A Cancer Survivor's Journey to Find Peace on a Bike
Author: barrysherry
I love cycling. I hate cancer. I love to climb big mountains but I am more enthusiastic than talented (with apologies to Will). I've ridden in the Pyrenees, Alps, and Dolomites. I've climbed Mount Evans, Colo (twice) and raced in the Mount Washington Auto Road Bicycle Hillclimb (nine times).
In the end, it was a rough day. It was a small group that attended this event perhaps kept away by cool, wet weather. The temperature was in the high 50s and there was rain on the first part of the route.
Rest Stop #1
Of the three routes on the Rappahannock Rough Ride, the 60-mile ride being the longest, riders were loosely lined up at the start with the longer distance riders at the front. When we rolled out there was a group of four, me, then perhaps 10-12 more riders.
The group of four was about 200 meters in front of me for the first half mile or so and I decided to bridge up to them. That worked well. A group of five. In the first 4-5 miles I pulled a lot then moved over to sit back. We stayed together although the shark’s teeth profile was challenging — just a series of ups and downs, nothing too long, just short steep climbs.
After averaging almost 19 mph for the first 15 miles I lost contact with my group on one of the hills and was caught by eight other riders. They went by me too.
Rest Stop #1
Then in the next mile, I caught and passed them and joined up with my original group. Strange how this happened. I didn’t turn myself inside out to get back up to the front. Just riding at my pace, so I thought, I rejoined them. The body reacts so strangely sometimes.
We stopped at rest stop one (of two) and got soaked from the steady rain.
Ready to roll, I headed out on my own and thought I rode 20 miles without seeing another rider, front or back. I knew I was on course because of the road markings, the occasional volunteer I’d see at an intersection, and my GPS had been uploaded with the course from last year.
Near Hume, I stopped to take a picture of a house I’d like to own and was passed by four riders who had probably been gaining on me the entire time.
Pretty nice house I’d say
After the Marriott Ranch rest stop, it seemed a number of us rolled out together although on the first hill my chain came off the inner ring, and turning around to pedal it back into place was enough to make me lose contact. I soloed home after that.
Marriott Ranch Rest Stop
I was tired and sore and just not feeling the same as I did last year. I checked my Garmin stats and confirmed, I was slower than last year. A lot. Riding time last year was 3:20 while this year it was 3:40 despite riding the first third of the course at almost 20 mph. Maybe I went out too fast. I did go out fast.
This was the fifth timed course that I rode this year that I could compare to last year. Beginning with SkyMass in the spring, then the Air Force Crystal Ride, Mount Washington Auto Road Hillclimb, then the Civil War Century, I have been slower on each and every event.
I can understand being slower on one or two but not all five. This is very discouraging. Father Time knows where I live and has found me.
CONFUSED AND A LITTLE BIT DAZED, I AM CONTEMPLATING MY FUTURE IN THIS RACE.
“The U.S. also has a select group of climbs that are among the most difficult in the world including Onion Valley Road in California, several Hawaiian giants, unique in that they gain up to and beyond 10,000 vertical feet of continuous climbing, and the incomparable Mount Washington in New Hampshire, which may be the toughest of them all.” – The Complete Guide to Climbing (Summerson)
I’m not sure what is next. Each year I did this race it was with a reason. In 2007 (canceled) then 2008 my goal was simply to climb the mountain. I did that but really suffered.
In 2009 I wanted to try it one more time with easier gearing. But I went while battling cancer.
Last year I wanted to go back cancer-free. And I did.
After last year’s ride, I told the event director, Mary Power, that I thought it was my last time up the mountain. She asked why. I told her she did not know how hard it was to drag one’s butt up that mountain. She said not to make that decision right away but wait until February 1. On February 1 I signed up for this year.
As the race got closer I got thinking that this would be it. It definitely would be it if I didn’t improve my time. Each year my time got marginally faster and with riding last month in France, especially climbing the Col du Tourmalet, Mont Ventoux, and Alpe d’Huez, I thought I might get a little bit faster. I resigned myself to the time that when I didn’t improve I would retire from this climb.
