JULES AND PHIL'S 2008 ETAPE BLOG

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Blog 7?

THE FINAL PUSH - JULES' STORY

Last week I rode the high cols of the Pyrenees , this week I cleaned out the guinea pigs.

 

Etape du Tour 2008

 

And so it came to pass, all the talk, all the tactics, the mental preparation, logistics and nutrition plans were over and there I was at the summit of the Hautacam. Glad that the pain was over, job done but there was something already niggling me…..the thought that I could do it better next year.

 

Getting there

Lucky old me was offered a lift by one of Cyclefit's (my favourite) clients on the Saturday, I left my house at 9:30am and was on the Expo stand at 14:30 I won't go in to detail but it was a better experience than you could imagine and I arrived fresh and relaxed.

We topped up our carbs at the Expo with a regular intake of Hob Nobs while meeting and helping out many Cyclefit clients, it was great to be there and enjoy the anticipation. The weather forecast was ominous but we had ridden the Tourmalet in the rain before and new what to expect.

Next year for the Expo we will take a tea urn, homemade cakes, air cartridges and more energy bars and more staff. After the drive down and two days on the stand Warrick and Phil were suffering……

 

After packing up we headed to our accommodation that had been organized and provided by GPM10 , a delightful farmhouse just at the base of the second little climb before the Tourmalet. We met the guests (Andrew, Adam, James, Sam, and Mark) and devoured a large bowl of spag bol washed down with a couple of glasses of local red.

 

The ride

Up at 4:30am for breakfast – not more cereal - we debated on what to wear and packed our bags, all the bikes were already in the van and loaded with full bottles to save any faffing.

We drove the vans through the darkness to the start only to be met at the toll by a road completely blocked with cars and riders unpacking their bikes in a frenzy. We squeezed our way to the hard shoulder and proceeded to unload everyone's bikes, the mini-bus left us and we left our van hoping it would still be there in the evening.

 

In the pen we saw familiar faces as we waited for the countdown to the start.

 

Steve and Simon looking good on their new Serottas, and Paul Kozary in a bin liner.

 

We were off at the back of our group so we were around a thousand or so. This was the most nerve racking part for me as the pace was initially slow and there was a lot of overtaking going on. Once past the first couple of corners the pace opened up and we were tonking along following the wheels and keeping out the wind.

Phil , Jay and I started together, Phil disappeared up the road to leave me and Jay together, luckily Jay's red arm-warmers helped me track him down in the mele.

 

Warren Phelops – ‘Jules can you……?' ‘Not today Warren , its all about ME'.

 

We debated whether we were going too fast and should ease up or to stay with the fastest riders.

 

Guy ‘ Crazy Bet ' Andrews – ‘Jump on Guy', ‘***k-off see you on the Hautacam'.

 

We decided on the latter as per our previously discussed tactics and went for it enjoying the open roads and virtually effortless riding behind 600 riders.

 

James Murphy the world's most dapper cyclist – ‘Hi Jules, I think I'll have to settle for silver….'

 

Just before the second small climb we came across Warrick who had just replaced his tub, we rode with him for a few miles which was rather unexpected until he decided to move forward for the climb.

‘I was in second place with a guy in black on a Serotta (Richard Todd), until I punctured, I would probably have blown up anyway…'

 

We caught up with Phil on the climb, I patted him on the back, he felt like a big wet Labrador .

 

‘How's it going Phil?' ‘It's not happening Jules…'

 

It was at this point I lost contact with Jay and Phil and tucked into the wheels. We lined out, it was like a road race.

 

Charlie Pearch out the saddle in his biggest gear, he put in a good time for a big fella.

 

A little earlier I had begun to complain to Jay that my left calf was feeling a little tight, that is until I saw a guy in front pedaling with one leg…..stop whinging Jules.

Rupert Rittson – off his bike helping a guy who had crashed on a hairpin.

And still we churned on.

I passed Little Nige from Trek on his little Madone. Asta la vista.

Two young bloods from Red Kite Cycles came past towing a big group, thanks boys, just what I need.

Luke Scheybeler – looking lean and business like and not saying much for once.

The group split and nobody wanted to chase, I watched the leaders disappear up the road.

 

Karl Robijns came up beside me ‘ My whole body is aching, my legs, my back' he groaned.

 

Then we hit the Tourmalet, I still felt OK and rode up in the 26, I thought I would save the 29 for La Mongie after about 10 minutes I changed my mind and spent the rest of the climb in my lowest gear.

