Adventures on a Bike :: 2008

Watching with a legend

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.

2008 07 31

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I turned away

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.