09.26.2011 | 10:11 am
A Note from Fatty About the GranFondo Contest: We haven’t drawn winners yet, but will be drawing them today. So if you haven’t gotten notified, it doesn’t mean you didn’t win. Isn’t that a relief? Thanks, by the way, to everyone who donated. We raised $7390, which is an awesome amount.
A Note from Fatty About Today’s Post: I know I said last Thursday that today I was going to write about riding the Alpe d’Huez. But today I feel like writing about the race I did last weekend. So the Alpe d’Huez post will come a little later this week. Probably not tomorrow though. I’ve got a very strange and embarrassing post I want to do tomorrow.
Before I begin, let me make one thing clear. I’m just not going to write “Xterra” in all-caps, the way Xterra apparently thinks I should. Because all-caps is reserved for shouting, and I just don’t have enough vocal control, nor pent-up enthusiasm, to always shout a given word.
Sorry, LiveStrong, same goes for you (and I’m for sure not going to both all-cap your name and bold the second half of it. I’m just not. Be grateful I even give you that capital “S” in the middle of your name).
Anyway.
Last Saturday, THE HAMMER (by the way, I’d like everyone to begin all-capping THE HAMMER’s name, as well as alternating between bolding and underlining the letters in that name, and make the font color in the bold characters cyan, and the underlined characters magenta) and I did the Xterra Utah Off-Road Triathalon. This race — a 1-mile swim, 17-mile MTB ride, and 6-mile trail run — happened at the same time (well, 30 minutes after the start), on the same course, as the Xterra USA Championship race.
I plan to describe the race. Really, I do. But first, I think you probably have a question on the tip of your tongue. One that requires answering.
That question is, “Why?”
Why would we do an Xterra race, when both The Hammer (I was just kidding about that all-cap, alternating bold/underline thing) and I suck at swimming?
OK, maybe “suck” is too harsh a word, because if we really sucked, we wouldn’t be able to swim a mile at all, when in fact neither of us were worried about completing a mile swim, thanks to the miracle of our Aqua Sphere wetsuits.
But neither of us have been in the pool since…well…since we did the Ironman a year and change ago.
However, both of us are in the best biking shape of our lives, and we have been doing trail running once a week throughout the Summer, just to mix things up.
And two out of three ain’t bad, right? I mean, the swim part is the shortest part of the race.
And the course is close to home — just an hour and change of a drive — so we wouldn’t have to get a hotel or anything.
So when it came right down to it, we decided to do the Xterra because there weren’t any really good reasons (except the swim, I mean) not to.
Setting Up
We got up at 4:00 on Saturday, drove to the Reservoir in Ogden, picked up our race packets, and got our body markings — race number on both shoulders, age group (45 for me, 40 for The Hammer) on the right calf.
Between wearing my wetsuit for the first leg of the race and my new FatCyclist tech-T for the second two legs, I figured nobody would ever see the numbers on my shoulders, but I’m all about the whole “When in Xterra-land, do as the Xterrans do” thing, so I didn’t say a thing.
We wheeled our bikes over to the swim-to-bike transition area, fastened the number plates to our bikes, then laid out towels on the ground with the things we’d need as we changed from our wetsuits into our bike riding clothes:
- MTB shoes: All undone and laid out. For me, that meant my Specialized S-Works MTB shoes with the Boa Closure System, which meant all I’d have to do to tighten my shoes on is spin a couple dials. I’m loving these shoes in general, but the closure system in particular makes it so easy to tighten / loosen my shoes while I ride. Plus, putting them on / taking them off is speedy.
- Socks: One in each shoe
- Food: One Honey Stinger Waffle, one packet of Honey Stinger Energy Chews, one Powerbar Energy Gel.
- Helmet, containing my gloves, my sunglasses, and my food
- FatCyclist Tech-T: The new Team Fatty gear came in last week, and the tech-t seemed like the perfect thing to wear: easy to just pull on and wear for both the bike and run, since I wouldn’t need any zippers.
I safety-pinned my number to the front of the shirt and laid it on the towel. I wouldn’t need to deal with changing shorts; I would be wearing some chamois-less shorts (that were otherwise very similar to regular bike shorts) under my wetsuit and would wear them for both the bike and run.
Satisfied we had everything in place, we drove to Snowbasin ski resort, where the the bike-to-run transition and finish line were. There, all we needed to do was lay down some running shoes, a bottle of water, and another packet of Energy Chews.
We left our car at Snowbasin, taking a shuttle back to the starting line at the reservoir. Here, we changed into our wetsuits.
We were, finally, ready to go. And honestly, this is my only real grievance with the whole triathalon thing. Setup is a hassle. Setting up for three different events, placing stuff in different places, and then collecting, cleaning and putting away all of that gear afterward is a nuisance, and is the main reason–besides the fact that I am a very slow swimmer and a pretty slow runner–I don’t expect to make Xterra (or any kind of triathalon) my main thing.
The Swim
There were actually three races going on last Saturday. There was the Xterra USA Championships; they would start at 9:00. There was the Xterra Utah Long, which was on the identical course to the Championships, but would start half an hour after the fast guys took off. And then there was the Xterra Utah Sport, which would do a half-mile swim, a 12-mile mountain bike ride, and a 5Km trail run; the sport class would start ten minutes or so after us.
The Hammer and I stood in the water, which was barely cold enough to require wetsuits and actually just fine to stand in, as the Championship racers took off, taking two laps around a half-mile triangle course in the reservoir. We were astonished at how fast the pros were, the fastest finishing in 21:23.
“Those guys would lap us in the swim, in just two laps,” I said. Which turned out, unfortunately, to not be even a slight exaggeration.
While we were watching, a riding buddy of mine, Cori Jones, waded up to The Hammer and I. Neither of us had had any idea that the other would be racing, and both of us had pretty much the same fears: a bad swim and a hard run.
