September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

It’s funny…even after riding the stage and having VIP access at several of the stages, it was still stunning to walk across the Champs-Élysées on the way to our seats and see this:

We thought it was going to rain; the weather was not looking good and remained dreary for most of the day. Things brightened a bit when the riders arrived in Paris, but photos were still a challenge.

That’s the finish line in the background. The riders did 8 full laps down the Champs-Élysées before finishing.

Following the finish of the race and the presentation of the yellow jersey and other awards, it’s customary for the teams to ride a lap as a salute to the fans.

A very happy Cadel Evans with the Australian flag.

What is wrong with these Aussies (pronounced ‘ozzies’)? Who brings an inflatable kangaroo to a bike race?

Just kidding, guys…

As soon as the race finished, it began to rain but we made our way to the podium to watch the presentation. We couldn’t get any closer than a 100m or so, but still, it was amazing to see the yellow jersey presented in Paris. If not for the rain, there would have been photos. (I should have chanced it anyway.)

We made our way up the Champs-Élysées for the team laps and soaked it in. We’d had a wonderful trip and raised a lot of money for the scholarship, but the 2007 Tour de France was over.

We spent the next two days in Paris before heading to Germany for a wedding. Photos from those adventures will (hopefully) make their way onto Flickr within the next few days.

In the meantime, I want to again thank all of you for following the TDF Challenge for the Dylan Fitzgerald Carlton Scholarship Fund and not only for supporting the scholarship but for helping to bring it into existence. It was a grueling 5-month challenge for me and having the support I did just helped me push even harder.

Thanks, everyone!

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

No ride for us today and no Stage 19 visit. We’d had enough and, following the wise example of Darryl and Tim, headed to Paris a day early to check into our hotel, relax, and watch the Stage 19 time trial in comfort in the hotel bar.

Of course, this was the day that Lance Armstrong decided to show up at the start village. Son of a…

Watching the time trial with two spirited Aussies (pronounced ‘ozzies’) rooting for Cadel Evans to pull it out was great fun. I poked at the bees nest a few times with comments about Evans and thought Darryl might kick the crap out of me.

Evans gained time on Contador, but in the end Contador retained the yellow jersey.

I stole these photos from Graham Watson’s site, so respect his copyright (and don’t tell him). Amazing the photos you can get when you’re on the back of a motorcycle in front of the riders…

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

When we return to France (whenever that might be) we’ll be spending a lot more time in Bordeaux. The city is beautiful but unfortunately the Tour schedule didn’t allow us much time to explore.

Here’s our hotel in the city center:

And here’s the Notre Dame cathedral in Bordeaux (yes, there’s more than one Notre Dame cathedreal):

Our ride today was along the Stage 17 time trial route from Cognac to Angoulême. The pros would not be riding it until the following day (Saturday). If you ignored the sunflowers and road signs in French, it really was a lot like rinding in northern Ohio.

The route was peaceful with beautiful stretches.

These two photos are my only (somewhat) successful attempts to photograph Jes while we were both riding. Just ask and you can see my other attempts showing blurred road, empty fields, and drainage ditches. I is skilled.

There were plenty of campers along the shoulder, with fans grilling, drinking, and playing games, all ready for the next day’s stage. Again, we were cheered on as we pased: “Allez! Allez!”

This camper caught my eye. This guy was either the ultimate T-Mobile superfan or actual support for the team. I’m still not sure which, but I definitely prefer the thought of the superfan.

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

Many of the French fans were none too happy over this year’s Tour de Farce (as the British media took to calling it). Some, like these guys, were not going to take it lightly:

It’s time to admit that something is terribly, terribly wrong when your fans start showing up in homemade EPO syringe costumes.

Since this was such a…special Tour, and in honor of those crazy guys and their wonderful anthropomorphized syringes, I give you the Hall of Shame:

On July 24th, 2007 Tour de France rider Alexander Vinokourov tested positive for a banned blood transfusion (Blood doping) after winning a time trial, prompting his Astana team to pull out of the race and police to raid the hotel of the team.

On July 25th 2007 it was announced that rider Cristian Moreni tested positive for testosterone. His Cofidis team pulled out of the tour as a result.

On July 25th 2007 it was announced that then Tour leader Michael Rasmussen of Denmark had been removed from the race for “violating internal team rules” by missing random drug tests on May 9 and June 28. At first, he was punished with three administrative warnings, after Rasmussen had claimed to have been in Mexico visiting his wife’s family without notifying his team about his whereabouts. On June 25th, Italian journalist Davide Cassani told on Danish television that he had sighted Rasmussen training in Italy when Rasmussen had claimed to be in Mexico. The alleged lying about his training venue prompted his immediate firing by the Rabobank team manager, Theo de Rooij.

Gosh, there was nothing like returning to the hotel after a tiring day at a Tour stage only to find that yet another cyclist had tested postive.

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

Today was the final day of the Pyrenees experience as the Tour begin to make it’s way to the finale in Paris. Unfortunately, this also meant that much of our small group was heading back to Australia.

Instead of seeing the finish like most of the other stages, we would see the start of Stage 17 in Pau.

Some pics of the riders as the peolton rolls off the starting line. I think that’s Cadell Evans on the right in the first photo.

The Hotel de Ville in Pau showing some civic pride.

We spent the rest of the day on the bus heading to Bordeaux with a much larger group. We missed the small group experience…a lot.

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

I figured I’d already done three HC climbs in three days, why not four in four?

We started the day with a climb up the Col d’Aubisque. This is 17km climb with an average grade of 7.2%. It’s #25 on the ‘Greatest Climbs’ list and you can find out more about it here.

Annnndddd…finished! Me at the summit:

Here’s the rest of the group taking photos. I love Damien’s (left) expression in the second one:

At the 5km mark from the summit was the Tour village. Some of the mountaintop finishes don’t have room for the trucks and crowds, so they are set up elsewhere on the mountain. The red arrow shows roughly where the photo of me on the summit was taken.

We had a great view of the riders as they climbed by. Here’s my failed attempt to snap the yellow jersey. Too fast for film even on a climb!

Whenever I watched TDF coverage I was always in awe of the access the spectators had to the riders during a climb. Here’s the crowd (me included) edging into the road to cheer on the riders.