Entrance to Mount Washington Auto Road (as you exit)
My time did not improve. In fact, it was my worst time ever, 20 seconds worse than 2008 when I had normal gearing and crashed. At least then I lost at least 3-4 minutes in the crash with getting straightened up and walking 100 yards past a steep dirt section to get going again.
I’m not sure if I can retire when I sucked this bad.
I am trying to make sense of some factors that may have affected my time.
I weigh about 10 pounds heavier than last year
I did not ride the day before the race
Crappy breakfast at the Hampton Inn at 6:00 a.m.
Forgot my gels for the race
Screwed up the Garmin and had no sense of pace
Warmer than usual on the mountain
On the riders’ forum the night before I had met a rider who needed a ride. I told Jennisse Schule that we would meet at the tent at 7:30 a.m. After gathering Jennisse’s belongings, Cheri headed up the mountain and I decided to go for a warm-up ride.
Jennisse Schule
These things I don’t know about. Does it help me or hurt me to do a climb or ride 5-6 miles before this event? I rode seven but they were easy. I think.
It was then I realized I didn’t bring any food. Though tearing open a packet of gel is a difficult task on the bike on this climb, even ingesting one right before the race would have helped.
I was in the last group to go. We left at five-minute intervals. First the reds, then the yellows, followed by blue, purple, then green. I was nearly at the back of the green. Starting dead last. Again.
There was a pretty quick sorting out on the mountain. I seemed to fall in at the back of the split in our group.
It is tough. It is effin tough. The road is steep in the first two miles and the legs hurt. Breathing is heavy and you see riders falling. The mountain teases you to continue. The mind begs you to quit.
By the end of two miles, it seemed that no one was passing me. And I wasn’t passing too many people except for 23 people I saw off their bikes walking or resting. Occasionally I would pass someone who was pedaling.
The dirt section always haunts me since it was here that I crashed in 2008. I tell myself to remain seated so the rear wheel doesn’t spin out but the road seems packed hard enough to allow me to stand in a couple of sections.
Dirt Section (headed down after the race)
At Six-mile Curve the road really turns up. I remembered a sharp and steep curve but not the hill that follows.
The last couple of miles I passed a number of riders. Not quickly, but just slowly clawed my way past them.
Six-Mile Curve
In the second mile, I intended to press the “lap” button on my Garmin to record when I first stood while pedaling. Instead, I unknowingly pressed stop on the GPS unit completely ruining my recording of the race. Damn. I didn’t realize this until one mile later when I tried to check the percent grade of the section I was on and I saw it wasn’t recording.
At first, I was very disappointed in myself but then realized that it left me free to ride without thinking about elapsed time. Just pedal.
I felt pretty good for not having eaten in almost five hours and not having nutrition on the bike. Still, when I reached Mile 7 I checked the time and saw it was already 10:30 or so. I knew I was toast although how bad I wasn’t sure.
I turned the corner to the 22% wall and at first, stood then sat to climb it. I saw the time – 2:11 and about threw up. Although I started 20 minutes last I knew 1:51 was what I did three years ago. Oh well.
Approaching the finish line resigned with a crappy time
I stood one more time. For the camera. Then I crossed the finish line, collected my medal and blanket although I really didn’t need the blanket. The high temperature reached 59° (15 C) and it seemed almost hot on the summit.
Almost at the top
Cheri parked as second to last car in so we were the second car from the parking lot down the mountain. And first in the Harts Turkey Farms food line.
We weren’t able to stay long at the post-race ceremony because we had to drive to Allentown, Pa. for the night. But the contemplation begins. Can I end my run of Mt. Washington rides with such a bad time? I have until February 1 to make a decision but I think I will be back for one more.
Last year I biked from Somerset to Punxsutawney on consecutive weekends for family reunions. The lowlight was being attacked by Rottweilers and it has always made for some scary riding since. And the truth is, I have avoided that section of road ever since.
Today was a near-perfect day. Rain at the very start (I didn’t say it was a perfect day), cool enough to be comfortable although the sun eventually came out around Johnstown.
