Marmotte report
I'm grateful to new member Simon Mcgee who supplied this well written report about his first attempt at the Marmotte sportive.
After a large bowl of porridge, and doing my best to lighten a full stomach, I descended Alpe D'Huez in the morning light to the start line, having strapped as many power bars, bananas and electrolyte powders to the bike as seemed safe. The throng at the start was buzzing with competitors of all nationalities - chatting, heckling and nervously peeing in the stream that runs adjacent to the road. With nearly 7,000 competitors taking part, riders were released in waves to reduce overcrowding. After an hour or so we were off.
The first major climb of Glandon appears after around 15 minutes. Finding a steady pace was not a problem as the road was filled with a sea of riders, and moving ahead between them at this early stage was almost impossible. In striking contrast to the start, there was now complete silence, the only sound being carbon fibre frames echoing through heavily inflated tyres. The immediate view was filled with the taught leg muscles of very fit riders, adding to a palpable tension in the air. Peering higher, a snaking line of riders tapered to a miniscule trail of ants, and ascended as far as the eye dared look. I quickly found looking back to be a far more affirming experience.
I was taken aback at the steepness of the Glandon, particularly as I had been told it was the easiest of the three climbs, and was pleased that I had not been able to push the pace. The heat was already getting to me and the sun had hardly appeared yet. By the time we reached the col, I had eaten three bananas and finished over a litre and a half of fluids.
The decent was magical, and I relished every minute of it, passing riders all the way down. Several incidents had already taken people out of play with some horrific injuries, and I narrowly avoided a blow out in front of me that sounded Spanish from the expletives I could make out.
I caught a reasonable group along the brief flat stage and managed to average a healthy pace to the start of Telegraphe, the first half of the second hill, which in total rises for a distance of 34 km, and by this point was frighteningly hot. The temperature the previous day had been 36C and this felt similar. I was going through drinks fast, and felt my energy draining away. After what seemed like an eternity we reached Valoire. I had hit a wall and although I knew the hardest was yet to come, I was spurred on by knowing that I was nearly half way there. I took a few moments to collect myself and began the climb into the clouds of the ominous Galibier. As we ascended the temperature mercifully cooled and I used my major lifeline, my iPod. ‘On the Floor at the Boutique’ had never sounded so good or delivered so much energy to anyone, even crazed Brighton clubbers. I found myself literally bouncing up the hairpins. Sadly, that didn't last, unlike the hills. They did, and went on and on and on, and on, and on. And when I thought it must be almost done, I made the mistake of looking up, only to realise that the last 3km were the toughest of the lot. Finally, after passing people walking, hunched over their bikes being sick, and one even crying, the summit appeared at over 2700m. Whilst I wanted to stay and admire the view, and would have relished a rest, the wind was freezing, and I didn't want to lose the places I had managed to gain. I wretched as I tried to eat more power bars and some dried fruits. Somehow I got some down, but was feeling too exhausted to eat properly. I made the descent feeling dizzy, but elated.
Another spectacular descent at speeds of up to 50mph culminated in a route that traced round the back of La Grave, chasing traffic through tunnels, and racing between groups, which all helped to distract me from the horrific thought of the 21 hairpins of Alpe D'Huez that lay ahead. However, as my milometer approached 100 miles I knew it would only be moments before steep climbing commenced once more for the final 8 mile ascent. With renewed vigour, I decided I didn't need a stop - this was the last hill after all - I needed to get on with it. I put a surprisingly good effort in for the first 3 of 4 hairpins, passing lots of riders, once again having donned the beloved iPod - this time opting for some house music favourites. By the 6th hairpin the heat was again taking it's toll, this time with real ferocity in the mid afternoon sun. Having not stopped at the feed station I realised I had also run out of fluids, and felt my body temperature rising with every pedal stroke. I had already consumed 8 litres of fluid over the course of the day and not had to urinate once. I felt dangerously hot, and noticed a rider had jumped into one of the waterfalls by the side of the road. I did the same and instantly felt better. I resisted the urge to drink from it, fearful of what my body might do to me in this condition were I to drink something unholy. Two more immersions were necessary to cool me sufficiently to continue. I must have wasted valuable minutes trying to regain my composure and when I could continue it was pitifully slow. I had seen several riders being attended to with heat exhaustion amonst other horrors. I was starting to worry that my body couldn't take much more. My mind seemed strangely disconnected from it, as though my body had decided it would not longer communicate with it, given what one had consciously being doing to the other. I ignored them both and continued.
Luckily, some kind soul in the planning department has thought to number the hairpins backwards on Alpe D'Huez, with the names of famous riders on each corner, so you don't need to look up and see riders going on and on in front to see how far you have to go. I started to break them down into pairs and by the last two, I no longer cared: I knew I was there. I brought the pace up and put my head down for the finish. The gradient levels off after the last hairpin and it's a home run. I crossed under the red arch, signed 'Finish', with immense relief, mangled legs and lungs on fire. Looking up to see where to dismount, I noticed that no one else had. To my horror, I realised that, in fact, I had not finished (the sign was for tomorrow's sprint race finish). There were still another 400 metres to go. I managed it with no small number of my own favourite British expletives.
A time of 9 hours 45 minutes was an encouraging result for the brutal 174km, and meant a silver medal for my age category. I felt delighted with my achievement, particularly in light of the heat. I am determined to get a gold next year.
asks if anyone is interested in RAB 2010. 