When you click on this next photo, you’re going to get a very large version of it. Check out where the riders are looking…

…just like nearly everyone else, they’re checking out the progress of the leaders on the giant screen.

The following two pictures are my favorites of the trip. I just can’t decide which I like better, but popular opinion leans toward the second:

Ahhh…Michael Rasmussen in his final moment of glory. Kind of fitting it was on the summit of a climb, ’cause it was all downhill after that…

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

I had a vague memory of my cycling coach saying something about taking it easy after the Stage 14 ride, but I wasn’t sure what it was. So I brushed those thoughts aside, hopped on the bike, and headed for the Col de Tourmalet, another HC climb and #10 on the ‘Greatest Climbs” list. You can check out the climb profile and more info here.

We had a hilly 35km before we hit the base of the Tourmalet. We hit a few kilometers of flat valley riding just before the climb.

Jes and John at the base of the Tourmalet climb in St. Marie de Campan.

I’d been feeling pretty poor on the early part of the ride but once I hit the actual climb I felt great. Weird.

We’d been warned that the weather at the summit was supposed to be bad. We got lucky and arrived just ahead of the weather. This is the cloud front that chased us up the climb. We did not want to get caught in it.

This is Darryl Griffiths, one of the guys in our Pyrenees group.

Darryl’s story makes me feel like a complete slacker. About 18 months ago Darryl had open heart surgery. He had a ceramic titanium valve inserted. You can actually hear the thing ticking as it opens and closes! Here’s Lucy Power taking a listen:

Darryl wasn’t just out there turning the pedals…he was tearing up the climbs. Just damn impressive…

This is Eric Van Lancker. our professional TDF guide. He’s an ex-professional rider that not only rode the TDF from 1986-1991 but also wore the yellow jersey on four stages. And he’s a nice guy. I just hated how effortless he made everything look.

That’s Sarah Egan (center) and me (left) heading for the summit. We’d just passed a ski town at the snow line. The hotel in the background is built to allow ski access to and from the hotel, meaning you ski in and ski out since the snow comes to the door. From the look of it, I could easily see the first floor windows blocked by snow once it starts falling.

As we neared the summit, a mountain goat crossed out path and bleated angrily at us. Once he was off the road, he turned an bleated again, as if making his point.

This photo is about 200m from the summit. I could believe we were there already so I sprinted to the summit. w00t!

The group at the summit. Notice we’ve all thrown on some extra layers. The descent was going to be fast and cold.

The descent down the backside of the Tourmalet was crazy. At one point I had to slow to a near stop to avoid a flock of sheep that had blocked the road. I tried to stay on Eric’s wheel for the descent, but every time I would get close we’d hit some little village with car traffic and I’d lose my nerve. Eric would just shoot through the village at full speed. He even did this going the wrong way down a one-way road. I became convinced that he had some deal with the devil that would keep him from becoming seriously injured.

We relaxed for lunch at a small cafe in Luz-Saint-Sauveur after the descent. Once we’d refueled, we rode the 50km back to our hotel in Lourdes.

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September 5, 2007 by Ryan.

Medieval Carcassonne

Rest day!

Well, as much as lots of walking and driving constitutes a rest day. I wasn’t on the bike, though.

Monday was our last morning in Carcassonne, so we decided to check out the walled medieval city before we left.

In the mid-19th century, the architect Viollet-le-Duc restored much of the walled city. It had fallen into disrepair over centuries of disuse. Viollet-le-Duc added architectural elements that, while damn interesting, just don’t fit with the medieval architecture of the original structure.

Stage 15: Loudenvielle - Le Louron

With our bags packed and the bikes on the roof of the van, we were off to Le Louron, the finish of stage 15.

I wish the ASO folks would give some consideration to scenic locations for finishes. I don’t think Le Louron was quite scenic enough.

And speaking of scenery…yellow jersey podium girls!

We got a ‘behind the scenes’ tour of the stage operations. Every day, as soon as the stage festivities and coverage have finished, a small army of truck and trailers packs up and heads to the next stage finish to prepare. The trailers that ‘transformed’ into full studios were cool. This one expands both vertically and horizontally from standard-sized trailer:

The giant screens at the finishes were awesome.

Here comes Alexander Vinokourov for his stage win. Damn shame he cheated to get it.

King of the Mountain and Yellow Jersey podium girls getting ready for the presentation of the jerseys.

Michael Rasmussen enjoying a moment after holding onto the yellow jersey in Stage 15. He wouldn’t have many more of those…

Euskaltel!

The Team Disco bus. Won’t be seeing that next year…

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TDF Challenge Results

August 28, 2007 by Ryan.

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BLOG ENTRIES FOR THE JULY 22ND RIDE, READ THOSE FIRST!

Finished reading?

Good.

Let’s start with the big, awesome number. After returning to the states and speaking with Bridget Ford at the KSU Foundation, I discovered that I’d actually raised more than I thought. Thanks to some additional donations directly to the KSU Foundation, we raised:

Shazam! You guys are awesome!

$9,585 is from base pledges, $1,817 is from pledge contracts, and $4,015 is from company matching.

Now, those numbers represent the math if I didn’t fail any of my contracts. In those cases where the pledge contract would be matched by a company, I would have to cover that matching as well since to not do so would take away from the scholarship fund.

So, taking the matching penalties into consideration, the actual amount that was on the line for me was $2,392. Ouch.

Let’s see how I did…

Weight Goal: You guys already knew I made my weight goal of 155lbs before I left, so no surprises here. There were two weight goal pledge contracts totaling $300.

Complete the Stage: By far, most pledge contracts were for completing the stage. I completed the stage at 102 miles. These contracts totaled $1,940. I will again offer–even though it was out of my hands–to accept a ‘complete the stage’ contract as a failure due to the ASO’s shortening restriction.

My sister Megan made a $2 pledge contract for completing the stage so that if I won I would have to do the Better Off Dead quote.

*sigh*

Here you go: “I want my $2! I want my $2!”

Happy?

Don’t Puke: I had one pledge contract for $100 that required me not to puke from two hours before the stage start until two hours after. I am pleased to say I met that challenge.

