Software Upgrade - The Training

This section is going to be a bit tricky, because everyone starts from different basic levels of fitness, and everyone has a different attitude and response to their own individual training.

All I can do is go through what I did, and tell you what worked for me, and what didn't. There are lots of training resources around - on the net or in books - and if you are intending to take on something like the Etape, I guess that in the end you'll do exactly what I did, which is try and take the best tips and advice from a wide range of sources.

The only thing that I would say, that I think holds true for anyone attempting the Etape for the first time is that you really have to put in the hours and be prepared to train hard and consistently. It's true that lots of the training is really enjoyable, and it's great being out on the bike. However, lots of the training is hard and miserable and you really don't want to do it, and then when you are doing it, you want to stop. It's at those times that I guess it's really important that you have the ability to summon up the mental strength not to stop. That's because however hard it gets, the Etape is probably going to be harder.

Anyway, I'll try and go through things in roughly chronological order, as that seems the most sensible way to go about it - but some elements will obviously deal with ideas that flow across the training period.

Physiological Testing

I decided to go for detailed, cycle-specific physiological testing at Dr Garry Palmer's 'Sportstest' at the beginning and end of my training program. A lot of that was to do with my own interest in the 'process' as well as the 'outcome', and the fact that I was doing this blog. However, having done it I found it really useful.

Frankly, a lot of this was to do with the psychological boost it gave me, both at the beginning and end of my training. At the beginning of the training, despite my very average results, Garry said he was confident that I could complete the Etape there and then. It might not be much fun, but I was in a position to do it. Knowing what I do now, I don't think that was really true, but it made me feel a bit less out of my depth.

At the end of the training, it was really great to see the measured improvements in my fitness - to know that my hard work had paid off, and that I'd done everything I could to make the Etape experience as 'comfortable' as possible.

There were two key 'scientific' things which really helped me out though. Firstly, having got all my stats, Garry could give me targets to aim at over the course of my training. Many of these would be difficult to measure until I went back, but things like weight loss are easy to track and absolutely crucial in training for rides which include any significant amount of climbing. Secondly, knowing my individual level of fitness, he could help me put together a training programme based on what I needed to do, and the time available to me.

Books

Although I've mentioned it several times before, I'll mention it again here, because it seems to make sense. At the start of my training, I bought 3 or 4 books about training for long distance cycling, which looked like they might be useful. By far the best was Garry Palmer's book 'Elite Performance: Cycling: Succesful Sportives'. I won't repeat what I've said elsewhere, and you can see roughly what it's about from the link, but it's specifically aimed at the Etape, and covers everything from bike choice and setup to what to take in your bike box. Basically everything you need in a handy package.

Weight loss

Garry made the point which was later reinforced to us in no uncertain terms by Dave Brailsford - you've just got to lose the weight. Climbing is all about power/weight ratio. It's really hard to increase your power by much in the short term, but you can lose a lot of weight at a sensible pace and improve your power/weight ratio significantly (and self-esteem!) that way.

I lost 19 pounds at a rate of approximately a pound a week - which is what Garry and others recommended as a healthy rate.

Again, people have different experiences of trying to lose weight, but my experience was fairly positive. Because you're doing a lot of training, you're using a lot of energy so it's easier than normal to create a 'calorie debt' where you're using more than you're eating.

You do have to be careful what you eat, but because you have to eat a lot of carbs, it's not as hard as a 'normal' diet. The key is to cut out as much fat as possible. I didn't find this particularly difficult. I was eating a lot of rice, pasta and bread, so never felt really hungry. I switched to low-fat cheese and particularly low-fat cottage cheese, which is also supposed to be good for muscle repair and growth. I cut out chocolate muffins and other fatty treats, which was sometimes hard, but I figured the short term sacrifice would be worth it in the end.

I figure it was. If I'd had to carry an extra 19lbs up Mont Ventoux, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have made it.

Training Program

For me, it was important to have a detailed training program, and to understand exactly why I was doing what I was doing. Although we got a weekly training program from British Cycling, it was necessarily 'generic' and aimed at people doing a 5-day week. I had a real advantage, because I work part-time, but my slighly eccentric rota means I work a lot one week, and then am off work completely in the alternate week.

Also, the time I'm not at work is spent doing other important things - studying and volunteering - so I had other commitments to work around.

Garry was happy to work with this, and put together a training program which took all this into account. This was really useful, and also helped me feel less guilty and 'behind' when I wasn't able to do all the things suggested in the BC training.

Obviously, the training changes in intensity as you get closer to the big day, but the basic principle was to train different types of muscle fibre on alternate days - working on 'Endurance' training one day, and then higher intensity 'Threshold' training the next day. In theory, that means that the 'endurance' muscle fibres get rest/recovery on the day that the 'threshold' fibres are working, and vice-versa, so that you're getting training response, but not over-stressing them.