The Hammer and I wished each other luck when the announcer gave us the ten second warning, then waded out into the water when the whistle blew.
And that would be the last time we’d see each other ’til the finish line.
I started my swim, consciously taking it easy, knowing that if I pushed hard in this leg I’d wipe myself out for the other two legs, without being appreciably faster. I swam twenty strokes, and looked up for my first buoy siting and course correction.
Where was that buoy? I couldn’t see it. The fact that I was staring into the sun didn’t help. Oh well, I could see that I was directly behind a large group of swimmers, so evidently was no more off course than a bunch of other people.
I swam another twenty strokes. Sited again. Still couldn’t see the buoy, but could see I was still in a pack of swimmers.
This continued forever. Figuring that I was swimming around an equilateral triangle, I wondered how, if each section took me this long, I’d ever get around twice.
So I gave up. Decided to quit. Before I even got to the first buoy. “I just don’t think I can get around this sucker twice,” I thought. “And I don’t really even want to.”
I resolved, for form’s sake–and just in case I changed my mind–to swim the first lap before I got out of the water.
Finally–finally–I got to the first buoy. And as I made the right turn to head to the second buoy, I got a good, strong, kick in the face.
My nose stung, and my goggles slid off my eyes and most of the way up my forehead.
I came to a stop, started treading water, and fixed my goggles. “Now I really quit,” I thought to myself.
But I’d still do the first lap. Just in case.
And then, in just a couple minutes, I got to the second buoy. As it turns out, the buoys weren’t the corners of an equilateral triangle. They were the corners of an obtuse icosceles triangle. Which meant that the trip to the first buoy was a lot longer than the trip to the second and third buoys.
I changed my mind by the time I came around the second buoy. I’d try to finish the race after all.
I swam my twenty strokes then looked up to sight the buoy. It wasn’t where I expected it. I had veered too far left. I swam another twenty strokes, this time consciously trying to pull a little to the right. I looked up.
I had veered even further left.
I swam twenty strokes, thinking I was now positively pulling in a clockwise circle.
Nope. Still veering left.
So I started sighting every ten strokes. I was still veering left, but at least I was making more frequent course corrections and so not covering as much extra ground (um, water).
For the second lap of the swim, now knowing the stretch to the first buoy was longer than the others, I was no longer dismayed by it. I knew that once I got to it, The next two sections would come quickly, and then I’d be out of the water.
But as I rounded the corner at the first buoy, I suddenly found myself in a thrashing mass of people. I looked up, wondering why–I figured I had dropped behind most everyone in my group long ago.
But this was not my group. My group was all wearing red swim caps. This group was wearing green.
It was the sport racers. Their race had begun, apparently sometime shortly after I finished my first lap. Now they were swimming by–and over–me as I worked my way around my second lap.
The Swim-to-Bike Transition
Eventually, though, I did it. I rounded the second buoy, then swam toward the ramp, and got out of the water. After a few moments of unsteadiness, I was able to half-walk, half-jog to the transition area, as I pulled down the zipper on my wetsuit and began stripping to the waist.
Once inside the transition area, I sat down, pulled off the wetsuit off the rest of the way, then stuffed the waffle into my mouth and chewed it while I put on my socks and shoes.
I stood up, grabbed my shirt, and pulled it over my head.
It wouldn’t go on. Something was wrong.
I pulled it back off and looked at it.
Oh great. I had pinned the front of the shirt to the back with one of the pins. Smart.
I undid the bad pin and repinned it, then pulled it on.
Nope, still pinned all the way through. I am such a dope.
I pin it one more time, this time being really careful about not poking the pin through the back of the shirt.
Success! Now I can finish dressing myself! Huzzah!
As I exit the transition area and start riding, I wonder to myself: how much time did that take, and how many places will it cost me? My guess is two minutes, and the results show it probably cost me either one or two places in the overall, but no place difference in my age group. Regardless, my shirt blunder didn’t exactly cost me a spot on the podium.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
My swim time was 41:59. I was the 111th fastest (ha!) person doing the long course, out of 151 starters. Which put me, I believe, pretty much in the back third of the pack.
The Ride
Since I’ve spent some time complaining about the parts I don’t like about Xterra–logistics and my inability to swim (which is more a complaint about my inexperience and inability, but whatever) — let me spend a moment talking about something I loved about this event:
The bike ride was incredible. First of all, it was all singletrack. Second of all, it was really great singletrack. Third of all, it was great singletrack that had plenty of places for passing.
And fourth of all–and this was a good thing for me–it was almost entirely uphill. A couple of short downhills, but really, it was a climber’s delight.
Here, let me show you what the elevation profile looked like:
That’s about 3400 feet of climbing, in about seventeen miles.
Knowing the course would be almost all about climbing, I was riding my Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper 29er HT. Which has become, by the way, pretty much my favorite mountain bike of all time.
I started the ride. And that’s when I realized the full impact of what a problem it is in Xterra to be slow at swimming but fast on the bike.
I passed people. A lot of people. While climbing. On singletrack.
And since the Sport racers were–at least for the first several miles–on the same course as those of us doing the long course, I didn’t just have the hundred or so people from my race ahead of me; I had all the people who finished the Sport swim ahead of me to pass, too.
I became very good at notifying people I was on their left. Or, occasionally, on their right.
And I got pretty good at passing long trains of people.
One thing I want to say about the racers there is that every single one of them was incredibly polite about letting me pass. I didn’t have a single person refuse to find a spot for me, and more often than not, I got a lot of encouragement from people as I went by.
These were good people racing.
About a third of the way up, I did a bad shift right before a hairpin and had to climb off my bike to get the chain back on.
And that’s when my friend Cori went by. The only singlespeeder on the course, I’m pretty sure.
I hopped back on and gave chase. By the time the Sport course racers split off onto their own, shorter course–greatly reducing the number of people I needed to pass–I had caught and re-passed Cori.
