It was with great pleasure during a recent vacation to the South of France that I had the honour of taking on the challenge of one the most mythical mountains on the Tour de France – Mont Ventoux. Having left SA two weeks earlier and with little training before that I was apprehensive as to how much I was going to suffer on the day. Not to mention two weeks of stuffing my face with cheese, wine and baguettes while on a barge. I also wasn’t sure if I still knew how to operate a road bike having hung up my 700c’s a number of years ago. We were staying in a quaint town by the name of Fontaine de Vaucluse, the source of a glacial spring and only thirty minutes drive from Ventoux. I secretly hoped that the weather would be foul or that I wouldn’t be able to rent a bicycle. No such luck unfortunately – our hotel had arranged the bicycle to be delivered and the weather forecast was set to be perfect (a miracle in itself considering Ventoux is covered in mist and freezing cold for much of the year). There was no turning back now. As we set off in the car I chuckled at the fact that I was riding a Trek Madonne 5.2 with triple chain ring and toe clip pedals. Bedoin town sits just at the base of the climb. The cafes were busy with cyclists and tourists all enjoying their lunches and soaking up the summer sun. We passed a bicycle shop with about ten top end road bikes all stacked side by side in a bike rack ready for rental. This looked as good a place as any to begin my adventure. I changed in the parking lot and kissed the family goodbye leaving them to browse the village for awhile before catching me in the car later. After almost killing myself trying to get the toe clips tightened I exited the town and started to gather speed. The road was surprisingly empty compared to the town as I headed in the direction the bicycle shop owner had indicated. Soon enough a sign came into view which read “MONT VENTOUX 1909m, Ascension Totale: 21km, Denivele: 1548m, Pente Moyene: 7.5%” 21km!!! Why did I think that it was only 12km? This isn’t a good start… It wasn’t long before I took a sweeping left hand turn onto what appeared to be the start of the more serious stuff, as indicated by the bollard which showed my current altitude, km’s to the summit and average gradient for the next km. Wow what a great thing to have all the way to the top, or so I thought? It was’nt long before I was clambering for more gears only to find there where none left? Who’s laughing about the triple chain ring now! The next ten kilometres seemed to pass quite quickly as I took in the experience of reading all the names painted across the road by enthusiastic fans, wondering if by some miracle mine would be there…no such luck. Bollard after bollard I pushed on. It was starting to get seriously hot and still no sign of the family. With only one water bottle and no food I began to think that I had seriously under estimated the viciousness of this climb. I had begun to wonder if the support crew and or myself had become lost. Not a moment later I heard the comforting toot from the car and was afforded the luxury of a quick stop to lose a layer and have a sip of coke before setting off again. The next few km’s the car and I exchanged places on various occasions. I have to admit the moral support was fantastic. I’d round a corner and be confronted with the family, cameras at the ready including a crazy fan running next to me with a South African flag waving – I couldn’t help but smile and feel proud even if I was making a complete tourist out of myself. I wondered how the pros managed to keep concentration while surrounded by hundreds of crazed fans. Next stop Mont Serein ski resort at 1400m above sea level. Interestingly, there was a marked increase in the number of cyclists and parked cars around. Maybe I should have chosen this option instead. It is from this point that Mont Ventoux gets it’s mythical reputation. Trees make way for large boulders more suitable for a Martian landscape than an Earthly existence. The temperature had dropped almost 10 degrees from that in the valley and I felt as though I suddenly had a bout of flu, hot sunshine scorching my back while my chest froze in the wind chill. With every kilometre further I gasped more and more desperately for air. I think I had become delirious since for the last 5 km’s I’d fumbled the levers in the hope that there was just one more gear available, alas there were none. At just under 2km’s from the summit my lungs where mercifully given a respite as I dismounted to view the memorial to Tom Simpson which stands as a reminder to the strength and tenacity of most cyclists, demanding to be put back onto his bike just minutes before his death. I couldn’t help but laugh when I heard the unmistakable sound of a fart coming from a group of Dutch cyclists taking photos. The offender seemed unperturbed with his indiscretion despite being within earshot of about ten other people. I took this as a signal to start my final push for the summit. I can honestly say that the final 2km’s to the summit were some of the hardest I have ever had to ride. Altitude, exposure, fluctuating temperatures, and solitude all combine to make Mont Ventoux a truly formidable challenge. I was given one last surprise just 500m’s from the summit. Nearing the final bend another crazed fan jumped out in front of me, this time holding a significantly larger and more professional camera than I was used to. He must have snapped ten pictures while I instantly put on my best face as if I was going to be appearing on the cover of the next bicycling magazine. As I rounded him he greeted me and very quickly passed me a business card before continuing photographing the next broken soul. What a brilliantly astute businessman making money on a mountain top corner at 1900m! I rounded the final corner with images of Lance and Pantani on my wheel. Across the line, I was broken but couldn’t stop smiling. I had climbed Mont Ventoux, a truly humbling experience.
