the man fall off his bike and collapse on the road, dying, dragged to the verge where a memorial now stands.

As I passed the site, I knew I was nearly there, I knew I was going to make it. Just over 1km to the top gave me time to prepare for the last big push. The final hairpin bend precedes a very steep 30 metre climb to the peak. It’s not long, 30 metres, but after 22km of unrelenting climbing, it requires that final heave to get up there and I was laughing out loud as I raced up it “OH yes, oh yes” as I’d achieved the dream in 2 hrs 35 mins.

The thick (and extremely cold) cloud meant I couldn’t survey the landscape, couldn’t look back at what I’d achieved so I made a quick phone call home and waited for Jamie, who appeared round that final corner, exhaustedly pushing his bike up the last stretch. We greeted each other like long lost friends. The heat our bodies were generating soon disappeared as the cold took effect. Other riders had warm blankets and hot drinks waiting for them. So a few pictures and a Mars bar later as felt our fingers going numb and with a long descent ahead, it was time to go. With such a long descent below us it was no time not to have full control over the brakes. We set off downhill, fingers freezing, realising we had 3 or 4 minutes to break the cloud and get back into the sun before we were forced to stop, unable to brake at all.

We hit Chalet Reynard, round the corner, into the sun and very quickly felt the effect of the sun. Downhill we raced, avoiding groups of fellow strugglers still climbing, avoiding the oncoming motor bikes on our side of the road and reached speeds of 75km/h as we straightened out bends, at the same time exercising a little caution for bends we couldn’t see around. The thrill of that downhill was worth the pain of the previous 2.5 hrs; about 20 minutes of it and I literally couldn’t take the smile off my face. Flying down, I tried not to look too smug out of respect to those still on their way up, still going through their personal torture.

We hit Bedoin and stopped at the bike shop. A high five, an embrace and we just looked at each other, unable to fully comprehend what we’d achieved. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t that much, a 2000 metre mountain in France, on a bike, it’s hardly going to change the world but for both of us, it was a moment we’ll remember.

Needless to say we had a few beers, a nice meal washed down by some Ventoux vintage red.

The following day, for the first time since our arrival, we could see Ventoux’s summit from Sault. Perhaps it was our reward for the previous day’s exertions, her gift to us, so we took the opportunity of driving up to take some photographs and renew our acquaintance with the landmarks last seen during our pain.

As we said ‘Au Revoir’ to Ventoux, we started to discuss what the next challenge for us might be. If ever you’re in Provence, pay a visit to Ventoux and on the way, just over a kilometre from the peak, stop at Tom Simpson’s memorial. At the top step now lies a Giro Air Attack helmet, 1980s pedigree. On the plaque just above is a bronze plate from his daughters. Their epitaph to their Dad starts with the words “There is no mountain too high”. Perhaps that’s the answer!