Then, on the downhill as I hit a corner too fast and had to skid to a stop, Cori cleaned the corner and passed me again.
All this on fast, fun, singletrack. I am going back there sometime just to ride.
I managed to catch back up with Cori during the final little climb, and we pulled into the second transition area together.
We had both improved our positions pretty significantly. He would have the fifth-fastest bike split for our race; I was the sixth-fastest with 1:48:57.
We agree that we probably each passed as many as 150 people during that ride.
The Run
Cori got out of the transition faster than I did, partly just because he’s faster than I am, partly because I was incredibly thirsty and sat down to slug down my entire bottle of water before I changed my shoes.
In any case, Cori was just a distant speck up ahead when I began the six-mile trail run on rocky singletrack, and I’d never see him for the rest of the race; he opened up a 9:30 gap on me by the time the race was over.
The first mile of this trail run–and it was an honest-to-goodness trail run was ugly-steep, wearing me down to a walk (and a thirteen-minute pace). I don’t feel so badly about that pace when I look at the elevation profile, though:
Yeah. That’s just mean.
I had hoped this leg of the race would go well for me. After all, The Hammer and I have been doing some trail running, usually with more distance and altitude gain than this run had. But a couple days before this race, I had stumbled and landed funny, and my right hip and knee hadn’t stopped hurting. So I felt slow, I hurt, and — strangely — I was a little bit tired.
Then I saw, up ahead, a woman racer, using the kind of crutches that brace above your wrists, then have hand grips just below. It looked like her left hip was what was slowing her down, because the rest of her was in what looked like pro-level shape.
As I got near, she pivoted around so she was facing downhill, then started working her way up backwards.
She wasn’t fast, but she was doing it.
I didn’t want to sound condescending, but I did want to let her know how much I admired that kind of toughness, so I just said essentially that: “Hey, way to tough it out.”
And I decided maybe my sore hip and knee weren’t such a big deal.
I ground out the miles. Not fast, but as I got into the third mile my hip stopped bothering me so much and I started enjoying myself.
At the fourth mile the course turned downhill, and by the time I got to the beginning of the final mile, I could hear the announcer’s voice, and I stopped feeling tired at all. I may have even picked up the pace.
Or maybe it just felt like I did.
Then, right before the finish line: a cruel joke: a short, steep climb. Probably no more than 50 yards. But what a fifty yards.
And then I crossed the finish line. 1:04:08 for the run, making me the 96th fastest (ha ha!) runner.
Obsessing Over Numbers
My total finishing time was 3:35:04, or 37th (out of 151 starters and 136 finishers) for the Long Course. This was also good enough to get me 8th place (out of 15) in the 45-49 age group. Exactly mid-pack.
And so of course I couldn’t help but spend a couple of minutes doing “What-if” scenarios with the numbers. For the different Men’s age groups, here’s what my time would have earned me:
- Under 19: 2nd
- 20-24: 1st
- 25-29: 5th
- 30-34: 6th
- 35-39: 5th
- 40-44: 10th
- 50-54: 3rd
- 60-64: 1st
So yeah, I guess these endurance sports really are for old men.
By the way, my overall finishing time, if I had been in the Championship race, would have gotten me 169th place, out of 287 racers. (Or 288 racers, I guess, since I’d be counting my imaginary self.)
And that 6th-fastest time on the bike I’m so proud of? In the Championship race, that time would have gotten me 91st place for that leg.
Oh, and you know how Cori was the fifth-fastest guy on the bike in our race? Guess who was the fifth-fastest cyclist in the Championship race? A guy you might’ve heard of before: Lance Armstrong.
Obviously, a different caliber of racer in that Championship group.
The Hammer
The Hammer had a great day on the course: she never considered quitting, even in the swim part. Like me, she spent her entire bike ride passing people (and for the same reason, a slow swim). And she did her run four minutes faster than I did. Her final time was 3:54:54, making her the 8th woman to finish overall, taking 4th in her age group.
There’s a little bit of heartbreak there, because she finished only two minutes away from her age group podium. Kristina Smith, the woman who beat Lisa, was much faster in the water, but Lisa was much faster on the bike. With their near identical run times, it was really about as close a race as it could have been.
So, Again?
So, would we do this race again? Why yes, I believe we would. Next year, in fact, I think we’ll do it again.
But will we spend some time swimming (perhaps learning to swim with good form) between now and then, so we’re faster out of the water, so we don’t have to waste so much energy passing people?
No. I don’t think we will.
Comments (29)
09.22.2011 | 5:00 am
A “Last Chance to Win” Note from Fatty: You’re almost out of time to donate to win a trip, a signed yellow jersey, or a full kit in Levi’s GranFondo. In fact, you have to donate by Sunday.
So, let me give you some reasons why you should donate.
- The Causes are Awesome. Forget Me Not Farm. LiveStrong.VeloStreet’s Cycling Initiatives Program. And more.
- Levi’s GranFondo is Awesome. Someone’s going to win a VIP trip for two to Levi’s GranFondo: airfare, lodging, the Festa del Fondo, the group ride with Levi, and the GranFondo itself. The Hammer and I got to do all this last year, and it was awesome. I guarantee that whoever wins this is going to come back saying, “This was the best event I have ever been to.” Because that’s what I said. And I’m never wrong.
- The Other Prizes are Awesome. You could win a full GranFondo kit. Or a yellow jersey from the Tour de Suisse, worn by and signed by Levi Leipheimer.
- Levi Himself is Awesome. Consider all the photographs I’ve recently posted of Levi, either in headlocks or giving headlocks. Watering plants or taking a nap in his yellow jersey. How do you think I got those? Yep, by asking for them. I’ve said things like, “Hey Levi, while you’re at the Tour, could you get a photo of you putting some top pro in a headlock?” And he’s responded by saying, “How about Jens Voigt?” He’s played along, without worrying about public image or directing me to his agent or anything like that. Levi is just a good guy with a great sense of humor. Who also happens to be freakishly fast on a bicycle.
