Mountain Madness

The 21 Turns of Alp D'Huez

You must be crazy? How many Kilometres? 10% gradient, you’re mad! These are the types of questions and comments that cyclists hear all the time, especially those of us that like to climb the odd mountain on the way. It’s one of those situations that you have to experience for yourself to really understand. There is an absolute addiction to the ever winding road, the hum of the tyres and gentle clicking of the gears, the growing ache as you push your body on a little further. It’s not the only sport that can claim this kind of feeling but it clearly is one that produces a kind of tribalism and singlemindedness. But I’ve jumped a few years so let’s go back to the beginning.

I’ve always been a footballer first and foremost. Right from when I learned to walk it’s taken up the majority of my time but cycling was always important to me as well. I have great memories of watching the Tour De France with my Father. Watching superstars like Bernard Hinault, Pedro Delgado, Stephen Roche, Greg Lemond, Miguel Indurain and Robert Miller. It was the mountain stages that really grabbed my attention. They were the most explosive, changeable and exciting. Tours were won and lost in the Alps or the Pyrenees. This is where the fire in me was kindled!

My first roadie (Road Bike) was built up for me by my grandfather. It was a modest bit of equipment but it was mine and I loved it. My first challenge of any real note came when I was 18. My girlfriend at the time lived in Oxford so I decided to ride there and back for the weekend. The 86k took me roughly four and a half hours. I chose a countryside route and I was in my element. I was in a rhythm, at one with my thoughts, proud and determined.

I guess life changes and things get in the way. I started a career, left home, got married and had a beautiful daughter. It was time to rekindle that fire. It was always my dream to go to the Alps. That battleground for those heroic road bound gladiators. So I pulled out my old mountain bike and drove from Bristol all the way down to the Alps, more specifically to Alp D’Huez the Mecca of cycling.

We stayed in a little campsite with a badly put up tent and I made my first attempt ever at climbing that majestic high ground. It remains one of the hardest things I have put my body through to this day. The pain of the lactic acid in my legs was apparent from the moment my wheels hit the first part of the climb at 10%. My lungs were bursting and my head was pounding and I was only 200 metres up the damn road! But something happened! My lungs started to settle as I found a rhythm with my pedal strokes, I found the right gear to be in (The lowest one! :) ) and my head cleared. I started to think; started to get a bit emotional thinking of all these cycling Gods that had been here before me. Then you start to look around and you relax, a calm came over me. Thnking about this incredible setting that I was in and what an honour and privilege it was to be able to challenge myself in this hallowed ground.

It still bloody hurt! Man did it hurt. There were times when I had to fight an instinct to ‘get off the bike you idiot’ but I remained. After an hour of this and 11 kilometres covered of an average of 8% incline, I could see the finish line in the distance. You feel like you are on top of the world and D’Huez is not particularly high by Alp standards, you should see the Col du Galibier! I crossed the line in a pedestrian one hour and 45 minutes. I was fighting back the tears from exhaustion and pride. I saw a water trough on the side of the road and just stuck my head in it. The time didn’t matter (then ;) ) all that mattered was I’d made it and I had conquered Alp D’Huez.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers, Gaz.