Coming out of Davidsville on Pa. Rte 403 there is a wonderful three-mile descent. The grade averages 6-7% and one can simply coast. In preparation for Mount Washington, I had removed the big ring off my bike so there was no pushing the speed to extreme heights. Traffic was light and respectful until some jerk came up behind me and laid on the horn. After he passed we approached a light and he stopped. He was very angry. He reached over to wind down his window (loser) and started screaming. “GET OFF THE F___ING ROAD!” I smiled and asked him why he was so angry. Just another day in the paradise of riding.
Arriving Johnstown I was passed by a large truck, slightly smaller than a dump truck. Just after passing me, it rounded a curve and a large piece of rebar came flying off the truck, crashing to the sidewalk and smashing into a telephone pole. A few seconds earlier that would have been me. Ouch.
In Johnstown, I passed Coney Island Hot Dogs. It was 8:30 a.m. I looked in the window and thought maybe they’d be serving breakfast but I saw a worker serving hot dogs. Who eats hot dogs at 8:30 a.m.? People in Johnstown, that’s who.
Conemaugh River Valley outside of Johnstown
The climb out of Johnstown on Pa. Rte 271 was nice. I could hear trains creeping in the valley. The cool air still enjoyable.
Twin Rocks
I followed 271 through Mundys Corners, Nanty-Glo, Twin Rocks, and Belsano Shortly after Belsano, I tried a new route – Snake Road. I thought at first it was named for serpents it soon became apparent that it was named for the way it snakes through the forest.
I came back to 271 and at Nicktown, followed it to Northern Cambria. I wasn’t going to take the shorter route through Marstellar and risk seeing those dogs again.
After Northern Cambria, I stayed on Rte 219 despite the warnings a bridge was out three miles ahead at Emeigh. It was. I simply took my bike and walked over it.
Bridge out on 291
After Cherry Tree, I used the Garmin for the first time to direct me. Each time I ride through here I seem to take different roads and I found some today. Once I got to Smithport, I knew exactly where I was going but there was one problem. Fresh oil/tar on the road. The last four miles had the tar and chip surface. Gravel is not a friend of road bikes and neither is tar. I arrived but the bike wasn’t in such good shape.
The worse sign a cyclist can see
Outside of the messy tar, it was a very enjoyable day on the bike. And no dogs.
Reunion Photo – Kay Walborn (far left), next to Barry Sherry
I began the day having to find the beach and swim in the Mediterranean. Monday on Alpe d’Huez and today would be the only two really nice weather days I had in France.
I found the beach and went for a brief swim. The water was much colder than I expected. It was the Mediterranean Sea, after all.
I parked along a beach access road and decided I would follow a bike path to the town I could see about 4-5 miles away. I followed the path until it came to a small town and then to a harbor.
I turned and went back and flew right past the car without realizing it. The path ended and I entered a town and spent 30-40 minutes wandering about the small beach town, enjoying seeing the carnival atmosphere and wondering where in the heck I was.
I was lost. I stayed in the town looking for a way out and couldn’t find any. Three or four times I thought I found an exit only to be fooled. The entire time I had believed that that I was on the right beach road but had yet to come back to the car. Along the beach with hundreds of cars parked along the road, they tend to all look alike. I finally decided that I had passed the car so I would have to turn around and find it.
I remember a private tent or building on the beach and could spot it in the distance. I went by it and figured I was close to the car.
I passed the car. I didn’t see it.
I just went by the car again. Two kids on bikes were on the bike path, which was next to the road, blocking my path and laughing. They were about 11-12 years old and were challenging me to a race. I didn’t know French but I knew they wanted to race. I guess all Frenchmen race. I gestured back and pointed to my grey hair. They continued.
Then I came to an opening in the barrier which separated the bike path from the road. I went through the opening and just took off. The kids never had a chance. I was gone.
Inside I laughed but I still had to find the car. I soon realized I had been here before, turned around, and found the car. Thoughts of spending extra time in France because I lost the rental car now left me. I drove on to Toulouse.
At the airport Novotel I watched the TdF on French TV. Then I went to return the rental car to the airport. I removed everything from the car except my bike as I would bike back. I followed the signs to the airport and a big “oh shit” moment hit me. I didn’t have the car’s Garmin with its French maps. And I was on a limited access highway that did not permit bikes. I hoped it wasn’t far but soon went 7 km and made many turns then three or four roundabouts. And there was no way I could find my hotel using surface streets. And it was getting dark.
