Redemption on the Ventoux

I hate to pat myself on the back, but there was no doubt in my mind that today was the only real choice of days to summit "Le Geant" of Mont Ventoux. I went with my gut and my experience and knew we had to shoot the break in the weather. Departing the villa a few minutes after 9 with nothing but blue skies and only a hint of wind, the group was nervous and excited knowing that ahead lay 150 km of riding with the Ventoux plus an addition Cat. 2 climb on the way to the base of the "Queen Climb". This ascent was a special for us because we had with us returning guest Paul Kirkman who felt compelled to conquer this mountain in Provence that had beat him the year before.

The group started at an even pace, singing and making their way to the 17 km cat. 2 climb that brings us to the base of Ventoux, in the tiny village of Sault. Anxiety waned as the miles grew, the legs awakened and the sun warmed on our faces. We took our customary espresso and pastry, Paul choosing the goodness of a homemade "Provincial Powerbar" of Nutella and banana on baguette, and so launched towards Le Geant.

From the bottom, after reality of a Hors Category climbs sets into a rider's mind, the group obviously must separate. This is not due to the various performing levels of the riders, but the fact that each rider, whether they acknowledge it cognitively or not, must ride their own pilgrimage to pay homage to the great mountain that lives so large in bike riding lore.

For the first 15 km, beautiful trees with singing birds and budding lavender with chirping crickets accompany the riders. But as the kilometers tick away, so do the layers of clothing. The hear rate reaches the riders' highest sustainable levels and the breath is shortened to only the necessary oxygen intake. The pines, which the riders do not waste the effort to admire, begin to disappear and even the bushes become scarce as the terrain looks more and more like the moon than the picturesque Provincial countryside.

Paul started strong, and I was completely confident he would make it to the top, but the scars from last year left Paul with some doubt. Blake rode with him for a few clicks and recalls Paul's prerogative in riding that day. "The only way I'm going to beat this fucker is to ride at my own pace and not worry about anything," he proclaimed. Upon reaching Chalet Reynard (where he decided to stop last year), Paul didn't blink. He probably didn't even notice the Chalet. After that point, there are no trees, no smells, no sugar left in his pockets. There are only two things the riders see. The first are thousands and thousands of stones, baked white by the millions of years of Mediterranean sunshine. The other It didn't matter. He settled in for the last 6 km, the most arduous. Ticking over the pedals he counted down the Km. The group waited for Paul at the top and cheered him on the last 200 meters to the weather station.

Michael, Rebecca, Karin, Mark, Mike, Paul, Blake, and Joe. Standing together on the top of the Ventoux celebrated a beautiful day in all our lives. Joe learned later that day that a friend of his and Cindy from the YMCA had passed away leaving young children and a wife. John was a cyclist and I have to believe he was with us that day, and it is for people like John that if you have an opportunity to do live a life less ordinary.......you must.

Peace and Love
The Mello Velo family.

On the Podium

Well, now we have lived every american bike riders dream we got the chance to participate in a road race in France. Last sunday we said good bye to our guests at the airport and headed north to Vaison la Romaine and a date with The Vaclusienne a 140 km road race around the Mt Ventoux.

The race started fast, we had 20 motor bike officials, cars, road closure. The raced sped through the little villes with police standing on the traffic furniture blowing whistles and waving flags. The peleton of 200 + split around the roundabout we were in a dream.

The selection started on the first climb 5 km at 4%. Blake and had little problem staying in the top 2o. A twisitng 40 mph descent snaked down the climb and brought us to the famous town of Bedoin. All was going well until the 60 km mark when on a rough patch of road I saw Blake in front of me with his hand in the air. Blake floated back and told me he had a flat and he needed my wheel, I was riding for him and the answer was painfully clear. Quick change, a quick push and Blake was chasing. I remembered the famous video clip of a Tour rider who was in yellow had to give his wheel to his team captain, then sat on the wall and wept. But such is bike racing.

And so the story can only continue on his terms. Take it, boyo...

So, bammage, I'm suddenly on the rivet and quickly into the "red zone" as the Cotes du Ventoux vindyards which accompany our beautifully tranquil tour rides, pass by in blur. Flatting on a wheel in a race most days means "Game Over", but begging Joey to give me his wheel (knowing that his race would be over at that moment), I knew I've have the power of two men in my legs. Still, the chase of a lifetime trying to regain contact with the peleton lay ahead.

During the next climb to St. Hubert, a 15 km gradual grade, catching groups of five or ten, trying to find out how many were still ahead, I willed my bike up and rejoined a peleton of 15 more strong men I recognize from earlier. Five were away, I learned from a Belgium. Or did I hear five when he really said 15, which in French while breathing through my ears sounds very similar. Nothing to do but attack again, just as we past our favorite boulangere in all of the Vaulcuse. Couldn't I just convince the rest of the racers to stop for moment? I'd even buy! I thought of Joey. He'd stay and wait around. There was still 50km left after all, and I was dying from the chasing efforts. Then I thought Vino, and wine, and the feeling of wind in your face. Attacking into a downhill with a headwind, legs breaking, no food, couldn't afford to stop at the feed, way past the comfort zone, i reached to front five, and subsequently, cracked, "popped", saw black snow as the hamstrings turned into baseballs, and so i ended up getting second in my age group, 8th overall, and won my first trophy ever, which i placed last in the Cafe de France (our local bar). This week, I will drink only bubbly, and only from this cup.


We welcomed our new guests the next day, and we now are on day 3 sitting at the Cafe de France. The Ventoux in on tomorrow and everyone is hungry to go at it. Today is a light day with a Kayak ride down the Sorgue river. We will blog the ride tomorrow.

Abientot

Joe and Blake