Reaching the top of the Alpe d'Huez

The hairpins of the Alpe d'Huez.

I wasn't sure what I would do first:

• vomit
• faint
• come to a complete standstill and fall off my bike, or
• some combination of all of the above.

In the end, I somehow avoided any of the above on the Alpe d’Huez, on the first day of our cycling tour in the French Alps. As Tour de France commentators Paul Sherwen and Phil Liggett would say, I had to dig into my suitcase of courage, but I got up 21 hairpins of the Alpe d’Huez, all the way to the top. At the top I wondered why my jaw was so sore and then realised I must have been grimacing my way up the mountain.

This map, generated from my sports watch data, shows the  route of the Alpe d'Huez.

This map, generated from my sports watch data, shows the 
route of the Alpe d'Huez.

The first six hairpins are merciless. I’ve read various claims about the gradient at the start – anything from 10% to 14%. Whatever it was, coupled with the searing summer heat, it made for a brutal beginning.

I soon lost sight of my husband, three friends and cycling guide, but knew the bike mechanic and another friend (Pete) were behind me in the van if I needed them.

Overreaching much? My heart rate data from the 
climb. No wonder I wanted to throw up.

Every time I wanted to get off and collapse on the side of the road I told myself to just keep turning the pedals. With regular encouragement from Pete, I kept going despite feeling, well, a little delirious on those early hairpins. (My heart rate data here shows how hard I was working - I actually went past what I thought was my maximum heart rate and averaged 90% of my maximum!)

I pulled over to take a drink (I was in no state to master the coordination required to continue pedalling, not fall off, steer and take a drink at the same time) and made the mistake of looking up. The hairpins glistened above me like a never-ending sadistic snake. I felt a little panicked and then remembered what I always tell myself … one step at a time.

In his brilliant book (later made into a funny and breath-taking movie) Touching the Void, mountain climber Joe Simpson recalled the incredible solo journey he made in the Peruvian Andes after a fall left him with a broken leg. He dragged himself down a mountain and back to basecamp by focusing on a landmark – such as a rock up ahead. When he got to the landmark, he’d focus on the next landmark. At one point he started thinking a lot further ahead, about getting to a place called Bomb Alley instead of just the next rock and he became delirious (the movie shows this delirium well; he can’t get Boney M’s Brown Girl in the Ring out of his head: "I remember thinking bloody hell, I'm gonna die to Boney M"). Once he refocused and thought only about the next rock again, he got back on track.

I used this approach when having cancer treatment and it worked brilliantly. I didn’t think about chemo until I was done with surgery; didn’t think about Herceptin until I came to grips with chemo; didn’t think about radiotherapy until I got my head around Herceptin; and didn’t think about Tamoxifen until radiotherapy was done and dusted. Each treatment was a little rock. If I’d thought about my equivalent of Bomb Alley, I would have most certainly gone mad to the strains of Brown Girl in the Ring.

On the Alpe d'Huez. 
Photo by www.photobreton.com

All smiles at the top of the Alpe d'Huez.

And that was what I reminded myself of when looking up at that nasty road snaking up above me. Just think about the next hairpin I told myself. I tried not to think about Boney M. Thankfully, the gradient eased up a little, a light breeze cooled things down a bit and after a while my husband (who had already been to the top and then cycled back down to me) accompanied me to the finish. There was another steep pinch near the top, but nothing compared to those early kilometres.

Hmmm.... beeeeerrrrrrr.

That night I celebrated with the most deserved beer I think I have ever drunk in my life. I'd been fantasising about it since the first hairpin.

The rest of the tour was fantastic – I made it up the Col du Galibier (which has a nasty 12% gradient at the very top where, for the first time in my life, I overtook people; one of whom had given up and was pushing his bike) and the Col de Montgenèvre (a much more sedate affair). 

On the Col du Galibier.

Gradient (and ice) warning near the top of 

the Col du Galibier.

We had a wonderful time – the scenery, the cycling and the guides were superb. But what made it really special was to share it with my husband and friends. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much. 

That is what life is all about.

On the Col de Montgenèvre.

View from the Col du Galibier.