Cycling: 2006 Etape Tour - Gap to L'Alpe D'Huez

Friday, July 14, 2006 - 07:37 PM

Race Report from France...

HI there.

I'm back from France and have attached my race report for those that care to read it. Quite exciting with crashes, broken bikes, super hot weather and killer long and high mountains. Everything a race should be. No??

So I wasn't planning on flying through the air at 40 plus kph and hitting the pavement only an hour or so into this almost 190km cycle race through the French Alps, but things happen you can't control in any race. Pace, nutrition and mental ability is all you have control over. Focus on keeping those under control as best you can and just deal with the rest. I'm pretty good at telling other people those words, especially those doing an Ironman. If could keep them straight in my head they were going to come in pretty handy on this hot day in July over in France. After plowing myself into the pavement on some road I should have found out the name of I figured I was going to need them.

Let's rerun though a few days to set the scene…..

July 6th - Ahhhh, finally laying my head down in bed. Got to the airport in Toronto for my flight to France and the 2006 E'tape Tour about 23 hours ago. After a flight to Manchester, a connection to Frankfurt and then a final flight to Lyon France I found myself looking for my bag which was delayed. Rats. I had my bike, but of course packed my pedals and wheel skewers in with my clothes and not my bike. Stupid.

The bus ride south from Lyon, France to Orzieres was pretty wild as the foothills loomed larger and larger en route to our destination. Arriving around midnight we were directed into a dining area and given dinner. I thought I was too tired and almost nautious to eat but forced myself to start eating as I am here for a race. Once I started though I realized how hungry I was and cleaned up my plate. Found my room and slid into bed. Ahhhhh. After trying to sleep on airplanes and airport lounges this little bunkbed was indeed heaven.

Saturday morning brought light and the realization that the mountains around here are frikking huge. Holy crap I've never seen anything like it. We have to cycle up those things??? Unfortuntely my pedals and skewers showed up that afternoon. I'm here to do the 2006 E'tape tour. A 188 km sufferfest over the 7800ft (elevation) Col D'Izoard, the 6800ft Col D'Lauteret and ending with a climb up the fabled 21 switchbacks of the 6100ft L'Alpe D'Huez. 12000 total feet of climbing over 85 kilometers of climbing up just three of the Col's (mountains) on the course. Closer to 15000 plus feet of climbing if you add in all the smaller rollers through the route. Yikes. The big guns doing the exact same route 1 week later as stage 15 of the Tour. Yeah, the Tour baby.

After a couple of days of registering and walking around the expo race day arrived. Hot and sunny. With around 8000 people in this cycle race it was more like a marathon, taking just over 20 minutes to cross the start line after the gun went off. Unfortunately with my late entry I was situated in the very back 7000-8000 corral. Good in a way as it would force me to go out easy and warm up before being able to press it. With that many people in the race there was no shortage of company along the route. There were constantly people around me the entire way.

An hour or so into it and I'm whipping down a pretty good hill at about 50kph plus and two guys go flying past me. The second of the two gets way too close to the guy about 13 feet in front of me, they tangle and both go down in a heap. Bike parts are flying as I jam on my brakes unable to go left for a guard rail and fairly hairy looking cliff and unable to go right due to all the other riders. Just before I hit them I release the brakes and try a bunny hop, but not too successfully. My front wheel catches something or someone and I go flying down the road, my bike tumbling after me. My first thought as I go flying through the air is that I realize I'm not a pro cyclist and can't pull off a stunt like at 40+kph (heck it was worth a try). And secondly, that Oh shit this is going to hurt. I've wiped out before and try to get as small as possible in the air, hitting my right elbow, shoulder, then right hip, lower back and right lower leg in pretty quick succession. A quick roll, or was that a bounce, onto my left hip and I somehow found myself up on my feet. A quick check for broken bones, none (will worry about road rash later) and I ran back up the road to the 'scene'. The other guys weren't looking too good though. The second of the two guys that passed seemed to be the son of the first guy and from where I was it looked like he caused the crunch getting way too close to the guy that was in front of me. The son's eyes were rolled back in his head and he was quivering but not moving much. The father was by his side by the time I managed to get my bearings and get back up the road. He was telling him in French not to move.

A race medical person arrived to take care of these two riders and indicated that an ambulance was on it's way. People coming down the hill still in the race were swerving wildly to avoid the debris in the road so I busied myself with the bike carnage that was littering the asphalt, dragging a bike frame with no forks or front wheel off the road and kicking water bottles out of the way of people screaming down the hill. By the time that was done I checked my bike and other than a missing seat, bike computer and a chain that needed rerouting everything looked fine.