Wear the Shirt: The most unique pledge contract required a dash of humiliation. I was tasked to wear my ‘Hack vs. Zack’ t-shirt on the TDF podium. This lovely custom shirt was created for me by my ‘friend’ Keith after I was humbled in the Malibu Triathlon for the second year in a row by Mark-Paul Gosselaar, a.k.a. TV’s Zack Morris of Saved By the Bell fame. Challenge completed for $100. You can see me wearing the shirt on the podium in the second slideshow. Sukkit, Marsteller!

Time: This is the one I dread mentioning. I had two pledge contracts for time completion. One was to complete the stage in under 7hrs and 45min, and the second was to complete it in under 8hrs. I came in at just under 8hrs for the stage, but I failed both of these and it’s going to cost me $200. The contracts were based on the original expectation that I would be doing the entire 122 miles. I lost one doing just the 102 miles.

I mentioned in the blog entries that one of the mistakes I made was being too conservative. I also said that this was compounded by the fact that I knew it was a shorter route and I had extra time to burn. Even so, I can only assume that I would have made the same mistake on the full 122 miles and therefore have to accept these two challenges as failures.

Oh, and for those of you that ride or run, here’s a little evidence of just how conservative I was:

Click the image for a larger version

This is the graphed data from my heart rate monitor for the TDF Challenge. The blue line filled with grey represents the altitude; basically, that’s the course profile (told you the beginning was all uphill ). The red line represents my heart rate during the ride. If you click and take a look at the larger version, you’ll also see a dashed yellow line. That’s my average heart rate for the ride.

My average HR for the ride was 144 bpm. It’s probably a little lower since those crazy spikes are likely interference from other sources. My average HR for something like this really should have been between 165 bpm and 175 bpm.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I screwed up by being so conservative. I easily could have shaved 30 minutes off my time without jeopardizing the ride…I’ll keep that in mind for next time.

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August 28, 2007 by Ryan.

I wanted to throw in some additional links and images to give you a better sense of the climbs. Most of the photos are on more of a micro scale and I though getting a sense of the macro might help communicate the day.

Port de Pailhères
Here are a couple of additional links with some great photos of the first climb:

Link #1

Link #2

Here are a few YouTube links that show the pros on the climb:

YouTube #1

YouTube #2

YouTube #3

And here’s an additional image:

Plateau de Beille
Here are a few links for the final climb:

Link #1

Link #2 (view from space!)

This YouTube video looks like it was taken from a car and gives a nice visual summary of the final half of the climb up to the Plateau de Beille. Judging by the amount of sun and near-complete lack of cars on the road, I’d guess I was already off the course and the publicity caravan was not far behind them.

YouTube #1

This next one is a great clip. It shows how the fans get more than one view of the pros on a climb.

YouTube #2

In this one it looks like the rider was tackling the two final climbs very early on the same day. Some great views:

YouTube #3

Some additional images of the crowds on the climb to the Plateau de Beille:

And here’s a GoogleEarth image of the Plateau de Beille climb. Click on the image for a much larger version:

TDF Stage 14
To get some great views of the stage route, you’ve got two options that offer the same video.

The commentary in the first isn’t in English, but it’s a YouTube video you can watch by simply clicking here.

The second has commentary in English, but requires a little more work. First, you need to click here to go to the steephill.tv website. Next, scroll down just a little bit to find the giant ‘Le Tour de France’ logo on the right. Below the logo is all the stage results. Find the ‘14 Sunday, July 22nd‘ section and click on the ‘Video‘ link.

I highly recommend watching one of these. There is some great footage of the gorges and a good stage profile graphic.

You can see some of Graham Watson’s TDF Stage 14 photos here. My favorites are the 2nd (I think that is in Carcassonne, along a section I rode alone in the morning) and the 4th (in the gorges). The switchback image neat the summit of the Port de Pailhères is pretty cool, too.

Ahhhhh! ManChicken! Ride for your lives!

ManChicken photo copyright Casey Gibson

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August 26, 2007 by Ryan.

Although I was already heading uphill as I turned off the main road, I had to go through Les Cabannes (first photo) to get to the real start of the climb.

The route took me through the village square. If the population census is correct and there are only 337 people in Les Cabbanes, each and every one of them was on the 1/4 mile of road that lead through the square.

And, it seemed, they were all determined to get in my way. I thought I was going to have to unclip, crash, or both at least a dozen times while trying to get through the village. It was insane. There was a carnival as well as all the TDF festivities and festooning.

I was more than relieved when I was across the town and at the base of the climb.

Until I remembered the profile of the climb, that is. While the Port de Pailhères gradually becomes harder as you climb to the summit, the Plateau de Beille tries to break you right away with 5km of 9% grade.

I was feeling pretty good for everything that I’d done already. During training I’d always experienced a bonk around 5 1/2 to 6 hours out, regardless of terrain and intensity. Thanks to some great pointers from Dr. Allen Lim, I’d figured out the cause and it didn’t happen this time. Still, I was worried that my limited access to the support camper and the inconsistency of my feeding and drinking might come back to haunt me. Even though I’d refilled at the turnoff, the damage could have already been done.

I started the climb at a reserved pace, but still strong. My focus was on finishing, not failing at good pace.

I’d passed a good hundred cyclists on the Port de Pailhères climb and in the first 5km I passed at least twice that amount. There were a lot of riders trying the climb and hurting for it.

Fans were everywhere. Every kilometer or so I would get white paint on my tires from a fan’s fresh road markings. Spectators cheered me on: “Allez! Allez!” (”Go! Go!”)

Near the 10km to go marker, the grade relaxed a bit to around 7.5%. The respite let me catch my breath and take stock of my condition.

I was in trouble.

Climbing can be a tricky thing. For me, I can punish myself for a long damn time if the pain and effort is consistent. That’s the catch, though; your body adapts to the consistency. Had the entire climb been 9% or higher from the start, I might have fared better. But that 2km of 7.5% let my body ease off, let me ease off.

And that’s all it took for my body to realize it was hurting. It felt as though the first 5km of the Plateau de Beille climb had brutalized me more than everything else combined.

I was in trouble.

But all the miles I’d ridden in training and on the stage that day kept me going, every one of the thousands of spectators I passed on the climb kept me going, and every one of you reading this kept me going.

