Have you ever signed up for something, knowing it was a bad idea then worried about it for months on end only for your fears to be totally well-founded? My advice: if you are worried don’t do it! I’ve learned this the hard way, crashing into a wall of rocks at speed.
Last October, I was happily having lunch with a couple of friends from university. We all met at Queen Elizabeth College in Kensington back in 1983 (now King’s College London- I haven’t moved very far!) - it was great to catch up and reminisce. Someone (I think it may have been me) said something like “hey -do you realise it was was exactly 40 years ago this week that we met?” The conversation then turned to how we should mark this momentous occasion. One chap, a very keen cyclist said “are you guys up for cycling in the alps next summer? I’ve been thinking of doing this ride from Courchevel to Antibes.”
I had taken up cycling during the covid years having bought a bike under the ‘cycle to work’ scheme just before lockdown when bikes became as rare as hen’s teeth, so, spurred on by the Chablis, I agreed enthusiastically. Our other pal did too but said he would only do it on his electric bike. It was a done deal. The route was planned with a professional company that provide back up (a man in a van and a guide), flights were booked, and the date (Sept 2024) was set.
At first, I was excited about the prospect. What a great way to get fit, lose some weight, and keep me occupied throughout the winter. I had been looking for a challenge as I was entering my 60th year so this seemed to fit the bill. I already had a turbo trainer and Zwift subscription, so I planned to ramp up my training through the winter months. Things ticked along, friends I told thought I was mad, but as it was far in the distance, I didn’t start to worry about it until around May. At that point my fears were mostly about getting up the mountains - I changed the gearing on my bike and bought all sorts of new kit in the hope that I was fully prepared. By this time other people had been recruited to the challenge and we agreed to a couple of training rides out in Berkshire, at which I was hopelessly outclassed.
Even so, I pushed on with the training, gave up drinking in a bid to lose 7kg so I would have less to ‘carry’ uphill, and started to panic. In July that panic shifted from fear of going up to fear of coming down. We had been sent the route by the company - Day 1: Le Col de Madeleine. Basically, uphill for 25 km then 25km down the other side. Add in another 40km to and from the hotels and that was the gentle introduction. Day 2: Two mountains; La Croix de Fer followed by l’Alpe D’Huez. And so, it continued for 7 days. I was showing my son the route when he said rather unhelpfully, “Dad, you’re probably going to die on the way down”. This, though obviously said in jest, did not help. He saw the panic on my face. Later he had a quiet word with his mum saying he was worried because he thought I was terrified.
I phoned my mum - not a good idea. I told her about the trip. “You’ll be careful coming down the mountains, won’t you?” Not what I needed. This request was repeated every time I spoke to her in the lead up to my departure, and by now I was in full ‘anticipatory anxiety mode’. My son Seb came up with another pearl of wisdom “Dad, why do old men (note not middle-aged men!) feel the need to take up cycling?” A good question. I said something along the lines of “we all get fat so some of us take up exercise- running hurts our knees so cycling seems a better option”. There’s obviously a lot more to it than that, and that’s probably another blog in itself. I denied I was having a mid-life crisis on the grounds I was beyond ‘mid-life’.
Throughout this, I mentioned ‘anticipatory anxiety’. I have suffered from this before. When I was 22, I went to the US, and I was convinced I was going to die. I was plagued for months - I left sealed ‘goodbye’ messages to my family. I even ‘knew’ the day on which it would happen - a day I was flying from Chicago to Los Angeles. Turns out, I got so drunk the night before I left Chicago that I was horrendously sick on the plane but at least I’m here to tell the tale. Since then, I would never describe myself as a worrier.