I tended to do my 'endurance' training (which equated to riding at a heart rate of approximately 150 bpm) out on the road, and my 'threshold' training (which was mostly intervals working at heart rates up to 170 bpm) on the turbo trainer. The reason for this is that, particularly when you're doing interval training, it's just much easier to keep your heart rate in the required zone at all times when you're in control of all the conditions. When you're out on the bike, you're faced with traffic/traffic lights/junctions/changing gradients etc., which mean your heart rate is going up and down fairly randomly, and you're getting less effective training.

Having said that, some of my threshold training consisted of doing 'Time Trial' efforts of around 20 mins, so I did these out on the road, around Richmond Park.

It's not easy to schedule lots of them into your training programme, because frankly they're hard and miserable, but the sessions which probably had the most positive effect on my fitness were hard interval sessions on the turbo trainer at fairly high resistances. For example, I would do 8 mins at heart rates up to 170 bpm followed by 4 mins of recovery - all repeated 3 times. With a proper wam up and warm down, this turned into approximately an hour long session.

I did lots of these just prior to the Dragon Ride, after I'd been ill, and they made a huge difference to my ability to tackle the climbs. Obviously you need to make sure you're getting enough rest and recovery too, or you won't get the training benefits - but these types of session are really important.

They may also be important for another significant reason. I'm going to write a separate post about this, but I read an interesting article in Cycling Weekly a couple of weeks ago about Central Governor Theory and how you can train your brain to 'allow' you to go harder, by using interval training. The reason I found the theory interesting was that it seemed to chime with my experiences on Mont Ventoux. Although I never actually felt too bad - my heart rate was fine, my legs felt good etc. - there were times when I just had to stop for some reason. Maybe Central Governor Theory is one of the reasons for this.

Training Sportives / Long Rides

On a day to day basis, lots of advice suggests that there's not necessarily a great deal of benefit to be gained from doing rides of much longer than 3 hours, as the potential damage is greater than the marginal gains. However, it's clearly important to have a few long rides in the locker before taking on an Etape.

For me, there are two key reasons for this:

a) Psychological - You need to know that you can actually cycle 100+ miles. This takes at least one element of uncertainty out of the Etape equation, and should actually give you a confidence boost.

b) Nutrition - You need to develop and practice a nutrition/hydration strategy that you're confident will work for you, come the Etape. The only way to do this is to do a long ride and see what works and what doesn't.

I would say that, for a beginner, the ideal would be to do two 100 mile rides 4-6 weeks ahead of the Etape, with maybe a couple of 70 or 80 mile rides earlier in the season.

I'd planned to do more, but because of illness and other scheduling issues, I did half of that recommendation - the 77 mile version of the Hampshire Hilly Hundred in early May, and the Dragon Ride in early June.

As far as the psychological benefits go, I probably shouldn't have done the HHH ride because I was pretty ill and it set me back a few weeks training-wise. However, I felt much better mentally for having done a reasonably long, hard ride. It was significantly further than I'd ever ridden before, and because I was sick, it was mentally very hard. To get through that was actually one of my biggest challenges, and actually gave me a big psychological boost.

The Dragon Ride is really good training for something like the Etape because the hills are long and gradual - a bit like Alpine climbs. It was also 50% further than I'd ever cycled before, so was a big mental step. However, having completed it, I knew that I could do the distance, and meant I could 'relax' in the six weeks leading up to the Etape and fine tune my fitness. It was absolutely crucial in a psychological sense.

Nutrition-wise, I learnt a lot from the Dragon Ride. I find it difficult to eat solid food when I'm on a ride, and thought I could cope with a diet of gels. However, around the 60 mile mark I started to feel really 'empty' and nauseous, and this made things pretty difficult. It made me realise that you have to eat something solid for your stomach to work on, just to avoid that nausea. When it came to the Etape, I made sure I ate a couple of 'Go' bars fairly early on, and although the bulk of my nutrition was still done through gels, I never felt sick.

I also realised that on the Dragon Ride I just hadn't drunk enough liquid, something I'd noticed on earlier rides. It made me determined to make sure that I drank enough on the Etape, and this proved crucial too.

The biggest lesson that I took away from the carnage on Ventoux was that however fit you are, if you don't drink or eat enough on an 8-10 hour ride, then there will come a point where things get very difficult. Knowing what I know now, I would spend even more time on my nutrition strategy and make it a much bigger priority during my training.

'Hardware'

If you are starting out as a complete beginner like me, then I'm afraid we have to accept that it's going to cost a fair amount of money. In the 5 months since I started preparing for the Etape, I've probably spent £3-4000 on a bike/spares/pedals/clothing/food etc. The good news is that I consider every penny of it money well spent, because it's given me so much pleasure and fulfillment.

That's just a warning, because it won't stop there. I'm already starting to wonder about 'upgrades', and I know I'm not alone in being physically unable to walk past a bike shop without going in 'just for a quick look'.

Anyway, starting at the beginning...

The Bike

I was really lucky with my purchase. I got a Felt F55 from Wiggle. Because it was a 2008 model, I got a very hefty discount. I didn't really know a lot about components when I first started out, but I know now that to get a bike with almost a full 'Dura-Ace' (Shimano's top level component range) groupset for around £1000 was a really good deal.