When the women working at Hertz couldn’t help me I went inside the airport to the information counter and called the hotel and had them come pick me up. I took the wheels off and sheepishly put the bike in the hotel van. What a way to end cycling in France.
Back at the hotel I carefully packed the bike and then my two suitcases. My 4:30 a.m. wake up call would come soon. And although I was first on the shuttle at 5:30 a.m., I needed all that time to catch my 7:30 a.m. flight to Madrid. Only once I boarded the plane could I really relax.
In the airport at Madrid I was in my comfort zone. After all, Ashley and I ran through this airport one year ago only to miss our international flight by five minutes. Or less. I got this.
I found the Iberia Business Class lounge with their wonderful spread of free food. What a nice way to end this trip.
This is the best ice cream in the world.
I came to France thinking that I would ride perhaps 500 miles. I rode 276. But I did climb up the famous Col du Tourmalet, Mont Ventoux, and Alpe d’Huez. Now I don’t know if I will ever return. I hope I do but if I don’t I have great memories, both with Trek Travel last year and with my solo venture this year.
It was cold and rainy at the Col du Lautaret which is the last Col before Galibier. I knew my options were to either climb Galibier in absolutely miserable weather without knowing if more snow was falling like yesterday, or to go over to Italy and ride the climb to Sestriere and watch the Tour go by. So I left.
I figured I didn’t really need to climb the highest finishing climb in the Tour de France (2645 m, 8678 ft) in these conditions. Besides, I have climbed America’s highest paved road, Mt. Evans, Colorado (4300 m, 14,000 ft). Take that, France!
I borrowed a spoke tool from Trek Travel on the Tourmalet and returned it here
I got so chilled yesterday I didn’t want to risk doing it again, especially with a 5-hour drive ahead of me. On Sunday, 200 cyclists had to be rescued off Galibier when the snows blew in and they weren’t prepared. I left Lautaret in the cold rain and first drove down towards Briançon and saw many cyclists headed up the mountain.
Partway down the mountain I abandoned the idea of watching this stage of the Tour in Italy. I knew traffic coming back through Briançon would be a nightmare and I was just too tired to stay that late. Garmin’s ETA was never close to reality in the Alps because the roads are not conducive to traveling 90 kmh which is what Garmin uses to calculate time.
If I could do it over I would have stayed one more night in the Alps (tonight) then used tomorrow as an all-day drive day (7-8 hours). Or paid more for a connecting flight from Grenoble instead of returning from Toulouse.
When I turned around to head back to Montpellier I went back up the mountain. I saw many of the same cyclists I passed headed back down. I think they realized how nasty the conditions would be.
On the way back to Bourg d’Osians I saw and talked with one of the riders from Evolution Cycling Club in Reston. Seems they had a group of six riders here this week.
Turtle. I remember him from a group ride two years ago.
Near Grenoble I saw a man fixing a flat (bike) in the rain. I did a U-turn and pulled up with a floor pump. He knew no English but gestures said it all. He was happy to have someone stop with a real pump.
Just helped this Frenchman by lending him my floor pump
So I left the Alps behind today and am now on the Mediterranean coast of France in Montpellier. I am staying in a 15th century building. A Best Western.
Actually, my room was part of the old butcher shop.
This entrance is just to the right of the main entrance to the hotel
I went for an afternoon ride trying to find the sea but couldn’t. How big is it anyway if I can’t find it?
I’m sure close but don’t know the connecting roads
On the map it appears that I was close but so far away. It looks like only a highway which does not permit bikes, crosses over to the beaches. I’m probably wrong.
Montpellier is the fifth largest city in France. Not sure why I wanted to come to a city. With tram construction and a traffic pattern that predates city blocks, it is pretty difficult to navigate. It gave both my car Garmin and my bike Garmin fits trying to route me to my hotel. But it is a nice city.
Interesting grass in the trolley tracks
Reflecting, I climbed the Tourmalet, to the summit this year, and from both sides as I went down to the point I had come up from the other side last year. I got chased by the Devil. Twice. And cows. And llamas. I climbed Mont Ventoux in 50 mph winds at the summit. And I climbed Alpe d’Huez. That’s a pretty complete week.
