What a day! The kind that makes it impossible to ignore how good it is to be alive.
There are two epic climbs in the Tour de France that stand out above all others: Alp de Huez and Mont Ventoux. For nearly 40 years, I’ve dreamed of going up one or both of them. Today I got to go up Mt. Ventoux. And the frosting on the cake, I got to do it with that cute girl with the huge, outdated Bell helmet that I used to eye in the computer lab when I was at the University of Oregon.
There are 3 routes up Ventoux: hard, harder, hardest. At the last minute, we decided to do the classic Tour route, which happens to be the hardest, agreeing we would walk if necessary. We left from Bedoin, at the base of Mount Ventoux, on a beautiful sunny day for the 14 mile, 6,266 ft climb. Ventoux is where one of England’s greatest cyclists, Tom Simpson, collapsed and died from exhaustion 2 kilometers from the top during the 13th stage of the 1967 Tour de France.
About 500 cyclists ride up Mont Ventoux on a day like this. In French, Mont Ventoux translates to “Windy Mountain”, which can be a nightmare if you choose to go up on the wrong day (Ventoux has recorded winds in excess of 200 mph). We had been riding into strong winds all week and hoping they would subside. Luckily for us, they did. We set out on a warm and tranquil Friday morning with a string of cyclists. Some faster, some slower, but all riders with a common goal, to make it to the top. The majority of the riders a bit stronger, and younger, than both Sally and I, but plenty of people our age just the same.
Above: Sally and I take a break 2 kilometers from the summit to visit the Tom Simpson memorial, where he collapsed and died in the 1967 Tour.
Back when I used to be a competitive cyclist I was a decent climber, but Ventoux quickly handed me my notice that I am now in the sub par category. Sally kept gapping me up the climb, and throngs passed me, but we finished together after more than 3 hours of non-stop climbing, had a spectacular view of the French alps and the city of Bedoin, just a small speck in the distance.
After an hour or so at the top of the mountain, we enjoyed our reward of a 30 minute descent.
Bedoin was a town I truly hated to leave. Without the Tour de France making Ventoux a household name amongst avid cyclists, Bedoin would be like any of the other small and unassuming French towns we passed through. Instead, there was an incredible energy running through the town, with hundreds of cyclists riding up and down the streets and filling the watering holes that support them. All with an air of either excitement for the climb ahead, or exaltation from the climb completed. A bikers heaven. A dream come true.
