As I negotiated my way through luggage restrictions at Gatwick North Terminal, including being overly breezy with the disgruntled man in oversized baggage, I was beginning to get that zing of excitement that only comes with knowing that in a few hours time I’ll be riding my bike on proper mountains.
The Alps, to be precise, on the Haute Route to be exact - a week-long event that takes in some of the toughest and most legendary climbs known to a bicycle, and even though I would actually be doing only three days of that week, it was enough to get me going.
The organisers politely call this smaller Haute Route trip a ‘compact’, and seeing as some riders at the event are also taking part in the other two versions of the event in the Dolomites and the Pyrenees, back-to-back in a three week long cycling extravaganza, three days seems fairly soft. This was fine by me, this is a race over some of the toughest roads in France. Soft is a relative term.
Arriving Saturday afternoon in Nice, riders were greeted by weather that has made the region famous - the Cote d’Azure glistened as the plane deftly swung onto the runway that sits at the edge of the Mediterranean.
Whisked off to the race village, the business end of the trip becomes immediately apparent. Situated on the beach front and catering for 600 riders, there is a frantic energy that you only find at mass participation bike races. With bikes being built, race numbers being collected and instructions for the evening’s activities being announced on the main stage, the Haute Route immediately provides all the drama you’d want from an event like this.
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The course for the first stage was laid bare at the rider briefing that evening; 125km which needed to be covered in a maximum of 8h 15m it just went to show you what kind of day it could be (of course, some people do it in just over three hours, but they’re more than likely to be one of the ex-pros that turn up to race the event too).
Starting in Nice, we rolled through the start gate in unsettled weather, hoping that the rain would hold off. That hope faded about 15km in when we reached the first climb of the day, Col de Nice. The heavens opened. Not an issue, this was the easiest climb of the day and the organiser had removed the descents from the timed sections of the racing so it was nice and safe.
Well, as safe as anyone can make riding down a mountain in the rain. I had a stark reminder of this on a very simple corner when my front wheel slid on the glass-like tarmac. No harm done, I donated a bit of skin to the world but it certainly made it clear that this wasn’t just a simple case of turn up and have a nice poottle about.
Dusting myself off, the race continued to the next timed climb, the 10km Col de Portes. It has incredible views of beautiful mountain side towns, so I eased off slightly to enjoy the surroundings, before focusing on the next tricky descent. The Col de St Martin was next, which slowly drifted by as my legs found a rhythm they could cope with and then all of a sudden it was the final climb of the day into Auron and that hurt. Dealing with the false flat that brings you to the final climb was the end of me. When the real gradient kicked in I discovered a dark place of fatigue I’d never been before. Surviving purely on fumes and swear words, the final 2km up to Auron averaged about 10 per cent, or so it seemed every time I looked at my Garmin. This experience did however have its upside - the elation I felt when I first caught sight of the line was positively overwhelming, a mixture of relief and serendipity. I even managed to get on the drops and give it a sprint (at 10kmh) in a pro-like manner, because that’s what it’s all about, really.
Success following hardship always tastes the sweetest and this was like drinking delicious, delicious honey. I just hope the same can be said after tomorrow. It’s forecast to rain all day.
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Ben Hobson is Web Editor of Runners’ World. He loves riding his bike.