You might win something. Something awesome. Probably not, but you might. Hey, someone’s going to. Regardless, please donate. Thanks!
Fatty Goes to France, Part V
Sometimes, plans change. For example, The Hammer and I had planned to go on a run during our trip’s “rest day.” I mean, it seemed silly to us to have a rest day after just four days of riding.
As I mentioned, plans change.
After our monster ride from Aix-les-Bains to La Grave the day before, a rest day — no ride, no run, lotsa sleep — sounded great.
A (Rambling) Conversation With Andy Hampsten
The highlight of the day was when I got to sit down and have a conversation with Andy Freaking Hampsten, winner of the Giro d’Italia and owner of Cinghiale Cycling Tours.
It’s a free-flowing conversation, which is why I call it a “conversation” instead of an “interview.” Except I guess I call it an “interview” in the video intro, but that was stupid of me.
Anyway, it’s a longish chat (34 minutes), but I enjoyed it. And I hope you will too.
Cleverly, I’m posting this video on a Thursday, so you have today along with several non-posting days (Friday, Saturday, Sunday) to watch every glorious moment of it.
Other Stuff We Did
After four days of riding, it was nice to lounge about for a day, as if we were on an actual vacation.
Here are some of the things we did.
We ate.
We at most of our meals on the hotel’s deck. You can kinda see why.
We stared at the incredible scenery.
No matter where you went, the stark, glacier-capped mountain dominated the view.
We toured the town (accidentally, because we got lost, because neither of us has anything that remotely resembles a sense of direction).
This is, pretty much, the whole town.
The archway to the old church. A beautiful place with an extraordinary mountain backdrop.
OK, for reals this is the whole town.
We even rode a tram to the glacier and took a tour of an ice cave.
I did not like looking down when riding this thing. Both ways — riding up and riding down — I sat so I could be looking up.
I’m going to be honest with you here: Glaciers look better from far away.
Sure it’s a tourist trap. We’re tourists. We’ve been trapped. May as well take photos.
When this penguin thaws out, it’s going to be even more awesome.
It’s a good thing we rested up, because the next day (which I’ll be talking about in Monday’s post), we’d be riding the Alpe d’Huez.
And I made no secret about the fact that I was wanted to hit that sucker hard.
PS: Here’s The Hammer’s Letter for this day.
Our good luck with weather couldn’t last forever could it?
Last night as we were preparing for bed the thunder and lightning commenced and the rain began to pour from the sky. It pretty much rained all night. It’s now 0930. We were supposed to start riding 30 minutes ago, but we decided to hold off until 1000 to see if the weather would clear up.
As I’m typing the rain has stopped and the sun is trying to poke its head out from behind the clouds! So I have approximately 30 min to tell you about our fabulous rest day.
Wednesday was the rest day, and that is exactly what we did. We lounged around in the morning and took a look around this cute little ski village. We actually got lost wandering around, which is hilarious because it’s not a very big place.
Elden and I were looking the wrong way when we walked right by the hotel. We then wandered blindly up the street and through the crazy maze-like streets of La Grave. We eventually came out at the high end of the village at an old church. There was an old cemetery surrounding the church–pretty cool!
We found our way back to the hotel in time for lunch. This French cuisine is wreaking havoc on Elden’s and my intestines! I’m looking forward to returning to my egg white and avacado diet!
After lunch, Elden interviewed Andy Hampsten. Andy is our tour guide. He is a retired pro cyclist who has won the Giro d’Italia and a stage on the Alpe d’Huez in the tour of France. He is a really cool guy. I was the videographer. The interview took place on the patio of our hotel with a great view of the Alpes behind them! Elden intends to use it on the blog, so stay tuned.
After the interview, Elden and I took off to catch the last tram of the day. La Grave is a ski destination with a tram that takes skiers up to the top of a glacier!
Talk about EXTREME skiing! it makes our ski resorts look like little mole hills! It took 45 minutes and 53 Euros ($70) to get to the top AND back down. (You have to pay for the trip back down too!)
The tram ride was incredible, the views spectacular as you left the trees and ascended above the treeline onto the glacier! We also bought entrance into a snow cave in the glacier. It was pretty unique. We got some pretty cool pix of ice sculptures inside the cave.
When we got back to the hotel, we joined the group as they listened to Andy tell stories from his biking days. The stories were amazing. It was fun to hear about racing from a biker’s perspective!
At 7:30 we met for our 3 hour dinner. No joke–it takes forever to eat here! We had soup, followed by chicken with boiled potatoes, followed by a course of cheese and finally dessert–a pink mousse dipped in dark chocolate.
Then it was off to bed….and the start of the rain!
Believe it or not….. The rain has stopped and the sun is shining! I’ve got to run–I have an Alpe named Huez to climb!!
Comments (27)
09.21.2011 | 6:43 am
Have you ever sat down and thought about what a memory is? Me either, until it was time for me to start writing this blog post, at which time I began thinking about my fourth day of riding in France, when my group rode from Aix-les-Bains to La Grave.
And I found myself thinking about what a memory is. Or really, what a memory is not.
See, a memory of a ride can’t be a recollection of the whole ride, because that would take too long. Instead, your brain has to pick out certain unique moments and maybe munge together groups of similar moments. And then you call that edit of your experience your memory.
And if, for some reason, there’s something special or powerful about that memory, it may become the dominant memory you have for a certain kind of activity. Or maybe you’ll even begin to associate that memory with certain words.
For example, my dominant memory for the trip to France comes from the ride I’m about to tell you about: climbing the Col-du-Glandon.