A man came past me with his cleats on the heels of his shoes, 'he must be unable to dorsiflex his feet,' I thought, ‘how does he compensate for any leg length discrepancy?' I mused.

 

It was a long and painful grind, visibility down to a few metres.

On the flight over in the Gulfstream G5 – did I not mention that? – one of my fellow passengers was a motivational speaker. His pearl of wisdom for me was that the shortest distance between two points was about eight inches: ear to ear. I took his advice, I had struggled like this before in the mountains but when you get to the top the pain stops; just keep going.

‘Don't stop ‘til you get to the top I chanted in my head'

Knowing the GPM10 car was at the top spurred me on. I had taken on plenty of food and fluids on the run-in and did not need to stop at the feed stations. Eventually I made it to the summit, the last kilometer was the second longest kilometer of my life.

Geoff Waugh an old friend was at the summit taking photos, he's always popping up somewhere when bikes are involved and I'm never surprised to see him, I tried to respond but just grunted. Over the summit I glimpsed the GPM10 car through the cloud with the ‘Neepster' in attendance. As I peed off the top of the Tourmalet (just marking my territory) he changed my bottles, cleaned my glasses and handed me a lovely quiche, yum.

11:30 am, I was on for a sub seven hour ride.

Off the top, chewing a jam sandwich, cold, wet, fast and no visibility.

Into the unknown, 120km done, further than I had ridden for years and another 50km to go.

When I put on my jersey in the morning one of my daughter's school socks fell to the floor, I paused for thought, no risks, get home safely.

Riding down the Tourmalet I just let it go and hammered trying to make up as much time as possible (sorry Elsa).

My seatpack started to fall off, I was on my own so stopped to fix it, as I remounted a fast group came past lead by a huge Scotsman (he had a Scottish flag jersey) with his arse hanging out of his shorts and I jumped on the train getting my legs going again.

I warmed up and the crowds at the bottom of the Hautacam made me even warmer.

Everyone had told me that the Hautacam was easy, that there were only two steep sections….hello?

The average gradient for a kilometer may be 10% but if half of it is downhill the other half is a lot steeper! What a killer.

Karl Robijns appeared out the gloom and carried on where he left off: ‘I'm dying, I'm fucking dying' ‘Good ride Karl keep going'. He turned off the road to die.

I grovelled, I died on the bike, I kept going, I had stomach cramps. 500m to go, every pedal stroke is equal to a metre, I started counting down, I crossed the line.

The pain stopped

I collected my medal.

 

Phil ippe Bailly ‘Hey Jules, good ride huh, a hard climb no?' ‘No kidding'

 

Queueing for the descent I spotted Vlad beside me, we congratulated each other united in our suffering

.

Karl Robijns crossed the line ….he lived.

A cold descent to the Etape Village and a pint of Guinness, food, warm clothes. I laid on the grass which felt warm and dry luxury.

The best day I have had on a bike for years, thank you every one of you for inspiring me and motivating me to keep riding, it's been a blast.

See you out there

JW

THE FINAL PUSH - PHIL'S STORY

A Boy in Man's Shorts….

END OF A NIGHTMARE
My cooperation with and participation in the 2008 Etape du Tour formally ended about 3kms from the start of the Hautacam. In truth I had been an unwilling spectator in my own bodily functions melt-down all morning, but the cold of the descent of the Tourmalet finally put my poor legs into shock, spasm and cramp.
I fell from the bike half onto the grass verge with my legs twisted in painful contraction. My preparation and condition had inevitably been found out wanting on that long bastard, bastard climb. Almost immediately I was grateful that it was all bloody over and I could eventually crawl into a small French bar, order a plate of frites and carafe of local wine and gently reflect upon a battle honourably waged but sadly lost. I saw a quite a few faces I recognised ride by as I lay half on and half off the road. I know they saw me as everyone had to carefully ride around the Pink Peril that still lay in the middle of the road where I fell. But the Etape brings out the best and worst of everyone. No help was offered or expected. No eye contact – die where you fall.
And so I lay there for a time – I have no real idea how long – desperately attempting to avoid any involuntary movement that may start the agonising contractions all over again. Nothing seemed to bring relief at all - I was stuck by the roadside waiting for French officialdom for eventual relief - never a satisfying predicament. So I put my head back on the grass, closed my eyes tried to relax and waited for the future to intervene on my behalf. I felt like Joe Simpson in ‘Touching The Void' . The future, when he eventually arrived, was a small, chubby moustached Frenchman who had been obviously summoned at a jog from further down the slope. Breathless and with a light sweaty sheen on, my man nevertheless took control. His friend got my bike out the road whilst he proceeded to commit origami on my legs whilst explaining in ‘Fringlish' that he was a sports physiotherapist. ‘Nooooo' I shrieked – this was quite clearly a lose-lose situation. If I couldn't think of the French for ‘fuck off' fast, I was either in for a lot more pain or even worse he would fix me and I would actually have to climb the sodding Hautacam after all.
A few minutes of humiliating pain and he pronounced that I was indeed ‘ repaired' . I wobbled to my feet like Bambi, hoping he was wrong but knowing instinctively that this man was a capable professional. The cramp had indeed gone and I had therefore copped the ‘lose-lose' scenario.

