All Hills Were Not Created Equal

Etape du Tour 2013: Annecy - Annecy Semnoz

Here we go...

A 5:30am alarm call on Friday morning signalled the start of the slog down to Annecy, with the car fully packed, we headed down to Folkestone to hitch a ride on the Eurotunnel.

After several long hours on the peage we caught the first glimpse of the Alps as we came out of the Tunnel de Saint Germain de Joux. They looked massive and steep, but I just wanted to get on the bike and get on with it.

Once we got to Annecy, we checked into our overnight hotel and went into town to meet Jon and get some food. It was lovely to sit in the evening warmth and get through my first of many bowls of pasta.

On Saturday, we went to the race village to sign on, and then to find somewhere to watch the British Lions in the 3rd test against Australia. The Captain's Pub appeared to be the only place in town showing the game, and it seemed like all the British etappers were in there to watch. Never has a game of rugby been watched by so many men with not a single beer between them.

A massive win for the Lions put us all on a high, but quickly it was back to business. After setting up camp at the far end of Lake Annecy, we went for a ride along the lakeside to spin the legs. Even in the early evening, it was obvious that the heat could be a real factor come the main event. Very inspiring to get back to the camp to find that Chris Froome had monstered the first day in the Pyrenees on the TdF.

Post ride it was more pasta, a final check of the kit, and then an early night.

I woke up at 5am after a decent nights sleep, wolfed down 2 pots of porridge, a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich and an energy bar, changed into my kit, swung my leg over my new bike and set off on the 15km jaunt to the start line.

For the first time in etape history, the start was staggered, probably with the horribly narrowing road after only 8km on the first climb in mind, so I had to watch an hour-long procession of riders heading out before I got my turn. Once through the start gate, the pace picked up quickly and it was an incredible feeling to be hurtling though the outskirts of Annecy in a big pack on closed roads, zipping around both sides of roundabouts, dodging road furniture and hitting speeds of 45km/h on the flat.

It was all over too soon however, as after only 7.5km we turned right at the village of St Jorioz and onto the first climb of the day up to the Cote du Puget. The climb is classified as Cat 2, and I quickly got into a good rhythm, with my speed only being stalled by the number of riders on the narrow road. The view as we climbed was fantastic, both looking at the valley below, and of the lines of riders grinding up the switchbacks like lines of ants.

After a short descent, the road ramped up again to the Col de Leschaux. Again the pace was good as the riders on the road began to thin out and I soon reached the top of the climb, after which the road rolled along through the meadows in the hanging valley above Lake Annecy.

It was great to pass through the little villages dotted along the route, and find the locals had set themselves up at the edge of the road to cheer the riders on with shouts of Bravo! and Allez! along with a few ringing cowbells. My Wales jersey even elicited a few shouts of "C'mon Wales!" from the assembled ex-pats and holiday-makers.

I still felt strong as I started the climb up the Cote d'Allion-le-Vieux and immediately on to the Col des Pres, although the rising temperature was slowly beginning to sap the strength as quickly as the gradient under my wheels. I still found the energy to get out of the saddle and drive the pedals coming out of the hairpins though.

The rate at which the road ramped up on the Col des Pres really began to bite, and it was here I saw the first walkers of the day. They were in for a long afternoon.

I ground out the last part of the climb, with the thought of a rejuvenating descent and a drink stop at the bottom spurring me on. The descent was quite technical, and I was a bit tentative at first, before getting into my stride and letting the wheels spin out. Even then, I was being overtaken by riders that seemed to be going twice as fast. It was incredible to watch the speed they held through corners, and by the time I made it around, they were gone.

At the bottom I pulled into the drinks station to refuel my bidons. I was very aware that I hadn't eaten much, but the high heartrate from climbing and the soaring heat meant that putting solid food in was proving difficult. I resolved to be more disciplined on this for the rest of the ride.

Soon after the drinks stop, the climb of Mont Revard began. The profile of 16km at a gradient of 5.4% suggests that this would be a long, but relatively comfortable climb. The reality of it though was that there were several ramps on the road which got close to 10%. As I slowly turned the pedals in bottom gear, the heat really started to affect me, along with a pain in both knees and a dull ache at the base of my spine. As I climbed higher, thoughts of stopping began to creep into my head. I hadn't been worried about the broom wagon, and hadn't really considered that I wouldn't finish, so this was a short sharp wake-up call about how hard the etape is.

