Adventures on a Bike » Tour de France

Someday never happens

Arlyn — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 03:43:24 +0000

In 2008, I learned a little secret about life. ‘Someday’ never happens. As in, “Someday I’d like to cyclotour the Tour de France.” Or, “Someday I want to win a bike race.”

Your someday’s always stay in the future, safe and secure where they can’t bother anyone. The dirty secret is that we know they will never happen which make it a little disingenuous to say, “Someday I want …”

If you really wanted it to happen, you’d do it, right?

I used to think that someday I’d like to be able to ride a century and contribute to a charitable cause. In 2007, I committed to riding my first century and raising $400 for the National MS Society. I had never ridden more than 30 miles before and was plumb tuckered out at mile 30 so this was a huge goal. I had also never asked anyone for a donation before. Double huge goal.

I was surprised by what happened. I trained and trained and was soon strong enough for the ride. And I talked about how important it was to support the fight against MS and soon had raised $3,790. I realized that by committing myself, I put myself on the path to achieving it. I had turned my someday into a reality.

Our families gave us a ton of support to ride the MS Bike Tour

In 2008, I converted another someday. I used to watch coverage of the Tour de France and thought someday it’d be really cool to watch the Tour in person and cycle the famous roads they raced. I converted that someday into reality by signing up for a cyclotour to follow the 2008 Tour de France from Alpe d’Huez to Paris. The trip I chose included a couple of century days, some with over 10,000 feet of climbing. I was going to climb the famous French Alpine cols I had only seen on TV.

I had no reason to believe that I could withstand the kind of cycling this trip would offer. I was terrified that I would get to France without the right fitness and have to “get in the van” or skip riding opportunities. This fear of failure drove me to train like I have never trained.

But again, by committing, I was on the path to achieving. Within a couple of weeks of signing up I bumped into a friendly English chap on the 56 bike trail who seemed very strong. He invited me to ride with him and his friends. I was initially scared to ride with them, but accepted anyways. That became my first ride with the Descenders. On that first ride, Voris invited me to join their annual Monster Climbs trip. 22,000 feet of climbing on 4 Sierra Nevada Mountains in 140 miles jammed into just 3 days. It was terrifying and also the perfect training for France. Monster Climbs was where I gained the confidence to climb for hours and trust in my ability to recover.

Horseshoe Meadow Road looms in the distance as the Descenders prepare for a 10,000+ foot day.

By early summer, I was taking on all sorts of endurance challenges. I could ride a century every week. My epic rides to Julian for pie gave me confidence in my ability to suffer and endure.

My training paid off and, faster than I could imagine, I was pedaling up Alpe d’Huez, with the Col du Galibier, Col du Telegraph and Col de la Croix de Fer on the next day’s agenda. It was a spectacular week of cycling, truly a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

That’s me on the Col du Galibier.

What’s for 2009? Well, the broad strokes are to keep the adventures alive by swinging for the fences. I’ve registered for my first USCF road race – and I’m scared out of my gourd that I’ll get dropped early. I can barely say, “I will win a bike race.” So I’m training intensely. I know I will love racing and I hope my fitness gets to where I can enjoy it from the pack at least.

I’ve also registered for the Leadville 100 mountain bike race in August and I’m confident that the stars will align and I’ll get accepted. I’ve registered for the Triple Bypass in July to get some high altitude training. And of course, there is Monster Climbs III in June with the Descenders.

I’m going to keep swinging for the fences. Somehow, it all works itself out.

Taking a natural break

Arlyn — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 16:59:08 +0000

As far as I can tell, in France it is totally acceptable to pee anywhere you’d like, as long as you are wearing cycling kit and riding a bicycle.

Here in San Diego, we’re always looking for a public restroom of some sort, maybe a gas station or a roadside cafe. One time in France, we all stopped when one rider got a flat. We happened to stop near a couple of Gendarmes. We all peed (including the women) in various places. The Gendarmes had no comment.

