Keep Pushing Til It's Understood

Briancon, scene of today's Stage Nine finish, likes to think of itself as the center of the cycling world. The Tour de France has finished here 39 times since 1922, when the race first visited Napoleon's former stronghold. Several times, such as last year, the race has passed through on the northerly route back into the Alps.

It is either the end of the mountains or the beginning of the mountains most years. The men who have won this stage are legendary: Pelissier, Gaul, Merckx, Thevenet, Lemond, Indurain and Vinokourov.

They are also men who had one very good day in their careers, an assemblage of Italians, Frenchmen, and Dutch who made cycling a career for a few years before finding a new line of work. Something tells me that most of them didn't end up as a factory rep for some big cycling company. Back in the day, riding a bike was a blue collar profession, and when a man finished his days on the road he went back to something like laying bricks or pouring drinks.

Not sure whether that fate awaits Juan Solver Hernandez, the Colombian from Team Barloworld who won today's stage. He finished 38 seconds in front of a lead pack that included Tour contenders Alejandro Valverde, Levi Leipheimer, Cadel Evans and Andreas Kloden. Mickael Rasmussen, the current race leader, was also in that group. Hernandez was giddy at the end, and rightfully so. He rode ferociously.

Alexndre Vinokourov did not. For those of you waiting for Alexandre Vinokourov to make his big play, it didn't come today. He lost another three minutes in the overall time classification. He is too tough to drop out, and too ferocious to accept the fact that a German (Kloden) is about to become team leader of a Kazakh team. Vinokourov is the man who put Kazakhstan on the map, so to speak.

I defy any of you to name another Kazakh who has done more for their tourism. All around Europe, people are wearing the sea foam green uniform of this squad, which is funded by Kazakh businessmen. To see the jersey is to see Kazakhstan is to think of Vino. So is he done? Who knows. He's got thirty stitches in his rear end, and that's got to put a funny feeling into your sit bones. Suffice to say that between his stitches and Kloden's alleged broken coccyx, Astana is driven by two men very determined to win this bike race.

Today's stage began in Val D'Isere, which was once was such a remote village this its residents moved to warmer climes each winter rather than endure being cut off from civilization due to lack of roads. The first climb of the day, the Iseran Pass, was the highest point of this year's Tour -- at almost 8,200 feet, so high that a 1996 stage was cancelled because of snow. Jacque Anquetil intentionally tanked a stage through the Iseran in 1959, and was so roundly booed at the finish that he named his motorboat Sifflet 59 -- "Siffle" being the French acronym for a boo.

Galiber is the Big Draw

But the big draw is the Galibier, that terrifying moonscape where French and Italian commandos once did battle in World War I. The Galibier is a long and steep ascent through a land almost entirely lacking in vegetation. It is the last Alpine pass before one leaves the big mountains and ambles down to sunny Provence, as the Tour will tomorrow.

Proximity to the Galibier is why Briancon has hosted so many Tour stages. Like L'Alpe d'Huez, the Galibier is crucial to the Tour. To climb it well and then let off the brakes and hang on for that hair-rising descent into Briancon is a Tour de France rite of passage. Juan Soler Hernandez now goes down into history as a man who conquered the Galibier. History -- memories -- are important at the Tour. So important that the Tour shows a daily video on French TV called "Legends of the Tour," highlighting all the former greats and near greats. Whatever he does from this day forward, Hernandez' daring ride on a hot summer day will be his legacy.

I was walking around Briancon as the stage ended. Rather than in year's past, where the riders completed a sweep along the nearby river and then sprinted into town, organizers had them sprint a quarter-mile upward to the centre ville. This was a fine display of organizational masochism. Journalists aren't allowed on the final two kilometers (nobody is), so I chose to stay at the bottom of the hill instead of braving the crowds leading up to the summit.

People were standing on telephone booths and poking holes in ancient shrubbery, anything to see the riders zoom past. The air smelled of the wildflowers recently planted in boxes along the road, a fragrance so gentle and yet so evocative that I have the feeling when I walk through a mountain meadow someday and find myself mentally back in Briancon, it will certainly be the result of olfactory memory.

Anyway, I was walking back to the press room and just happened to be passing in front of the Discovery Channel hotel when Levi Leipheimer and Yaroslav Popovych pedaled up. They had found a back way down from the finish, but looked no more exhausted after their 100 miles in the saddle than two guys out for a casual Saturday ride. Seeing me walking toward them with my press credential, and displaying the usual Tour efficiency, a member of the Discovery staff handed each man a room key as he took their bikes. Within five seconds they went from active exercise to an evening's rest.