My original budget was actually somewhat less than this, but because it was such a good deal I thought it was worth stretching a bit. I'd say that for £1000 you should be able to get a bike to get you through the Etape in reasonable comfort and most importantly with good reliability. Clearly, you can also do it for less than that. My original budget was around £700 and there appear to be a number of good quality entry-level road bikes in this range - some of them aimed squarely at the Sportive (ie. comfort) side of things. As you'll probably have to upgrade things like saddles/pedals anyway...this may not be a bad route to go down.

I had some concerns about buying a bike mail-order. However, the people at Wiggle were very helpful, and the bike came immaculately built and packed, and I would have no qualms about doing the same again. I didn't realise at first, but if you buy accessories at the same time, Wiggle are happy to fit them for you when they build the bike, which saves a bit of time and hassle - particularly if like me you're not the best with mechanical stuff.

In many ways, getting a bike from your local bike shop may be the 'ideal' way of going about things, because you can try the bike out for size properly, and talk about/test worthwhile upgrades at the point of purchase. For me, however, the deal on the Felt was just a bit too good to miss.

I've no experience with any other bikes, but I certainly had no problems with my Wiggle experience. If money is an issue, then getting hold of 'last year's model' if you can is clearly a great way to save a significant chunk of cash without sacrificing much in terms of quality.

Gearing

This wasn't something I'd thought about in any great detail before the Etape, and I think was a major oversight. I'd always been a bit intimidated by talk of gear ratios and as I'm not very mechanically minded, I found the whole thing a bit befuddling. I'd thought my reliance on the lower gears was down to my fitness - and it probably is to a certain extent - however I definitely could have done with a couple of extra gears on the Etape. On Ventoux, my cadence dropped below 35 at times - which is clearly ridiculous. I'm not that unfit! It would probably have been worth me swallowing my pride and having a chat with the people at my local bike shop and seeing what they recommended. I could get away with it on the Surrey Hills and UK sportives, but the climbs you get in the Etape are of a completely different order.

Saddle

As a beginner with the aim of completing the Etape or a similar challenge, I think it's most important to think about your contact points in the 'engine' area of your bike, as they're what's going to affect your enjoyment and performance most. The saddle and pedals/shoes are crucial, so I'll deal with them first.

I upgraded the saddle on my bike when I bought it. However, I went for what looked like a good quality saddle which had a huge discount from Wiggle, so hadn't really tried it out. If you're starting out, you WILL be sore when you first start riding - there's no getting away from it. However, although the pain has lessened for me, I've never quite got away from it. The best tactic is probably to try out a few saddles for size, and again a local bike shop can probably help out with this. I'm probably going to try out a few more - it may be that the 'Specialized' type saddle with a cutout down the centre would be best for me, as that's where I get the most pain.

Pedals

I started out with a set of Look 'Keo' pedals. I'd been used to using Shimano SPD pedals on my commuting bike, and I have to say I found the Look pedals much harder to use. I had real struggles clipping into them accurately, and I thought they were weighted oddly, so that you always had to flip them over with your shoes before you could clip into them. After the fourth or fifth time I'd had my foot slip off the top of the pedal, smashing it back into my shin, it started to get tedious. They also have minimal 'float' so if you have any problems at all with your knees - as I did - then they're a bit of a recipe for disaster.

After reading a bit about them, and also having them recommended by Dave Brailsford, I switched to Speedplay pedals. I instantly found them much easier to use because they're 'double' sided and the clip-in mechanism is very quick and secure. They also have plenty of 'float' which allows your legs and knees to settle into the position which is best for them. This can end up being different on each side, but that's natural variation.

They're fairly expensive, but for me at least, they worked out infinitely better than more 'fixed' pedals.

Shoes

Again, I think there is a little bit of 'you get what you pay for' with cycling shoes. I started out with a pair of Pearl Izumi mid-range shoes which were about £60-70 pounds I think. They were fine, but I found that my big toes ended up being squeezed into the toe box of the shoe, rendering them numb after 30 or 40 miles - which can't be a good sign.

My knee problems necessitated an upgrade in shoe fairly close to the Etape. Normally changing such an integral part of the 'drive train' so close to a big event wouldn't really be advisable, but I didn't really have much of an option. I ended up going for some Specialized shoes which were above the £100 mark. I went for these because you can buy specially designed footbeds and inserts for them which are a relatively cheap way of correcting slight 'deformities' in your legs. I have very 'bowed' lower legs which were contributing to my knee pain, and my physiotherapist was impressed by how much correction the shoes managed to achieve.

Above and beyond the 'correction' effects, the shoes instantly felt much stiffer than my Pearl Izumi's and it felt like there was noticeably more power going through my pedals.

The footbed of the Specialized shoes also 'kicks up' a bit under the ball of the foot, which serves to anchor the foot in place and stop your toes being pushed into the front of the shoe. They were significantly more comfortable, and were responsible in large part for me getting through the Etape.