Vive le France!

Watch it on TV next year

Arlyn — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 00:51:01 +0000

Last year, I watched the Tour de France on TV and in all likelihood, next year I will do the same. This year, however, I was at le Tour and experienced it in a way that’s impossible via TV.

Stage 17 – At the 1km marker on L’Alpe d’Huez

Our chalet was on the race course and we could view the action from either the barriers or from a balcony above. For sure, the balcony gives you a longer view and more of the race to watch. From the top balcony you could see an entire switchback up and back. From the barriers, all you could see was 10 or 20 meters down the course in each direction. But watching from the balcony is kinda like watching on TV. You get a good view of the race, but you’re not really there. You watch from a distance.

I was on the barriers when Carlos Sastre rounded our switchback. I couldn’t see him, just the mix of cars and motorbikes that swarmed him. But I could feel the energy; it was undeniable and super intense. The whole world got a little brighter. I saw Carlos just as he passed. He was coming up our side of the barriers and he was so close I flinched backwards. I was afraid he might actually hit me. I could clearly see a look of intense determination and pain on his face. He was hurting himself; he knew it and it felt good. I could see the sweat coming off him and I screamed “Venga! Venga! Venga!” He was gone in less than an instant.

It was two minutes to the chase group so I ran upstairs to watch from the balcony and see if that was any better. Menchov, Vandevelde, Cadel, and the Schlek brothers all went by and it was like watching on TV. I could see them well, just from afar.

I ran back downstairs and got back on the barriers. The energy and excitement was back. Yeah, I could see less, but I was getting more out of it. More than I’ll get from watching on TV next year, certainly.

Stage 18 – Just past the feed station

We were standing in the road, in a slight bend. The gendarme kept pushing us back towards the sidewalk, but we keep inching out onto the road for a better look. First the breakaway streaks through the village then the peloton hot on their heels.

The boys were just cruising but going about as fast as I can ride a bike on the flats. For a brief moment before the turn it looked like they might actually hit us and we all took a step back, reflexively. They were gone in seconds.

Stage 19 – At the finish in Montluçon

Bruce and I found the perfect spot between two of the commentator trailers to get this view of the finish line.

We had really no view up the road, but we could hear the peloton coming and being that close to the final sprint was amazing. After the race, we headed over to a spot behind the podium for the awards presentation. I’ve seen the podium thing on TV a thousand times, but behind the podium everyone hangs out and waits their turn. You don’t see that on TV.

Stage 20 – The start village for the time trial

So there I am, walking around, mingling with pro cyclists as they warm up for the TT. “Hi George. Hey Jens. How’s it hanging Robbie? Good luck today Dave.” This was the ultimate in being star-struck (at least until Sunday).

So when some of the Aussies in our group wanted to bug out and watch the race on TV I nearly lost it. There’s only one team bus so we bugged out and I got to watch Cadel lose the tour on a 20-inch TV in a smoke-filled French dive bar.

Stage 21 – The Champs-Élysées

We had a VIP viewing area set aside for us. It was right on the barriers at 400m before the line.

It even had a raised room that afforded a better view. Since we got to witness eight laps on the Champs, I tried it, but with the same results as on the L’Alpe. The best view was on the barriers where you could feel the vibration of 150 cyclists pounding out the cobbles, each rider searching for the win and glory in Paris.

After the stage was over, we headed straight for the team buses which were parked just behind us. Forget trying to watch the final jersey presentations. I’ve seen that on TV a thousand times, but I’ve never hung out with the guys as they decompress and congratulate each other after the Tour.

Next year, I’ll watch it on TV. Maybe I’ll even remember who won the stages.

I’m a little competitive…

Arlyn — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 19:02:50 +0000

Something magical happened at the end of Stage 19 from Roanne to Montluçon. For just one moment, I was really racing the Tour de France.