L'Etape du Tour

I have to admit a newfound appreciation for their talents. Yesterday I rode L'Etape du Tour, which is a Tour-sponsored event where some 8,500 cyclists ride an entire Tour stage. In my case, it was the Foix-Loudenvielle stage, which will take place in the Pyrenees next Monday. The Tour has ranked Stage 15 as this year's most difficult, which made me nervous enough to train for the ride, but not quite sure what "most difficult" meant.

I've watched these pro riders race up and down these mountains, attacking and suffering, and then getting up the next day to do it all over again. I've longed to know what it felt like, if only so I could appreciate their art and understand their gift a little better.

The truth is, these men are amazing physical specimens. I cannot believe they do what they do.

The morning began at four a.m. My buddy Austin Murphy had arrived by car in Toulouse late the previous night, and was working on little sleep. Me, I was working on little training. I had run a whole lot of hills, but my longest bike ride was a single 50-miler. My mode of training was to run lots of hills and ride continuous repeats of the Col du Melinda (a suburban street conveniently located around the corner from my house) to get the bike legs.

We were the guests of Velo Echappe, a Tour group. Let it be said that I was wary. Austin and I have long looked down our noses on bike tour groups in Europe, mostly because the riders tend to talk too loudly at dinner about how great they rode that day (as if some team would overhear of their exploits and ask them to join up), and their unerring ability to wear the lycra and bike shoes down to breakfast.

Truth be told, I don't need to see another men's genitalia with that sort of definition while I'm sipping my coffee. And that clickety-clack sound of bike tourists making their way into petit-dejeuner has become so ingrained in my subconscious that I cringe a little when making the clickety-clack in my own garage, before clipping in for a ride. Really, it's that obnoxious.

Concerned About Spending a Weekend with a Tour Group

So I was concerned, to say the least, about spending a weekend with a tour group. They are mostly extroverts. I am not. I had visions of a cycling version of a fraternity mixer, with the usual comments about training time and power meters substituting for actual conversation. Or silence, as it were.

And at first, I thought it was going to be a little like that. But the folks at Velo Echappe are pros, which means they can read people and fit a bike, too. By the time I got my perky 4 a.m. wake-up -- "Good morning! Ready to ride a stage of the Tour de France?!" -- I was cool with it. Really, these are good people.

If you're ever going to take a bike tour, this is the way to go. I made some good new friends among the organizers and the other riders. They wore their lycra and bike shoes down to breakfast, but, hey, they were eager. There was a big day ahead.

I had trained on a Specialized S-Works Tarmac, courtesy of Matt Ford at Rock 'n' Road Cyclery in Mission Viejo, near my home (and three other convenient Southern California locations!). The Tarmac is a splendid carbon fiber beauty, and I set it outside my office whenever I finished a ride as an inspirational reminder to get back out there again the next day. It's lines were so clean and it took a turn so well. And I know there's a hardcore steel contingent out there, but a bike like the Tarmac does carbon fiber proud. I fell in love with it, and thought that no bike in the world could ever make me happier.

So I was taken aback when Klingensmith and Active arranged a sponsorship deal with Cervelo bikes, the Canadian company that outfits Team CSC. It's complicated, but suffice to say that a last minute replacement was made for my beloved Tarmac. I was not happy about this, particularly since I would be riding said bike for the very first time on L'Etape du Tour -- 122 miles, five major ascents, and all the rest of the stuff that comes with an actual Tour de France stage.

Before I go on, let's get that bike thing out of the way. The Cervelo was a champ. It fit me as well as the Tarmac, and I once we got going I never gave it a second thought. Hey, people loaning me $5,000 bikes is a good problem to have.

So we start. Foix is a little tiny town in a small Pyreneean valley. All those cyclists invading at the crack of dawn did what all endurance athletes do when they invade a small burg at the crack of dawn: piss on people's bushes as if they are invisible to the women and small children five feet away. It was cold, and I wore a JSerra Track and Field t-shirt over my jersey until it was time to start.

Then I folded it neatly and placed it atop the barricade, hoping to come back in twenty years and see someone walking around Foix wearing it. Austin was standing next to me at the start. Klingensmith was fidgeting with something, looking alternately loose and scared, like he had studied the course in detail and knew something we didn't. In front of us stood three guys from London dressed in full gladiator regalia.

