Starting out at 8:30, we had the option of either riding from the hotel near Gordes all the way to Bedoin at the base of Mt. Ventoux, a distance of about 40 km, or taking the bus there and riding just the climb. Naturally, I chose the 40k warmup ride, since it had been promised as a beautiful mostly flat ride. That was instantly debunked as we faced a 5k climb at about 8% grade right off the bat. But the scenery was truly beautiful, first hilly, then through another ruggged gorge, over the Col de Mur, and finally into gently rolling vinyard country. There were a number of nice climbs and beautiful winding descents, before finally joining the Tour de France course a few km before Mormoiron, then another 7 or 8 km into Bedoin and the beginning of the climb of Mt. Ventoux. I was a little worried by the end that the hard "warmup" ride might impact my legs on the steeper slopes of Ventoux but in the end there was nothing to worry about.
Starting in Bedoin, the little village at the base of the mountain, there were thousands upon thousands of vehicles, bikers and walkers all headed up the mountain. It took a lot of concentation to avoid colliding with all of the traffic. This short video gives an idea of how congested it was at the beginning of the climb. Mind you, we're already going up at 5-6% grade here.The road eventually entered a forest and gradually steepened to what seemed like a steady grade of around 9 or 10%. I had decided to display only speed and time on my GPS, so I didn't really have any idea of the grade at a given moment, but it was always, always incredibly steep. As the climb continued through the woods, the crowds got thicker and thicker. There were campers and tents everywhere, tables of families eating lunch and passing the time before the riders came, music, laughter, cheering and encouragement from the crowds. There was so much going on around me that I actually almost could forget about the difficulty of the climb. It was like Mardi Gras, but on a mountainside.
Somewhere on the ascent of Mt. Ventoux, all the thousands of miles of riding on the levee, all the hundreds of spinning classes, the MS150 rides, the encouragement of my friends and family, the thought of my riding pals in New Orleans even then rolling out of bed and getting ready for the Saturday morning levee ride - all of it seemed to circle around me and (to paraphrase Nabokov) then it converged into a concentrated pinpoint of sweat, pain and determination that, miraculously, vanished as I simply enjoyed the spectacle of the day and the physical joy of riding strongly and smoothly up one of the hardest and most famous mountains in France during the actual Tour de France, nothing but me and my bike. It was absolutely exquisite.
The first time I checked the distance that I had ridden from the base, I had already gone nearly 2/3 of the way up and was feeling great. Finally, emerging from the trees, the desolate white summit of Mt. Ventoux literally loomed overhead. Up and up I continued, until finally I reached a huge sweeping left turn and the biggest crowd of bikes, pedestrians and vehicles that I had ever seen.
We all came to a halt and the bikers pushed forward slowly, shoulder to shoulder, handlebars interlocked, until we reached a row of gendarmes who said that the rest of the climb had been closed due to high winds. We found out later that the winds had actually blown the barricades off of the last couple of km of the course, as well as all of the VIP tents at the summit. Of our group, only one somehow made it past the gendarmes and rode all the way to the summit and he said that the wind and cold were unbearable. Although disappointed I know from the way I had ridden to that point that I could have made the summit, only 6 or 7 km more, without difficulty. So, a return trip will have to take place sometime.
Heading back down to our tents about 8k below was actually worse than the climb up. There were still thousands of bikers and pedestrians heading up, so it was difficult to wind through all of that traffic, plus avoid the slower downhill riders as well as the faster ones whipping by without warning. And constantly squeezing the brakes until both hands felt as if they would cramp. Any short open stretch was a relief because I could release the brakes, shake out my hands and let the bike run for a bit.
Arriving at our tents, I quickly changed clothes, had lunch and waited with the others for the arrival of the Publicity Caravan and then the main event - the riders. Two big TVs were set up under one tent so we could watch the live coverage of the race taking place, but it was more fun to visit with the others and enjoy the crowd. Several other tours being run by the same company were also using the same area, and we had reunions with some of our friends from last year who were in different groups this time.
The Publicity Caravan came by, and then the anticipation built until finally at about 3:15 lines of official cars and motorcycles started passing. The distant buzz of a helicopter announced that the riders were close. The crowd pressed into the middle of the road, parting for each group of vehicles, which passed at some speed just inches away, and then instantly converging back into the middle of the road. Finally the sound of police whistles from down the hill told us that the leading riders were here.
The first three passed right in front of us, and then a few minutes later this larger group, including the leaders, Contador, the Schlecks and Armstrong, came by just a few feet away.
It's hard to describe how exciting this was to witness. The crowds screaming, the sirens of the official cars and cycles, the helicopters buzzing overhead, these amazing athletes streaming by after having already ridden more in one day than I could probably ride in three. There I was on Mt. Ventoux, on the most exciting day of this year's Tour de France, on the most beautiful summer day imaginable, witnessing a battle that millions around the world were watching at the very same time.