Bikestyle Tours arranged for us to ride Stage 19 in front of the peloton on race day and it was an amazing experience. The fans, gendarmes, little villages, everything was there. We got cheered all day long.

You have to understand that I’m a bit competitive (all my close friends laugh when I point that out). I take winning very seriously. Not to say I’m a poor loser, I don’t think I am. But if you put a finish line or a Col marker in front of me, I start calculating how I’m going to get there first, or at least in front of you. I rarely let an opportunity pass to try and win in some way.

So when riding a 165km long, full stage of the Tour de France, I’m thinking about how to win it. Our instructions were to regroup at the 2km line and wait for an escort to the finish line. Ok, the 2km sign is the “finish”. I pulled hard on the front during the first big hill in the morning so when the pace got whipped up in the last 30km, I’m rubber banding off the back. Luckily, Aussies don’t race downhill for some reason and I always get back on the group. As we raced the final kilos into Montluçon, we hit some traffic which made for some very nervous positioning. We got stuck behind this slow-assed van which finally pulled aside inside the 3km banner, leaving about 500m of racing space. We were approaching a steep overpass and I calculated that the 2km banner was just on the other side, hidden from view. Voris would be proud of how I came out of the far left and hammered it up the overpass, leaving everyone behind. No one really chased though either. I have a hard time understanding that part.

As we waited for the Tour official to arrive and escort us the final 2km, there was much disagreement as to where the real finish line was. Several of the sportier riders decided it was the “real” line that counted. Fine with me, I was feeling good and began calculating how I would win that too.

The escort car arrived and we were told that we could not race ahead of the vehicle, that we must stay behind it at all times. One of our ex-pro guides waggled his finger at me and smiled, “Remember, no racing.” Ha, that’s hilarious. When we started off toward the finish line, the car zoomed ahead leaving the perfect amount of racing space.

It’s just John and I in the last 400m. John was pretty sporty earlier on the road so I think he’ll go for it. I drop behind and get on his wheel, which in cycling language is like pulling out a gun and cocking the trigger. I’m ready to go.

My focus narrows and I begin to feel all hot and prickly. I know I’m going to win, I just can’t lose. My body feels electric, like I’ve got Mark Cavendish legs and my racing anger starts to rise. I stop hearing things and I can’t see anything but John, the finish line and some maintenance truck in the middle of the course at about 100 meters out. Maintenance truck? This is exactly what I need – John will never see it coming. I drop back a little bit and wait for John to decide which way to go.

John goes right so I attack left. The first few seconds of my attack will be hidden behind the truck which should give me great advantage. I come around the truck out of the saddle, hammering for the line. I’m way ahead of John already and I think about easing up, but as I approach the line, something really strange happened.

There I was, out of the saddle and sprinting full out, after 165km of a full TdF stage. At the end of kilometer 537 for the week. After all the fans, the cheering, little villages, gigantic Alps, Didi the Devil, paint on the road, beautiful France…

The signs on the barriers are flashing by and fans are pounding on them and yelling. I’m approaching the REAL finish line, I can see the commentary booths and even the podium. SKODA – SKODA – SKODA flashes underneath my wheels – it’s painted on the road right at the finish line and suddenly, inexplicable, I’m actually in the Tour de France. I mean, really there. I throw my bike across the line and shout out something. I want to do that whole point to the sky thing but don’t want to crash either. I fly through the finish area in a lazy arc as I slow down and try to figure it all out. I really did just win a real stage of the Tour de France. That was cool.

Photos from my Tour

Arlyn — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 15:32:29 +0000

I took lots of photos that didn’t get posted to my blog. Here’s everything, enjoy!

Watching with a legend

Arlyn — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 23:39:42 +0000

It’s Stage 18 from Embrun to Alpe d’Huez and I’m safely ensconced in our beautiful chalet watching the race on French TV with a baguette in one hand and a Heinekin in the other. A bunch of us have ridden down and back up L’Alpe to get a flavor of the mania and now we’re hanging out, waiting for the peloton to arrive.