After confirming it was ok that I left I rerouted my chain, found and reattached my seat (no idea where the bike computer went, likely flung into Germany), was back on my bike and riding hard. The next few downhills freaked me out as I realized I didn't give the bike a full check to make sure there were no cracked frame or wheel parts. I started thinking about things coming 'undone' as I careened down the many hills on the route, and I wasn't even at the mountains to come. Fortunately or unfortunately my seat became loose a few times through the ride and I was forced to stop and tighten the seat bolt which must have been stripped in the crash. I used the first tightening stop to check all the carbon and other bolts to make sure everything was sound and tight. The Kuota Ksano road frame I was using was fine, unlike my right elbow and shoulder which I tried not to look at for a while. Fortunately the Bentley Coaching gear took the brunt of the tearing action of the asphalt and the skin wasn't too damaged.

The crash took a lot of the punch out of my race plans and although I was able to work hard on the ascents I certainly took the time to look around and enjoy the amazing scenery. It was hard not too even when your heart rate was climbing with the elevation. The Col D'Izoard is the first real climb of the race and rises 4800 ft over 40km and climbs up past the treeline into an arid moonscape. The severity of the slope is dizzying as you look down at the snaking line of riders coming up the Col behind you.

The top of the Col D'Izoard was the second of only three aid stations on the whole 188km course and it was a zoo. The first station was located on an uphill at the base of the D'Izoard and brought the field to a complete standstill. I wasn't planning on stopping at this first aid station as I was a supreme tri geek and had my rear water bottle carriers full of bottles along with two in the frame and a full hammer gel bottle in my rear centre pocket of my snappy Bentley Coaching bike Jerse. However the crash did a great job of spraying my water bottles all over the road and grinding a hole in the bottom of the gel bottle as I landed on my back during the crash. So I took advantage of the forced stop and filled the two bottles I was able to find after the crash. About 15 minutes after getting stopped at this 1st aid station I was on my way.

At the top of the Col D'Izoard and the second aid station though I had to stand in line in a scene reminiscent of a refugee shelter, begging for water with 100s of other racers pressing against the back of a semi truck. I finally got some water after getting fed up waiting and almost jumped into the back of the truck to get enough water to fill my two bottles. I walked back to my bike and had a gel to give me the energy to maneuver down the descent of the Col with some semblance of control. The effects of the crash and the first climb finally caught up to me as the gel I took to get me down the hill put me over the edge and I walked over to a stone wall and promptly threw up. Twice. The second time really hurt. Argghhh. I need to lay down as I think I feel a bit faint. I found a nice quiet area on a grassy little meadow away from the confusion of the aid station area and laid down for a nap in the sun. Not sure if it was a nap or passing out from the combined effects of the day so far, but needless to say I was out for a good 20-30 minutes, a first for me in any race. Not that I haven't felt like doing it before though mind you.

The descent was as hard going down as the ascent was going up, with the addition of extreme fear kicking in to boot. The Euros are fearless. I saw three separate ambulances on that first big descent all tending to people that had careened off the edge of the road. There were also a lot of people on all the descents with flats, some pretty banged up looking. The roads were pristine so I can only think that the flats were caused from the hot ambient temperatures (well over 30 degrees C on this descent) as well as the heating of rims from braking during so much on the descents. I took note of that and really tried to limit my ongoing braking to the rear wheel with only occasional emergency braking with the front wheel. I don't mind a rear wheel flat wrt control rifling down a mountain, having a front wheel blow out at those speeds is another matter. Guys I was there with recorded speeds of close to 100kph plus going down that descent. Fearless. My hands, arms and shoulders were on fire at the base of the climb from the braking.

Even though there were only three aid stations for the whole race there were a lot of natural springs and glacier meltwater waterfalls lining the route. Stopping occasionally to fill up a water bottle with ice cold meltwater was a real treat. The second climb up the relatively gradual 2800 ft 30km long Col D'Lauteret was only difficult due to it's position in the course and a prevailing headwind. Other than that it was a gem of a climb as I pulled a cosmopolitan group of riders up the Col, intent on making up for my nap and my ***** descent. The 40 km descent from the top of the Col D'Lauteret was a delight as you could feel the air temp heating up through the descent to prepare for the climb up the L'Alpe D'Huez. Unable to take in any more gels for the last couple of hours I made due with chewing on a package of figs I found on the ground at the second aid station. I'm not sure if I would have been able to take any more gels but no matter as the hole that was ground through the bottle of my gel bottle during my crash allowed the majority of the gel to leak out all over the bottom bracket of my bike. It's now like a coating of glass on the carbon bike frame after air drying in the sun, heat and wind all day. One more stop at the aid station at the base of the final climb to try to get a bit of extra fuel into my body in the form of some orange slices and I was on my way.

I heard the first 3km of the 14 km ascent to finish of the race was extreme with the average gradient through those opening kms at 10-12% with some portions to almost 15%. It didn't disappoint.