RAIN, MALE PRIDE AND DOG-TIRED
And the day had started so promisingly. I sat on the edge of the bed at 4.45am listening to the rain. Everyone was waiting in the mini-bus downstairs. All the bikes were carefully packed in the CycleFit van. Both diesel engines thrummed waiting. And still I sat on the bed too tired to move. I realised that I was bereft of the necessary resources for the day. I had looked into Warrick 's eyes over our charming 4.15am breakfast and knew that he felt the same way. As Mark from GPM would say – we had both ‘blown our biscuits' - the drive down and running the CycleFit stand over the last few days has exacted a physical price. It is sensible to pull now. Right now. Be honest with myself and everyone on the bus. And I certainly would have other than this bloody blog and all the preparation that has gone into this sodding French farce. So still I sat upstairs as everyone sat downstairs packed in the bus – some already even wearing their helmets – no pressure - the day's outcome resting upon a few stray synapses and misplaced male pride.

THE START

The usual French incompetence and disregard for humanity dictated that we park in the rain on the autoroute adjacent to Pau Peage. Everyone out and a faff-royale ensued with bikes and kit flung around like confetti in a vain attempt to bring order from chaos.
At the start my spirits lifted with the camaraderie – truly fantastic to see so many clients, friends and colleagues at the start. It seemed everyone was there. Our old friend Guy Andrews from Rouleur looked shattered having flown in that morning after completing the Marmotte the previous day. Methinks he won't be doing that again? I look like bloody Brad Pitt compared to him.

We all wished each other well and we were off. But being British we had to wait ten minutes for a thousand frienchies to cross the start, even though we are in the VIP enclosure. The speed at the start is wonderful and gets me thinking that I can do this. All the old crit-skills and instinct come flooding back and I am soon carving up through the field at warp[ed] speed, relishing the damp twists and turns and dynamics of the big bunch again. I am also in total denial of both my latent strength reserves and all the forgotten energy products that I left back at our gite. But this time is still the highlight of the day and made special by all the people that I saw out on the open road - Alex Bastin, James Lumpkin, James Murphy and Warrick Spence to name a few. Warrick Spence? What the bloody hell is he doing back here? It seems he punctured whilst in the front group (of two). One look at the way he is riding tells me that he wouldn't have been there long anyway. He is a busted flush and would eventually potter in at a relatively pedestrian six hours twenty minutes.

At that point on the ride everything happens at once:
1. We pass our wonderful Cami de Bidale Gite which is at the base of the Lacroup climb. Our inspirational hosts Dom and Liz are out cheering and taking photos. And I should have stopped and sat by their pool. (Dom was to keep popping up like Mr Benn in the most unlikely places. I would hear a quiet whisper 'Phil' and hand would come out the throng attached to a small can of coke or energie gel? What a guy)

2. Warrick and Jules drift passed me like I am stationary.

3. I realise I am totally exhausted.

4. I fruitlessly search for energy products. And find one mysterious gel that I don't know the provenance of. I eat it and the wrapper.

The little remaining strength of character I have left evaporates with the spectacle and horror of Lourdes . It is somewhat ironic that it is a water-focussed Christian pilgrimage because it is a toilet on a biblical scale. I can't stop here, food or nofood.