Then the gun went off at 7 a.m., and we stood there for 20 minutes while the 4,000 people in front began pedaling merrily toward the Pyrenees. Locals were clapping, music was blaring, we rode through actual barricades like real Tour de France riders at the start of a day in the saddle. Everyone was sprinting out like it was a time trial, and laughing and punching each other on the shoulder, just like anyone would do before a splendid group ride through some of the most pastoral and beautiful countryside France has to offer.

Really, if you are ever in France, do not miss the valley between Foix and St. Giron. It is spectacular, one of those places where you want to buuy a bottle of wine and a picnic blanket and make love in the tall grass all afternoon. By the time I actually began riding, I was somehow lulled into the idea that my day would be easy.

Honest.

Pain and Suffering and Sweat

Those are the only evocative thoughts I had for the next twelve hours. All I remember about that entire time was pain and suffering and sweat. There was a splendid moment when I led a paceline though that valley outside St. Giron, hands down on the drops and feeling the weave and rhythm of the road like it was one with the bike. That moment came roughly an hour into the ride, shortly after the day's first climb.

The Tour organizers had cleverly designed the stage so that each stage gets progressively tougher, and the distance between climbs and descents gets progressively shorter until between the fourth climb (de Bales) and fifth (Peyresourde) there was no break at all. We literally arrived at the bottom, hung a casual right, and headed right back up the mountain.

There was a competitive feel to the day until the third climb, the Col de Menthe. That's when the ride actually began. It was roughly halfway into the day, the sun was just breaking through the clouds, and the road suddenly turned inhumanly steep. There were pastures along the road and natural springs where riders could stop to refill their bottles. So that's what people did: they stopped. These were men and women of amazing fitness. No longer were they competing, or even trying to get the ride done with, but just hanging on, looking for excuses to take a break.

And that's how it started. People began pulling over for water, taking longer and longer breaks every time. Then they started walking their bikes up the mountain, even though the top might have been four miles away. After that it was just a short leap into pulling over to the side of the road, taking off the shoes, and having a nap in the shade.

For the record, I didn't actually start walking my bike until the final kilometers of the Port de Bales. I didn't dare, for fear of getting swept. There is a very rigid time standard at L'Etape, and a rider is not allowed to proceed if he fails to meet it. They are simply placed inside a bus to the finish and their bike is heaved atop the flatbed truck that follows behind. Plus, I wanted to get it done. The sick part about me is that if I fail at something I have to go back and do it again. I didn't want to ever return to L'Etape du Tour.

The road on the Port du Bales was a gradient of 10% and the climb was almost twenty miles long. I established a rhythm of riding seated in my easiest gear for a few kilometers, standing up in the pedals for a few kilomters, and then walking a hundred yards. Everyone was doing it. We were no longer cyclists, but refugees. Everyone rode in their easiest gear. Everyone had that thousand-yard stare.

Roads were Lined with People

The roads were lined with people sitting, lying down, and flagging the ambulance for the ride that would take them out of L'Etape. Before the Bales I was confident I could finish the day by 3:00 p.m. -- an eight-hour ride. But that single climb was such an inhuman act of endurance that it took almost three hours to reach the top. If someone had walked up and asked if I would liked an injection of EPO, I'd have told him to make it a double. It was that bad.

On the Peyresourde, a steady upward grind that saw me surrounded by two Brits named Neville and Laurent, the local church bells rang six times. "Bloody hell," said Neville. "The cut-off for the summit's 6:41."

I hadn't walked my bike until then on the Peyresourde, but I was just about to start. With only 41 minutes to make it, that option was taken away. The road actually grew steeper for the last two kilometers, but I didn't dare get off my bike. My legs were like rubber, there was some sort of diaper rash forming beneath my sweat-soaked Sugoi shorts (me, not the shorts), and I was angry about my predicament.

With every fiber in my being I forced myself not to walk. Even though that little bit of rest would do me good, there was no way I was going to ride the final miles to the finish in the back of a broom bus. I have quit a few races in my life, and I can tell you the name of every one. They haunt you, even years later.

I stayed on the bike. Neville and Laurent and I didn't say another word all the way up, lost in our own word of pain and determination. We made the summit in time. Then I forgot all my pre-race promises about not doing something stupid, and descended to the finish on a narrow one-lane mountain road at more than 60 miles per hour. Almost gave myself a legit reason to have diaper rash.