By the time I had started the final climb it had been almost 8 hours since I had started the race. I had crashed once, thrown up twice from being a suck, had a nap, feared for my life going down two mountain passes, chewed on figs over the last couple of hours for fuel and was forced to stop at mountain springs for water to stay hydrated through the heat of the day. The ascent up L'Alpe D'Huez was going to be tough and I knew it. The temperature was 38+ degrees with not a cloud in the sky and boy was it rough. I did pass a tonne of people on the climb, getting my effort to what felt like the low 150s. My HRM stopped picking up a signal just as I got to the final climb, likely a good thing. Sometimes it's better not to know. The climb was lined with racers who had climbed off their bikes and were slumped at the side of the road waiting for some energy and resolve to creep back into their body so they could continue. Strangely seeing those on the side of the road just gave me more energy to continue.

Each of the 21 switchbacks on L'Alpe D'Huez are marked with a number starting at 21 and declining as you roll through the corners to #1 up near the top. The names of tour greats were already spray painted onto the road in anticipation of this year's stage 15 only 7 days away with people already looking like they were there to stake out their spot for the great day to come. On this day though they were watching us pretenders grind our way up the Alpe in stifling heat after riding 180 km over some intense terrain. The carnage must have been quite entertaining. One thing that stands out so clearly was the silence out on the entire course.

Apart from the spectators out on the final climb and scattered throughout the villages on the race, the racers themselves were very internal and reserved. I had a brief conversation with a German I pulled up the Lauteret
(before he dusted me on the descent), and chatted briefly with some friends I went over with when I saw them out on the course, but other than that we were a pretty quiet bunch. Likely saving every last bit of energy we could for what we were quickly realizing was a truly brutal day. Glorious, but brutal.

In that heat and after that many hours of racing, the climb up the final Alp was amazingly hard. I had a compact crank set put on my bike before the race (but was unfortunately not able to get my new love ergomo wattmeter installed before I left for the trip I ordered it for the road bike too late) and had a 34-27 helping me up the hill. I was in that first gear almost the entire way with the exception of the times where I would drop down a gear or two, stand up (pray that my quads wouldn't cramp) and press harder for a change of pace.

I had sweat streaming off my forehead whenever I would tilt my head up to look up the road, quickly using up the two water bottles I had left that I filled up at the last aid station. Through drinking and pouring water over my back and burning quads it disappeared pretty quickly.

The natural waterfalls on the side of the mountain were glorious. I stopped twice on the climb to briefly hop of my bike, fill up 1 or 2 bottles with ice water and hop back on, quickly catching back anyone that had just passed me and pressing on to the top. I would have loved to have done the climb without stopping at all but with the heat thought the safest route would be to ensure I kept cool and hydrated.

The scenery was stunning as I climbed higher up the mountain. I couldn't believe how high we had climbed yet I was only a third of the way up the 21 switchbacks. I looked straight up the face of the mountain and could see the cyclists above me crossing back and forth across the face, unbelievably high above. I can't believe how steep and hard this mountain is. It was amazing. I was dying to crank up the intensity and see how fast I could go up this road, but the 180+ kms already in my legs had a different idea. It was all I could do to turn my legs over at times but the feeling of being on this road, in that heat, after riding that long, after crashing, descending, getting sick, passing out and grinding my way up this frigging mountain with my back, arms and shoulders now aching increasingly as much as my legs from the effort of the day, was such a glorious pain it was surreal.

All I wanted to do was press on and ride as fast as I could, not so much to get it over with as quickly as possible, but so I could see just how hard I could push myself. I couldn't help but love the experience and drink in every painful wonderful moment of every second of that final ascent. The images of pain, resignation and determination I could see on those around me (and likely myself) as well as the images of the mountain above and below me will most certainly stay with me forever. It was easily the best and worst cycling experience of my life. But surely the best because there was so much bad in it.

Finally turn #1 appears and I'm thinking I'm there. Success at last. You've got to be kidding me. A sign - Summit 2 km's and we're still climbing. This is unbelievable. A few more determined minutes though and the finish line appears. I'm over and I made it.

All the four friends I went over with finished as well, 2 just ahead (Spencer Lavis and John Ramsell) along with a third friend from the UK (Mark D'Angela) and 2 just behind (Mark Gilbert and Brian McGee). Of the 150 people in the tour group we were a part of though approximately 60 didn't finish and of those that started the whole race less than 5500 finished. It was quite the day.

My total time was about 9:20 with the climb up the final 14km of L'Alpe D'Huez taking a bit more than 1:20 of that. And oh yeah, I'll be back. The cycling, scenery, experiences and culture are just too incredible not to return to. Anyone up for a training camp in France next summer?? I'll be there.


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