By Don Mallon - customer of Discover France; reprinted on Canada.com; copyright Don Mallon

October 2007

Mont Ventoux Mont Ventoux is known as the “Geant” of Provence. At 1912 meters it is a mountain that stands alone and dominates the horizon throughout much of Provence. It is the stuff of legends. In a survey of professional cyclists Procycling magazine found Ventoux ranked as the toughest mountain climb in Europe. Those cyclists reported it wasn’t just the 22 kilometers at an average 7.5% grade, or the middle 8 kilometers at an unrelenting 9 to 10.5% gradient that made it the toughest. Nor was it the final 6 kilometers dominated by barren limestone where riders are baked like croissants in the summer sun or blown like leaves in the Mistral winds. What makes it the toughest is all those elements plus a daunting history that includes the death of Tom Simpson, British cycling champion, in the 1967 Tour de France. The heat, the grueling climb and the amphetamines in his system did in poor Tom within 2 kilometers of the summit. That spot is today marked by a monument is his name. Mont Ventoux has been in the Tour de France thirteen times and it is the only major mountain stage Lance Armstrong never won. Armstrong has said of the Ventoux: “The climb is relentless; very steep at the bottom and just difficult at the top.”

These were not the things I highlighted to my wife Cathy when I suggested we take a tandem bike ride up that mountain. We had biked in the Languedoc area of France in 2005 and loved it. Ours was a self guided tour arranged through Discoverfrance.com. They provided hotels and B&B’s, most meals, our LaPerriere tandem bike, maps and written directions as well as transportation for our luggage. All that was required of us was to read the maps, ride the bike and pick up some baguettes, cheese, wine and French culture along the way. It was one of our best holidays ever and shortly thereafter we decided we wanted to go back to Europe for more.

After several visits to the Discoverfrance.com site and several emails to and from their pleasant representative Maggie, we decided on the “Luberon Biking” tour. It promised rides through the Cotes du Rhone district, through the lavender fields of Sault and to Gordes, one of the prettiest mountain top villages in all of France. The overall ranking for the trip was “moderate” but with an asterisk for those foolish enough to attempt Mont Ventoux.

Through the winter of 06/07 we sweated through early morning spin classes twice each week with the effervescent Kris and knowledgeable Terry at Millennium Place in Sherwood Park and core strengthening exercises thee evenings a week at home.

Come spring we got back on our tandem for regular training rides including a couple of 100 kilometer efforts. Ours was by no means an Olympic training schedule but by mid-July we were as ready as we were going to be. Our holiday was to have three separate “legs”.

The first consisted of a few days along the Mediterranean coast to acclimatize us to the heat and humidity. The second was our week of cycling and finally several days in Paris, the City of Love, home of the Eiffel Tower, and the location of the final stage of the Tour de France.

The first leg went off without a hitch. We arrived in Nice and took the short bus shuttle to Cannes. There we wandered the Croisette, a boutique studded promenade that runs along the sea and spent lots of time at the beach relaxing, reading and alternately sunning ourselves and cooling off in the Mediterranean Sea. A couple of days later we ventured to the little resort and fishing village of Cassis where we sea kayaked along the Calanques, rugged limestone cliffs that tower over beautiful beach lined inlets perfect for swimming and snorkeling. Our first days also included a tip to Arles with its Roman Forum and Coliseum. At Arles we intersected the Tour de France and watched the parade of preceding floats, sponsors, motorcades and then the best cyclists in the world whistle by. It reminded us what we were there for.

It was time to get on the bike. We dropped off our rental car in Avignon famous for its pont on the River Rhone travelled from there by taxi to the lovely Hotel des Pins in Bedoin, an ancient mountain village at the foot of Mont Ventoux complete with stone houses, an impressive church and three bicycle shops. Our Discover France representative Yannick arrived as promised with a twenty seven speed metallic blue Trek T2000 tandem, maps, and instructions for the next several days’ ride. With Yannick’s tools and assistance we installed our pedals and seats on our new steed. He provided us some souvenir water bottles and his cell phone number promising to be available to us day or night. I test drove the bike on some flat roads around the hotel. As far as I could tell our new steed would be fine. We now had the equipment to begin our quest.