And — maybe it’s too early to say, but I think it’s true — my new mental picture of “road climbing” is associated with climbing the Col-du-Glandon.
In other words, this fourth day of riding affected me pretty powerfully.
It Starts Out Easy
The plan was simple. We got up in the morning in our hotel in Aix-les-Bains, dragged our luggage downstairs, where the tour guides would pack it all into a bus and drive it to La Grave, where we’d be staying for the rest of the tour.
Our ride for the day, meanwhile, would be to cover that distance by bike. 107-ish miles.
Honestly, I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Neither did The Hammer. We’ve reached the point where 100+ miles on a road bike is not a frightening prospect.
And the first 50 miles was, in fact, pretty flat.
We rode along bike paths and through little villages. Around roundabouts chained to roundabouts.
I wondered, aloud, what “Rappel” meant, since it appears on so many road signs.
We stopped a couple hours into the ride at a field bordering a vineyard at the base of a mountain.
Yes, I often ask The Hammer what she’s going to wear on a ride, and then dress the same. Isn’t that precious?
The day had that autumn feel to it — warm sun, cool air — and was just perfect for a ride. We were cruising. Not really going fast. But not dawdling either. I repeat: we were cruising.
Talking in a rotating two-across paceline.
Why, I believe that Stanley Tucci and Patrick Dempsey are taking a turn pulling. Will wonders never cease?
And then, about 45 or so miles into the ride, lunch in a beautiful little park at the edge of a village.
Honestly, that’s not a backdrop or anything. It’s just how the place looks.
Beautiful drinking fountain in village, as required by law. Beautiful wife not required by law, but definitely a nice addition.
Col-du-Glandon
Right after lunch came the part that I now associate with “road climb:” the Col-du-Glandon.
If you take a look at the elevation profile for the day, you’ll get an inkling of why:
You see how the elevation kinda does nothing for 55 miles or so, and then suddenly goes a little bit nuts?
Yeah. That’s the Col-du-Glandon. 5000 feet of climbing in 13.7 miles.
But you know, I’m worried that I’m selling this climb as a horrible experience. It was not. It was an amazing, perfect, beautiful climb, that just happened to go on forever.
It starts with more of what we had become used to: moderate-grade climbing with occasional villages to spice things up.
But then it opens up to a wide mountainside, and you can look up and see switchback after switchback after switchback.
And you know that, eventually, you’re going to have to ride all of it.
Here’s what it looks like when you’re looking down on it:
Steeper than it looks. And I think it looks pretty steep.
And here’s The Hammer, going past one of the kilometer markers considerately placed to let you know you’re making progress.
My favorite moment of the climb came when, after several kilometers with an average grade advertised at 11%, one of the markers promised an incline of 9%.
“Oh good,” said The Hammer. “Just nine percent for a while.”
And she said it without any irony whatsoever.
The Hammer and I rode this whole climb together. Sure, I could have indulged my inner cycling dweeb and decimated myself by being a minute-point-five faster, but I decided: one of the nice things about a riding vacation together in France is riding together.
Aren’t I smart?
After an eternity of switchbacks and smallest-gear climbing, we reached the top. Which called for photographs in heroic stances.
“No, I’m not sucking my gut in. What would make you think I’m sucking my gut in?”
OK, that’s more of a Vanna White pose than a heroic pose, but I like it.
The Other Side
Do me a favor and scroll back up to that elevation profile earlier in this post, and then come back to here.
Pretty bomber, isn’t it?
So when I say that I really don’t remember the downhillishness (including what looks like a drop off a cliff on the elevation profile) of the descent down the other side of the Col-du-Glandon, you must understand that there was some seriously beautiful scenery taking my mind off of that descent.
And the thing is, neither of us are especially good photographers. I.e., this is what you get with a point-and-shoot.
There is nothing quite so wonderful as a windbreaker when you’re starting a descent on a cold day and you’re all sweaty from the climb. Not that The Hammer sweats.
I don’t know what these are.
We finished the descent proper and rolled on relatively flat roads to Le Bourg d’Oisans — the gateway to the Alpe d’Huez. Somewhere on that relatively flat road, though, I faded.
Hard.
By the time we reached this little town, in fact, I was cooked.
Okay, maybe this was a staged shot. The sentiment behind it was genuine.
The Hammer was feeling pretty wiped out, too. This, however, was put aright by purchasing pretty much the entire contents of a bakery, and two cans of Coke, each.
The Hammer asks me to point out the awesomeness of her Smartwool jersey. Perfect for temps that go from warmish to coldish and back again. (And I would like to acknowledge the awesome restorative powers of Coke.)
We now felt good enough to take a couple of hammy pictures.
Between the jersey and the armwarmers (which she stole from me), The Hammer is pretty much ready to shoot the 2011 Smartwool catalog.
Climb to Home
We were tired. We were ready for the day’s ride to be over. But there was a problem. We still had to ride to La Grave, which is where our hotel was situated.
And La Grave is 2000 feet higher than Le Bourg-d’Oisans.
So we started riding. What else can you do? (Well, theoretically we could have bailed out and gotten in the van, but neither of us really liked that idea).
There’s something distinctly painful about starting to ride — uphill — when your body thinks it’s done for the day.
But you know what? There’s something very cool about having your legs, after five minutes or so, get back into the rhythm. And something even cooler about discovering that you do, in fact, have it in you to keep riding.
The Hammer and I were in a group of five or six riders, chugging along. Up ahead, there was another group of five or six riders.
I had no intention of bridging.
Then I saw The Hammer getting close to another of the riders in our group. I thought perhaps she wanted to get around, maybe take a turn at pulling. So I looked back, saw that there were no cars coming and said, “You can go.”
And she went.
Or, more specifically, she just rode the entire group off her wheel. Not so much an attack as a statement of authority.
I stood up, put my head down, and chased, catching her about the time she finished bridging to the faster group.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“You told me I could go,” she replied. “So I went.”