I kept pedaling and started looking for the 10k marker; I didn’t have a clear idea where I was on the climb, but I’d seen the 15km not long after I started the climb. I figured it would be easier if I could quantify the pain I had left.

And then, with about 8km of the climb done, I went from being in trouble to possibly being screwed.

The clouds parted…and the summer sun scorched the mountainside.

Within fifteen minutes, the temperature jumped from the mid 60’s to 89 degrees. And to make it worse, the temperature jump happened before I’d hit the most challenging kilometer of the climb: 1km of near-10% grade.

The Bikestyle camper crawled past asking if I needed anything. I swapped out an empty bottle for a full one and had Jes pour cold water over my head. It helped, but only for a bit.

“Anything else?” she asked?

I shook my head. I was quickly getting beyond the ability to speak.

The camper pulled ahead and disappeared around a switchback.

I pushed on. I was still passing other cyclists, but not quite with the authority I once had. Things were getting bad.

Where was that damn 10km-to-go marker? A voice in my head starting gaining volume.

Is there still more than 10km to go? I must have missed the marker. Is this still really the first 5km? If it is, I’m not going to make it. If I see the 10km-to-go marker now it’s going to break me…

There was sweat flowing off my glasses, my nose, my chin. I loosened my helmet, hoping it would help cool me.

It was about then that I hit the 10% grade. It was the longest kilometer of my life.

The voice was almost screaming:

You’ve got to stop. Unclip…you’ve got to get off the bike.

I was exhausted. I had nothing left but fumes, both mentally and physically. I was losing focus. I took frequent pulls off the water bottle, but I realized that the damage had indeed already been done. Mistakes I’d made earlier had caught up with me and I was in the early stages of a bonk.

Somehow I had enough left to brings things back into focus.

I’m not stopping, said another voice.

You can’t keep going, responded the first.

I…am…not…stopping.

And then all was quiet. My focus was back, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it. When you hit that kind of exhaustion and keep going, the rate of deterioration seems exponential.

It turned out I didn’t have to keep it much longer. Five minutes later I powered through a switchback and saw one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever beheld:

The 5km-to-go marker.

I was so overcome with emotion that I nearly cried. The moment was unmatched by anything else that entire day. I did my best to memorize the climb profile, and I knew that the Plateau de Beille hammered you in the beginning, not at the end. The 5km-to-go mark was just before the climb emptied onto the plateau and the grade eased off.

I’d beaten the hardest the Plateau de Beille had to offer… and I was still pedaling.

I didn’t feel so exhausted anymore. My pace quickened.

At the 4km mark the climb spilled onto the open plateau. People where everywhere. I’d seen Stage 13 of the 2004 Tour finish here, and the announcers talked of how people camped here for days to see the finish. I thought I knew what to expect, but I had no idea. There were thousands of spectators.

Many of them were shouting at me, “Allez! Allez!”

The climb kept coming, though, and even this ‘easy’ 4km stretch to the finish line still averaged 8%.

At 3km to go I entered the barriers.

Son of a bitch, I thought. I’m actually going to pull this off!

At 2km to go I could see the finish arch in the distance.

The pain and exhaustion that had dogged me since 5km into the climb drained away.

At 1km to go I was out of the saddle, turning the big ring with a blazing cadence.

At 750m to go I was shredding the pavement.

At 500m to go…I was ushered off the course by French gendarmes.

Turns out that access to the finish line was heavily restricted. No one without official Tour vehicle passes were allowed past the 500m mark.

I had arrived far ahead of the Bikestyle camper and the rest of the group, and it was the camper that had the pass…not me.

Crap in a hat.

Strangely, I wasn’t too disappointed. I’d already completed over 100miles and two HC climbs. The final 500m? Well, it would have been nice to cross the finish line, but in the end it really didn’t matter.

I’d done what I set out to do.

The gendarmes ushered me onto a dirt-covered portion of the plateau populated by campers and other cyclists that had been rewarded for their efforts by being remover from the course (okay, maybe I’m a little bitter).

The real problem was that we were not allowed to turn around an head back down the mountain. What the hell? How was I supposed to meet up with the Bikestyle group?

I noticed a group of mountain bikers head around the mountainside, just on the other side of the barriers. There was a barely navigable grassy hillside before the steep, several thousand foot drop-off to the valley below. I followed.

With one shoe unclipped because of the uneven terrain, I half-rode, half-walked along the hillside. Once I was back to the 1km-to-go marker, I climbed up and hoisted my bike over the barriers. Then I hoisted myself over. Always fun dropping four feet onto concrete in cycling cleats.

Cleaning the dirt off my cleats and clipping in, I headed down the mountain.

Less than 500m along I was stopped again and told to get off my bike. We could walk, but we couldn’t ride. Great; nothing better for your stupidly expensive cycling shoes and cleats than to walk on concrete. The next day I discovered that walking in the cleats also shredded something in my right Achilles tendon. It bothered me for the rest of the trip (fortunately only when walking; it was fine while riding).

As soon as I was out of sight of the gendarme, I got back on my bike.

And 250m later another gendarme told me to get off and walk. As soon as I was out of sight, I got back on the bike.

This continued until I was past the 3km-to-go marker and I encountered the Bikestyle camper coming up the climb.

“You’ve got to go back up,” they told me.

What?

“You’ve got to head back up to the finish line with us.”

Gah!

So, in the end, I had to ride the final 3km of the climb twice, but I did get to cross the finish line.

.

Here’s the second slideshow for the TDF Challenge ride. This covers the Plateau de Beille climb as well as our VIP access at the finish line.

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August 26, 2007 by Ryan.

As I pedaled past the Hotel Terminus the Bikestyle camper fell in behind me. The stage route was clearly marked with neon-yellow arrow signs, so I figured it was going to be easy to find my way.

At the first intersection in Carcassonne, though, there were two arrows that should have been pointing in the same direction. During the night, some bastard had switched one of them, leaving them pointing in opposite directions. So at the very first intersection I was befuddled.

I hoped it wasn’t a bad omen.

Lawrie straightened me out and we headed out of Carcassonne. It wasn’t long before we left the city behind and rolled into French countryside.

Although the 54 miles leading up to the Port de Pailheres (the first major climb) were in valleys, they were all still uphill.