Saturday the 21st of July was our tune-up day on the bike. A 65 km loop was planned along “Route Touristique Cotes du Rhone” to the hillside wine village of Gigondas and back to get our legs loosened up for the big challenge. By 9 AM following a wonderfully French continental breakfast we were on the bike headed into Bedoin where we spent some time ambling down the main street and checking out the bike stores. Two of them carry a selection of souvenir materials including cycling wear with the words Mt. Ventoux prominently displayed. Though not superstitious we were not about to risk bad luck by buying anything before our Ventoux assault.

The day’s ride included a short climb that was rated as in our road directions as “difficult” The directions didn’t exaggerate but we made it to the top and after a speedy descent to the village of Barroux we stopped for a look see at the resident castle. As we gazed from the castle walls to the east, Mount Ventoux loomed reminding us we had only passed the preliminaries. July 22nd, our V-Day had finally arrived. We woke early and were the first to breakfast. Then it was back to the room to ready the bike. Unnecessary items were jettisoned from the panniers to reduce weight and air added to the tires to reduce rolling resistance. Water bottles were filled in anticipation of the long hot climb. We needed no map or directions. There is only one road leading up to the mountain top from Bedoin and in the preceding months I had read several riders’ accounts of their summit attempts, analyzed the gradient map, visualized the route on Google earth and experienced most of it in a race car via You-tube.

I knew that the first six kilometers were a pleasant grade of between 2 and 5 degrees. I was aware that the road steepened to 6 degrees near the village of St. Esteve and that for the next eight kilometers, almost all the way to Chalet Reynard and the tree line of this giant mountain the road angled upwards a thigh burning, gut wrenching, lung bursting 9 to 10.5 degrees. In other words for every 10 feet forward, the road moved one foot higher. That’s a seriously steep climb. Yannick had confirmed that there was no relief, no spot until Chalet Reynard where this mountain leveled out even just a little bit. Cathy and I have ridden in the Rocky Mountains. I’ve done the Golden triangle three times. We are no strangers to hills. But were the French gradients the same as ours? Geometry should be the same over the globe but was their 10 degrees measured differently? After all, the French have commas and periods all confused. In the Tour de France there are five categories of climbs depending upon length, steepness, road condition, and where in a stage the climb appears. 4th Category climbs are the shortest and easiest and Hors (beyond) Category climbs the toughest. By all standards Ventoux is an Hors Category climb. Were we up to it?

As the road wound past St. Esteve we were about to have all our questions answered. We were down to gear 27 and wishing for a 28. Our speed hovered between 5 and 7 kph. Sweat was pouring out of us but we were slowly, steadily moving up the mountain. Our goal of the 1912 meter summit was superseded first by the kilometer signs, then by each successive road bend, then each ten feet and finally each successive pedal revolution. We became extremely focused on the road, our balance, our breathing and on each stroke. It was hard but we were determined and riding within ourselves. There was no doubt in our minds that we would make it up this hill – then suddenly something happened that cast everything in doubt. It first felt like chain slip. I cursed under my breath. This hill was bloody hard enough without a worn bike chain slipping and wasting our energies. It happened again. Another curse. Then, without warning, the pedals spun without resistance and our forward upward progress immediately stopped. I braked to keep from going backwards and unclipped from my pedals. It took only a few seconds to figure out what had happened and the news wasn’t good. What I had taken for chain slip was in fact the interior splines of the rear hub stripping out. The diagnosis was terminal. We needed a new rear wheel to continue. Without one, our summit attempt was doomed. We tried to contact Yannick by cell phone but reception was dodgy at best. To say this caused angst would be to severely understate our states of mind. We did not want to return to Bedoin or even give up a single foot of hard fought elevation. After numerous failed attempts to contact Yannick by phone we finally got through. He confirmed he did indeed have a replacement wheel but it was in his shop in Avignon. It was going to be at least two hours before he could retrieve it and bring it to us. The wait was interminable. We had made an early start in hopes of reaching the summit before the hottest part of the day. It now appeared that we would be climbing with the sun directly overhead. But all we could do was wait.