Clearly, I need to be careful about what I tell The Hammer.
Useful Comparisons
When I’m tired, I use close-to-home comparisons to help me bring the remaining part of a ride into perspective. So it was a nice surprise when The Hammer, out of nowhere, said, “Really, all we have left is a climb up the South side of Suncrest.”
I thought about it. We had about 1200 feet of climbing left. Which is about the amount from our house to the top of the South side of Suncrest. Which we do not really think of as a big deal.
That helped.
We got to our hotel in La Grave –The Edelweiss (of course) — right about as it got dark.
Tired. Hungry. And a little bit in awe of the epic ride we had just done: 105 miles (or so), with 10,500 feet of climbing. (And don’t forget that there was no climbing whatsoever for the first 55 miles.)
I was glad the next day was a rest day.
PS: A number of you have mentioned that you wish you had The Hammer’s side of the story. Well, honestly you’ve been getting it, kind of. The Hammer wrote a letter home every day we were gone, and I’ve been using it as source material while I write these posts.
That said, I think I will start posting her letter from the day along with my own post, since she does in fact talk about some things that I don’t, and sometimes has a different perspective on the same events.
Here’s her letter home, describing our Aix-les-Bains to La Grave ride:
Wow, wow, wow! I can’t even begin to put into words the ride we went on yesterday! Absolutely the most gorgeous ride ever!
We left our hotel in Aix les Bain at 0845. Our end destination would be in the Alpes in a small ski village named La Grave. We knew it would be around 100 miles, but had no clear idea on how much climbing we would be doing! We woke to another day of perfect weather, just a little chill in the air!
The first 50 miles were pretty flat. We rode on a bike path similar to Provo River bike path and in the bike lane on the road through many small villages and cities. We passed the only 3 stop lights I’d seen in our journey so far!
We rode in a long train and hardly expended any energy. Lunch was in a park next to a water fountain. After lunch, the first real climb of the day began. It was called the Col du Glandon and I’m sure it’s been in the Tour de France at some point!
It was a 14mile climb with 5000 ft of climbing! The average grade was around 9% and toward the end-the last 1 1/2 miles it was 15%. Blake, that is similar to the last switchback before the Squaw peak lookout that you love so much!
I actually enjoyed the climb. Elden and I rode together and passed several other riders from our group in the process! It was most satisfying!
The van met us at the top and we snacked on French cookies and took a lot of pictures. Then we put our windbreakers on and started the descent. This is where I can’t describe in words the beauty that was all around me! I was in awe!
We rode past a high mountain lake, beautiful flowers and mountain goats!! I thought I had died and gone to heaven!
When we finished the descent, we saw a sign that said the town we would be having our next break in was still 12k or just over 6 miles away! I was exhausted and my back hurt and I wasn’t sure I was going to make it on the 4 French cookies I had eaten over an hour ago! I tucked in behind Elden’s wheel and began a mini sufferfest!
We eventually pulled into the village of Le Bourg d’Oisans, home of the Alpe de Huez and a great little pastry shop-(according to our guides)! I bummed 5 euros off of another rider to buy a coke and downed 3 pieces of tart and finally started feeling better!
I also got a chance to use one of those fancy self-cleaning toilets. I wonder what happens if you get caught in one when it starts it’s cleansing cycle?
Le Bourg d’Oisans is where the climb to the top of Alpe de Huez begins. We will be returning on Thursday for that adventure!
After resting and getting refueled, a group of us headed out for our destination and bed for the night–La Grave! We had just hit the 90mile mark and 7500 ft of climbing! LaGrave was stll 15 miles and 2500 ft away from us!!! AAGH!!
The last 15 miles were grueling, but beautiful! We rode through several very long dark tunnels that were rather surreal. These miles passed rather quickly, I think the others in the group were suffering more than Elden and I!
We eventually arrived at our hotel. It’s old and quaint and has a funny smell, but it’s charming and home for us for the next few days!
The village is nestled up against the mountains. There is a huge peak and glacier looming over us! It is very pretty! After a nice shower, we all met up for dinner which consisted of pumpkin soup, lamb with kidney gravy, some kind of au gratin potatoes and string beans, followed by a course of cheese (the French love their cheese) and some kind of “puff” filled with ice cream and covered with chocolate sauce for dessert!
It’s now Wednesday morning and our official rest day! I scoffed a few days ago at the thought of a rest day–even brought my running shoes to go for a run! I have now reconsidered the error of my way and am officially resting my weary legs.
We have a load of wash in the washing machine and am seriously considering a nap and it’s only 11:30am!
Tomorrow: A longish video interview with Andy Freaking Hampsten.
Comments (44)
09.20.2011 | 8:59 am
A Note from Fatty: This is part 3 of my retelling of the cycling trip in France we recently finished with Cinghiale Cycling Tours, led by Andy Freaking Hampsten.
From time to time, life presents you with momentous decisions. Should you move to a far-off city, or stay close to home? Should you take an interesting job with an untested company, or keep the job you have? Should you have pizza for dinner, or a burger?
On the third day of riding in France, our group was presented with just such a decision. Not the pizza-or-burger option (alas), but something equally momentous.
We were given the choice of either a beautiful, carefree day of riding around the lake, surveying gorgeous scenery and exquisite villages of breathaking antiquity.
Or, if we preferred, we could ride the Mont-du-Chat (pronounced “shot,” I think). A ride which — as Bruce, one of the guides, put it — is “brutally hard and has no redeeming qualities, other than being known as one of the hardest climbs in France.”
Most of the group chose the beautiful day of riding around the lake.
Guess which option The Hammer and I — along with six others in our group — chose.
Honestly, it wasn’t a hard choice. Part of why I was here was to indulge my Tour de France fantasy; I had been open about that. And that fantasy included, at least a couple times, going as hard as I could up famous climbs.