As soon as the broomwagon - indicating the final rider - had passed, we quickly changed back into our riding gear and started down the mountain to our bus about 20 km away. I can't begin to describe how thick the crowds were and how slow-going it was. At first, I rode mostly standing on my right pedal, left foot unclipped and ready to touch the pavement to stop or give myself a little push forward through the crowd. Again, hands cramping on the brakes in order to prevent myself from plowing into a bike or walker in front of me. Lower down, vehicles entered the mix and we passed them, or they passed us sometimes, just inches from my elbow. Someone said there were a half million people on the mountain today, and they were all walking or riding down one one steep, narrow and winding road. Eventually things thinned out as the faster riders outpaced most of the walkers, and our group of 5 ended up getting some advice from a gendarme about a shortcut back to Mormoiron, where the bus was parked, so we ended up having a nice spirited ride for a number of kilometers along a beautiful smooth open road through vinyards and fields.
First order of business once at the bus was to call someone at home to find out what had happened at the finish. Hard to believe, but having witnessed the riders passing right in front of us, we had no idea what the final results of the day were.
We all came to a halt and the bikers pushed forward slowly, shoulder to shoulder, handlebars interlocked, until we reached a row of gendarmes who said that the rest of the climb had been closed due to high winds. We found out later that the winds had actually blown the barricades off of the last couple of km of the course, as well as all of the VIP tents at the summit. Of our group, only one somehow made it past the gendarmes and rode all the way to the summit and he said that the wind and cold were unbearable. Although disappointed I know from the way I had ridden to that point that I could have made the summit, only 6 or 7 km more, without difficulty. So, a return trip will have to take place sometime.Heading back down to our tents about 8k below was actually worse than the climb up. There were still thousands of bikers and pedestrians heading up, so it was difficult to wind through all of that traffic, plus avoid the slower downhill riders as well as the faster ones whipping by without warning. And constantly squeezing the brakes until both hands felt as if they would cramp. Any short open stretch was a relief because I could release the brakes, shake out my hands and let the bike run for a bit.
Arriving at our tents, I quickly changed clothes, had lunch and waited with the others for the arrival of the Publicity Caravan and then the main event - the riders. Two big TVs were set up under one tent so we could watch the live coverage of the race taking place, but it was more fun to visit with the others and enjoy the crowd. Several other tours being run by the same company were also using the same area, and we had reunions with some of our friends from last year who were in different groups this time.
The Publicity Caravan came by, and then the anticipation built until finally at about 3:15 lines of official cars and motorcycles started passing. The distant buzz of a helicopter announced that the riders were close. The crowd pressed into the middle of the road, parting for each group of vehicles, which passed at some speed just inches away, and then instantly converging back into the middle of the road. Finally the sound of police whistles from down the hill told us that the leading riders were here.
The first three passed right in front of us, and then a few minutes later this larger group, including the leaders, Contador, the Schlecks and Armstrong, came by just a few feet away.
It's hard to describe how exciting this was to witness. The crowds screaming, the sirens of the official cars and cycles, the helicopters buzzing overhead, these amazing athletes streaming by after having already ridden more in one day than I could probably ride in three. There I was on Mt. Ventoux, on the most exciting day of this year's Tour de France, on the most beautiful summer day imaginable, witnessing a battle that millions around the world were watching at the very same time.
As soon as the broomwagon - indicating the final rider - had passed, we quickly changed back into our riding gear and started down the mountain to our bus about 20 km away. I can't begin to describe how thick the crowds were and how slow-going it was. At first, I rode mostly standing on my right pedal, left foot unclipped and ready to touch the pavement to stop or give myself a little push forward through the crowd. Again, hands cramping on the brakes in order to prevent myself from plowing into a bike or walker in front of me. Lower down, vehicles entered the mix and we passed them, or they passed us sometimes, just inches from my elbow. Someone said there were a half million people on the mountain today, and they were all walking or riding down one one steep, narrow and winding road. Eventually things thinned out as the faster riders outpaced most of the walkers, and our group of 5 ended up getting some advice from a gendarme about a shortcut back to Mormoiron, where the bus was parked, so we ended up having a nice spirited ride for a number of kilometers along a beautiful smooth open road through vinyards and fields.First order of business once at the bus was to call someone at home to find out what had happened at the finish. Hard to believe, but having witnessed the riders passing right in front of us, we had no idea what the final results of the day were.
A bus ride back to the hotel, and when we arrived the bike boxes came out and we got down to the very sad task of packing up our bikes for the trip home. When mine comes out of the box in New Orleans, it'll still be covered in the dust of Mt. Ventoux, and it may be a long time before I wash it!
Tomorrow, the plan is to drive to Avignon in the morning and take the TGV to Paris, arriving around midday. Our hotel is at the Etoile, but we will walk down to the Hotel Crillon on the Place de la Concorde, where we have a viewing suite to watch the final circuits of the Champs Elysees. It should be another fantastic day.
Tomorrow, the plan is to drive to Avignon in the morning and take the TGV to Paris, arriving around midday. Our hotel is at the Etoile, but we will walk down to the Hotel Crillon on the Place de la Concorde, where we have a viewing suite to watch the final circuits of the Champs Elysees. It should be another fantastic day.
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