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.