Preview of the Climb
It’s useful to know what the elevation profile looks like for the Mont-du-Chat climb:
Yeah, and that’s pretty much what it feels like, too. When it starts going up, it’s obvious, immediate, and steep. Like, it averages around 10% for about eight miles.
And it doesn’t really ease up ’til you get to the top.
Here’s another useful thing: a map of our ride for the day:
In particular, this is what the climb looks like:
Quite a few switchbacks there.
Climbing the Mont-du-Chat
Our group had ridden out to the base of the climb together. As we rode this flat, seven mile section, I explained my plan to The Hammer. “I’m going to go at my absolute limit on this climb, OK? I want to see if I can hang with Shawn.”
Shawn?
Yes, Shawn.
Shawn was one of the youngest people in the tour, and a seriously fast guy on the bike, especially when climbing. As in, he took 2nd in the 2011 Mt. Evans Hill climb.
So, as soon as the road turned uphill, he and I took off. Without a doubt, in my head, we were racing.
The problem was, this race was happening in my head exclusively. More to the point, my absolute maximum effort was — more or less — his “brisk tempo” pace.
And so we talked. Or rather, he talked. I gritted my teeth and rode like it mattered. Not for time — I hadn’t even checked my stopwatch at the beginning, and had no way to compare my effort against anyone else’s.
I was just riding at my limit because, once in a while, it’s great to find out what that limit is.
Well, whatever that limit is, it’s well under whatever Shawn’s limit is. My sufferfest did not equal his sufferfest.
Even as I rode — suffering alone, though not riding alone — I noticed a couple of interesting things:
- The guide was joking when he said it had “no redeeming qualities.” Maybe he was just trying to scare away all but those of us who really really really wanted to do this ride. But the truth is, it’s a beautiful road, on a beautiful mountain, with a beautiful overlook at the top. I’ll show you all three of those in a minute.
- I really like the way famous climbs in France are marked. Every kilometer, there’s a marker giving you all kinds of helpful information: what the grade is for the next kilometer, how far you have to go to the summit, and the current altitude. Here I am at the 2Km marker:
“What?” I hear you say. “You say you were riding at your absolute limit on this climb, but you stopped to take pictures?
Well, no. I didn’t. Shame on you for even thinking this. When I’m in the all-out-riding mode, there is no force in the world that could get me to dismount and take a photo.
So I’ll explain how I got this particular photo in a moment.
We continued up — me at full-tilt, Shawn in his ‘having fun and sorta kinda riding hard’ mode, ’til we got to the top, where we’re greeted by the site of the gorgeous Mt-du-Chat radio tower:
I was so cooked. I stopped, straddling my bike — too tired to swing a leg over and get off for real. Resting my arms on my handlebars. Hanging my head. Willing whatever breakfast was to stay put.
“Hey,” suggested Shawn, brightly, “What if we cruise back down a little, take pictures of the others as they come up, and then finish the ride up with our wives.”
Yes, someone else was suggesting we pull “The Elden Move” . . . to Elden.
So we did. We rode down to the 2Km marker (though I should point out that we intercepted Andy well before then; he was right behind us, in spite of the fact that he was dawdling along and had big panniers full of cookies and bread and cheese and probably a full change of clothing).
And that’s how we got the photo of me at the marker. And one of Shawn, too.
Yeah, clearly we have the same body type.
We then took photos at one of the hairpin turns. Here’s The Hammer as she comes around:
In Praise of Armwarmers and Windbreakers
Once we got the photos, we rode back to the top — that’s why my elevation profile at the beginning of this post has a little divot.
And then we began to get cold at an alarming rate. It was a cloudy day, and windy too, way up there.
So you can bet that I felt pretty proud of myself for, at the beginning of the ride, recommending to The Hammer that we carry armwarmers and windbreakers in our jersey pockets.
Just look how cozy and comfortable we look:
Oh, and we got a photo of us with Andy Hampsten, too, who was looking rather dapper in one of the three changes of clothing he had brought with him that day.
Note to self: hire a better photographer.
While at the top, I asked The Hammer, “So, what did you think of this climb?”
“It was fine,” she said. “About 3/4 as difficult as climbing Mount Nebo, I guess.”
And the truth is, The Hammer is right. The mountains we climb right out our front door here in Utah County are every bit as epic as the hard stuff in France. Perhaps epic-er.
The difference is, though, the riding in Utah isn’t in France.
Do I make myself clear?
Descent
We had finished the hard part of the ride, but still had a lot of riding ahead of us. Including a big descent down the other side of Mont-du-Chat.
It was cold at first, but warmed up by the time we were about halfway down.
And that’s when I saw something I’ll never forget.
I was bombing down, trying to keep Andy in sight, and feeling quite proud of the fact that I was succeeding.
Which was when he sat up on this extremely fast, twisty downhill, and rode no-handed. His arms stuck straight out, like he was playing “airplane.”
It was a beautiful, silly, completely insane moment.
Lollygagging
We now went on a scenic tour around the lake, exploring the roads that went by beautiful vineyards . . .
. . . and pretty little villages . . .
. . . with narrow alleys:
It was actually in this little village that we hit our maximum climb grade for the whole trip. Andy had asked a local kid where we could find a store to buy some snacks. The kid directed us up a road.
A road which became steep.
Very steep indeed.
As in, my Garmin showed 36% for a second.
Eventually, though, it did wind around through most of the town and lead us to a store. We got there at the exact moment the kid who had been giving us directions arrived, using a much shorter, direct route.
Very funny, kid.
More Lollygagging
We snacked, and then rode a few more miles alongside a beautiful canal / river.
As we rode, I began reading signs out loud, in spite of the fact that I do not know French or even any of its pronunciation rules.
I’m pretty sure I got everything right.
