Well after an experience like that there's not enough bandwidth available on the ACC Forum to recount it all, so here is a very ‘edited highlights’ report.
PreparationNot as much riding time as I would have liked. Following my feature in Cycling Weekly which ran along the lines of "You can still massive sportives on minimal training time" I was aware that I was setting myself up for a fall here (and if you fall off the Marmotte its a long way down) and that I was about to test my belief to the absolute limit on what many people think is the toughest sportive on the calendar - in the world - ever!!!
So the weeks following the Dragon have been really busy for me and not allowed much riding time but it's been quality and I've done all the things my coach told me to do culminating in a big overload week which ended with the Brighton and back last Saturday - where I was absolutely creamed even before Merstham on the way down. "Don't worry" explained my coach - you'd expect that - you'll be a bit flat for the first bit of the Marmotte but it'll come round."
Flat isn't a word you'd associate with the first bit of the Marmotte, as following a 10km thrash off the start line you go straight up the Col Du Glandon which is the same as the Croix De Fer except you turn left at the top. Sure enough I was rubbish up here, feeling sick after breakfast and a lunatic fast start. What happened was I got penned in with 400 invited, ex-pros, journalists and various others at the start of the race (yes on every slip of paper you get, every announcement you hear it’s referred to as ‘the race’). We had a 5-minute gap before the multitudes were released in three groups of 2000 odd riders behind us. Now reports from further back revealed that groups of 2000 odd riders is fairly self-regulating in terms of speed – you just can’t go that fast on a narrow road with 2000 riders. 400 are different. Especially with a load of Dutch ex-pro powerhouses on the front. Consequently when the brass band on the side of the stage in Bourg d’Oissan piped down to allow us to hear the starters siren the speed off the line went from 0-34mph in as long as it took me to shift through the gears on the rear cassette.
Thankfully the roads were closed (I think) and I didn’t see anything for 10 minutes as we blasted off in the direction of La Rochetelle and made the right turn toward the first hill. I could just about see the lead car, riders were attacking all over the place, buzzing around like angry hornets and the pace was ridiculous. 10k into a 174k of the world’s toughest sportive and I was already on my limit. Mercy arrived in the shape of the first hill, the Glandon, which threw a spanner into the works of many who had set the pace and they started drifting backwards.
The PlanBy now I was feeling nauseous and settled back into the climb to try and collect my thoughts. Although I’ve been up all the hills on the route individually over the past few years, I’ve not been round this course before so I had no idea of what to expect in terms of the overall effect of the ride. My idea is to get get round steadily (hopefully in gold medal time) have a look at the course, and see what it takes for a proper assault at it next year. Trouble is I’ve got not idea what a ‘steady’ pace is round here. Fortunately some of the Rapha team rides up to me on the Glandon and they have a plan, which I adopt. About eight of them are riding together and are doing the following day’s Etape. In typical Rapha style they’ve got a private jet hired to make the transfer overnight and want to be back by 4.30 to ensure they make it. So they want 2.5 hours to the top of the Glandon, 4 hours to the top of Telegraph, 6 hours to the top of Galibier. 7 hours to the bottom of Alpe D’Huez and then it takes what it takes to get up there – probably about 1.5 hours. All this sounds reasonable and will give me a decent shot at the 9hrs 15mins I need for a gold standard so I figure I’ll follow their rough schedule as closely as possible.
Trouble is the fast start and consummate breakfast has left me feeling awful, so I have to let the Rapha boys disappear up the hill as I sit up. Keith comes up to me looking in good shape and I tell him I feel sick. “It’ll do that to you†he says and he’s right. Somehow I get up to the top in good time despite feeling like rubbish. 2 hours from the start – 10 minutes quicker than I did in September when I was really going for it. Nice! I don’t even feel tired. I do however feel as sick as a pig. And at the feed station, which as expected is like a bear-pit, I have to stop, walk behind the tents, lean over the bike and throw-up about half a pint of undigested breakfast. (See – this is why I never eat much on these things). The effect is instantaneous, my whole body suddenly feels lighter and the nausea is gone so it’s payback time on the descent. One, two, three hairpins I count off on the steep technical section off the top allowing my body to remember what it takes to fly down alpine descents, then its anchors away for a full-bore all risks willingly undertaken 20 minute drop which is as close to heaven as you can possibly get on a bicycle.
I pass the Rapha boys after about five minutes and they shout something unintelligible, but that’s the last I’m going to see of them until an hour or so after I finish when they limp across the line, beaten like rented mules. Towards the bottom of the descent I start picking up likely looking riders who will form the basis of a group I’ll need to get across the tortuous valley floor dual carriageway to St Jean de Maurienne and the base of the Telegraph. You do not want to get isolated here because it’s a slight, but nasty uphill drag into a headwind for 20 odd kilometers.
