That Volvo

Well, well, well…what a strange weekend was had at Europe’s toughest cycling sportive: ONLY 120 miles but 5000 metres (!) of climbing. As if the event itself wasn’t enough, we had a 5.00am start from the uk, getting stuff into the Justin’s volvo  and the bikes onto what appeared to be a wrought iron bike rack held together with victorian basket weaving. Within 50 yards the whole car was creaking like a John Wayne hip replacement. Still though, we all nursed a misplaced sense of purposefulness: only twelve hours of bottom braking driving ahead of us and a radio that ‘marche-pas’ -that’s ‘it didn’t work’ in franglais…to be continued

I call it a Galibier Carrot...it's shaped like a carrot..and I invented it...up the Galibier

The Marmotte is like a very timid, surrender-monkeying beaver that smells of garlic bread and subsists mainly on french fries. For some reason they named Europe’s hardest race after it…

nice view from inside the channel tunnel- duty free a bit disapointing

Just fourteen sweet hours later we arrrived. We played name that tune with me just by myself humming the tune for about four hours, and I-Spy became decidedly autreche with quips like “I smell death with the all seeing eye of Saruman”. Seriously though, Alpe d’ Huez is a beautiful and welcoming place: we were trully glad to be enveloped by it and cluddled by nightfall.

Marmottes have large protruding front teeth

On Sunday morning we descended in the dark after a hearty breakfast, for our start time of 7:00, it was still very cold at this point but there was much hilarity. I had odd feelings in my tummy which I put down to cyclists’  ‘brown butterflies’-(this is a technical term known to all cyclists too complex in its subtlety and nuance to easily explain to the layperson).

and then we were off-except that we weren’t because Justin wanted a pee within about fifty metres. Soon we were on the first climb “croix de fer” an appropriate name as the climb is 23km. Then comes a searing descent: people I’d passed hours ago came flashing past and I realised I was totally out out of my depth here, looking at my bike computer I was hitting  40mph and people were passing me easliy… I later learnt that five people almost lost their lives on this descent alone.

Next a frenetic flat where I desperately, and perhaps upwisely, held onto a bunch of elite riders (about sixty or so) who delivered me to the bottom of the Telegraph, an 18km ascent of endless alpine switchbacks. The Sun had come out and suddenly it was getting hot; really hot…so hot you couldn’t eat and the heat reflected back off the rocks, meaning it was just as hot in the shade as in the sun. It wasn’t even midday, and my keyring thermometer was reading well over 30. Still- I made the ascent quickly and aggressively and felt good…until the last 200metres or so where my stomach seemed to be making noises…feed me.

I reached the top and was immediately in the unenviable situation of needing the toilet very desperately in a crowded place, fortunately the French don’t believe in queuing or honesty in such situations and I was able to blag it with very hurried charm, passing many less fortunate in my wake. Much lighter I exited adding “Laissex quelque minutes…corage!”.

What I didn’t realise then was that the race was over for me. I looked at my watch…I was almost forty five minutes ahead of schedule. I was now massively dehydrated and I didn’t even realise, and minor stomach upset would almost land me in hospital.

The Galibier. I  met up with Justin and stayed with him, he was in good form, taking it slowly. He loves the heat, we chatted and slowly climbed the foothills of the Galibier, but something strange was happening to my body as we chatted; the energy drink sat in my stomach refusing to hydrate me and my legs started to harden like I’d been stung by a hundred wasps…it was cramp but I not as we know it ..it was like paralysis. I pulled over, and muttered the classic words: ‘I may be some time’.I had 50 miles to go.

I think a lot about those fifty miles now that took me over six hours, swear words just haven’t been invented yet. I finished in 10:45, a man with one leg passed me as I crouched by the side of the road up Alpe D’huez…hoping no one was stupid enough to be drinking downstream. But people helped me: one man spent ten minutes trying to massage life back into my legs, an Irish woman walked with me in almost total silence for about a mile.

Richard Collin finished in an incredible 8: 38 minutes earning him a gold (he was about an hour inside his for his age group)

Justin Futers finished just outside the 9:15 limit for his age group-but only cos he had tried to help me.

Our Friend Rupert Maude (mature) finished with in the time limits which I’m sure you’ll appreciate is a serious achievement for anyone in the 50+ age group.

Dan's stomach cramps while Justin "helps" and Richard takes photo...

It did make me think though… here am I, trying to do all the right things, and one would think aware of what was going on in my body and suddenly your own body bowls you a googly. Sometimes there’s just no telling. So who’s gonna catch you when things go wrong? There’s a chance its gonna be The Prostate Cancer Charity.

Daniel Broom (RAAM Team)

Official Pictures of this Years’ Marmotte

Enter next year’s Race