So I jumped on the turbo instead - some long intervals in the mid-L2 zone (intervals done at 250W - not too taxing, but enough to feel like a good workout). Anyhow, this got me to reflect on La Marmotte (you have plenty of time to think during turbo sessions) which I am taking part in for the second time, on July 4th this year. Specifically reflecting on how I need to get some longer rides in over the next two months. I'm stronger than last year, but have done fewer long rides, so really I'm stronger over 2hrs and have no idea how I will feel after 9hrs+ in the mountains. Well, not strictly true, I can remember how I felt last year and assume this year will be similar. Although I will finish this year, even if it means ingesting a kilo of salt to avoid the cramps.
I've pasted my write-up of last year's event below to give anyone doing the event a flavour of my first-time reaction. Enjoy!
Alpe d'Huez 2008
Bang! Another spasm of cramp pulsates through both my legs, bringing tears to my eyes for the umpteenth time today. I am barely able to unclip this time before wobbling to a stop and lurching sideways off the bike. Quick, lay the bike down, grab the metal safety barrier and stretch, stretch, stretch. Slowly the pain subsides again and I have a chance to look around. Next to me a man curled up with his head between his knees is being sick. Just up the road another rider is stretched out, eyes closed, barely breathing, head in the shade, body and legs lying straight out across the road. Ashen faces everywhere, absolute silence, vacant stares and trembling bodies. Welcome to the world of the wounded and cramping, the sick and despondent, the demoralised and the physically exhausted. The final kilometres of La Marmotte.
I'm sitting at hairpin six, 400 metres below the town of Alpe d'Huez and the finish line. There are only 4 kilometres to go. That's it. After 170 kilometres how hard can another 4 kilometres be? I sling my heavy, heavy legs back onto the bike and push on, by now reduced to a crawl. I can walk faster than this. In fact, between hairpins 19 and 18, and again between 13 and 12 I did walk faster than this, raising blisters immediately on both heels in the heat. What a contrast to the start of the day, the glorious screaming descent of the Alpe at 7am down to the start line at Bourg d'Oisans .
Earlier that day...
With high hopes and a fair bit of nervous anticipation my clubmate and I wait to cross the start line at 7:40am. We have agreed to cycle together to the base of the first climb, where we will undoubtedly part company for the rest of the day. My clubmate is lighter, younger, fitter and a far better climber than me - he's aiming for a gold time in his age category. I'm aiming to finish first and foremost - I've trained pretty hard for this and, whilst I have a slight hope of a silver category finish, I'm not a good climber. To get silver means 10hrs 35mins in the saddle, rolling into Alpe d'Huez just after 6:30pm. And of course it may well take a lot longer than that.
By 8 o'clock we finally get moving with a fast-paced bunch towards the first climb of the day, the Col du Glandon. The sun is slowly hitting the valley floor and pulling the temperature up, there is excited chatter from all around and sporadic applause from the sides of the road. In short, everything feels great.
Slowly the gradient starts to ramp up, and we're into the first climb. My legs are feeling good, I'm spinning away, drinking plenty of fluids. My HRM confirms what I can feel - I'm riding well within my limits and I'm making good progress. Some others seem to be suffering already, heads nodding, sweat dripping off noses, mouths hanging open. One rider goes onto completely the wrong side of the road (luckily traffic is virtually non-existent) and very slowly swerves into the rockface, falling sideways off his bike. He's up quickly and says he's OK, but looking at his expression he seems a sure bet to abandon at some stage before the end.
The top of the Glandon seems to arrive quickly - wow, the first climb of La Marmotte and I've actually enjoyed it! A quick refill of the bottles, an energy bar and a couple of orange segments and I'm off down the other side. The first few kilometres are a bit nerve-racking, with a combination of narrow roads, many riders and sharp hairpins meaning there is no opportunity to relax. Whoops, there goes a rider off the hairpin and into the pastures - luckily he's OK and probably just misjudged his speed a little.
The descent ends all too soon, and there's a long and rather boring slog along the valley floor to the base of the next climb, the Col du Telegraphe. Large groups form, giving everyone the chance to draft and take more fluid and food on board. The start of the climb comes as a relief at first - it's nice to get off the main road and away from the traffic. I try not to focus on the marker boards that count down the distance to the summit and instead keep spinning, keep the heart rate steady and stay with riders going a similar pace to me. I stop once on the ascent for a couple of minutes, to slowly sip more fluids and watch some of the riders. After all I'm not racing and it's interesting to see all the bikes, the different club kits, the weird and varied climbing styles and listen to the snatches of conversation as groups go past - the Dutch and Belgians seem to make up at least half the field. Oh well, enough relaxing, onwards and upwards. Towards the top I experience quite a severe cramping in my left hamstring and calf, but 30 seconds out of the saddle seems to alleviate it enough to carry on. It is a little worrying though, as I don't normally cramp much. I hope it holds off for the Galibier, which everyone tells me is a brute of a climb.
