Constant state of flux

Yup I am still over here in France, nearing somewhere around 3 weeks so far. I have less than a week left which means I should start planning the Spanish portion of my trip. So far I only have a hostel reserved in Barcelona, I should at least figure out which trains are going to take me that direction.

So I think last time I posted about the "hardest ride of my life" or some bullshit like that?

The pinnacle of this bike tour is when everyone rides across the valley to this mountain that is looking in the distance Mont Ventoux. To say that least it is one of the steepest longest climbs that little old felipe has ever had the "pleasure" of doing. We start off early in the morning with a relatively flat jaunt over the valley, usually everyone is riding quite slow at this point trying to conserve energy for the impending slaughter. There is a little ridge that must be crossed in order to even begin the climb up Ventoux, by little I mean a mere 20k climb which is at a grade that is easy enough to conquer. In Tour De France terms it would be a category 2 climb, whatever that means.

After a 6k downhill the climb up begins, the first 10 or so K is quite steep but not insurmountable, the grade being around 5-7% with lots of switch backs weaving through the lower part of the mountain which is all covered with pine trees and signs signaling the existence of wild boar. The mountain provides a little respite for a couple of miles where the grade is easy to the point of being almost flat, 6k from the top this changes entirely. At Chalet Reynard everything changes though and at the same moment the vegetation ends the rode peaks up to a 8-14% grade.

The first time that I took a stab at the mountain was after a scant 3 days of riding up the hilly country so common in this area. I was proud of myself for the first 40 or so miles until 1/2 way up the last 6 k when I just cracked, despite my best efforts I just couldn't handle the climb and got of my bike 3 times and walked for a couple of feet before finally reaching the top (at least I crested pedaling).

Finally just yesterday I once again took on the Moutain, this time I had a good idea what to expect and I was determined not to put a foot down unless it be absolutely necessary. Right before the climb the majority of the group stops up in a little town called Sault for pastries and espresso before hitting the road, however myself I just decided to forgo the stop and pedal right through. Two others who were a little timid of their climbing skills joined me but with my little knowledge of the area I missed the turn off and lead us the wrong way down the road adding an extra 7 or so miles to our ride, luckily it was all flat. Starting the climb I felt pretty good, just focused on my breathing and did my best to conserve energy up until the end.

Turning the corner at the Chalet I took a deep breath and just started pedaling with gusto, not wanting to be beat by the first couple hundred meters. It was about this time that the category 1 racer/guide Blake showed up behind me towing everyone's helmets and jackets (it gets cold up at the top), also around his neck was one of the guest's digital SLR with one of the biggest lenses I have ever seen. He got me to goof around for a spell and ride no handed up the hill which really raised me spirits.

Up the climb I caught up with a rider who was going just slightly slower than myself, instead of passing him I just grabbed his wheel and paced myself behind him. There wasn't too much in the way of drafting going on at 5-8 mph but knowing I wasn't killing myself helped. Right around the Tommy Simpson memorial (TDF rider who died climbing the hill) I heard the crack of fighter planes speeding off right in front of me, I looked up and saw a speeding jet upside down literally less than 100 yards above me. If my heart wasn't pounding fast before it went into over time and with the jolt I sprinted 200 feet in front of the people I was pacing behind. I had to slow myself down a little after, the excitement and all got me a little carried away. Blake took a picture of me passing in front of the Memorial seconds after the jet flew by, I was with it enough to turn and flash a big shit eating grin, the picture is on a different computer or else I would upload it for all of you all.

Long story short I made it up the mountain without stopping or even feeling too distressed. Hell I even made my second ever century out of the day thanks to my brilliant navigational skills, and even as such my legs aren't too tired.

I think the internet will be more plentiful in Spain so I should be able to update more often.

Until then...