Last year when I signed up for the Trek Travel tour of France I was glad to bike Pla d’Adet, Aspin, Tourmalet, Azet, and Peyresourde. But I always felt that I haven’t been to France until I biked up Alpe d’Huez. Now I have.
This has been a great trip although I have ridden far less than I planned as I have driven far more than I planned. But the great climbs made it worth it even if I left one on the table. It can stay there.
My trip last year was my cancer recovery/celebration tour. That trip to France was part about the cycling and part about the viewing of the Tour de France. We had one major climb on that trip – the Col du Tourmalet. Of the 18 kilometers to the top, we climbed 14, having been stopped four km from the top. On two days, no less, once from each side.
This year’s trip was all about the climbing. I had four bucket list climbs to achieve: (1) Col du Tourmalet; (2) Mont Ventoux; (3) Alpe d’Huez; and (4) Col du Galibier. Having accomplished the first three, I needed only the Galibier.
La Grave is just 17 miles up the road (literally) from Le Bourg d’Oisans, the base of Alpe d’Huez. I stayed at the Hotel Castillan, an older hotel with a great view of the glacier across the road. The rooms were cheap – even cheaper if you got one without a private bath. They did have common shower areas (men’s and women’s). While the hotel wasn’t a 4-star hotel in accommodations, the staff was wonderful.
The glacier view from my room in La Grave
I chose La Grave as it would be a great starting location for my bike ride up the Col du Galibier. However, last night I checked the weather forecast and it did not look good. The high temperature for La Grave was forecast to be just 10℃ (50℉) with rain, heavy at times, moving in about noon. Up to one inch of rain was forecast. La Grave, at 1,135 meters (3,724 feet) is significantly lower than the Col du Galibier which sits at 2,642 meters (8,668 feet).
I got breakfast at the hotel, packed my bags, then checked out. I grabbed my warmer cycling clothes. I had only brought summer riding gear with some spring/fall accessories. I did not bring winter riding gear.
Depending on which direction one crosses the Galibier, one has to first summit the Col du Telegraph or the Col du Lautaret. From La Grave, it would be the Lautaret. At 9:53 a.m., I started my ride. I was cool, or cold, but dry. That would not last.
The roads to the summits at Lautaret and Galibier were both open
Light rain started almost immediately as I left La Grave. At 4 km I thought about doing the prudent thing and turning back. But I didn’t. I also knew that I was climbing the entire time so my return time would be four to five times as quickly once I made the decision.
I kept climbing and the weather kept getting worse. The winds and rain both picked up and it was cold. On the Tour de France broadcast later that day the announcers on EuroSport were saying it was the worst weather they had ever seen for the Tour. And they weren’t on the climb to the Galibier.
A van from Thomson Tours passed me and pulled over. When I reached the van the driver asked me if I needed anything but I politely declined. I always remembered his kind act. I wasn’t part of his tour or any tour and he just stopped to offer assistance.
A summit sign for my collection
I sensed I was getting near the summit and I saw many campers pulled over in anticipation of Thursday and Friday’s stages which will go through here. I saw a camper with a Colorado flag. I had seen it on the slopes of the Tourmalet and then met the owner (renter) of it in St. Gaudens. With rain coming down hard and cold too, no one was stepping outside to say hello.
I continued 1,000 meters to the top then stopped and took a picture. Although I had a full jacket, arm warmers, Under Armour, full-length gloves, shoe covers, and leg warmers, I was freezing. These were not my winter clothes.
It was decision time. The rain seemed colder and I was soaked. I knew the farther up I climbed the worse my descent would be. And I became concerned for my safety. I turned around. Once I started downhill, I could not wait for the descent to end.
I was freezing as I was cold and soaked. Shaking at times, I descended as fast as I could to get back to La Grave. Of course, the faster one goes the colder it gets from the wind chill but the sooner one gets back to the start. I had a hard time controlling the bike I was shaking so much. The roads were wet and treacherous and there were many switchbacks. Once I reached the tunnel that goes into La Grave I felt a sense of relief.
