The worst Etape du Tour, ever

Posted by Mark on August 1, 2009 under etapedutour | 3 Comments to Read

Having just about got over the trauma of this years Etape, I feel I can finally write a bit about it. Maybe my experience will help somebody else, or maybe it’ll just serve to remind me that no matter how much planning you do, things can still f**k up.

I had everything planned – in my mind – to perfection. Our nice gite in Mormoiron, not far from Bedoin, was perfect for the finish and a great spot for some recce’ing of the mountain before the event. Since I’d ridden Ventoux before, said recce was more for the benefit of my mate and to see if I was a bit quicker than 2007. I’d got my feeding sorted, a new bike, and some chiro treatment running up to the event had sorted out my sore back issues.

The day of the event meant a bit of a drive up to Montelimar – 90 km to be precise. We’d managed to fit three bikes into the 3 series estate, with enough space to get the three associated blokes in there too. Tickety boo.

Up at rude o’clock, 3.30am. Drive up to Montelimar, get parked up before 5. Mega early – we’re rocking. With Chris and Mal in the grim 8 & 9,000s they wanted to be early to get right near the front of their pens. I was at 4594, so not too bad.

Bike assembly. Wheels in. Seat pin in. Get torque wrench out to do up the seat collar. Set to 6nm, start to turn. PING! What was that? “That didn’t sound good” says Chris. Hmm, I thought the collar had just moved. Start to tighten again, erm, no. The bolt has sheared.

The first thought that goes through my mind – and gets vocalised quite loudly too – is “shit! shit! shit!”. Chris remains super calm and says “we’ve get plenty of time, go visit the Mavic tent in the start village”. Good plan – we’re on the road near the village anyway, so off I honk.

Start village is buzzing with officials, but no village per se. It’s packed up. I ask where the Mavic tent is, only to find that it doesn’t exist any more. Fab. My etape is looking over before it’s even begun.

I honk back to the car and tell the guys. I’ve almost resigned to the fact I’m not riding, but as the ever pragmatic Chris points out there should be the neutral service cars around. Second good plan. I get ready anyway.

We pootle off to the start, me still out of the saddle of course. The guys go off to settle in the just-in-front-of-the-broomer pen, and I go off to find mine, and the Mavic cars.

At 5:15 I find a lady to ask about the cars. I’m told they should be ici at 6am. She suggests I stay put until then. So I eat my pre-prepared breakfast (soaked overnight Alara Goji & Yakon muesli, highly recommended!) and sit around. 5:40, and I’m done troughing so pop back to the car – I’d forgotten to sun cream up absolutely everything apart from my legs anyway, so not a bad plan.

Back to the start point. 6 o’clock arrives, no cars. 6:10, nothing. I go find another official to ask. He calls somebody – “they should be here, I don’t know where they are. Give it another ten minutes”. So I do.

The pen entry was due to close at 6:30 for the 7am start. I was getting very, very worried now. Was my who year’s training going to go to pot just because of one 5mm bolt?

6:35. Nothing. I see the original lady, she looks at me sadly and says “still nothing?”. “Nope” I reply. She makes a call, but nobody knows where the Mavic cars are.

I’ve tried calling friends I know are here, twittering Chris Boardman, and begging random people. I am still very much sans bolt. So I honk off to the start line, to see if the cars are there waiting. It takes a while to get through the carnage that is the start pens line up. Eventually I hit the very front, right by the start line itself. I speak to a police officer, who kindly runs around the corner for me to see if the cars are there – nope.

7am. The gun goes, the riders start rolling off the line. As a last ditch attempt I figure I’ll start rolling out onto the course, in case the cars come by in the early kilometres. I manage to slot into the second pen, and roll out with the 1,000s.

Honking on adrenaline is fun After about 5km I realise I’m doing over 32kph, out of the saddle, and have been doing since I started. I can only imagine the folks following me must’ve thought “when is this guy going to sit down? Is he mad?”. Well, at the time, yes.

After 11km of riding out of the saddle my wrists are beginning to ache a little bit, and I face facts. My etape du tour is indeed over. I pull to the side of the road and watch 8,000 cyclists go past me. Mal goes by like a train, followed five minutes later by Chris. I cheer them on – along with any London Dynamo riders I see (my club) or Dulwich Paragons (a mate’s club).

After 25 minutes, they’re pretty much done. There’s the odd straggler (really? They’re sure to be in the broom wagon very early on!) I turn around, and ride back to town. Gutted.

My ride profile…

The map of how far I got…

The little bugger that ruined my ride…