Then we got back to our hotel in time to change and walk over to a park, where our tour guides had set up a beautiful picnic.
We still had some of the afternoon and the whole evening to kill, so The Hammer and I walked into the city. Me reading signs aloud, both of us pointing out similarities and differences between here and where we live.
Mostly, things aren’t too different. I mean, sure, language stuff and the way that automobiles there seem to have a hard-and-fast rule that they must yield to pedestrians.
But by and large, lots of similar stuff. Except one very, very strange store.
See, we wanted to load up on food to take to our hotel room, to sustain us after our seven-course dinner. And then we walked into this:
A grocery store containing nothing but frozen food.
I felt like I was in a Star Trek movie.
Up Next
This was to be our last day staying in Aix-les-Bains (at the Aquakub, in case you’re curious). The next day, we’d be riding 100 miles to the place we’d be staying for the rest of the tour: La Grave. From there, we’d have easy access to the Alpe d’Huez and Col-du-Galibier, rides we’d be doing later that week.
“100 miles. Pish-posh,” The Hammer and I scoffed. “A 100 mile ride is just not that big of a deal.”
We were so wrong.
Comments (24)
09.18.2011 | 10:31 pm
An (Astounded) Note from Fatty: I really thought that all the Levi Leipheimer drama was behind us. You know, the drama that started with a letter I wrote to Levi, then continued with Levi’s attorney’s response, and — I had hoped — concluded with the GranFondo folks acting as the voice of reason.
The upshot of all this was fairly awesome. In exchange for supporting the charities associated with Levi’s GranFondo, a Friend of Fatty and a guest will get to come to — and get the full VIP treatment at — Levi’s GranFondo. Further, a couple people will win totally deluxe GranFondo kits: helmets, jerseys, shorts, armwarmers, hats, socks. The works.
That contest is still open, so click here to donate, or click here for more details.
Anyway, yesterday, I was astonished to get the following letter from Odessa Gunn, Levi Leipheimer’s wife, asking me to please post it on my blog.
Of course, I was more than happy to oblige.
A Letter from Odessa Gunn
Dear Fatty,
It has come to my attention that you and the rest of Team Fatty are working together to raise money for the charities associated with Levi’s GranFondo. I think that’s wonderful, and I would like to provide an additional prize for your contest.
But first, a little background.
Here’s Levi’s Tour de Suisse yellow jersey.
As you can see, he’s signed it and everything, which is a little weird, because he’s totally planning on keeping it for himself.
Levi’s pretty proud of earning this jersey, and rightly so. I mean, it’s kind of a big deal to win the Tour de Suisse.
The thing is, though, that jersey is starting to get on my nerves.
Why? Because — and I swear I am not exaggerating at all here — he wears it all the time. And I’m not even talking about wearing on his bike, either.
Let me show you what I mean.
In the past few days alone, I have seen him wearing this jersey while:
1. Watering the plants, dusting, vacuuming, doing other chores.
I know, I shouldn’t complain about what Levi wears when he helps around the house. But wearing that jersey while cleaning the toilet? Really?
2. Working on bikes.
Not a lot of people know this, but Levi is a pretty good mechanic. Neighbors are always coming to him with their bike questions, and he hopes that someday, when he retires as a pro cyclist, he’ll be able to get a job at one of the local bike shops.
But why, I have to ask, does he have to wear that jersey while working on bikes? Grease is so obvious when it gets smeared on that yellow.
3. Taking a nap
I know, I know. It looks like Levi’s fallen asleep here after getting back from a ride. But he hasn’t. He’s just fallen asleep while watching TV. He hasn’t been on his bike all day. Honestly, he hasn’t ridden in weeks.
Yesterday, I snapped.
“For crying out loud, Levi,” I said. “Could you please wear something else?”
“I really like this jersey,” Levi mumbled back, not looking me in the eye.
So I decided to take matters into my own hands. Which is where you and your readers come in.
Today, Levi and I had a conversation. “Why don’t you give that Tour de Suisse yellow jersey away as a prize in that Team Fatty contest? You don’t really need that jersey, and the Forget Me Not Farm and other causes in the Fondo could use the money it’ll help raise.”
“No,” said Levi, petulantly.
“Oh, come on. You’ve got plenty of other jerseys. You’ve got a closet full of jerseys. It wouldn’t be a big deal for you to give this one away.”
“But this jersey is my favorite,” Levi complained.
I could see this line of reasoning was going nowhere, so I switched to a different tactic.
Before long, he saw reason.
So, Fatty, you can see that making this jersey part of the prize list for your contest is really doing me a big favor.
Someday, Levi will thank me. Maybe.
And I promise, I’ll have that jersey washed and pressed before sending it to the winner. Trust me, it needs it.
Your friend,
Odessa Gunn
A “How to Win” Note From Fatty
OK, folks, you heard the lady and saw the jersey. Now in addition to the other prizes — such as a trip for two to Levi’s GranFondo, or a full GranFondo kit — you can also win Levi’s very own, signed, favorite-thing-to-wear-all-the-time yellow jersey from this year’s Tour de Suisse.
How do you get a chance at winning it — along with the other prizes? By going to the Team Fatty Donation page over at the GranFondo site, and donating any multiple of $5.00.
For every $5.00 you donate, you get a chance at each of the prizes, which now include:
- Levi’s Yellow Jersey from the Tour de Suisse. I believe you have all the information you need about this jersey at this point.
- A VIP Trip to Levi’s GranFondo for two, which includes airfare, lodging, dinner at the Festa del Fondo, the invite-only group ride with Levi and a small group of people, and tickets to ride at the GranFondo itself. This is, in fact, a seriously impressive prize.
- One of two GranFondo kits, including a Capo jersey, shorts, armwarmers, a hat, and socks, and a Giro Aeon helmet.
So. Donate now. Or Odessa will pin Levi’s arm behind him again.
Comments (34)
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