I have no such problems as I get into a group of about 150 (yes, you read that right about 150!) going at 24mph. Its perfect, if a little fast but no way am I missing a ride on that train. As we approach the Telegraph it lines out into that familiar single-file train which indicates the speed is high and I can see the same two guys (probably Dutch) swapping turns on the front for the entire duration of the section. Awesome power.
The main climbsThe Telegraph lasts about an hour and is a nice smooth-surfaced road with wide hairpins and none too steep. It’s baking hot here though, so I hold back because I know the monster Galibier is just round the corner and I need to be in good shape to even get up there, let alone in reasonable shape. I roll over the top to the sound of hundreds of spectators applauding and cheering near the water station and enjoy the brief respite of a short, fun descent to the feed station at Valloire. I’m inside the Rapha team’s estimate having done slightly less than 4 hours with no signs of cramp and not too tired, so things are looking okay.
Then the Galibier kicks in and it’s all about survival.
Streams of riders coil like day-glo snakes up the mountain pass. All around us are lush green valleys and the river hundreds of feet below is swelled with the melt-waters from the snow-covered peaks, which we see soaring into the skies 17km up ahead. And somehow we have to get up there, above the snowline. It’s hard, really hard, despite not being very steep in the lower slopes. There are dozens of riders coming past me and its dispiriting being passed by so many but I’m also passing loads of riders, just trying to stick to my target heart rates and not blow up. With 7k to go the road suddenly gets steeper with a series of switchbacks looming up over your right shoulder creating a ladder to the stars. There are car horns blaring out, spectators cheering wildly and the endless sound of gears miss-changing as riders forlornly try to find bigger cogs they wished they’d fitted. It’s hard to think straight with all this racket and my heartbeat pounding in my ears but that’s good, taking your mind off the climb. Amazingly I feel better and better the further and steeper it gets. Psychologically it’s a big moment in the ride – if you get to the top of Galibier in decent shape there’s almost 50k of downhill to recover. With that in mind, and the fact that I’ve got the best support crew in the world just 2k from the top, I decide to have a little dig up the hairpins. Simon Warren a 1st cat from Norwood Paragon comes past me at this point and after a brief chat he goes off in pursuit of a 7 hour time but he’s a good magnet to pull me up the top few bends and I re-pass a load of riders who came passed me on the lower slopes. I’m out of the saddle and honking up the final few k of the climb in a much better shape than I could’ve hoped for and spot the King of the Mountains support vehicle exactly where they said they’d be.
This is my only food stop and I get an absolutely incredible lift seeing Guy and Helyn’s familiar faces as they shovel some cramp-busting, salty salami into me, load me up with a pork pie for the bottom of Alpe D’Huez, re-fill my bottles and push me back into the race, where all too quickly I have to get stuck into the final 2k to the summit of the Galibier. In truth it went much better than I expected, clouding over half way up and keeping the temperature down. Another mass throng of spectators chirring lifts me over the top and it looks exactly, exactly like you see when the Tour comes up here. Tight corridors of spectators lining the road, blasting you with air-horns waving big plastic hands in your face and generally getting really excited about the fact that it’s you and not them that have to endure this torture.
But now for the best bit of all – the descent off Galibier, through the snow-lined moonscape to the Lauteret and then past LaGrave to the valley floor and the descent back to Bourg – Alpe d’Huez can wait – it’ll be and I don’t want to think about it because to get there is going to be a major part of the ride. I quickly get into the rhythm of descending again and see extended 50mph sections on speedo twice on the higher slopes. Amazing wide hairpins and smooth bends allow ridiculous lean-angles and everyone around me seems a consummately trustworthy bike-handler. There isn’t a single moment of trepidation in the first 20 minutes of descending. After this its time to start looking around for some likely allies in the slog down the valley to Bourg – it’s mostly downhill but there’s a nasty headwind blowing up the valley and I want to part of the inevitable road-race which ensues rather than slog it out in TT fashion.
I pick my group of four likely looking candidates who come past and jump in behind them, having to work really hard to sprint out of the bends and trust the road surface on the hairpins. We barrel down the valley at good speed each doing our through and offs. The tunnels prove frighteningly dark – I’m going too fast at too close quarters to risk taking a hand off the bars to lift my shades so have to roll with it – just about able to make out the shape of the other riders in the barely lit tunnels. Impossibly there are riders actually coming past us underground and each time a few riders jump in there’s a slight increase in tempo. It ratchets up higher and higher until the elastic finally snaps and BANG, there are suddenly 10 small groups of two or three riders rather than one big one. But it’s job done, I’ve been safely and rather quickly delivered to the last drag through the final tunnel and a 4km flat road to Bourg d’Oissan sitting behind a willing engine in the shape of a rider from Luton CC.