While in our Ventoux limbo, we observed an interesting parade of human beings. This included over a hundred cyclists, four hikers, a variety of motorcycles and cars, a hundred strong herd of earsplitting Vespas and a pack of 30 Volkswagon beetles. At last, we saw Yannick’s maroon compact and our new rear wheel. After it was quickly installed Yannick drove up the road a couple of kilometers to wait for us just in case something needed further adjustment or replacement. The road was no less steep once we resumed our quest. Like before, we rode within ourselves and slowly, deliberately moved past one kilometer sign, then another, then Yannick and another. Our thighs and glutes burned while the sun broiled us from above. Cathy took off her helmet for relief. Fortunately my cranium is not burdened with insulating hair.

Finally the road eased to a more bearable 7.5% incline, and within a kilometer we were at Chalet Reynard where we stopped for a well earned rest and a couple of Cokes to feed our caloric deficit. We didn’t waste a lot of time, however, as we were still six kilometers short of our objective. From a distance, Ventoux looks snow capped. Those who have been there know what passes for snow is in fact bare white limestone. The temperature had moderated with the elevation gain but we could feel heat radiating from those limestone rocks. The road winds like a snake up through the scree to the summit marked by a large weather station. Except for the last cruel kilometer the gradients after Chalet Reynard average about 7.5%. While this pales in comparison to the stretch before the restaurant it is nonetheless tiring and we took two opportunities to “take pictures” before the summit. We passed Tom Simpson’s memorial but by that point were in no mood to stop as the finish was well within sight. We summoned all reserves after the last hairpin and gave it our all for the final 50 meters. A family of tourists kindly applauded our last few pedal strokes. Their claps were appreciated more than they could know. We did it! We were at the summit of the Geant! Iban Mayo, the Basque cycling pro rode this mountain in a record breaking fifty six minutes. It had taken us, subject to a broken hub, almost three hours but we doubted his elation matched ours. Our self portrait taken a few minutes later shows us still red faced and giddy. We laid the bike down out of the way, hugged each other and soaked in the vistas. A quick zip through the souvenir stand netted some postcards, patches to be sewn on my backpack and a commemorative corkscrew that would be put to good use. A few cookies and a couple of pictures later we threw on our wind vests and sleeves in preparation for a quick descent and headed back down the mountain. We’d reached our overall goal but were only a third of the way through the day’s ride!

Back at Chalet Reynard we refilled our water bottles and took the left fork towards Sault, the lavender capital of France, a lovely downhill ride all the way. As we approached Sault, lavender fragrance permeated the air and we stopped to breathe it in and take pictures of the patchwork of golden wheat and purple lavender fields. We stopped at a little square in the centre of Sault. Cathy found a boucherie/patisserie and bought an assortment of small baguette sandwiches, dessert croissants and drinks which we wolfed down without apology. It was getting close to 6 PM and we had a distance to go to make it to Bedoin. We climbed out of Sault for ten kilometers or more before the rode tipped towards Bedoin. The ride home was a quiet determined one. We arrived back at Hotel des Pins sore, tired and hungry.

After a shower, salad and our first glass of a Cotes du Ventoux rosé our moods had improved considerably and by our main course the significance of the day’s events were sinking in. We had risen to the challenge. The mythic Ventoux was now a part of our palmares. By any measure this trip was already a success but in the coming days we would ride up several other mountain cols, visit interesting museums, stop and wander in little towns and through roman ruins, have many café au laits and other treats at street side cafes, visit local markets, feast on local foods, sample some great wines and last but not least, watch the best cyclists in the world blaze up and down the Champs Elysees during the Paris finale of the Tour de France. Not bad for a couple of prairie kids.