As I rode, something seemed odd. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was definitely strange. I started going through the data on my cyclometer. Heart rate was fine and my pace was good if a little too conservative. My legs were feeling tight, though, and my knees were starting to complain. I called up the temperature.

55 degrees.

It was getting colder.

My first thought was that I’d misread the display. That couldn’t be right…could it?

I cycled through the screens again and got the same result. Except this time, as I was reading it, the number dropped to 54 degrees.

Damn.

Well, that was going to make things interesting. I’d done my training preparing for moderate to extreme summer temperatures, and there I was riding through the French countryside in 54 degree weather without knee warmers.

Awesome.

I dropped into a lower gear to kick up my cadence. I hoped this would force my body temp up, offset the temperature issue at least a little, and drop the slight strain on my cold knees.

All of my fluid loss experiments had been performed in 80-plus degree temperatures; I never imagined that I’d have to deal with weather like this. I didn’t want to guesstimate a new fluid consumption formula on the bike during an important ride like this, so I just stuck with my original hydration plan of 2 water bottles an hour.

That, my friends, was mistake #2 (although it was one I probably had to make).

The first leg proved to be mostly uneventful, with the stage route leading me through sleeping French towns such as Limoux, Couiza, and Quillan.

As soon as I’d seen the temperature drop, I’d realized my error with the knee warmers. It took longer for me to realize that my hydration decision was becoming a problem…an urgent problem. Seems that if you keep filling your body with liquids that your body doesn’t necessarily need, well, eventually you’ve gotta deal with it. I’d hoped that I’d be much further along before needing to break rhythm for a nature call–hell, I’d hoped it would be warmer and I’d make the full ride without the need–but by hour 3 I no longer had a choice. Although allowed for in the terms of the challenge, I did not want to stop and break rhythm. Short of crash, there’s nothing worse.

Still, I couldn’t change my hydration pattern too much. I couldn’t chance dehydration; it could cripple me.

Somewhere between Quillan and the small village of Axat the terrain changed drastically. Mountains that once seemed far off began to close around me, squeezing out the open French countryside. Near Axat I entered the Gorges de Saint-Georges, where the Aude River carves its way through the rock of the Pyrenees foothills.

The river roared as I pedaled along on the narrow road, under rock overhangs and through stone arches. I’d encountered sporadic traffic on the valley roads since it was still early and French gendarmes hadn’t yet completely closed the roads. Once past Axat, though, I was isolated. Occasionally the gendarmes would let through small groups of cars, but for the most part I was alone in the gorge.

It was great.

I was still damn cold, though. Where was the first climb? The grade had been gradually increasing, but still wasn’t more than a few percent. I was surrounded by mountains and could see many more when I was given a glimpse out of the gorge, but there was still no sign of the first hors catégorie (HC) climb. (For a quick explanation of climb categories, click here and scroll down to the “Making the Grade: Mountain Stages” section”.)

Then, abruptly, I was out of the gorge and bearing down on Usson-les-Baines. Usson is the true base of the Port de Pailhères HC climb, and it quickly introduced me to the first length of the climb: 1.5km of 9% grade road.

Finally…it was on.

It had nearly killed me to ride the first 60 miles so conservatively on unchallenging terrain.

But this…this is what I’d trained for, this was what I wanted.

I started chewing up the climb and it felt great. I felt great.

I don’t know what my speed was–I haven’t used a speed sensor in many months–but Jes says she was shocked at my pace up to Mijanés. She was even more surprised that it seemed like it wasn’t any effort.

As I hit the mountain village of Mijanés, though, I pulled back, realizing that my pace wasn’t as important as finishing. I still had another, more challenging HC climb after this.

So I adjusted my pace to something more conservative.

Yes, boys and girls, that was mistake #3.

There was still no sun and it felt like there could be rain at any moment. Clouds drifted across the road above Mijanés. It was still 54 degrees but climbing was raising my body temp considerably. I was feeling much more comfortable and passing many riders on the climb.

Above Mijanés, cars and campers littered the sides of the road. Occasionally, a lone car or camper would roll past, searching for a spot on the climb. A few publicity cars were already on the mountain, tossing out swag to spectators. Wherever one of these cars stopped it was instant circus; crowds rushed the cars and clamored for handouts. I nearly crashed because of a stopped Champion publicity car handing out ‘King of the Mountain’ shirts. At that moment I wished I knew more French, but given the way people jumped out of my way, it seemed that the kind, caring tones of English profanity did the trick.

I passed a group of American spectators doing the wave. I got up out of my saddle and did it with them as I passed.

I was enjoying the climb, the spectators, the atmosphere. It was amazing. So amazing, in fact, that it was distracting me from my normal hydration and eating rhythm.

For those of you following along at home, that puts us at mistake #4.

About 3/4 of the way up the climb, just before the 11km mark I became disoriented. I’d never experienced this on a ride before. It came on me without warning and for a moment I thought I was going to pass out. Absolutely scared the crap out of me. Somehow I was able to keep my pace and fortunately there was a respite in the climb at that moment, maybe 500 meters of near flat road. I inhaled a PowerBar and drained half a bottle to wash it down. I recovered from it quickly, probably too quickly for it to be a pre-bonk. Maybe it was an altitude issue (happened right around 5,100ft mark), but I’m really not sure.

That ended any and all road distractions for the rest of the ride; my focus tightened and the mental filters went back into place. During my training I’d given some thought to the golly-gee-gosh factor. I knew it was going to happen, but I also knew there was no way to prepare for it and that I’d just have to deal with it.

It’s a damn good thing I recovered quickly from the disorientation, because the next 2km were the toughest of the climb with an average grade of 10% (the big block of red on the right; I don’t think it quite hits 12%, though). There were some great switchbacks. It’s a lot of fun to accelerate through the switchbacks; feels like a slingshot.

The 2km wasn’t tough, but I was getting worried. I was almost out of water and the camper was nowhere in sight. On the valley roads, it was easy for them to shadow me for the entire ride. Once we’d hit the gorge, though, the roads were too narrow for them to stay behind me. They were forced to jump ahead and wait. This continued into the first climb, and our contact became even more infrequent. It was difficult for them to find places to stop because so many other vehicles had staked their spots to watch the race. Some of the spectators had been on the mountain for days.