That was my day. I tell you in such detail not to make a big deal about me, because I was just another guy trying to grit his way to the finish. Same with Austin and Klingensmith. No, it's to show you how tough these Tour riders are. Next Monday, as I drive the course one more time in a car, they will ride that same stage in six hours. No one will walk. No one will lie down or go put their feet in that clear cold stream that runs to the left of the Bales. No one will stop at a farmer's well and refill his water bottles.

They will attack. They will ride at their limits. Then they will get up in the morning and do it again. Amen. Pretty amazing. To think that there are men in this world who choose to become climbers, thus damning themselves to countless hours pedaling up and down those absurd roads carved on the sides of mountains, is something I now find quite remarkable. It's taken me all these years at the Tour to get it, but what those riders do is nothing short of phenomenal.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Comments

[Waddy]

Best Post Ever! As Julius Erving once said, "When all is said and done, there is nothing left to do or say". Hats off to Marty!

[Larry]

Taking away your Tarmac. Sacre Bleu! And giving you a Cervelo! Which reminds me that I have a bone to pick with the little Canadian Bicycle Company that could. Versus is running a Cervelo contest... a contest in which Canadians aren't eligible to enter. Like I say; "you can never be too Specialized. I am Specialized!"

And Marty, Ghisallo (the Greek Goddess of Cycling) was surely looking out for you. 60pmh dh!? What the....? Another sleepless night for Saint Lance when he hears about this. And hear he will!

Not sure what you look like right now. Or what you sound like. But you write pretty fresh - surely there's a "recovery post" down the road that you can share with us.

And Marty says "Vinokourov is the man who put Kazakhstan on the map, so to speak. I defy any of you to name another Kazakh who has done more for their tourism." Well, hows about Yul Brenner in Taras Bulba. Dang, he was a Cossack, not to be confused with Kazakh. Well, ok then; what about Nik Antropov? Sara Best, back me up here. Tell the boys about Nik!

[susie b]

How you can write like that after the sufferfest of yesterday, well, I have but one question. Exactly how many patches did you use?

Seriously, I am awed.

[Ray]

Excellent post Marty! Your description of the small details and feelings evoked a real sense of the super human demands of a TDF mountain stage, and the beauty of the French Pyrénées. Congratulations again on completing L'Etape.

My French father-in-law is a pediatrician, and I emailed him for a recommended diaper rash ointment. French pharmacists are very helpful with tourists. Try Pineau du Charentes, an aperitif, made from a blend of unfermented grape must and Cognac brandy.

Keep on pushing!

[Tod]

20 MILES AT 10%! I bonked just reading that.

[stuck]

D u u u d e !
Way to go! Marathon will be no prob after this. But seriously, a single 50-miler?!

[RipCurl]

Great post! The anticipation of the recap was met several times over. All taunting aside - well done, the ridin' and the writin'!

[Tim]

An incredible ride Marty. Way to finish considering half the field DNF'd and you did it with one 50-miler under your belt.

What kind of gearing did they give you on the Cervelo?

[jessica]

Such a hilarious "news flash" larry. What a HOOT!

Shall we start a pool with suggestions for next years ASS? =) ok, maybe that would be cruel. But I'm actually inspired to create my own ASS.

Thanks SO much for the details marty. I can smell the perfumed air and am thirsty now, thanks to you. Congratulations!

[avivA]

Fantastic story! Way to go for conquering the mountains. I'm interested to know what you ate during the ride. Did you have to carry your own food and water or was the support car following close behind? :)

I also feel bad for Vino. Yes, he's clearly showing that he's a fighter. In awe of Rasmussen's climbing skills, and still cheering about young Linus Gerdemann's plucky ride the other day.

[Larry]

What the heck kinda pediatrician recommends putting Cognac in an ointment? And I'll show you a doctor who got his diploma from the University of Khazakstan - in the mail!

Everyone knows what a Canadian doctor would prescribe: 2 parts cognac (might as well stay on the Napolean theme and go with Courvoisier), 1 part Cointreu, and 1 part lemon. Wet the glass rim with lemon and rub on a flat plate with sugar on it. Have 2 at the most. Its a Sidecar, the only cocktail that can almost hold its own with the martini. Almost.

Your over there Marty, might as well imbide with the best brands that are bottled in France. You gotta try one and let us know.

[Weslie]

As disturbing and horrible as that L'Etape du Tour sounds, you actually have me considering being just dumb enough to try it myself. Great post. Thank you.

[woofdawg]

B-frigging-bravo. A fine post, indeed. Well done (both ride and its description). I'm beyond envious

[catherine]

WOOOFDAWG!!!WAAAOOOOOO! We've been missin' ya honey! Welcome back!

