The Giant of Provence

AUGUST 13, AVIGNON, FRANCE—Today was the day I ventured to the moon and back. A day that will live in infamy. The day I performed my sacred duty as a cyclist. I attempted to conquer what is arguably the toughest climb in all of cycling. The feared Giant of Provence. The Mont Ventoux.

This bald giant (so named because of the treeless, lunar-like landscape at the summit that is its trademark) rises 1,912 meters (6,300 feet) over the Rhône Valley, approximately an hour’s drive north of Avignon. It forms an almost perfect cone that shoots straigh tup into the deep blue sky of Provence and dominates the vineyards of the Châteauneuf du Pape that lay below. Its forested slopes were used to construct ships for the Royal Navy in the 16th century and were replanted starting in 1860. The summit is baren and covered with a carpet of rocks. Nothing grows there because of the Mistral winds, from which the mountain takes its name (vent means wind in French), that blow year-round, sometimes in excess of 230 km/h.

Cycling News editor John Stevenson has described the mountain as neither the highest nor the steepest climb in the Tour rotation, but definitely the most feared. It is relentless and has even killed. British racer Tom Simpson died on this climb during the 1967 Tour de France. He had described it as "a great mountain stuck in the middle of nowhere and bleached white by the sun. It is like another world up there among the bare rocks and the glaring sun. The white rocks reflect the heat and the dust rises clinging to your arms, legs and face." Lance Armstrong has referred to it as “that bastard” and has never won here, missing in the 2000 and 2003 editions of the Tour. He lost to Marco Pantani and Richard Virenque respectively. This past June, Armstrong came in fourth during a stage of the Dauphiné Libéré race.

This morning started out with another crystal blue sky. After another walking excursion inside the walls of the ancient city center of Avignon, I returned back to our charming hotel at about noon, after stocking up on water and some granola bars for my ride. I rested as Stefania went to check out the Fondation Angladon museum that houses a private collection of masterworks by artists such as Degas, Modigliani, Cézanne, Van Gogh, just to name a few. She returned at about two and we set out in the famed Micra, bike in the back, to the north towards the small town of Carpentras. After cutting through the center of town, we turned right onto the departmental highway D974 towards the Mont Ventoux, which is clearly signaled.

There are three different routes that one can ride to the summit. All are approximately the same level of difficulty. I chose the southern route (Versant Sud) that starts in the village of Bédoin because it is the most difficult and the one that is usually ridden in the Tour de France. Once we got outside of the town of Carpentras, the terrain becomes rolling. Sun-drenched vineyards line both sides of the road. The sky was still crystal blue with a few whisps of white clouds hovering over the summit of the Ventoux. My palms began to sweat as I contemplated what lay ahead. Spotting a side road that led to a winery, I figured that it would be a good place to change and put my bike back together. Furthermore, I wanted to get in some kilometers before the real climbing began.

I pulled over under a big tree. Stefania held the bike frame while I reattached the wheels, seat, handlebars etc. I pumped the tires to their maximum (8 bar or 110 psi) and really lubed the chain well (I didn’t want any extra friction on this climb). Like Superman, I ducked behind the car and changed into my cycling garb in between passing cars. Once prepared, I gave Stef instructions to go on ahead a few kilometers and wait for me. We would repeat this process over and over again up the mountain. That way, I didn’t have to carry any extra gear.

Turning right onto the D974, I placed my right hand around the brake hood/shift lever and clicked through the gears until I found one that felt comfortable. I just had my rig tuned up and a new cassette with lower gears put on in back ( a 12-27 for you cyclists out there). That is to say, that is as low as they go for Shimano Dura-Ace (It’s actually an Ultegra cassette, though). But more on the gearing later. The road ahead was definitely not flat. I had about 10km to go to get to Bédoin at the base of the mountain. I would say that the road was at a steady 2-to-3-percent grade. I was rolling a 39x19 for most of the way into town, the theory being that I didn’t want to use my granny gears to soon. I needed to work up a good sweat and get as warmed up as possible before the real fun began.

As I passed a traffic circle on the outskirts of Bédoin, four Gendarmes were setting up a speed trap. The road then jogged left and into the prevailing north wind. The air temperature was 32˚C but not too humid. I pedaled straight for about 500 meters before the road took a sharp right bend and kicked up into the town of Bédoin itself. Back into the wind and through the heavily-shaded streets lined with tourists sitting in sidewalk cafés. As I passed by, they probably were glad that they were sipping a cold beer as they knew that I was headed into the belly of the beast.