I made a mistake in not thinking harder about shoes/pedals when I started out, and just going for a set which looked good value. It's not worth rushing this part of the equation, and I would recommend trying out a range of shoes in a bike shop which know something about positioning and fit. I ended up with knee trouble and having to buy new pedals and shoes, both of which were far from ideal.

Cycle Fitting

I set up my cycling position by reading advice and going with what felt right. We also had a positioning workshop with Ben Wilson from British Cycling, and he seemed to be fairly happy with my setup.

You can also get more scientific fittings from people like CycleFit or various other bike shops. This costs between £150 and £225.

If I'd known what trouble I'd have with my knees, I might have had one of these done when I was starting out. Cyclefit, for instance, do custom footbeds which might possibly have helped with my troubles. By the time my knee problems had developed, it was too close to the Etape to go changing my position radically.

Having said that, other people whose opinions I trust, have suggested that people who go to any of these 'custom fitters' end up coming out with a very homogeneous position which might not actually be right for their individual characteristics. I guess it's a question of you pays your money and you takes your choice.

If my knees continue to be a serious problem, then I might not have any alternative but to at least give a custom fitting a try to see if it might help. I've dealt with all my training in a fairly scientific manner and it does make sense to me that a scientific analysis of riding position might be able to achieve real benefits.

Heart Rate Monitor/GPS

Although these are clearly very different things, I've put these together because my solution combined the two. I was lucky enough to get hold of a Garmin Edge 705 for review purposes, as I would be using it on the blog.

A heart rate monitor was absolutely crucial to my training and is definitely something you need. There are plenty of people that do them, and the decision will ultimately come down to what your budget is.

I found the Garmin hugely useful for its GPS functions, because I was doing a lot of my training rides on my own and needed to map routes that I hadn't travelled before. I ended up discovering lots of routes on websites like 'Bikely', and it was then just a question of downloading them, dragging and dropping them onto the Garmin, and then following them out on the road.

You can also use the Edge to program interval training sessions for your turbo trainer with heart rate alerts and countdowns - basically everything you're likely to need for your training programme.

It's also really useful to be able to analyse your performance on the Garmin Connect website once you've downloaded your rides when you get back.

The Edge 705 is a bit pricey, but I would say that to me it would have been worth the retail price if I'd had to pay it. I figure you're going to have to spend £50 to £100 pounds on a heart rate monitor anyway, and for me the extra functionality of the Garmin Edge is worth the bit of extra outlay.

On the other hand, if you've been cycling a bit and are aware of good training routes near you, then the GPS functions may be less worthwhile. I have to admit I do love a gadget, and a big attraction for me was the analysis you can do on your stats 'after the event', and the fact that I could post them on the blog. Other people may not be so bothered about this stuff.

Turbo Trainer

I almost forgot about this, because mine's now been consigned to the shed for a few weeks! This is just because I'm not 'allowed' to go on the bike for six weeks at the moment, but until then, it had set up camp in a corner of my living room for 5 months. I did a little video demo on my turbo trainer here earlier on during my training, which might be worth a little look. It's not great, but I wish I'd done more videos now.

I bought a fairly basic Tacx Sirius Soft Gel Turbo which I think cost me £120 or so. I found it fairly easy to put together and use. You didn't have to take wheels on and off - it just has a specially designed rear skewer with a big 'knob' which fits into the grips on the trainer. I tended to just leave this skewer on all the time, as it wasn't going to make a massive difference to my day to day performance and saved faffing when I wanted to put the bike on the trainer.

My version did have a cable operated mechanism by which you could adjust the magnetic resistance whilst on the bike, but in practice I used the gears on the bike to do this - it's more realistic and frankly easier, so this feature was unnecessary to me, and I could have got a slightly cheaper model. Apart from that, the trainer did everything I needed it to do. You can get much more advanced models which included computer control/DVD's where the resistance changes with the route of your 'ride' displayed on a monitor. They look fun, but were just a bit too rich for my blood

I'd say it's fairly crucial to have a turbo trainer - particularly if you're starting training a bit earlier than me - ie. Winter.

However, they're not just useful when the weather's rubbish. Often, you'll need to do training sessions where it's important to keep your heart rate in particular 'zones' for long periods or intervals. This is next to impossible on the road, as you're constantly battling traffic, changes in gradient etc. On the turbo trainer, you're in complete control of the resistance and therefore your heart rate.

I found this particularly useful for doing longish interval sessions at 'threshold' heart rates, which are the best preparation for the long climbs which you face on an event like the Etape.

Despite being pretty ill in the weeks leading up to it, a series of these threshold interval sessions are what got me through the Dragon Ride. It's absolutely no fun, but I think it just has to be done.

A fan is also an essential for turbo sessions - as otherwise it gets very messy. I also got a bike 'thong' for turbo sessions. It's a bit of towelling which goes from the headset along the top tube to the saddle, which stops you getting sweat all over your bike. It also has a holder for your TV remote and phone, which I found surprisingly useful...not essential, but handy.