The descent off the Telegraphe to the start of the Col du Galibier really is short and is over all too briefly. I know there is a food stop in Valloire where I intend to have a break for at least 10 minutes and take on some more real food. That's only about a kilometre away, but it is all uphill and I suddenly realise how the minimal recovery time between the two climbs is going to make things very difficult. Ever so slowly I roll into the feed station and join the scrum for food and water. I love the food they have on offer - baguettes ripped into chunks with salami and liver sausage, dried fruits, huge quarters of tomato - and have to make a concerted effort not to overeat. The savoury tastes are such a welcome relief after all the sweet energy snacks I've been carrying. Right, a quick sit down, more fluids, shove a few bits of dried fruit into the jersey pocket and I'm off to see what the Galibier has to offer.
Bloody hell! Ten minutes into the climb and I'm suffering. My legs are still quite heavy from the Telegraphe, and I've made the mistake of looking upwards towards the summit. It's endless and there's no perceptible slackening of the gradient - and everyone has told me that the final few kilometres are the real killer at the end of the climb. Right, better get on with it then. Focus on the road ahead - not too far, just the next few hundred metres. Definitely don't look too far up the mountain at the slowly-moving string of riders winding endlessly hundreds of metres above.
Another ten painful minutes go by before the cramp returns with a vengeance. Getting out of the saddle doesn't stop it now, and each time it hits I have to climb off the bike and stretch at the side of the road. It is really frustrating and slows me down terribly (and let's not forget, I was never going to be fast anyway). The pattern seems to be three or four minutes of climbing, attack of cramp, off the bike and stretch, back on the bike, another few minutes of climbing, etc. Oh, this is bad, worse that I ever imagined. After about 45 minutes I do what I vowed I would try to avoid - I start to walk. Now the pattern is three minutes cycling, attack of cramp, off the bike, stretch, walk for two minutes to keep progress up the mountain, back on the bike, climb, cramp, etc. The sun goes behind the clouds and a few spots of rain hit my shades - oh no, I really don't want to do the longest descent in the rain! I'm questioning my staying power now, questioning my will to finish, questioning my motives.
Near the top I stop at a cafe for an Orangina, which must have some sort of magical properties, for I am able to cycle (very slowly) to the summit without cramping again. The final few kilometres are as hard as everyone has said, just solid, hard climbing, very steep, with everyone moving so slowly in absolute silence.
But it is worth the effort just for the descent. It seems endless, swooping down the side of the mountain. I take great comfort in watching the distance clock up with minimal effort, and start to feel a little more optimistic about finishing. One more climb. A killer of a climb, but only one more. One more. Twenty-one hairpins. Even with a rest every hairpin, even with walking, I'm going to get up that climb. I am going to finish.
Of course it's easy to have all these thoughts on the descent. All too soon I'm back at Bourg d'Oisans and, having refilled the bottles, I'm heading along the road towards a solid wall of rock. Accelerate a little, round to the left and boom! The road rears up sharply and I'm back to the suffering again. Push on the pedals. I can't spin now. I can't get my heart rate anywhere near max - my legs are just too heavy. All I can do is grind slowly up the road along with hundreds of others and hope that the cramp doesn't return. But oh, here it comes, as though it's been waiting in my legs until I'm at my weakest. It's stronger than I am now, and hitting me between every hairpin, slowing my overall progress to an absolute crawl. Upwards I go, counting down the turns, the agony getting worse as the numbers on the hairpins descend.
The end...
I'm sitting at hairpin six, 400 metres below the town of Alpe d'Huez and the finish line. There are only 4 kilometres to go. That's it. After 170 kilometres how hard can another 4 kilometres be? But I'm finished. The last few attacks of cramp had me crying out. I can't even lift my leg over the bike without cramping. My feet feel like they're on fire and I can barely hobble along the road. I'm not going to be able to make the final four kilometres. Who am I kidding, I'm not going to be able to make another 40 metres. The slow realisation hits me - my day is over. I call my clubmate, who finished several hours ago, to come and pick me up in the car. My head hangs low as I load my bike in the back of the car...
It has taken me 11hrs 10 minutes to get within 4 kilometres of the end, having done approximately 4,600 metres of climbing. Would I do this again? I'm not sure, but the overwhelming feeling I get in the car on the way up the final five hairpins is that there may be a return trip...
No comments:
Post a Comment