In La Grave, I went back to the hotel, and although I had already checked out, I grabbed a clean towel from their cleaning cart and ducked into an open shower stall. I quickly got out of my soaking wet clothes and changed to dry clothes. I did not stop shaking for 40 minutes.
Still very cold but dry, I got in the car and decided to drive up to the Galibier. I figured that may be the only way I would ever see the summit. I knew the rain was very cold as it was hitting me but didn’t realize how cold it was until it hit the windshield. The raindrops were forming a splat pattern. This was snow.
I normally don’t make wise decisions when riding, especially when I’m tired. But today was one of my wisest. I was thankful that I made the decision to turn back.
On my drive to my next hotel, which was at the summit of the Col du Lautaret, I had been so cold I didn’t even notice that I had just biked to it. Back at the summit of the Lautaret, I decided to keep going up the road to Galibier. The snow was falling heavily and the road was soon covered. Driving an unfamiliar car with a stick shift, I was getting scared just being on this road. I looked for a spot to turn around but any open space was already occupied by campers. So I drove carefully to the summit.
I saw one guy on a bike trying to make it up but on my way down I didn’t see him. He must have wisely turned around or gone over the edge. Hopefully, he turned around. While it would have been hard pedaling up in the wind and 2″ of snow on the road, it would have been far worse descending.
I never want to be defeated by a climb but was sure happy I didn’t attempt this. Foolish and perhaps deadly.
I made it to the summit of the Col du Galibier, but not the way I would have chosen.
Snow Col du Galibier – July 11, 2011
I came to France to ride the Col du Tourmalet, Mont Ventoux, and maybe more than anything else, Alpe d’Huez. Anything else, including Col du Galibier, is just icing on the cake. I don’t need more icing.
While some pictures of me and my bike at the summit of Galibier would have been nice, perhaps it is a better story to tell of the day I was turned back by snow. July 19, 2011.
The first, and probably last, beautiful day I have had in France. Forty-seven degrees (9 C) at the start, Brian Hutchins and I rolled downhill from our chalet for about six miles to the base of the climb in Le Bourg d’Olsans.
Bridge behind our Chalet – Raging small river
The climb is beautiful. There are 21 hairpin curves and each is marked with a sign. On the signs are the names of one of the winners of a stage of the Tour de France that finished at the summit. The lower section seemedis steeper than the upper section. The contour is basically a ramp to a switchback which is flat, followed by the next ramp.
Morning in the Alps
We passed many cyclists and got passed by many. Probably got passed by a few more than we passed. They cheat.
A view of the valley from the Alpe
Near the top, they were setting up barricades about 3km from the finish already. It was surreal to ride through them. Barricades. For us. And while it is still four days before the Tour comes by, every spot where one could stop and park a camper had already been claimed.
Campers on the inside of a switchback
At a curve in the village of Huez, was a large contingent of Dutch fans. This was the famous Dutch Corner. They had one week’s supply of beer and were already partying even though the race didn’t come through until Friday. They had their music BLASTING and were having a great time.
<--This way UP This way DOWN -->
Unlike the fans in the Pyrenees, very few fans on this Alp cheered as we went by. However, in contrast to even the Tourmalet, there may have been 100 times as many cyclists going up the Alpe. If they cheered everybody they would soon lose their voices.
Dutch Corner at Huez
Brian and I rode together most of the way, but once we got inside the barriers I went ahead and I reached the summit maybe 500 meters before he did. I’m not bragging or anything. For years Brian was one of the fastest players in our lunchtime Ultimate game on the Mall. He’s younger than me. He’s faster than me. But the truth is I ride a lot more than he does. And I wanted to get a photo.
Brian (L) Reaching the Summit – Actually the ski town
At the top, I was able to wait for him and get a picture of him coming to the summit. Maybe I should have let him go first and take my picture.
Finish line on Alpe d’Huez. Brian (L) and Barry (R)
Actually, it wasn’t the summit but the ski town. We would continue another kilometer through a tunnel and one more climb to the actual finish.
Lunch at the top. This was the restaurant where Brian and I ate lunch
After the climb we did a little shopping and went to lunch. Then came the fun descent back to the valley. Neither of us ripped it. We stopped at a few locations for photos and just to admire the view.