The AlpeThe last 30 minutes of full-bore road-racing have really shredded my legs and I feel the familiar signs that cramp is just a few hairpins away but I’ve arrived at here in 7 hours and 15 minutes. Between me and the finish is Alpe d’Huez but I’ve got a whooping 2 hours to get up it for a gold standard in my age category. I could ride a fully laden touring bike with one leg and cramp up Alpe d’Huez in 2 hours so I’m immediately lifted and set my sights on the gold standard for the age category below mine. I wolf down the pork pie in anticipation of the cramp biting me somewhere on the 21 hairpins ahead and get busy.
Let’s be honest - it’s torture. Despite absolutely hundreds of cheering fans down the bottom, sitting outside their cars and motor homes – waving, applauding and giving you an incredible feeling as you pass – its torture. The bottom is the worst – with long steep drags before you even GET to bend 21 and start ticking off the hairpins. I’m inching up at between 5 and 7mph and despite this passing loads of riders. I’m also being passed by dozens of other pedaling impossibly high-cadences and dancing up the hill – simply able to put out much greater power than me in similar gears.
But I can only think about getting to the top – I get a bottle of water down the back at the church on bend 16 which helps loads and I target ‘Dutch Corner’ the church slightly above half way as a point at which I stop briefly, stretch out to alleviate the onset of cramp, throw down an energy gel and get back in there. At this point you can actually see the village of Alpe d’Huez about 6km up above and that alone provides a big lift. On the exposed upper slopes the bends are quite far apart but I arrive at bend number one and make the final turn for the steep final climb through the town. The bars lining the road are packed with spectators and riders who have finished, drinking beer and getting really animated in cheering you home. There’s a surreal final few moments as the route takes you through some totally deserted back streets of the town, really it was completely silent and devoid of people, then you round a final corner and all hell breaks loose.
It’s a riot of noise and colour, thousands of people pack the town square, bikes everywhere, bands playing, dogs barking, MCs shouting over mics, food tents shoveling buckets of pasta around and gallons of energy drink coming out of standpipes. Keith is thankfully there to offer support and when I recover we sidle over to the finishing line to wait for the others and hand out drinks, as riders have to spend a few minutes in a suntrap when waiting to cross the timing mats.
You see some sights here – people collapsing sideways off their bikes with cramp, throwing up over the barriers, paramedics pulling oxygen masks over people’s heads, but generally it’s an atmosphere of huge relief and mass celebration. Aoden is next in, bedecked with customary camelback and looking every inch someone who shouldn’t be able to ride as quick as he does. Apples doesn’t look too bad, Michelle has gone well inside her gold standard and enjoyed it despite the pain. But the longer we wait the more distressed the faces of the finishers get. Ages later Guy Andrews of Rapha comes in, miles outside his predicted schedule and looking awful – ‘disaster’ is all he can mutter as he accepts a cup. Simon Richardson is even worse “really bad day†he confirms “went all wrong after we saw you n Glandon.†This is what the Marmotte can do to you if you get it wrong – these boys have recently been decent first-cat racers. Their schedule is now down the swanny and I can’t imagine how they’re going to feel on tomorrow’s Etape.
Speaking of decent racers – we wait and wait and wait but there’s no sign of the great Marek Siwicki. Eventually, darkness approaching, keith texts him and gets a curt two word reply. Seems he suffered the ultimate indignity and got passed by a one-armed hand-cyclist on a recumbent going up Alpe d’Huez – but we’ll let him tell his side of the story.
I did 8hrs.36mins in the end which did indeed get me a gold in my age category and the youngster’s 30-39 category below mine so got to be pleased with that. Now that I know what’s coming I reckon I can lop 30 mins off that next year but probably not match Keith’s impressive 7hrs 54 (bloody kids).
7245 calories which I’m still trying to replace.
Food: 1 Go Bar, 1 pork Pie, 2 slices of salami, 2 bananas, 5 Go Gels
Fantastic weekend and I’m gong back. Oh Yes. We drove down the hill to go home at around 7.30 and there were hundreds of riders yet to make the ascent of Alpe d’Huez so some were staring down the barrel of 14 hours riding, ouch!
with a peek out the curtains at beautiful blue skies. We crammed in as many carbs down our necks as quick as possible and did a cool and quick descent from Alpe D'Huez where we were staying, down to the start on the valley floor below in Bourg D'Oisans.
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