SCHOOLBOY ERRORS
I have made so many schoolboy errors thus far that it should come as no surprise to an old campaigner like myself that I should subsequently fall apart on the lower slopes of the Tourmalet. But it is a shock how early it happens. I can't hold station with my little group even on the lower 3% slope. By the time it goes vertical I am in a low gear and lower ebb. My speed seems to drop in correlation to the distance so I always seem to have an My speed seems to drop in correlation to the distance so I always seem to have an hour left to climb. It is a mind-game. The 9k to go sign almost has me in tears - I am choking them back. How can anything be this hard? How can I feel this shit? I have done this all my life surely I have some residual reserves? I remember Mark Kirkman's (ex-CycleFit physiologist) response when anyone started talking about ‘muscle-memory' – ‘oh yes where exactly in the muscle system does consciousness and memory reside then'? Of course he is right I am struggling because I have gone too hard for my fitness-level it is that simple - my muscles don't remember a damn thing. I wish I didn't
I can honestly say that the climb up to La Mongie, 5k before the Tourmalet, summit is the most difficult thing I have ever done on a bike in decades of racing/training/riding. Period. It took all my pathetic will just to keep the pedals turning over in slow-motion. I wanted to switch my conscious mind off, put my thoughts somewhere else, bury the pain so deep that I couldn't feel it anymore. I haven't climbed in the Pyrenees since the 2001 Etape - discussed in our very first blog - and now I know why, the weather is always shit and the views are non-existent as there is always zero visibility. I am back in 2001 but less fit, heavier and in more pain. Anger gets me to La Mongie – anger at myself that I put myself once again in the position where I have to suck this shit up.
La Mongie eventually drifts out of the cloud and rain and I make for the feed-station in a haggard dribbling state. Fourteen ‘Optimum Energie' gels and half a banana later I depart La Mongie and stagger towards the summit in a daze.
I wobbled towards the GPM10 car and handed myself over to Mark ( Ray ) Neep. And for the first time since I have known this enigmatic man I saw genuine concern at my lost condition reflected in his eyes. I rebuffed his offer of food, warm clothes, energy drink or a sit-down with a Lawrence Oates(ish) "I may be some time", and foolishly rode away off the summit.

OVER THE TOP

Which I realised almost immediately was another huge error. I needed the food, warm clothing and a rest. After 1/2 mile of the descent I was shaking with cold and like almost everyone else I spoke to lost all sensation in my fingers. I have never been a good climber but have partly made up for it by going down technical descents fast. This one defeated me - I lost coordination, control and hence confidence for the first time ever. I stopped three times to breathe on my fingers so I could at least comfort-brake properly. As I overtook a chap on a long straight he went from shaking with cold to a speed-wobble to a fall. Conscience made me look to see he was okay but survival made me keep going without actually stopping, I am ashamed to say.

The Tourmalet in sum then: brutal, cold, no view and no satisfying exciting fast descent as a reward - nil points. Exactly as I remember from 2001 and no reason ever to return.

AFTER THE CRAMP - THE HAUTACAM
After the cramping at the base of the Hautacam, the climb itself I found surprisingly less brutish than the Tourmalet? I liked the fact that the gradient changed a little which helps the bigger rider. It also helped having a few kg's of finest French energy gel swishing around my system. I found the Hautacam manageable and I could meter my efforts all the way. I still got overtaken by absolutely everybody from the entire age/gender spectrum but I was riding my own hill at a pace I knew I could sustain. The top and finish was the murky anti-climax that only the Etape can deliver. No food, no feeling of relief and a long queue for a cold and damp descent to the unmarked arena. Typical and stupid. It was a poor choice of stage and the organisers were lucky the weather was merely spiteful and not medeival, which would have been dangerous as well as uncomfortable. I understand that the Etape is the blue-riband event and that is why we all do it but why can't it be more fun, friendly and inclusive? Less French and more Italian maybe?

By the time I met up with Jules, Warrick and Jay the anger that had got me around had subsided. I was just tired. No relief, no sense of elation or satisfaction. I hated every single metre other than the first twenty or thirty miles. I had trained badly, prepared very poorly in the run-up and ridden even worse.

But what I really loved was being on the CycleFit stand in the expo - it made me very proud that CycleFit was one of only two companies there in Pau (the other being our friends at Rapha). Proud of all our clients and friends who were taking part and the sacrifices they had made and inspirational dedication they had shown (Warren, Paul, Adam...etc).
Next year we will be back at the Etape in force - we are going to close the company down for the week and reconvene everyone at the Etape.

In the final analysis the best part of the Etape was being part of the amorphous club that was heading for it. Having a goal and moving forwards together to meet it. I want to stay riding and I want to ride more sportivs in the Uk and maybe a couple more in Europe. But the Etape in 2009 is unlikely. But I am happy to be the man that holds all your coats while you fill your boots.

Thank you for listening to a middle-aged whining has-been who tried to bluff the Etape and failed. And wears his bitterness on his sleeve. I am a different man on a flat sunny road I promise. Good luck for all your riding for the rest of the year.

Oh yes the times:

Jules did a creditable 6:46ish
Phil limped to a 7:13ish
Warrick did a pathetic (for him) 6:20ish

PC

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