Barry climbing Alpe d’Huez
Col du Tourmalet (to the summit this year); Picture with the Devil; What the hell (I can say that), a second picture with the Devil; A TdF Route directional sign; Mont Ventoux; and now Alpe d’Huez. If I do nothing more in France, I will still be very happy.
EDIT – “Unless you’ve actually ridden up this climb on a bike you don’t realize how horrendous it is. It never gives up. It is relentless. And once you even get to the little town halfway up, the town Huez, it still goes up. What really smacks you in the face once you look up – you can see the chalets above us and say ‘Oh my goodness me do I have to go up there?'” – Paul Sherwen, July 25, 2015, NBCSN
I met two guys from West Chester, Pa. (near Philadelphia) in Bédoin, which is the little village before the base of the climb. We agreed to ride together until James and Brian decided that I (1) had already ridden too many climbs this trip, (2) was suffering from sleeping in the car last night and having no breakfast*, and (3) was much older than them. They had just arrived and were looking to follow the Tour de France. Too bad they didn’t wait for me because I had lots of useful tips. Philly fans.
Traffic circle outside Bédoin
So I started the climb on my own. It started raining part way up. Still, I was in short sleeves until I pulled on my vest with about 10km to go.
The lower wooded section is beautiful. Climbing higher I saw few riders but did pass one from Denmark. His wife was with him for support. She would pass, go ahead 200-300 meters, and then wait until he passed her. And then she would drive ahead.
Visibility near the top dropped to 10 meters. On the last turn to the summit, I was hit by 50 mph (80 kmh) winds which ripped my glasses right off my face. Goodbye glasses. The wind blew me across the road but I stayed upright, worried only about a descending car. Luckily there were none. It was empty up there.
Mont Ventoux
It was only about 50 meters more to the summit. I stayed at the summit no more than 2-3 minutes. I think severe hypothermia would probably set in by spending no more than an hour there. It was nasty on top. The temperature was probably 40 F (5 C) and the winds seemed to be sustained at about 50 mph.
I was content to take a picture of the summit sign but three women from Germany drove up as I was getting ready to leave and offered to take my picture. Thus I have photographic evidence of being there.
I was trying to lift my bike over my head but the winds were too strong
As I had climbed I had passed the memorial to Tom Simpson just a couple hundred meters from the top. I did not want to stop and lose momentum so I kept going. This memorial is to drugs, no? Tom was high on amphetamines and alcohol and pushed himself beyond the limit of his body and died on this mountain during the Tour de France. But yet, he’s a hero.
On the way down I stopped to take a photo. It seems like the thing to do is to donate a water bottle. I didn’t.
Barry at the Tom Simpson Memorial
A cyclist going up saw me taking a photo, stopped, and offered to take mine. He did and then I took his. I also gave him a push to help him clip in and get going again.
I thought he dressed like a turtle
Despite being dropped by my Philly friends, I was passed by four cyclists going up and I passed 17. On the descent, I was passed by no one and passed four more cyclists plus two cars. I was freezing on the descent (I did put on arm warmers), went through sleet then just pouring rain. I went as fast as I could safely go just to get down quickly.
Oh yea, Frenchmen must have a complex because they sure like to paint penises on the road quite a bit.
Tom Simpson Memorial
*I had made a reservation at a bed and breakfast near Mormion. There was no house number for a street address. Garmin got me close then had me go up a back alley that soon narrowed and wasn’t big enough for the car. I asked three different families who were walking and none seemed to no for sure where it was. Eventually, I found it, and took just my backpack to the door.
I used the door knocker. I heard a dog bark but that was it. They had a bell with a long rope. I pulled it repeatedly. No answer. I was scared. I was literally in a back alley.
I found my way to the main street and there was a pizza shop about to close with a couple sitting out front. I started talking to them and found out they were from England. He was kind enough to use his iPhone and call the place for me. Answering machine. He then sent an email. After 15 minutes the pizza shop closed and the owner went with me to the place. He too had no luck getting an answer.
I drove to the nearest major city, Carpentras. I found a Best Western that was about to close for the night (11:00p) and a sign on the door advertised they were full. I asked anyhow if they knew of other vacancies. The desk clerk told me that every hotel he knew was full since there was a festival in town.