This meant that I was already out of food and nearly out of water. I thought I’d have food and drink at my disposal for the ride; I didn’t expect that I’d encounter the same sort of ‘feed zone’ restrictions as the pros.

The final few kilometers of the climb weren’t bad at around 6%. Even at this altitude (over 6,000ft) there was still no sun. I had resigned myself to the fact that it was not going to get any warmer. At least, I thought, it’s not likely to get any colder.

I would be proven very wrong…on both counts.

As I hit the summit of the Port de Pailhères there was no sense of relief, no sense of accomplishment. I’d made it that far, but everything leading up to the final climb was simply prelude, throwaway pirahana miles that nibbled away at my ability to finish the challenge.

The summit shoulder was thick with campers; I don’t recall seeing a break in the line until I’d begun my descent.

Click on the image for a larger version

The Bikestyle camper was the only one I was concerned with, and I finally saw it. The water bottles were empty and my jersey pockets filled with wrappers.

With fresh water bottles and food came bad news: it was 11:30 and I still had 50km to go. Even though 35km of that was downhill, Lawrie was concerned that I might be in danger of missing the cutoff.

In my attempt to insure that I’d finish, I’d been wayyyyyyy too conservative on the early, easy miles. I think knowing that the route was shorter than initially planned compounded the mental mistake.

Lawrie also added that he didn’t know when they’d be able to meet me again, so I crammed extra gel packs into the jersey, pulled the arm warmers back up, shifted to the big ring, and rocketed down the backside of the Port de Pailhères.

I love the view from the top of a climb, and the Port de Pailhères did not disappoint. I only had a few moments to take it in before the descent turned treacherous, but it was fantastic.

A lot of people think of riding downhill as a reward for a climb. It’s not. On a descent like this, you don’t coast. You jam into the highest gear you have and keep your legs moving. This is a great opportunity to recover from the climb. And if you don’t keep your legs moving, you’re going to be in a world of hurt when you need serious effort again.

Me, I hate descents. It breaks my rhythm and cools me off. I prefer the agony and challenge of the climb (yes, I realize there is something wrong with me; don’t waste the email).

As for cooling off, well, that might be an understatement here. Let’s review: it’s 54 degrees and there’s no sun. Although I’m slowing to negotiate the switchbacks I’m still averaging somewhere between 40mph and 45mph.

I think the math on that looks something like:

54 degrees - (40mph of wind chill) = I CAN’T FEEL MY EFFING FINGERS!

Yeah, I was just a little wrong about it not getting colder. It didn’t take much longer than a half-hour to descend but it felt much, much longer.

My front brakes wailed when I slowed for switchbacks. In some areas the road was still wet from yesterday’s rain, making the tight turns even worse. Spectators lined the road, and sometimes they were out far enough that I thought I was going to collide with them. One group of idiots was walking uphill against traffic, out in the lane. I still don’t know how I avoided them.

Every turnoff was guarded by a gendarme who made sure that no traffic entered the course. They also served as de facto guides; whenever I saw one at a road I knew that it was not a turnoff.

At the bottom of the descent, entering the town of Ax-les-Thermes, there was an absolutely insane 90+ degree turn under a bridge. I entered it doing around 35mph and just barely managed to not implant myself into the brickwork. That must have been a nightmare for the peloton.

The ride from Ax-les-Thermes to Les Cabannes (first photo in the link) was nearly flat with a slight downgrade. It was a nice opportunity to re-establish a pace before I hit the final climb. I fell in with a small group of riders to conserve energy. I dropped them before I reached Les Cabannes, remembering that I still had a deadline.

As I rounded a bend just past the small village of Albiè, I saw the turnoff for the final climb.

It was time to see if I had enough left for the Plateau-de-Baille.

.

Here’s the first of two slideshows for the TDF Challenge ride. This covers the stage from Carcassonne to the end of the Port de Pailhères descent.

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August 21, 2007 by Ryan.

For me, the stage began the night before as I tried to sleep. I finally made it to bed around 10:30pm, but was so wired I just couldn’t sleep. By 11:00pm I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, so I took a Lunesta. It finally knocked me out around 11:30pm.

I mentioned ‘wired’, right?

I was so wired that the Lunesta–we’re talking about a prescription sleeping medicine here–only kept me asleep until 1:30am. Two hours…that’s it.

So there I am, lying awake at 1:30am in a state of consciousness that was a strange combination of edge-of-sleep drowsiness and hyper-awareness. Years ago I heard a pro rider say that “the Tour de France is won in bed”. I never forgot that, and as I lay there it was a blinding neon sign in my conscious mind. Yellow, of course.

I looked at Jes’ watch: 2am. Great.

I floated in timeless drowsiness for a while.

I looked at Jes’ watch again: 3am.

The hell with this, I thought, and got out of bed. Time to get rolling. If nothing else, I’d have an extra hour to get breakfast into my system.

First up was a taste extravaganza designed to delight the palette: plain oatmeal and honey made with hot water from the bathroom tap. Mmmmm…what could I possibly have to chase that? How about a morning protein drink mixed in a bike water bottle with room-temperature water?

But wait! There’s more!

Before a long ride, I like to add eggs to my breakfast to add some additional protein and fat (the eggs lower the overall glycemic index of the meal and the fat slows gastric emptying). That early in the morning, though, the kitchen was closed and I was on my own. I headed down to the parking lot to use the stove in the BikestyleTours support camper.

I noticed it was damn cold for a July morning, even for 3:30am. I pushed that to the back of my mind as I climbed into the camper.

It took me about 15 minutes to figure out how to get the stove fired up, but soon I was enjoying scrambled eggs in a cold, dark camper in Carcassonne, France.

Everything else aside, it was still the exact breakfast I wanted, all 1500 calories of it.

After finishing the eggs and cleaning the pan, I headed back up to the hotel room. Stepping back into the dark morning, I couldn’t ignore the temperature anymore.

All my training prep centered on moderate to extreme summer temperatures. Historically, I do not ride well in the cold. What rates as cold? For me it’s anything below 60 degrees Fahrenheit. This is where you typically bust out the arm and leg warmers to keep the joints warm. Blood flow in the muscles keeps them warm; the joints aren’t so lucky.

