BoulderGeek
07-11-2007, 02:24 PM
Saturday:
Train to St. Jean de Maurienne, 10Euros, 1 hour.
Arrive to find 2000 riders there doing La Marmotte. Since it was 100Euro to enter, I decided not to. But, that didn't stop me from integrating with the schmenges and eating their pit stop food. I was a bit of a bastard, and showed remarkable freshness up the Télégraphe (since they had 40 or 50 miles under their belt when we started, and I had about ten). Got to Valloire, met the proprietors of the Relais du Galibier, offloaded my stuff, and headed back out for the Galibier before dinner.
Galibier: 2 hours. Upon returning back, Paul, owner of the hotel, asked me how long I took. "Deux heures," I replied. "Les professionnels," he said, holding out three fingers. "Les professionnels: trente-cinq minutes." 35. Going up, after doing 60 miles of race pace. Ugh. It took me that long to descend.
Sunday morning: petite dejuner with French people. Load out. Hit the road pointed toward the Galibier again at 9:30AM.
9:35AM: the rain begins. Get used to it; it's gonna be a long day.
Feeling the legs from yesterday. The summit doesn't come as easily today. But, I still do it in two hours. 3500 vertical, 17Km.
Descend for an hour and a half. Pause for photos, pee breaks and to warm up. 3PM: arrive in Bourg d'Oisans.
It's lightly raining, I'm about hypothermic, and I want a hot shower. The hairball tunnels down from La Grave had me pretty weary and freaked out. Above about 40MPH, I kept getting these weird thoughts of hitting a pothole and how long would it take my cheapie radial-spoked FSA front wheel to collapse, throwing my front teeth to the pavement like "American History X." About this time, I usually grabbed some brake.
So, anyway, there I am at the base of Alpe d'Huez, and I want hot cocoa, a blankie and a nice plush sofa. "Just ride up to the first turn sign," I think. Turn 21 sign looms. Then the sun comes out. Too late to wuss out. Strip off the arm warmers and start to climb.
Then it's just a blur of intermittent pain, fatigue, heat, cold, rain, sorrow, self doubt and thinking it's too late to quit and I need to press on.
It rained at the top. I looked around, had a beer, and then dropped back to Bourg d'Oisans. Only to find out that B d'O doesn't have an SNCF train station! Ugh. Autobus to Grenoble for me, smelling, wet and stuck in spandex. I changed into street clothes on the street in Grenoble, didn't care.
Anyway, that was my weekend. Only 60-65 miles or so, but 11000 feet of climbing, 44MPH top speed, no flats (some people had 5 during the Marmotte). Two sandwiches, one liter of beer, one lamb chop dinner with fromage course, two espressos, and lots of pain. Saw two Ferraris, dozens of Ducatis and BMWs, five $100,000 Shelby Cobras from Switzerland, getting 5MPG while gas costs $9 four four litres.
Train to St. Jean de Maurienne, 10Euros, 1 hour.
Arrive to find 2000 riders there doing La Marmotte. Since it was 100Euro to enter, I decided not to. But, that didn't stop me from integrating with the schmenges and eating their pit stop food. I was a bit of a bastard, and showed remarkable freshness up the Télégraphe (since they had 40 or 50 miles under their belt when we started, and I had about ten). Got to Valloire, met the proprietors of the Relais du Galibier, offloaded my stuff, and headed back out for the Galibier before dinner.
Galibier: 2 hours. Upon returning back, Paul, owner of the hotel, asked me how long I took. "Deux heures," I replied. "Les professionnels," he said, holding out three fingers. "Les professionnels: trente-cinq minutes." 35. Going up, after doing 60 miles of race pace. Ugh. It took me that long to descend.
Sunday morning: petite dejuner with French people. Load out. Hit the road pointed toward the Galibier again at 9:30AM.
9:35AM: the rain begins. Get used to it; it's gonna be a long day.
Feeling the legs from yesterday. The summit doesn't come as easily today. But, I still do it in two hours. 3500 vertical, 17Km.
Descend for an hour and a half. Pause for photos, pee breaks and to warm up. 3PM: arrive in Bourg d'Oisans.
It's lightly raining, I'm about hypothermic, and I want a hot shower. The hairball tunnels down from La Grave had me pretty weary and freaked out. Above about 40MPH, I kept getting these weird thoughts of hitting a pothole and how long would it take my cheapie radial-spoked FSA front wheel to collapse, throwing my front teeth to the pavement like "American History X." About this time, I usually grabbed some brake.
So, anyway, there I am at the base of Alpe d'Huez, and I want hot cocoa, a blankie and a nice plush sofa. "Just ride up to the first turn sign," I think. Turn 21 sign looms. Then the sun comes out. Too late to wuss out. Strip off the arm warmers and start to climb.
Then it's just a blur of intermittent pain, fatigue, heat, cold, rain, sorrow, self doubt and thinking it's too late to quit and I need to press on.
It rained at the top. I looked around, had a beer, and then dropped back to Bourg d'Oisans. Only to find out that B d'O doesn't have an SNCF train station! Ugh. Autobus to Grenoble for me, smelling, wet and stuck in spandex. I changed into street clothes on the street in Grenoble, didn't care.
Anyway, that was my weekend. Only 60-65 miles or so, but 11000 feet of climbing, 44MPH top speed, no flats (some people had 5 during the Marmotte). Two sandwiches, one liter of beer, one lamb chop dinner with fromage course, two espressos, and lots of pain. Saw two Ferraris, dozens of Ducatis and BMWs, five $100,000 Shelby Cobras from Switzerland, getting 5MPG while gas costs $9 four four litres.