I asked if he would be so kind as to let me log onto his WiFi and send my wife a message that I was OK since I hadn’t messaged her at all today. Of course, I was also scared to death but wouldn’t tell her that. He walked outside with me and secretly handed me a slip of paper with codes to the WiFi signal. He showed me the imaginary line where I would be outside of camera range because he would get in trouble if his boss saw him helping me. (True)
I thanked him, got my laptop as the rain started to fall lightly, then ducked in a protected area close enough but not able to be seen. I found the signal but could not connect. Damn shame.
I got in the car and started driving. I looked for “all lodging” on the GPS and it brought up campgrounds as well. I thought that might be an option. One was close and a bit secluded. I arrived and went through a security gate. I parked and explained my situation to a young man who quickly ran and got his sister because “her English is perfect.” It wasn’t, far from it compared to many people I met in France, but it was adequate. And it was 10 times better than my French. Her mother, the campground owner came over as well.
Campground
This campground was full. I offered to rent a site but they had none available. Then she asked if I had a tent. Well, no. All I was looking for was to park for the night and sleep in the car. Someplace safe from criminals and the police (in case it was somehow illegal).
They willingly agreed and offered me a blanket and pillow. And a shower. I declined all but the owner brought me a blanket anyhow. I’m glad she did.
Campground Owner in the morning
It wasn’t a relaxing sleep in the Fiat and morning came soon enough. I went to meet and thank the owners and this time there was a man there. I returned their blanket and couldn’t thank them enough.
He had fresh croissants delivered and I bought one for my breakfast then decided to drive to Bédoin rather than bike there because I was very unsure of the direction. Thus I had suffered from sleeping in the car last night and having no breakfast, save for a croissant, which is hardly the energy food for climbing such a mountain.
I saw a mountaintop pass of the Tour, I’ve been at the finish for another, and today would be a day to see a start stage. Stage 14 of the Tour de France is from Saint Gaudens to Plateau de Beille.
St. Gaudens, France
Adiran Register and I drove to St. Gaudens, parked, then used our bikes to try to find the team buses and sign-in. The streets were narrow and confusing but we eventually found a long line of buses. Much of the interior of the center city was blocked off for guests with private passes. VIPs.
Leopard-Trek Bus
We decided to hang out at the Leopard-Trek bus as Adrian Register has a “Shut Up Legs” t-shirt he tried to get autographed by Jens Voigt.
Bjarne Riis, Director
No one was coming out although a few people seemed to have good luck handing items to be sent in the R.V. and signed. By whom is the question.
Unlucky to get any autographs, once the riders departed for the stage start, we tried to get to the roll out. A number of “fans” saw Adrian in his full FDJ kit and wished him good luck. It was pretty cool that they thought he was a pro rider. No mistaking me for a pro rider though.
Tour de France Souvenirs
We missed the roll out, probably because we went in the opposite direction, but we followed the course for a few kilometers just stretching out our legs. Just as we were ready to turn back into town, I spotted it. A Tour route sign that had not been claimed.
I was not willing to take one down before they went by but this was on a signpost – right in front of two Gendarmes. I looked at Adrian and he looked an me and I knew I had my prized souvenir. Except we had nothing to remove it with. Adrian asked the Gendarmes if they had wire cutters. They didn’t. But removing a tool from my toolkit on my bike, and enough twisting and pulling, the wire holding it finally broke loose.
Adrian removing the TdF Route sign
I now have one of the prized signs. Vive le Tour! *
After the stage we drove back to St. Lary-Soulan and I said goodbye to Adrian while meeting his grandparents. Cool thing: As we pulled Adrian’s bike out of the car his grandmother grabbed the loose rear wheel and put it right on the bike.
Adrian with his grandparents
*UPDATE July 8, 2017 – Almost six years after acquiring my prized possession, I let it go. Rather than sit in a box in the basement, it deserves to be displayed.
My TdF sign in Purcellville
I took it to Bicycles and Coffee bike shop (and coffee) in Purcellville where everyone can see the sign.
Nicole was so appreciative she gave me a copy of her book, Under the French Blue Sky.