The room is crowded and I end up chatting with this old guy that I don’t recognize. He’s an English bloke and about the same age as my parents. I can tell right off that he’s a cyclist but there’s something different about the way we’re discussing the Tour. Then it hits me, he’s actually raced the tour! It turns out he’s Colin Lewis, two-time British national champion who rode the 1967 and 1968 Tour’s de France. He was actually Tom Simpson’s roommate in 1967, the year Tom died on Mt. Ventoux.

Wow. All of a sudden, the Tour is real to me in a completely new way. Colin tried to explain what the Tour meant to him and how he comes back year after year to be a part of it all again. He explained what it was like when Tom died, how hard that was for him and the rest of the team. He told me about how he made a pact with his friend that they would help each other finish the Tour no matter what and how his friend told him before he died that finishing the tour with him was one of the greatest achievements of his life. Colin told me how he sees the Tour as a pattern for all of life, how it’s all there – triumph, tragedy, suffering and glory.

Lower down on the Alpe, Sastre attacked and Cadel could not follow. Colin and I discussed what the strategy might be and Colin predicted, “We’re watching the winning move – this is a brilliant strategy!”, much to the dismay of the Aussies who were rooting for Cadel.

The boys we’re almost to our chalet and it was time to go outside to watch it live. There I was, watching the Tour with a legend.

I turned away

Arlyn — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 00:57:40 +0000

Quick author note: I didn’t write much about my Tour experience and rather than bore everyone with a 14-page account, I’ll be posting vignettes over the next several days. Stay tuned. — Arlyn

I looked at the guide as if he was crazy. Was he trying to start a fight? Get in the van? I tell him, “You’ll have to carry me into the van. I’m not getting in.” He shrugged and I cycled on.

Now it’s 6:30pm and I have half a bottle of water. There are 141km on my odometer with 3,218m of climbing in my legs. I’m standing motionless at the bottom of Alpe d’Huez, right where the road pitches up and there is a storm raging in my heart.

The Croix de Fer had really taken it out of me. My legs hurt but screw that. I’ll chew my legs off before I let the pain stop me. Getting lost sucked but at least I bagged the Col du Mollard. Shit, I’ve wasted a lot of time getting back on course.

The van. Screw the van. Death is in the van. I’m low on energy. It’ll take me 2 hours to climb L’Alpe. That puts me at 8:30pm if I don’t stop to refill my bottles. Maybe I can ask a fan for water.

They’ve painted every square inch of road on L’Alpe. They line the road, even here at the bottom. Some of them are eyeballing me to see if they should cheer for me. Will I start up the hill? Death is in the van. You can’t get in the van. The fans wait for me to make my decision.

Sweat drips off me and onto my bike. I’m part of a group, a team. My actions affect others. This is not a one-man operation today. If I go on an epic, the guides are responsible for me. But, it doesn’t get really dark until 9pm.

Cyclists and cars stream by me. The party has begun on L’Alpe. It’s 14km to the top with another 1,100m of climbing on 21 legendary switchbacks. The van is death. No one knows where I am. They’ll worry and it’ll cause a problem for the guides. They’ll have to look for me.

Oh crap, how am I going to live with this? Maybe I should just go. Screw them, they’ll find me. Pain is temporary – quitting is forever. How am I going to live with this?

I take one last look up that beautiful, crazy, epic mountain and turn away. I ride slowly back to the group and without saying a word, rack up my bike and get into the van.

The storm in my heart rages on.

A day in the air

Arlyn — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 09:03:43 +0000

A day in the air, originally uploaded by Arlyn Asch.

Remember when flying was really fun?

City of Lights

Arlyn — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 06:28:42 +0000

City of Lights, originally uploaded by Arlyn Asch.

Mmm… Bordeaux

Arlyn — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 06:27:42 +0000

Mmm… Bordeaux, originally uploaded by Arlyn Asch.