Once we hit the low 50s the temp starts affecting lung compression and other systemic processes. Once the mercury falls into the 40’s, my pace makes Matrix bullet-time effects look speedy. I start shutting down. Kind of weird; a lot of the people on this list know how much I love the cold, but exercising in the cold, well, it just doesn’t work for me.

Back in the room, I fired up our expensive hotel net access and checked the temp: 57 degrees.

Crap in a hat.

Absolutely not what I wanted to see. Nothing I could do, though, but get ready for it. Fortunately, I’d brought arm and leg warmers. Hope for the best but expect the worst, indeed.

I got my gear on and went over some last minute food and drink issues with Jes. She gave me a small red heart for luck. I slipped it into a jersey pocket.

Then we were in the parking lot, the sky beginning to glow blue with the coming day. It was time to go.

The knee warmers were bugging me, though. Arm warmers can be easily stripped off without stopping the bike, but you can’t do the same with knee warmers. And stopping wasn’t an option.

“Should I wear the knee warmers?” I asked the group.

“It is going to get warmer,” was one response, “and it’s not too bad right now”.

That made sense. I took them off.

That, my friends, was mistake #1.

I clipped in and with the first pedal stroke ended five months of training and preparation, and started the TDF Challenge.

I needed to tack on some additional miles to push the ride over the century mark, so the plan was that the support van would wait in Carcassonne while I rode back towards Mazamet.

The first few miles toward Mazamet were strange. The roads were completely empty and the day was about as fresh as it could be with silent , still air and soft painted strokes of morning light. It was surreal, but not in the way you’d expect. It was surreal because it felt normal. It felt like I was just starting another training ride.

I checked my heart rate, and it was exactly where it should have been. I checked my position on the bike, and it was exactly what it should have been. Physically, I felt great. Everything was exactly where it should have been.

Except for my head; I just wasn’t where I needed to be mentally.

I hit a roundabout and decided with the road empty I would just do some laps until I was ready to go. After maybe ten or fifteen times through the roundabout, I was thinking it was time to head back. I’d already gotten the additional miles I wanted and I hoped mentally I would get to where I needed to be.

And then I got a gift.

As I turned to exit the roundabout and head back to Carcassone, two cars passed me. One was a VW Beetle and the other a van hauling a flatbed trailer. They entered the roundabout then exited towards Mazamet. Here’s the VW Beetle and the second photo shows what was on the flatbed:

Seeing these two pass me annihilated any thought that I was out for a typical ride. Tumblers in my head clicked, rolled, fell into place. The realization was there: I was riding a stage of the Tour de France.

The morning looked very different as I pedaled back to Carcassonne.

.

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August 21, 2007 by Ryan.

…and counting.

Saturday was Stage 13 on the Tour, a time trial starting in Albi. The Bikestyle group had VIP access to the start village, but Jes and I stayed behind in Carcassone. I really, really wanted to go to this since we had access to the riders as they warmed-up and prepared for the time trial. Unfortunately, I had an animation assignment I had to complete. Turns out that was a good thing, because we wouldn’t have returned from the stage until nearly 8pm. That would have caused some serious problems with my prep for Stage 14.

Also, we would have spent the day in the rain.

If you missed it, England got hit with an insane amount of rain in July that caused serious problems for residents in the lowlands. The weather patterns carry the British weather to France, and it hit that Saturday. The day was overcast, cold, and rainy. We had no problem hanging in the hotel room, watching the stage coverage on EuroSport.

When we finally emerged from the hotel for an afternoon meal, I quickly regretted my ignorance of and inability to speak French. It was one of those things I’d hoped to be able to practice with the iPod on my training rides, but I just couldn’t find the time before the trip. Ordering food was an arduous adventure, and we were happy just to get drinks:

Click on the image for a larger version

I had to do an hour recovery ride that Saturday. The recovery rides are very low intensity rides designed to keep your legs fresh and facilitate recovery from previous rides. Ironcially, you recover better by riding easy rather than by simply resting. Typically, I like to ride in the morning, but given the weather I waited and waited hoping the rain would clear. It didn’t and I finally gave in around 4pm and went for my ride in the cold rain. Gosh, I just love riding in a cold rain.

Click on the images for a larger version

Always good to wear a white jersey when you’re riding in the rain; not gonna get any mud on that. Once back in the room I used the hotel hairdryer to try to dry out my cycling shoes. I did not want to ride the stage in damp shoes.

We ate dinner in the hotel with the group around 8pm, and afterwards I headed up to the room for final preparations. I was hoping to get to get to sleep by 10pm, since I was planning on getting up at 4am. Six hours sleep sounded good.

That, of course, wasn’t going to happen.

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August 21, 2007 by Ryan.

We arrived a day earlier than the rest of the BikestyleTours group because I was concerned about jetlag.

I slept well Thursday night but not much longer than normal. I wondered if that night without sleep had actually did the trick.

The rest of the small group of 8 was scheduled to arrive late in the afternoon, so we spent our morning in the hotel room unpacking, relaxing, and watching the Tour on TV. After the stage was over we took a quick tour of the area around our hotel. Here are a few quick snaps of the Hotel du Solei le Terminus:

Click on the image for a larger version

And this was the view from our window:

Click on the image for a larger version

That’s the walled city that was once the medieval heart of Carcassonne. The city has a rich and interesting history that you can read about here.

Once the rest of the group arrived and settled, we all went for an afternoon group ride. Thanks to my amazing mechanical skills, Jes and I needed to stop to properly tighten her handlebars (sorry, Jes). Lawrey Cranley dropped back, fixed us up, and sent us on our way.

Click the image for a larger version

Minutes into this first ride we were discussing how different it felt to ride here. I could talk about the smaller roads, the respect from drivers (!), the architecture or the terrain, but I still don’t think I could communicate the feeling. Our first true ‘wow’ moment was in a small village far outside of Carcassonne, where we saw this atop one of the canyon walls:

Click on the image for a larger version

Lawrie told us to keep an eye out for a bike bridge. We weren’t expecting this:

Click on the image for a larger version

The group was only doing an hour ride to shake the cobwebs loose, but my stage preparation required me to do 2 1/2 hours on the bike with some climbing. I continued on my own after the group turned back for Carcassonne.