Lessons Learnt

In one sense, the main purpose of this blog is complete - in that I've documented my training and completion of the Etape du Tour. It was only really ever meant as a diary for myself - but it's been great to have the support and encouragement of friends and fellow first-time Etapists who have found the blog.

Over the last few days though, it's occurred to me that the main reason I've read other people's blogs about the Etape is to get ideas for things that might prove useful for my own preparation. Therefore I thought that it might be useful for me to go through the key elements of my preparation - analysing what worked well and what worked not so well.

I wouldn't presume to offer advice - clearly we're all different and all have different abilities and training needs. However, I thought it would be useful to go back and work out what was useful to me as a complete road-riding beginner, in case it might prove useful to anyone starting from a similar position.

I'll be posting these thoughts as I get the time over the next few days.

Ventoux - The Big One

Full Etape du Tour Garmin Stats: Etape du Tour: Montelimar to Mont Ventoux

By now, even the 'easy' 4-5% section at the beginning of the official climb was starting to feel pretty hard. I guess 100 miles in the legs will do that to you. It was nice winding through the vineyards of the Cotes de Ventoux though and I wasn't filled with huge dread about what was to come.Then I hit the big left hand bend at St Esteve, and the journey into hell had begun. As you enter the forest section, the road just rears up straight ahead of you at 10%. You face plenty of similar gradients in the UK, but this was different in that there were no curves, no flats, and it didn't seem to stop. Being able to see the potential for extended pain is not good for the soul.

Almost immediately, people started walking, and I started to think that this might not be so much fun after all. I'd planned to give myself rests every half hour and that was my first target - to get through the first half hour.

My legs actually felt pretty good, no soreness or pain - apart from the usual ache in my left knee

- and I was confident that I could get through this. The real problem was the heat. The 'shelter' of the forest was the very worst kind. It meant there was absolutely no breeze to cool you down, but it seemed to offer little, if any, shade. The sun was just coming straight down through the trees doing its worst.

I got through to my first 'scheduled' rest, and just pulled over to the side of the road for a quick sit down under a tree. It was then that I noticed just how many people were walking. The 'clack-clack' of cleats on tarmac gave it away, but that was pretty much the only sound you could hear. The sheer level of exertion meant that conversation had become impossible.

There were also lots of people coming down the mountain, rather than up it. At first I thought that it might be people who had finished already, and I'm sure there were a few of those, but then I noticed that most still had their transponders round their ankles so had clearly given up en rout

e. I'd always thought that if I could get this far, then I'd get to the end, but these people had obviously got further than me and realised that it was too much...that couldn't be a good sign.

Things were starting to feel VERY hard now. I couldn't make it through to the next half hour, I had to stop after twenty minutes....then it was ten minutes....then five minutes....

Other riders were now in severe distress. I was probably up to about 10km to go now, and there were lots collapsed by the side of the road - in the middle of the road in one case - people

vomiting, even crying. When I was sat down during one of my breaks, I heard someone talking about a friend down the road who'd started to slur their words

and was clearly in a pretty bad way. There were medics on

motorbikes buzzing up and down the road every couple of minutes now, and their workload was clearly getting very heavy.

I couldn't really think about the whys and wherefores of exactly what was going on, but I was aware that there was something a bit weird about how I was feeling. My legs felt fine, and I could accelerate quickly to overtake other riders if I needed to get through a gap or get out from behind a weaving wheel. My heart rate was at a reasonable level, and my breathing wasn't particularly pained. However, every few minutes I just HAD to stop to compose myself.

I'm assuming that it was just something to do with the heat, and maybe my body was making me stop to avoid any serious damage. In the guide to 'psychological preparation for Ventoux' that we'd been given, we'd been told cheerily that 'It's very difficult to actually die on your bike'. The reasoning being that your body actually makes you stop some time before you get to the critical point...and I guess that's part of what was going on.

Finally, the road started to open out...the trees thinned and I knew that Chalet Reynard was just around the corner. The ski-station cafe marks the point at which the forest ends and the iconic lunar landscape begins. For me, more importantly, it marked 6km to the summit - 6km which are supposed to be 'easier' than the forest.

The first task was to get some water - but amazingly, they'd run out! Although I've got no quibbles with the rest of the organisation - which was amazing - this was clearly a very serious situation.

Along with some of my Sky team-mates - a big bunch of us had arrived at the Chalet at around the same time - we managed to find a guy with a hose who was dispensing water. However, not everyone was in good enough condition to go hunting around for water and many people were really suffering.

I still felt ok, but we were waiting for some more Sky people, and I wasn't particularly upset to have a bit of an extra rest. However, I was starting to become aware of the time. I'd imagined that it would take no more than 2 and a half hours to climb the Ventoux, but I'd already been going for around 2 and a quarter, and there was still a fair bit to go. 6km looks a long way when you can see almost every metre of it, and the attendant climbing that inevitably goes with it.

Despite the promises that the last 6km was 'easier' the ramp up from Chalet Reynard suggested

otherwise, and now I was going REALLY slowly. For long periods, my cadence was below 35(!) and I think I may need to look carefully at my gearing if I do similar things again.

