htfu

17 June 2010 (Day 3) Val d’Isere to Valloire

We are in Val d'Isere after two long eventful days which ended in that hideous soulless climb from Bourg Sainte Maurice. After breakfast our support crew has just berated all the riders about the fact that they waited two hours for us yesterday at a planned lunch stop, only for most of us to stop elsewhere. They have also told us that the weather conditions on the Col d’Iseran is looking bad and there will be no hanging about at the top. I feel totally drained, sleepless night with a river raging constantly outside our hotel window, not good preparation for one of the highest climbs on this year’s tour.

I set off at a mediocre/pathetic pace, the route up is pleasant enough, but it climbs endlessly. An hour in and we see snow everywhere, and it is still falling. It’s the middle of June ffs?!?, a surreal experience. At the summit there is little joy or banter, I can already sense that the descent will not be for the faint-hearted. It’ll take a lot of mental strength and skill to negotiate.

I ignore the kind invite to go into Chris’s warm 'Ponderosa' campervan for hot chocolate and meat on the bone carvery. I want to get this over with. Within minutes of setting off, the blizzard shows itself, I can’t see the road anymore and ice is forming on my handlebars. I have to choose between the car tyre tracks or fresh snow as I descend, soon though there is nothing to follow. I have shoe covers knee warmers, merino base layer, arm warmers, lightweight jacket and lobster gloves, but it is not enough. The cold is painful, and my brakes are not working, so i am riding unclipped feet down speedplay cleats ploughing through the mush. In the distance I see that one of our riders has stopped, his bike is down. He is in trouble, wearing very little and no gloves, looks like he is going into hypothermic shock. I am with another rider and we stop, hug him tight, jumping around to warm him up, crack a few jokes you know the ones, a bit like Scott’s adventures in Antartica.

Out of the blizzard a car arrives, we persuade the driver to take him down to the valley. I leave Mark with his Go Pro camera and Jonny’s bike, apparently he walked a kilometre in cleats down the road with both bikes, what a hero. I am back on mine and cursing the weather now, I misjudge a corner and down momentarily, but grateful I didn’t go over the side and lost to any rescue team that might realise in a few hours that I am un-accounted for. The knee warmers and shorts are still in one piece, the rash will hurt when I get some warmth back in my leg.

I am joined by Paul, there is now anger in my riding, I am shivering so much that the bike wobbles constantly. We come across Jonny Lockwood in an abandoned farm building beckoning us in as if he has a found a bar and a roaring fire.. to our disappointment it’s empty, the suggestion of pissing on our hands hasn’t lightened the mood. It’s not long before Paul, then a minute later I leave, hated myself for abandoning John to the rescue effort, but I want to get below the snow line.

Fortunately the road is not steep, and eventually the icy conditions turn milder, what joy let it rain and rain, I don’t fucking care that it stings.. I am soon soaked through. I finally find myself in a small roadside cafe, there are about a dozen riders in. The cafe slowly fills up. Not many words but written on the faces of everyone and what we had all just endured will live with me forever. It proved to be a very eventful trip, all in. But this was perhaps the hardest morning ride I have ever done.

Every training ride since then hasn’t come anywhere close to this experience. My gloves, shoe covers and knee warmers bears witness to some truly heroic gestures against all the odds that day. We arrive safely in Cannes the following Wednesday and embark on three solid days of partying hard...

http://vimeo.com/12739217

marky's gopro.. http://www.facebook.com/therealmarky?ref=ts#!/video/video.php?v=10150211394755328