I hadn’t realized how poorly prepared I was until long after I’d left the group. I’d forgotten to put my tool pack under my seat before I left the hotel. So, I was a non-French speaking foreigner riding on unfamiliar roads without a passport, cell phone, the hotel phone number, money, or a spare tube in case of a flat. I considered my predicament for roughly 8 nanoseconds…and kept riding away from Carcassone.

I found what looked like a nice 8-10% grade climb that took me past a medieval cemetery and monastery. It was a great, isolated climb winding through a forest canopy that at the summit opened to a panoramic view of the valley. I ended up missing dinner, but after that climb I wasn’t too disappointed.

The jet lag finally caught up with me and I slept for 13 hours.

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August 18, 2007 by Ryan.

…ready for pain?

Before I get to that, though, I want to share with you an excerpt from the BA in-flight magazine. I read this on the short flight from London to Toulouse and thought Tim Moore (author of French Revolutions: Cycling the Tour de France) captured an essential element of the TDF:

To watch Wimbledon or the World Cup is to admire artistry and skill beyond comprehension–beyond my comprehension, anyway. But even I can ride a push bike. I’ve know what it is to grind up a steep hill and to freewheel madly down the other side.

That is what makes the Tour such a compelling spectacle: it requires competitors to do something we’ve all done, but to an inhuman extreme. It’s an everyday physical challenge inflated to one as monstrous as anything in classical mythology.

And that’s why, in refreshing contrast to other global sporting events, the Tour is genuinely more about taking part than just winning.

Just make it back to Paris and you’re declared a “giant of the road”. Wobble up the Champs-Elysees as the final finisher–the lanterne rouge–and you’ll get a hero’s reception, and a year of lucrative race offers and sponsorship. Huge cheers and big cash sums for coming in last? Now, that’s my kind of race.

Indeed.

If you liked the excerpt, you can order the book here. I think I may have to get myself a copy.

Back to the trip…

Time for train travel. The one leg of the trip for which I didn’t pre-order tickets was from Toulouse to Carcassonne. There were plenty of trains running the two-hour route so it wasn’t a problem getting tickets. The problem, though, was getting the damn bikes and luggage to the trains.

For those of you that haven’t traveled by train (I want to add ‘in Europe’ here, but that’s almost a given since there’s no rail system to speak of in the states), there are typically two types of train stations.

There are the terminal stations, where the tracks literally terminate. These are the nice big stations like St. Pancras in London or Gare du Nord in Paris. It’s nice an easy to get to your train because you don’t have to cross any tracks to get to your platform.

Then there are the rest of the stations, and whether they’re big or small, you’ve got to go under the tracks to get to your platform. And, typically, there are no elevators or escalator, just steps…lots of steps, like these:

Click here for a larger image

Here’s how this worked: Jes would head to either the top or bottom of the steps with the backpacks and keep an eye on them since they were the easiest to snag. Next, I would bring each bag to her, one by one. We got to do this a total of four times; the above photo is of me on the final stairwell in Carcassonne, carrying my bike carrier.

You have no idea how relieved we were to look out from the train station in Carcassonne and see that our hotel was just a block away:

Click here for a larger image

Jes, wisely, hit the shower and went to bed not long after we checked in. I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, though, until I had the bike rebuilt and could go for a ride. The sun set long before the bike was ready. Always fun riding through a new town after dark…

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August 18, 2007 by Ryan.

…good luck making your connection.

Once we landed at Heathrow, we had to make a connecting flight across town at Gatwick. Although both legs of the flight were part of a single British Airways flight, BA was kind enough to not provide shuttle transportation. So, we needed to retrieve the bags and bikes and make our way to a nearby bus depot.

Click here for a larger image

Notice how I’ve deftly managed to get Jes to carry all the luggage.

This was probably the point where we started wondering how bad traveling with the bikes would get. Fortunately, no one in either the US or England had opened the bike carriers. We were worried that after spending so much time packing them to ensure their safety that some TSA agent would just tear through the carriers and slam them back together. We heard many, many horror stories.

I figure everyone reading this has, at some point, gotten a song stuck in their head, right? When we were leaving our apartment in Burbank, I had Queen’s (and David Bowie’s) Under Pressure stuck in my head. On the bus ride across London, I had Queen’s Bicycle Race on mental repeat.

Jes slept for a good part of the flight, but I only got about four hours sleep. I spent the other 8 hours accomplishing something I’ve tried to do since college: to watch A Bridge Too Far from beginning to end without falling asleep. Need evidence that a great cast doesn’t make a great movie? Watch this film. (That was all for you, Tom.)

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August 4, 2007 by Ryan.

Look at me…wired on caffeine, eager to go…happily posing with our shuttle driver, Makisir, outside the Bradley International terminal at LAX…

Click here for a larger version

Little did I know what luggage fun awaited us…

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August 4, 2007 by Ryan.

When I asked for suggestions to minimize the effects of jetlag, I got a dozen good responses. They were all different and I considered which to try.

What I didn’t know is that I would come up with my own unique solution:

Piss-poor time management.

Yes, that’s right boys and girls, you too can make a preemptive strike against the forces of jetlag by completely mismanaging your preparation efforts!

This was our apartment at about 5am:

Click here for a larger version

I didn’t get any sleep the night before we left because I spent it packing. I’d never boxed a bike for travel before, and between sleepiness and inexperience that took a lot more time than I expected.

I was very grateful when Jes made a Starbucks run. Mmmmm…chai.

We would have been in serious trouble if I hadn’t pulled the all-nighter. The shuttle driver knocked on the door just as we zipped the final bag closed.

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July 26, 2007 by Ryan.

We’ve finally got a good internet connection here in Bordeaux for the next two days (we’ll see what happens once we hit Paris). I’m going to try to publish a couple of posts, but our free time is limited. We’re doing a lot of riding and we’ve been at almost every Tour stage since arriving. It’s fun, but, damn, it’s exhausting.

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July 17, 2007 by Ryan.

Okay, looks like I’ve got this figured out. I couldn’t run this off tdfchallenge.com and leave the rest of the site up, so we’re borrowing my ryanleasher.com domain.

I’ll try to keep posting throughout the next few weeks with photos and maybe even some video (we’ll see).

Back to the trip preparations…

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