I can't really remember very much about that last stretch. All I know is that it was really hard. In the end, I was stopping every 3-400m to get myself together. I wasn't all over the shop, but I know I wasn't thinking very hard about my 'form'. I was just turning the pedals over as best as I could, trying to look reasonably together for the official photographers and trying to convince myself that 'pain is temporary'.

I thought I was fairly 'compos mentis', but the fact that I completely forgot about the Tommy Simpson memorial gives you some idea of where I was at. You would have thought that I would at least have seen it, and then remembered...but oh no. I felt terrible about this afterwards, as I've read so much about the history of the Tour in general and the legend of Ventoux in particular over the last few years, that I really wanted to show my respects. We went back the next day in the car, but it's not the same really.

Some people are a bit surprised when clean riders like Brad Wiggins explicitly show their respect for Simpson, given that in effect he was 'doping' and this contributed to his death. However, I take the view that they were different times - when people used to think that smoking was good for you and riders in the Tour were limited to two litres of water per stage. Whatever drugs he took, it was Simpson's courage in pushing himself beyond the point of exhaustion which killed him, and I believe it's that courage which should be respected.

Finally, I got to the 500m to go sign, but the observatory at the summit still looked a long way above me. I was pretty sure I was going to have to stop again before I got there, but then suddenly the last corner was upon me. Somehow I forced myself out of the saddle for a last sprint up the ramp before sinking back into the saddle and rolling over the finish. I'd got there, somehow, but I couldn't quite take it in.

I looked south over Provence at the stunning view, finding it difficult to believe that I'd got up here under my own steam. My folks had clearly been getting worried, because I'd had a text around Chalet Reynard, and then my phone had actually started ringing just as I'd come round that final corner. It had taken me 3hrs 20 to get up there in total - worryingly longer than I'd anticpated.

I gave them a quick call to tell them I'd finished, and then got another happy cyclist to take a blurry picture of me in front of the radio mast - (I'm probably the only one that can actually tell it's me!). It was what I'd been dreaming about for the last 5 months, but had never quite believed would actually happen. I'd done it.

The Road to Ventoux: Part IV

As I'd done with previous long rides, I'd mentally broken up the Etape into 30 mile sections, and treated them each as individual 'easy' training rides...starting again once I'd got to the end of each little section.

It had worked really well with the Dragon Ride, where I'd felt really bad during the third 30 mile section, but convinced myself that if I could get to the end of that bit, then I'd pretty much finished. Effectively, I'd turned a 120 mile ride into a ninety miler, which seemed to make things a 'bit' easier.

With the Etape, I'd split the ride into; three 30 mile sections, an insignificant bit to get from the bottom of the Col des Abeilles and then the Ventoux. I'd always figured that no matter how hard the Ventoux was going to be, it was only 21km, and I'd somehow find a way to get there. I just had to get there without being eliminated.

So, a few miles after the feed station at Buis les Baronnies, I was into the crucial third 30 mile section. On previous rides, this is where I'd struggled with nausea and fatigue. There was obviously a bit of fatigue, but as I'd forced myself to eat a 'Go' Bar fairly early on, I never hit the

nausea stage.

I always find it difficult to eat on a long ride, and I actually find gels a bit more palatable.

However, I'd realised after the Dragon Ride that if you're on the bike for that length of time, your stomach just needs something to 'work on', even if you're not getting your main source of calories from the solid food.

So, overall I was feeling good, but the ride started to get tricky as it came round to noonish, and the temperature got up. The next climb, the Col de Fontaube, is only 4.7km at 4.3%, but it's part of a long stretch between Buis les Baronnies and the Col des Abeilles which is almost continuously uphill. This is really strength and mind-sapping, and coupled with temperatures up above 30 degrees, things were starting to feel harder.

I was pleased to get to the top of the Col de Fontaube, but I was surprised when there didn't

seem to be any kind of descent to follow. I'd forgotten that it's followed after a couple of miles by the Col des Aires, so I had to put in another short effort to get to the top of that which was very unwelcome.

Eventually there was a descent, but that only took me into a section which proved almost the hardest for me...along the Sault valley. It's not even categorised as a climb on the route, but again it's a long, constantly uphill drag. Because it was in a valley, it was shielded from any wind, so it was hot and airless. The locals obviously new it was tough, because as they shouted

enouragement - 'Courage!'...we were getting regular updates as to how far it was until it got flat again....'le village est a deux kilometres...c'est plat!'

By this time, it was starting to get uncomfortably hot, so I stopped off at a fountain, in Aurel I

think, and splashed water all over my head and face. A guy who was taking photos nearby clearly found this amusing, and asked me to do it again - I was happy to oblige!

There was another drag up to Sault, and an extra water stop - which worryingly was starting to run out - then a short descent to the base of the Col des Abeilles.

Everything I'd read and heard about this had warned me that this climb wasn't to be underestimated and that it could potentially take a lot out of you. I'd say this was a fair assessment. It starts with a wide, steep ramp - probably around 10% - as it curves up to the left along the side of the mountain. It's very open, as it's cut along a kind of escarpment and for whatever reason, this openness makes it feel even harder than it actually is.

