Three days ago, Lance Armstrong showed the world that he still has a fight in him – plowing up the East side of the Col du Tourmalet and reminding the young riders how once upon a time he made winning seven Tours look easy. Today, I had the fight in me and I finally accomplished what I set out a year ago to do: I conquered Tourmalet on those same roads. Done and done.
The word epic is thrown around loosely these days. But relative to my own life and my own accomplishments, today’s ride was, indeed, epic. One hour, 36 minutes. 10.5 miles. 4,300 feet of elevation gain. Average grade 9%. Average speed 6.5 mph. Stoppage time, none. I did it. I conquered Tourmalet.
We set out this morning from Luchon, after hugs and kisses to Nicole and Daniel – who so graciously hosted us for five days – and drove up over the mountains to the base of Tourmalet. The rain had finally stopped, but the clouds still hung low over the mountains. There was no chance of having any views today. But, to get to the top, all I needed to see was the road ahead of me – so the challenge was still a go.
Dave and I had hatched a plan the night before. Descending these twisty, narrow, steep roads is not my strong point – especially in a cold wet fog. So the plan was that Dave would drive up to the top, park and then have a chance for a fun descent to come meet me at the base. I hung out at the bottom and waited for him, letting my nerves keep me company. Sure, I had biked up Port de Bales a few days before, but something about Tourmalet made my heart race and my doubts seep in. I watched a lot of very fit riders take off for the climb and wondered if I was in over my head.
But no time for second guessing, because Dave rolled up. He was bundled up and cold, but smiling from ear to ear after that fun descent. It took him 30 minutes at an average speed of 30mph to ride down what would take almost 2 hours to ride back up. He now claims that going down steep, winding roads at high speeds is his new favorite thing to do – and would be even more fun if the roads weren’t wet and the fog allowed him to see more than 15 feet in front of him!
We each had one more banana for the road, chugged some water and clipped in to our pedals. We were off. And from the first minute on our bikes the road went up and up. We started at the base on the East side of the mountain – the side that Lance road up on Tuesday, not the side where Andy and Contador battled on Thursday (that side is next on my to-do list). And there’s not much to say except that the road went up. It started out at about an 6% average for the first few miles and just started to get steeper and steeper as the ride went on.
The nice thing about this ride is that the pitch gradually got steeper the entire way, so your body had the ability to dig into a rhythm. Once your heart rate has a chance to settle down, you just choose a cadence that works for you and let that take you up the hill. And when the road pitches up, you just push a little harder and keep up that cadence. It’s a rhythmic battle and if you have enough strength in your legs, it can get you up the mountain.
At about 10 kilometers into the ride, we hit the cloud level, and from that point on – it was just you and the road. It provided a good opportunity to read all of the painted names and cheers on the road for the Tour: “Allez Andy” “Contador!” “Thank you Lance” it was fun to see. But to be honest, they were just a passing thought. Anything that distracted me from my rhythm was out of the question.
We were really out in the clouds now and I knew that one side of the road dropped off; and I knew from the pictures that the view was incredible. But not today. Today it was white and thick. Just me and the road. We rode under a few avalanche guards, and came across the random wandering cow (you could always hear the cow bells off in the fog). And on the way up, we made some friends. Other riders that we would pass, or that would pass us. There were a lot of Americans up the hill. Once nice guy took our flip camera and filmed the two of us working our way up. Once we’re home, I will figure out a way to share that!
As we worked our way up through the clouds, the damn road just kept getting steeper and steeper. My legs were screaming at me and my lungs were bursting. But quitting was not an option.
We finally rolled into La Mongie, it’s a small ski town about 4 kms from the summit. I’m sure it was very nice, but all I saw were buildings hidden by fog and an uptick in vehicles that all threatened to disturb my rhythm. I was in a place where I knew if I had to stop, my legs may not let me start again.
I can barely remember those last 4 km to the top. My body felt like it was starting to break down. I think there were a few tears, I know there was a lot of pain. The only solace is that the fog prevented me from seeing how many switchbacks I still had to go. All I could see was the road beneath me and Dave steady in front of me. It hurt, hurt, hurt. I didn’t think I would make it, but somewhere deep inside, I knew that very soon I would be standing at the top.
The final switchback….man, that was a steep turn. I remember it well. I pushed hard up that road. I vaguely remember Dave cheering me on, telling me that we were there. But until I saw the famous sign and the large statue of the bicyclist up in the hill, I wasn’t there yet. Then, through the fog, it appeared – the summit. My legs were shaking, tears were flowing. I had a mission. I powered all the way up to the sign and unclipped out of my bike. Dave was there to hold me up, and I put my head down on my handlebars and sobbed. I did it! I was on top of the world!
But you’d never know you were even five feet above sea level, the fog was so thick! Dave and I took the mandatory pictures at the summit (which I’ve posted here). We also met up with our new American friends and found out that they would be in Paris to see the final of the Tour, so we invited them to find us with the rest of the Livestrong crew (more on that to come).
I was done. It’s like finishing a marathon or something similar, you just smile and look around and wonder where your band of triumphant trumpet players are standing and why a parade isn’t being thrown in your honor. But what I did see were dozens of cyclists that all had that same smirk on their faces. We had all joined a special club that climbed the toughest road in the Pyrenees.
Dave went to get the car and had another little adventure. Apparently, when he got there, llamas had surrounded the car. Yes, llamas. I guess they like climbing Tourmalet too. I was wondering what was taking him so long as I was shivering in the fog…the llamas wouldn’t let him move. It was a standoff.
Then we were off, and over the top of the mountain, and down the other side. The side of Thursday’s Tour stage. (where we had planned to be standing, but reconfirmed that we would have been freezing and miserable). The fog had cleared and the views coming down that side were out of this world. I assume that the views on the side we climbed up would have been similar, if we hadn’t been socked in. The two sides are very similar climbs, but the West side is slightly longer.
And then pretty soon, we had driven our way out of the Pyrenees, and the climb seemed like something out of a dream. In the car, I just had to keep pinching myself and saying….I climbed the Col du Tourmalet today! Woo!
And now we are on a drive of epic proportions. I won’t go into details here, but a miscalculation on the atlas set us back about two hours on our loooong drive back to Paris. So we are rolling along right now, currently north of Bordeaux, and we expect to arrive at Anne’s house close to 2 a.m. Tomorrow, a relaxing day in Paris with a dear friend.
But for now, those trumpet players are still blaring Chariots of Fire in my head and somewhere on the top of Tourmalet, a parade continues to roll in my honor. I accomplished something great that I will never forget. I challenged myself to achieve something that I never thought possible. I trained hard. And then I got on my bike and I did it. And there’s no better feeling than that.
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