[Ray]

Larry. One drinks the Pineau Des Charentes. It is an excellent regional French aparitif that you don't find in the US. At 17% ABV it could be an emergency disinfectant. Sorry that I lost you. How are Moe and Curly doing?

[Larry]

Appreciate the tip Ray. You have me confused with another Larry. But my brother Darrell, and my other brother Darrell are doin' fine.

As you were.

[Julie]

Thanks for the report, Marty. It warms my heart to hear it's given you a new appreciation for the riders, did any of that rub off on Austin? ;-)

Hey Larry, now that you're venturing over to Sara's, feel free to check out my place as well (click on my name). I think you'd especially appreciate my Stage 9 post. :-)

[Philip]

Finally I get internet access. Marty I looked for you but I sneaked into the 1500 corral as my start number was 6700. I finished in 7:52 for 31st in the 50+ cat and something like 240 overall. I am pretty proud. I also got to urge on greg lemond as I left him on a climb. I agree with his statement that it does not hurt less you only go faster. Bravo for finishing as it was brutal and I am sure many did not make it. Ciao Philip

[RipCurl]

All you Enduro-commenters will recognize the name Sara Best - Head on over to VeloNews.com and watch Part II of the Chris Horner rest day diary. Pretty cool. Congrats Sara! I've been wont to wander over to your site, now and again - always enjoy it!
While you're over at Velo, check out Zabriskie's rest day "hurt locker" escape - Priceless - Even if he needs a huge dose of whatever Horner's using for attitude adjustment.

[Larry]

Hey Julie, not sure I found your place. Is it where you mention the Flyers? If so, I gots to straighten you out. Brad Marsh (loved that 'heart & soul' guy) was not only NOT the last NHL player to play without a helmet, he was NOT even the last Flyer to do so. That notoriety belongs to Craig MacTavish, the current Oilers coach. I remember those Broad Street Bullies well - led by Clark and a coterie of henchman. To put it in perspective, my boyhood idol at the time was Darryl Sittler, Leafs' captain. Used to get butterflies in my stomach when they'd trot out Kate Smith's anthem.

And Phil - wow! What were you into when you were between 25 and 35? You have retro-potential if they ever fix that time machine.

Larry

[Odidas]

Keep Pushing Til It's Understood...that these badlands aren't treating us good...
(Springsteen)
Vladimir Smirnov from Kazakhstan actually did put the country on the map in a big way by winning 7 Olympic medals and a bunch of World Championship medals in Nordic Cross Country Skiing between 1988 and 1998. Ironically it was Phil Legit and Paul Sherwin who were broadcasting that sport as well back then.

[Larry]

make that Clarke. (with an "e")

[Larry]

Anybody notice my "dark horse" - Cadel Evans, has climbed out of the shadows. He's hovering, he's teetering, he's on the precipice, he's got the bit in his mouth.....

There's been a reshuffling, albeit in slow motion, of the pecking order. I'll trade you a Vino for a Kloden, a Levi for a..., er, ah, um, heck I'm giving away my Double-L. I'm feeling magnanimous today.

[susie b]

PHILIP! Talk about a STUD! Whoo-hoooo! And that you left GL behind is PRICELESS.

Congrats, Bravo, Cheers, all that stuff! Have a great time during the rest of your time in France & we'll see you back here soon. Really, I am in awe. Between you & Marty, I'm almost stunned into silence. Yeah, I said ALMOST. ;)

And Larry - you're not the ONLY one to have picked Cadel... :) My original top 5 were : Vino (yeah, BOLD pick...), Levi, Cadel (podium) & then Kloden & Valverde. If I didn't think Valverde would crack a bit under "homecourt pressure" in the Pyrenees, I'd pick him now for the win, BUT, I do, so, my revised picks are Cadel, Levi, Valverde. Although I think Kloden for sure would beat Valverde if he didn't have an injury. And Rasmussen 5th. And I'm hoping Contador hangs on for 6th. For all those who jeer at my Levi pick, well, if he puts his "Lance face" on, like he had in the ToC, watch out! ( I swear, there were certain camera shots where he looked like Lance!)

[Karen]

Wow! What a way to gut it out. 20 miles at 10%? Holy sh*t! I leave for the Pyrenees next week and am both excited and terrified of riding those mountains (though we have nothing even remotely close to L'Etape due Tour). Thanks, Marty, for the fantastic post.