Having said that, I was still feeling pretty much together, and although it was tough, it wasn't a real struggle. There's a sting in the tail as you get to the top, although thankfully I was prepared for it. You get to the top of a big incline, which looks like a summit, but then you drop down a fair way at 8% before rising up again equally steeply. Once would have been annoying...doing that twice felt unnecessary!

There was a huge reward once we did finally get to the top though, because it was the beginning of a fabulous descent. A big, wide road with a steep, but not precipitous, gradient and fantastic views combined to create a fantastic sense of exhilaration.

Part of this was the enjoyment of the descent, but also a feeling that I really was going to do it now. I knew now that I just had a short section of flat into Bedoin and that would be the end of my final 30 mile section. I'd still got the Ventoux, looming up on my right, to tackle - but I'd find a way.

As I was enjoying the descent of the Col des Abeilles a guy with a couple of bunches of flowers stuck in his helmet made me giggle. 'Chapeau!' for the Chapeau I thought...

When I got down into the valley, there were a few beautiful villages with tree lined roads joining them, raising the spirits, and as we got to Mormoiron I started to look around for my folks. I'd arranged to meet them somewhere here, and I'd texted my sis to tell her that I was doing a steady 15mph average to give her an idea of when I'd be there.

I got to what looked like the centre of the village, but nothing. I thought maybe they'd found a quieter spot a bit further on, but then I got to the sign with the village name crossed through - signifying the end of the village.

I stopped to call my sis...'where are you, I'm here?'. It turned out they'd been delayed, and had been expecting me much later anyway. Luckily, they were close to Bedoin, so I said I'd try and catch up with them there, although I was a bit worried about missing them in the food stop

chaos.

As we rolled into Bedoin, with Ventoux rearing up above us, I was chatting to one of my Sky team-mates. It turned out this was lucky, because my folks had turned up at a junction just before the village about 20 seconds before I got there, and had recognised my voice. Luckily, I heard their shouts just as I went past and executed a quick U-turn to get back to them.

The first thing I did as I hopped off my bike was to check the route card we'd got with our signing on materials, which helpfully had all the elimination times on it. I was amazed to see that I was now almost an hour and a quarter ahead of the broom wagon - but this made sense when I checked my Garmin and saw that I'd been doing an average of exactly 15 mph after just over 90 miles - exactly what I'd been hoping for in my most optimistic plans.

I thought this meant that I had plenty of time to stop and

had a chat, and I offloaded a lot of my excess drink powders, gels and bars - knowing that any weight I could get rid of before the Ventoux would save me energy.

I hung on to a couple of caffeine gels and a regular one, and feeling that I was a bit sick of sugary drinks, I also got rid of my 'Go' Electrolyte powder, feeling that I was gonna be ok with just water. For the last couple of hours, I'd been keeping one bottle to just water anyway, so that I had stuff to squirt over myself when I got a bit hot.

After 20 mins or so, I set off into Bedoin to the feed station - just to refill my bottles - and then it was off to take on the Ventoux. As I rolled out of town it was clear that everyone was reining back their speed, to try and keep as much as possible in reserve, so I did the same. There were lots of people by the side of the road, many with big bottles of water ready to throw over you if you wanted. It felt great when they did, but it was just so hot by now that the water

evaporated within minutes, meaning you were soon hot again.

One of the peculiarities of the Provencal climate is that it actually gets hotter as the afternoons go on, as the land 'bakes'. It was now about half past two - and I knew that I was going to be climbing the Ventoux in the hottest part of the day. This was going to be tough.

The Road to Ventoux: Part III

The section from the Cote de Citelle to the next climb, the Col d'Ey, was beautiful and rolling. As we rode through miles of lavender fields, the scent gradually built up along with the heat, and I was doing my best to 'enjoy' the experience.

I was gradually building up time on the broom wagon, without feeling totally 'safe' yet. However,

as it got to a more 'sociable' time of day, the number of people by the side of the road shouting encouragement gradually increased, and began to make the experience feel really special.

I tried to acknowledge as many of the supporters as possible - because I was genuinely grateful for the encouragement, and also because it tended to make them cheer more!

The feeling of riding on closed roads with people shouting from the side was a sensational experience. Almost my favourite moment of the whole Etape was coming to the first roundabout

with a group of riders, and then splitting in half to go round both sides of it....just like the Tour! Stupid I know, but it made me

happy.

On this section, I got the chance to chat to people a bit. There seemed to be almost as many Brits as French folk. Bizarrely, I even met someone who used to live with a friend of mine from work.

I'd been watching the numbers of the people I was passing, and they were gradually getting lower - which was heartening. I was still amongst a fair few of the 9000's, but was now passing some 5000's and even some 4000's. Was good to be able to see some reflection of my progress.

