Finally after months of waiting, it was time to head off to France for my one and only big sportive of the year, the L’Etape du Tour. This sportive, organised by the A.S.O, it gives the public the opportunity to ride an official mountain stage of the Tour de France usually a few days before the professionals and takes place on completely closed roads. Personally it’s my favourite sportive, brilliantly organised, a route that changes every year and I found the best atmosphere, with riders from all over the world. Registration takes place during the two days before the event, with entrants signing in, handing over medical certificates and collecting their race numbers, special ruck sacks, T shirts and other goodies. It was a family affair and I was joined by my brother David and father Tony (former St Ives CC member).
On the morning of the ride, we got up early and set off on the short drive from Lourdes to the start in Pau. I was convinced we passed someone riding towards Pau wearing a St Ives kit, and on arrival at the start line, I spotted fellow club member Steve Clark in the starting pen next to me. Steve was riding the event on his fold up Airnimal bike which drew a few strange looks on the day.
The forecast was for miserable conditions on the day of the race, and for once they were spot on. The first 60 kilometres were fairly uneventful with several 3rd category climbs and rolling French countryside. After a few hours the heavens opened at the start of the 15km drag uphill to Campan and the base of the climb up the Col du Tourmalet. It wasn’t long before some riders were abandoning the event and cycling in the opposite direction. The heavy rain continued almost non-stop for the 1hour 38 minutes it took to climb the 17km eastern side of the pass, and my Garmin read just six degrees at the summit.
After a quick stop at the summit to put on my thin, virtually useless wind / waterproof top, the section I had been dreading all day. Downhill sections are supposed to be the most enjoyable part but this turned out to be the worst, and in the end like so many others I succumbed to the cold conditions. In the small villages along the descent, riders were hiding from the wind and rain, wherever they could find shelter; whilst others sought medical attention from paramedics in make shift tents. 
With my arms shivering badly and hands completely numb, all I could think about was that eventually, at some point, sooner or later my hands would give up and I’d be unable to brake, and the 21km downhill seemed like an eternity. Fortunately they lasted just long enough and at Luz – Saint – Sauveur the rain stopped and the valley road started drying out. All the way down the mountain I’d convinced myself I too would quit, but all that changed once I approached the base of the Hautacam.
We were greeted by hundreds of spectators lining the road, cheering on every rider, giving me the much needed boost of encouragement to continue. For those few hundred meters you experienced what it must feel to like to be a professional climbing a mountain in the Tour de France, with crowds of people shouting as you make your way through a small gap in the road, a fantastic and memorable experience.
After a few kilometres the rain started yet again, continuing almost non-stop until the summit. The ski station at Hautacam and the beautiful Pyrenees scenery was barely visible through the cloud and rain, it was cold, damp, visibility was poor and you knew there was still a long wet freezing descent to come. A bit of an anti-climax to the end of an epic ride but I had made it. I’d completed a stage of the Tour de France.
What makes the Etape so special is the support of the spectators. For hours people stood in terrible conditions often soaking wet, by the roadside cheering on riders either though their local village or up the mountains and it was great to hear so many people shouting “Come on St Ives” as I trundled slowly past.
An article in the Telegraph sums it up brilliantly:
The descent brings the world back into focus. It’s now raining heavily and the temperature has dropped close to freezing. As the road winds down the west side of the Tourmalet in a series of switchbacks, my arms start shaking. Then the muscles that connect my neck go solid and immobile. I can’t turn my head – but it’s my fingers that are my real worry. They are quickly going numb, which means it’s difficult to tell how hard I’m squeezing the brake.
The following 20km of riding down to the village of Luz-Saint-Sauveur is the scariest thing I have done in my adult life. The shaking spreads from my arms up into my shoulders as my body gets colder; I’m desperate to turn my legs over to generate warmth, but I’m too fearful of the speed it would create. Slipping off the road would mean plunging down a dramatic drop. Two ambulances rush past me, sirens wailing. I can taste my own mortality in my mouth.
………
As I ride on and near the ascent to Hautacam, those spectators provide easily the best moment of the day. I pass the final feed station and turn right to begin the last climb. The scene at the end of the corner is like the Tour itself. I’m enveloped by throngs of cheering spectators, who crowd along the road, leaving only a narrow path to navigate. I feel like Contador and Shleck, like Chris Froome, Bradley Wiggins, Bernard Hinault and Eddy Merckx. It doesn’t matter that I’m travelling at roughly half their pace and that most of the spectators are probably in town to see the real thing fly through a few days later; I am, momentarily, the King of the Mountain.
Read Jonny Coopers account titled My Bad Day on the Tourmalet.
I finished 3272 out of 13000 entrants in a time of 7 hours 24 minutes. A few days later the Tour de France tackled the exact same stage albeit in considerably better weather conditions. Vincenzo Nibali dropped his rivals on the slopes of the Hautacam and claimed the stage victory in a time of 4 hours 4 minutes!
David in his first overseas mountain sportive, despite a gallant effort, abandoned a few kilometres from the summit of the Tourmalet (along with hundreds of other riders and probably a very sensible thing to do considering the conditions) but will be back leaner and fitter next year or so I’m lead to believe. My father completed the event along with Steve on the fold up. However ride of the day must go to the gentlemen who completed the event on a three speed Rayleigh Chopper. Yes that’s right a Raleigh Chopper, the 1970’s children’s bike!
Other climbs I rode included the accent up to the ski station at Luz Ardiden, a really nice steady 13km HC category climb and the 21km climb up to the Lac de Cap de Long, a dammed lake at 2100metres above sea level, described as the best climb in the Pyrenees. A few days later we cycled up the Port de Bales to watch the Tour on its first climb in the Pyrenees, a fantastic experience for any cycling enthusiast, and so much better than watching the race in Cambridge!
For those looking to ride climbs in France or Italy, check out www.cycling-challenge.com Will posts great reviews, tips, suggestions etc and is a brilliant source of information. Alternating between the two mountain ranges means next year’s event is likely to take place in the Alps. Would I recommend it, yes! If you do only one overseas sportive this should be at the top of the list. Entries usually go on sale in November or December on the A.S.O.s website. It’s done on a first come first served basis but sells out within 24 hours.
Daniel Rigby