Day 1 – Le Col de Madeleine
By the time I left for France with all the ‘be careful’ messages ringing in my ears, I was a nervous wreck. As soon as we got to Courchevel we built the bikes and went on a short test ride over to Meribel. I felt much better to get going and my legs felt great. The next day we left the chalet at 8.30am and dropped down into the valley before tackling the Col de Madeleine. We all got up okay and had a nice lunch at the top before dropping down the other side. Most of the gang took off at great speed, I was more conservative. I was so tense gripping the brake hoods that my neck was soon in agony. I knew the problem but just couldn’t relax on the bike. I was so glad to get to the bottom in one piece and the pain eased as we rode on the flat. That night, I got so much conflicting advice on how to descend my head was in a whirl.
Day 2- Le Col de la Croix de Fer
This mountain is a brute - it’s 28km up to a height of 2067m. The first 2km have an elevation of 8% so it’s immediately tough. There’s a relative respite between 12-20km (4-5%) and ramps up for the last 8km (8-9%). I experienced a huge sense of achievement and relief when I finally got up there. There was a well-earned lunch at the summit, but we were soon back on the bikes for the descent to Le Bourg-d'Oisans. The descent starts with long sweeping curves, and you can see a good few kilometres into the distance. It then gets tighter with more switchback chicanes. Again, I was gripping on for dear life but strangely enjoying the first 10km. The roads were busy in both directions- about 10 Porsches came past at speed – all in a line and groups of motorcyclists hammering down the mountain. I was constantly talking to myself, concentrate…concentrate. We were hitting speeds of between 50-70km/h on the open stretches. I remember slowing for a double chicane, congratulating myself for negotiating it safely - then it happened.
I was accelerating after the chicane (I reached 40km/h according to my Garmin), the next corner arrived quicker than anticipated and I hit the brakes. My back wheel slid, and I managed to keep upright but now I was heading for the rocks. The front wheel hit the first one and I went over the handle-bars. It is a cliché to say it all happened in slow-motion, but I really did have time to think- ‘oh, this is going to hurt.’ I slammed into the rocks, my ribs on right side were the first point of contact then my left hip and head. I lay there stunned and motionless for an indeterminate length of time.
A German couple got to me first. They helped me extract myself from the rocks and I explained I had friends behind me on the mountain who could call the support van, which by this stage was waiting at the bottom. I was lifted into the van having refused a trip to hospital.
As we drove down 3 ambulances were on their way up - one of the Porsches had hit a motorcyclist knocking him down the mountainside, and a young girl in a cycle race had come off at the corner after the one I hit and lay unconscious. It is a crazy, dangerous place!
We got to the hotel, but I couldn’t walk. I shuffled to the bar and called my wife. My wife is a consultant physician, so I got a practical and unemotional assessment. Once she was happy that I didn’t need to go to hospital (i.e. she was happy my hip wasn’t fractured) she said, “well, you have to try to get back on the bike tomorrow- you don’t want to spend the rest of the week in the van”. The guys were quite stunned at this, especially the next morning when I asked two of them to lift me on to the bike. I rode 60km that morning before retiring to the van after lunch. It was agony for the most part – upper body suffering but although I couldn’t walk very well, the pedalling motion was fine. From there I didn’t look back. Although, in constant pain, I tackled one more big mountain, Mont Ventoux.
The last 5km of Mont Ventoux is fairly bleak- well it was on the day we were there. About 1 km from the summit is a memorial to British cyclist Tom Simpson who collapsed and died there during the 1967 Tour de France. We stopped at the memorial on our way down. It is a stark reminder to respect the terrain. The weather closed in and after coming down the first 5Km on the bike, I refused to go down any further so got in the van. I’d completely lost my nerve on the descents
After Ventoux, we were into Provence so the big hills were behind us.The sun came out and we cycled through the incredibly scenic Gorges du Verdon. At last, I was able to enjoy the ride (almost).
On day 7, we made to the beach at Antibes!
I have never been so pleased to reach anywhere else. Looking back, was it a coincidence that I crashed, do I have insight or was my anxiety about crashing the root cause making it inevitable? I’ll never know but I do know I’m not very good at predicting future outcomes.
