My Ride to the Top of Mont Ventoux

Last Christmas we were looking for something different to do for the holiday period so decided we would take off to the south of France for a couple of weeks. The lure of some warmer weather and the impossibly pretty towns and countryside of Provence was no match for a dull and grey England in December. Deal done.

With no major plans for the trip apart from “taking it” easy my thoughts turned to the opportunity for some cycling. Of course when you are in Provence there is really only one thing do to . . . . the Giant of Provence . . . Mont Ventoux.

The trip down is easy enough from southern England. Down to Portsmouth in the evening to catch the over night ferry to Caen. Once on board there is time for a few cheeky beers before bed time. There is an early start next day.

Yes you get chucked off the Ferry at 0630 in the morning. From there point yourself south on the Autoroute, set the cruise control on 135km/h and don’t stop unless you need to do  fluids  (fuel, coffee or pee). If you don’t waste too much time over lunch you’ll be in the south of France in 10 hours.

It is easier than it sounds. The French autoroutes are very lightly trafficked making covering long distances a breeze compared to the clogged UK roads. Just don’t be tempted to speed. Given the almost empty roads it is very tempting to put your foot down and make some serious progress, after all the car will happily cruse on the limiter at 250kph, but don’t. Gendarmes will be more that happy to relieve you of the contents of your wallet if they catch you and remember that your passage through toll booths is time stamped.

At this time of year the temperatures in the south can vary markedly. We had a great day on the beach in Cannes, it was 23degC and we needed the shade of an umbrella to avoid bending completely roasted. But travel just a few miles in land and up into the Alpes Maratime and there was snow on the ground. Something I didn’t really consider when planning my ice back in the UK . . .

I had not attempted anything like this before so I was more that a little apprehensive. The thought of more that 2 hours of constant climbing was kind of daunting. There is nothing like this in Little Switzerland. Despite putting in some good training rides in the late November and early December period I had no idea if I would be able to make it to the top. It was an challenge completely outside of my experience.

I checked the weather forecast constantly in the days leading up to the ride and all looked good for the day I had planned. Actually all looked good for a few days either side of the  planned day so I was confident of good weather. Of course at this time of year that is not guaranteed, even in the south of france. I was really lucky, the question is what would I have done if the weather was not so good. Riding solo up a mountain like this is a risky endeavour even in good weather. But what if the weather was bad? Would the fact that I had travelled 800 miles for this opportunity have masked my better judgement? Fortunately I did not find out. Not in this trip anyway.

So at this point we should talk about the route.  The classic route up the mountain is from Bedoin. It is short (21km) but has a steep section through the forest and a total elevation gain of 1,600m. As you might have detected I was a little chicken so took the “easier” route from Sault. It is longer at 26km but the elevation gain is only 1,400m so it is a little easier overall.

So early morning on Christmas Eve (I still can’t believe I cycled up Ventoux on Christmas Eve) I set off in the car for Sault. I arrived a while later in a small town shut up for winter. I parked up in a rough and ready car park in the centre of town next to a battered builders van and little else. A few locals watched on from the bus stop as I unloaded my bike and then that was it. I set off through the towns streets wondering if my car would still be there when I got back.

Out of town you first drop down before climbing steadily through lavender fields. All rather civilised at this this stage.  Soon enough you enter the woods and the work begins.  For the next 10 km the gradient is a steady 5% before levelling a bit to 3% for the next 8km to Chalet Reynard.

I arrived at Reynard to find it almost deserted but actually open. The large parking area out front (the size of 2 football pitches) only accommodated a handful of cars. A few hardy types out for a family walk to work up an appetite for their christmas supper.

“Allez Allez” whet up the shout as I cycled past one group who applauded me up the road. At this point I should note I had not seen another cyclist so some encouragement was most welcome.

Past Reynard the gradient kicks up to something like 7%, you leave the shelter of the forest and are exposed to the December wind.

Shortly afterwards I was forced to stop (for the first time) to negotiate the snow barrier which was down. From this point on there would be the comfort of knowing there would be no cars on the road, but I was rather apprehensive of what the road conditions would be like.

Fortunately the road remained clear of snow all the way to the top. Occasionally a stream of melt water crossed the road but otherwise there were no hazards and a good surface.

I had however left the warm sunny lower slopes behind and although it was still a glorious day with hardly a cloud in the sky it was getting cold, snow covered the ground and the icy wind started to penetrate my “wind stopper” jersey.

I was still feeling reasonably good right up to the final bend before the section on which the Simpson memorial stands. As I turned the bend I was exposed to the full force of the wind coming over the Col des Tempêtes and a gradient of 9%. It was too much. For the first time I started to doubt it if I could actually make it. The wind was ferocious and every turn of the pedals was a battle. I zig zagged across the road trying to dodge the gusts. And as i approached the memorial stone what confidence I had drained out of me buy the significance of the terrible event that occurred on the spot nearly 50 years previously.

I parked my bike in the snow and precariously made my way up the icy steps for a quiet moment of contemplation. I needed the break, brief though it was.

I shook off my doubts and headed back to the road. I had to make it. I could not give up this close to the top.

But the last leg was almost impossible. After 2 hours of constant climbing the gradient kicks up to 12%. But that is not the problem. It was the wind howling straight down the road from the Col des Tempêtes. Out of the saddle, in my lowest gear, slower that walking pace. I could hardly make any progress against the gradient. I had not experienced wind of this strength before. It was close to the point of being able to lift me off the ground.

As I winched my self closer to the bend at Col des Tempêtes I realised I that the danger was going to move into a new league. Wind would no be side on, blowing me straight over the side of the mountain. There is no armco barrier on the road side to collect you and after the tarmac edge it is straight down.

I had to get of and walk.

Walk that is as best I could in cycling shoes whilst trying to brace myself agains the wind and hold onto a bike that was being blown around like a kite in a storm.

I thought to myself this was actually quite dangerous. A good gust would have carried me  off the road and down the mountain. The consequences of that did not bear thinking about. I battled on.

Eventually the mountain provided some shelter from the wind, and I rode up the last 9% gradient to the summit. I made it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For a brief moment it was glorious. The Sun was bright and the sky was such a deep blue colour it almost felt like I was on the edge of space. But I had taken my hands out of my gloves to take photographs and within seconds my hands were freezing to the point of numbness. I managed an awkward selfie against the “Sommet” sign and realised it was time to go. I had to get of the mountain. Full winter kit and a thermal under layer that would keep me toasty in any conditions that the UK could muster was not cutting it in the wind at 2,000m. I really did have to get off the mountain.

The reverse ride down to the Col des Tempêtes was equally as dicey as on the way up and again I had to walk around the corner to avoid going over the edge.

But after that the wind was behind me and it was an epic blast down the mountain. Having ground my way up the road with my nose pointing resolutely to the tarmac for most of the last section I knew there were no hazards on the road surface. And with the snow barrier down there were no cars. So I could just let go and travel as fast and the gravity and wind assistance would propel me.

In no time I was back at Chalet Reynard and the shelter of the wooded slops. I started to warm and enjoy the forest roads that had just been punishment on the way up.

Back in Sault my car (and it’s alloy wheels) was still where I had left it and I packed up the bike still not quite believing what I had just done.