It was on Mont Revard that Jon finally caught up and passed me, having started in a later pen. Despite him disappearing into the distance, I wasn't demoralised, and it was nice to have a short chat with him before he went off chasing down more rabbits. Left on my own, I found a good rhythm and worked my way up to the mist-covered summit, stopping quickly at the feed stop near the summit to refill my bidons again and stretch my back.

Over the top, I found the descent was less technical, and thus far faster, than the Col de Pres. It was exhilarating to hammer down the long straights and link together the sweeping curves. Seeing a few accidents being attended to by ambulances did temper the bravery in some of the corners, but I still descended faster than I'd ever done before.

Once back down on the plains I kept up a good pace, passing through some lovely scenery including the suspension bridge over the very deep Gorges du Cheran (which looked like it had been freshly tarmaced that morning). Found a few wheels to follow, but the short climbs to the final feed stop at Gruffy meant groups never lasted long.

Stopped at the feed station to eat, fill the bottles and stretch before the assault on the final climb. There was a local there who was spraying willing cyclists with water to cool them down. I didn't partake, but with hindsight I wish I had. Neither did I partake in tasting the local cheese and wine on offer. I'm pretty sure this was a good idea though...

As I rode out of Gruffy towards the lower slopes of the Semnoz, I began to feel cramps in both my legs. Fortunately I had a lower gear to change to, and spinning out the legs managed to reduce the lactic acid in my muscles.

Before you get to the Semnoz climb proper, there's a nasty ascent of 3km at a gradient of 8%. By the village of Quintal, my thighs were screaming from the exertions of the day as I turned onto the Semnoz climb proper.

Suddenly it was like pedaling through sand. I pressed the gear lever more in hope than expectation, and found there were no more gears, so there was nothing left but to take a deep breath, remind myself it was the last climb, and get on with it.

I winched my way up the climb, but the pain in my calves, knees, thighs and back were getting worse and worse, and the merciless sun continued to beat down on my head. I knew there was a final water stop with 8km to go, so I was aiming for that. However, the placebo effect of approaching the stop, plus a slight easing of the gradient managed to convince my increasingly delirious brain that I was OK to carry on without stopping, so that's what I did.

8km to go. I've never known kilometres tick by so slowly. I cursed at my Garmin. I swore that the organisers had forgotten some km markers. I knew it would take an hour to reach the top, and I just hoped that my strength would hold up.

At 5km to go, my body gave up and the pain from cramp stopped me from turning the pedals. I managed to unclip and stood over my top-tube at the side of the road, draining an entire bottle of electrolyte drink and watching my heartrate blissfully dip back under maximum. By now, there were so many people walking their bikes up the road, but I refused to join them. I wanted to cycle all the way to the finish.

So I took another deep breath, stretched the legs as best I could, clipped back in and moved off. The next 2km were utter hell. By now, in addition to the walkers, there were bodies strewn along the roadside all the way up the climb, all seeking shade and rest. I even saw one cyclist being put in the recovery position in the middle of the road, at the exact point where he'd collapsed off his bike. The heat was unbearable.

After another quick stretch at the 3km to go marker, I knew I was going to make it, although the summit appeared as the trees thinned and seemed so far away still. The km markers seemed to come quicker now, and before I knew it the 1km board appeared, then the 500m to go. A last evil ramp and suddenly I was on the summit and there was the finishing arch.

Success.

I stumbled across the finish area for the grassy bank behind, found a space and lay down. I was broken.

The finish Line

30 minutes of recovery in the Alpine sun felt great, then with the pressure off, the descent back down to Annecy was fantastic, and on arrival I received what I'd craved since I decided to enter the etape - a finishers medal.

I met up with Jon and Emily soon after. Jon had finished in a frankly outstanding time of 6:08, and Emily had decided to give the etape a go, as she was already entered, to see how she would get on. The broom wagon caught up with her just before Mont Revard, but she managed the first 4 categorised climbs and loved every minute of it. Chapeau to them both.