Lost in France - The Weekend

'Lost' pretty much describes how I felt in the couple of days before the big one, as the nerves started to kick in properly.

It all started quite badly on the Friday night, when I realised that my flight to Marseille was much earlier than I'd thought, and I'd have to leave for Gatwick at 5am. For some reason I'd been uncharacteristically behind with my preparations and packing, so when I left I had the overwhelming feeling that I'd forgotten something REALLY important.

At Gatwick, it looked like every second person in the queue had their bike with them and was heading for the Etape. The thing was, that they all looked like 'proper' cyclists, whereas I was peddling my usual indie-slacker schtick and felt somewhat out of place.

In the queue, I bumped into Yanto Barker, an ex-pro who's been riding again on the circuit this year, and has been helping out the Sky team. We had a good chat on the plane, and it was fascinating to hear his insights. Although I have absolutely no talent myself, I do really love the sporting side of cycling and it was great to hear about the pro-circuit from the 'horse's mouth'. Actually took my mind off the Etape too, which was a good thing at this point!

Of course I couldn't avoid it when we finally got to the hotel in Montelimar. The hotel was just a little bit outside the 'centre ville', somewhat bizarrely situated on an out of town trading estate. That and the necessarily 'budget' nature of the hotel all contributed to an overwhelming sensation of disorientation and anxiety which was difficult to shift over the next couple of days.

Part of this was that I hadn't actually properly met lots of the other members of the Sky team before and although they were all great - again, I felt a little bit of an impostor amongst lots of seriously good cyclists.

It was good to actually get on with stuff in the afternoon, and we headed down to the start village to register. It was all very well organised - booths for each batch of 500 numbers (of course our booth was right at the end of a very long line) and then round the corner to check transponders and pick up Etape 2009 goodies - a nice Trek rucksack, T-shirt and water bottle.

Since we'd arrived, we'd all been somewhat anxiously assessing the weather. It was basically pretty hot - 30+ degrees and only a light breeze - and it looked set to be similar for the Etape itself. I was pretty fatigued from just walking around the start village in those temperatures, so it didn't bode well!

After another pretty much sleepless night, Sunday went past in a bit of a blur. There was a lot of faffing in the morning - which is understandable given that there were 25 of us, and a big group from British Cycling to herd too. We eventually headed down to the bike store in Montelimar, to pick up and assemble our bikes. Much to my amazement, my bike went together in very straightforward fashion and seemed to be working perfectly.

We then cycled back to the hotel before going out for a quick spin along the first 20km or so of the Etape route. Unfortunately, I hadn't had a chance to tape up my knees or give them their usual slathering with anti-inflammatory gel. After about 10kms, they started to ache fairly steadily, and given that I wasn't going to win any medals for Sunday heroics, I decided to turn back before getting to the first climb - the Cote de Citelle. It was disappointing, and disheartening, but definitely the right decision. I'd only ever really intended to do 45 mins or so on the Sunday anyway, and I ended up doing more than that and there wasn't really anything to be gained by pushing myself any harder.

That gave me time in the afternoon to get all my stuff together for the Monday - lay out all my kit, put my number on the bike, and make sure everything was ready for the off. Once I'd done that, I felt a bit more 'relaxed', although by this point it was all relative.

My sister and folks popped up to Montelimar in the evening just to say hello and to work out where they might be able to catch up with me during the Etape. We thought that Mormoiron would be their best bet, as my friend Manny had friends there, and it would be not too far from where they were staying, but before the likely chaos of Bedoin.

At dinner, I tried unsuccessfully to force myself to eat loads, but it just wasn't working. I'd actually had a pretty positive mental attitude in the week leading up to the Etape, so I wonder if the feelings of anxiety I had were really just my body acknowledging that I was about to submit it to some extreme and unnecessary suffering, and gently trying to persuade me that this might not be such a great idea.

Only one way to find out...