As we were just about to get to the Col d'Ey, I came up behind a guy in a Welsh kit. As I overtook him, I gave him a cheery 'Go on Wales!'...(I grew up in Wales, and still feel kinda Welsh in my heart). However, as I looked round, I noticed that he looked a bit worse for wear. It turned out that he'd just picked himself up off the tarmac, after being hit hard from behind. He'd fallen badly on his hip and had also picked up a pretty nasty gash on his elbow.

He'd done exactly the right thing, by getting straight back on, but was still a bit shaky, so I said I'd ride with him while he sorted himself out a bit. I figured having a bit of company and someone to chat to might not help him out loads, but certainly wouldn't hurt. In those sorts of circumstances, you realise that it could easily have been you that had taken a tumble, and I'm sure Alun (for that was his name) would have done the same for me.

As we rode along and chatted, I think we both benefited from the experience anyway...it just makes the time go a bit quicker, and before you know it, you're another 5 miles along the road

without really realising.

Worrying about his injuries, was taking my mind off the gradual onset of soreness in my ownknees. I'd taped them up pretty heavily, but as the heat came on, the sweat from underneath started to loosen the adhesive at about 40 miles, meaning the pain came on at about 50 miles. It was pretty sore, but by no means a deal-breaker - it's always been more of a problem when walking than cycling...but that was a long-term worry...for now I was just thinking about getting through the day.

By this time, we'd reached the Col d'Ey - 6.3km at 5%. We took it at a steady pace and although it was longish compared to lots of British climbs, it wasn't a real killer and didn't put too much stress on the legs. It was good to have the company, and someone else to think about, and Alun even helped my morale by complimenting me on my climbing ability - the first and last time that's ever going to happen...I'm going to put it down to concussion or something!

The 'summit' came along without much fanfare, not even a bit of flat, just a curve round to the right and into the descent. This was a slightly trickier, technical one and I had to be a bit careful on this one, as I was only working with a rear brake. I'd been practicing using my body, and 'looking' towards my exits from corners to guide me out of them, and that definitely paid off as I got down without having to use my brake too much, and letting the bike flow a bit through the corners.

As I'd not really been pedalling too much, because I didn't want to get up any excess speed, Alun rode away from me for a bit. I knew there was a feed station in Buis Les Baronnies at the bottom of the descent, so I figured I'd catch up with him.

I hadn't anticipated quite how much chaos there would be though. There were probably 300 people there - bottles of water strewn everywhere and queues at all the tables. I had all the food I needed on me, so I just needed some water to make up my electrolyte drinks and I could get away fairly quickly. I was now about 45 minutes ahead of the broom wagon and starting to feel good about my prospects.

The Road to Ventoux: Part II

So, we were off...the pace at the start wasn't too frenetic, but I knew I had to try and get on some wheels going in the right direction, and at the right speed.

I caught a man and a woman in Irish tops who were cycling side by side, which meant that people were having to take a wide berth around them, leaving a bit of clear space just behind them...perfect.

Then I caught the wheel of a big guy in a Lampre World Champs kit - I always think the folks wearing world champs/polka dot/yellow jerseys are enormously brave....I know I couldn't get away with it!

Over the course of the next ten miles or so, I caught these wheels and other recognisable ones a few time, but I was overtaking more people than were overtaking me, and was making good progress. I'd added 'average speed' to the data fields on my Garmin 705, because I knew I was going to have to maintain a speed of 12.5mph plus over the course of the Etape.

After twenty minutes or so, I'd been doing an average of 18mph without seriously pushing myself, so the anxiety started to abate somewhat. I'd known all along that I'd be almost certainly be able to get significant benefits from drafting, but you always worry that it's never going to turn out quite how you want it.

It was at this point, after about 6 miles, that I saw my first puncture of the day...really felt for the poor guy. Because we were so far down, he was in real danger of being eliminated before his ride had even begun. You'd hope that the organisers would show some mercy, but you just never know.

My concern had been that having a crappy start number would mean that the riders coming back towards me would be going much slower than I needed to be going, and there wouldn't be enough riders coming up past me at the speed I wanted to be going. In the end, I think things worked out ok, and there was always someone to latch onto.

The thing that was really noticeable was that nobody was really working together. Because I was generally catching lines of riders, I was on the back, but expected people to take turns, eventually bringing me up to the front. That just never happened, which was good in the short term, but probably bad in the longer term, as groups working together more efficiently would have been better for everyone.

The Cote de Citelle, the first climb, came up pretty quickly. I felt good on this one, even managing to keep it out of bottom gear I think. Because it was still pretty crowded, there was no real pressure to kick on, but it never became a bad bottleneck where you had to slow down or stop - so perfect for me really.

The wind turbines at the top gave you a target to aim at, and before long we were there, ready to start the steady descent. Although it wasn't at all steep or technical, we had to slow down past the aftermaths of at least 3 crashes. A couple of them looked pretty serious, and you could see people reining themselves back a bit in response. It must have been sheer weight of traffic which had led to the crashes...touches of wheels and the like...and I was doing my best to steer clear of the more erratic riders. The lack of front brake wasn't seriously tested.