The grade had already kicked up to 5 percent as I headed back to the right and out of town. As I looked around I noticed a few empty fields, a couple of houses and some vineyards full of ripening grapes. Stefania was stopped up ahead and was taking pictures of my suffering. I still had the wind at my back and thought that if it stays like this I might be able to handle it. Right as I reached the car, I looked left and noticed the sign saying: Mont Ventoux 18 km. “Great, I thought.”

I was on my 23 sprocket. My speed was down to 18.9 km/h. I hadn’t wanted to click down to the 27 yet, my last gear, but it was awefully tempting. Two more bends in the road made the decision quite easy. Yup, there goes the 27 and I’m only four km into a 21 km climb. Boy, this is going to be fun.

The road was now at a steady 7 percent grade, I was on my last gear with a long way to go. As I entered the pine forest or Perraches, the real climb began. Signs began to appear saying, “10% prochain (next) 2km.” My heart rate monitor read 183 out of a possible 198. I was already in the red zone, panting as I pulled mightily on the bars. The road was a wall that shot straight up into a green, piney hell where there would be another switchback and then more of the same.

For those familiar with cycling in the Kansas City area, think of the hill known as Mt. Baldwin just outside of Baldwin, Kan.Think long and hard about the grade of that hill. Then you will have some idea of what the Ventoux is like. Except that at home, Mt. Baldwin ends after less than 1 km. The Ventoux goes on and on for 20. After the initial run out of Bédoin, there are no false flats or places to rest until a short 100-meter section, 6 km from the top. The average grade throught the forest is 9-10 percent. We’re not talking about how cyclists exagerate and say that the hill they just climbed was 10 percent when it was really more like 5. This is certifiable, USDA, grade-A, prime-cut climbing. I can’t begin to explain how hard it is. I can’t even conceive of how the pros race up this mountain.

So, I’ll cut to the chase and say that I didn’t make it to the top. I tapped out about halfway up, 9 km into the 20 km climb. I had actually started climbing when I left the car and had done 18 km in one hour and seven minutes with a 900-meter gain in elevation. Not bad for having only done 5 hills all summer, but not nearly good enough to make it to the top. I knew I probably couldn’t make it before setting out but wanted to try and see what it was like; I might not get the chance again.

Suffice it to say that I had to swallow my pride and get into the broom wagon. I just didn’t have the right gears or the right training to do the job right. So I cracked a cold one and drove the rest of the way to the summit. There was a Dutch guy that had passed me in the forest earlier who was still motoring ahead. I offered him some water but he waved me off. He looked like he was in a trance.

We drove through the barren moonscape to the summit, stopping to take some photos at the Tom Simpson memorial. The wind was howling and the temperature had dropped to 15˚C. There’s a small gift shop next to the telecommunications antennas. I bought some postcards and a couple cold beverages. Then I raced to the car to get out of the wind and down half of a sandwich before riding the brakes in the car all of the way down.

I wouldn’t say that this was the hardest day I ever had on a bike but that’s just because at my advanced age I have almost 20 years of experience riding and enough horse sense to know that you don’t mess around with the Giant of Provence. At any rate, it was just a simple question of physics. I just didn’t have the horsepower to propel my big box butt up a 10-percent grade with the gears I brought and extend the suffering any longer. Gravity bats last.

A TECHNICAL NOTE FOR THOSE INTERESTED IN RIDING THE CLIMBS OF THE TOUR: Spend the 500 bucks and get the triple chainring set up. I know we were all racers once or thought we were, but the simple fact of the matter is that you ain’t getting to the top without one unless you are in top racing shape and at your ideal climbing weight. I would offer this gearing caveat: 39x24 for pros. 39x27 for Cat 1s and 2s, compact drivetrain (34x30) for good 3s, 4s and masters and a triple for everyone else. And don’t skimp on the training. That’s the problem for us flatlanders. There are hills around, but how do you train for climbs that are 10 km or longer. It can be very dangerous attempting some of these Hors Catégorie Tour climbs if you’re not in top shape and the weather conspires against you. Just ask the 60 year-old dude who died last week while riding up the Ventoux.

By the way, I finally met up with that Dutch guy at the top; he is a racer, who looks lean and mean with a cool mustache (think Ned Overend) and he really worked hard to push a 34x27 to the top. These 50-something French dudes that were talking with us told me that they were going to try it tomorrow on a 39x26. They were a few kilos lighter than me to be sure, but who do they think they were kidding. No way, no how.