07/08/19
221.43 Miles
15:57:58 hrs Moving Time
12,953 ft Gained
13.9 mph Average Speed
With an early night last night and my longest sleep of the race, I was up and out in the dark just after 4am, heading towards the last major climb of the whole race.
The Col du Solude wasn’t a climb I had heard of before this race but its not one I will be forgetting anytime soon. The road was a small single track route with dripping tunnels cut through the side of the mountain. Also a few gravel sections thrown in, in true TCR style. It would have been nice to ride this in daylight to get view of Alpe D’Huez, but I had a long day ahead of me.
Starting fully layered up and gradually taking my warmer clothes off up the climb, the dawn was unforgettable. I saw two people on the whole climb. I had completed around 80% of the climb, then I saw a homemade sign for Brest, the finish of the race, pointing up the hill. This made me laugh and spurred me on. Rounding the next corner was a roadside spectator of the race cheering me on!! This amazed me as it was 5am in the morning and he was standing outside of his car, which looked like he had been sleeping in and he was shouting ‘allez, allez’ to encourage me up the climb. This made my morning. What a guy.
The next person I saw was a TCR racer, who was flat out asleep on a picnic bench near the top of the climb. He had obviously had enough of riding the previous night and flaked out roadside. I tried my best to keep quiet and not spoil his sleep, I think I managed.
I reached the summit and started to descend and the storm came. The black clouds covered the early morning sky and thunder, lightening and golf ball sized raindrops started to pelt me in the face. Starting to shiver I raced down the descent and raised the speed a few mph to keep myself warm.
I reached Vizille, on the outskirts of Grenoble after 40 miles of riding. So with no food inside of me since around 6pm last night, I visited a boulangerie, stocked up on pastries, coffee and Strawberry Pago and slumped down on the pavement outside. Everything tasted that much nicer as the sun came out and my belly was empty. I was pleased to be in France.
I got in and out of Grenoble without much hassle, apart from the onset of rain, again. It was into the French countryside. Long straight roads, farmers fields and some undulation. That’s about as exciting as it got.
Lyon was around 70 miles from Grenoble and not wanting to stop, I tried to get through the busy streets as quickly as possible, by sprinting before the lights turned and jumping on and off cycle paths. I crossed paths with another racer a few times through the city, we seemed to be going in different directions. Somehow, Lyon spat us both out into the quiet hills North West of the city at the same time.
We rode alongside for a few minutes chatting, but I held back as I could see he was a much stronger rider and I didn’t want to burn myself out in an attempt to keep up.
The next major city my planned route took me through was Moulins, over another 100 miles away and by this time it was around 3pm. It would be manageable I thought, at a push to reach the McDonalds there, which closed at 11pm. On a normal day 8 hours for 100 miles wouldn’t be too much of an ask, but with nearly 2000miles in my legs over the past 11 days, this would be tight.
Rural France just seems to close after lunch, so after a few failed attempts to get food in different villages, I just did without for the rest of the day and focused my thoughts on them golden arches.
With around 40 miles to go, another racer caught me up. We chatted for a little while and again, his pace was much higher than mine so he cracked on. As the sun was setting and darkness started to take over, his rear light was flashing around half a mile ahead of me. As the roads were straight, I could see it well. So to spur me on, I made a pact with myself that I needed to keep that rear red light in sight and I would make it in time.
The last few hours dragged and dragged and I was pushing my leg to the limits of what was manageable after such a distance. I felt like I was in a 25mile TT. On the TT bars, shifting quickly through gears and sprinting up small inclines to hold the speed. This guy was going some but I managed to keep the red flashing light in sight. Every orange glow of light on on the horizon I dreamed was Moulins, as I reached the lights and sped through another small village, it was on to the next glow.
After too many false Moulins, the real one appeared and at 10.30pm, I had made it. Straight to fill my belly with unhealthy goodness. I ran into the other TCR rider, the rear light I had been following, also making use of the fast food. We were both in bits after a tough last few hours but equally elated that we managed to get some food.
Only two more days left. I thought anyway.
Jordan Matthews 