Day One

Day One Route: Hampton Court to Dover

Met up at the garden rooms in Hampton Court with some trepidation, not knowing exactly what to expect. But, free coffee and biscuits and smooth-as-you-like check in soon got me relaxed. My rider number was 172, and I realised later that it was pretty important that I remembered it as it was used for everything from finding out hotel room numbers to letting the organisers know you’d reached a feed stop and hadn’t fallen into a ditch somewhere. So, a nice relaxing start looking at all the serious hardware people had turned up on – everything from £100 Halfords jobs to serious aero-barred tri-bike worth the price of a small house (well, not round Hampton Court maybe…). Chatted to a few people and realised that the levels of training varied from a couple of spin classes to full on Etapes du Tour and Mont Ventoux. I was probably towards the higher end of training, so didn’t feel too bad, but there were a lot of fit, young, slim people who I knew I’d see disappearing up hills in the distance once we got going.

Hampton Court Garden Rooms

The briefing was excellent – we all wore bright yellow “#va va Froome” t-shirts, so it had the air of a day trip from somme kind of mental or prison institution, but there was bags of info, and it got everyome really excited. One great thing we were given that became indespensible as the trip went on were laminated route profiles showing all the hills and the feed stops. This made it easy to plan nutrition and liquid intake, and gave a nice set of mini goals for each day.

So, off we set – 178 riders of varying abilities in 5 groups split up by assessed ability. One poor chap managed 400 yards before falling off and breaking his arm, but the est of us carried on through the (busy) streets of South West London and Surrey in what was, in fact, a pretty tight schedule if we were to get to the ferry at Dover for 6:30.

Early part was pretty tricky; should you keep up with this group or that group? Are you going fast enough? Are they going too fast up the early hills? Will we all make it to Dover at this pace? Everything soom settled down, and I find myself hopping from group to group as the pace changed, but mainly going in a dropping-off-the-back to a slower group direction. Great ride out through South West London via Ewell and Belmont with a few nice gentle hills to get the legs warmed up.

Just when I’m thinking, this is all pleasant and pretty easy, and not far to the first drinlks stop, we turn left up Botley Hill, an absolute beast in the heat with gradients over 12%. Luckily it’s one of those windy hills where the full horror of it is never revealed as you can only see to the next corner. It was a very long hill, but I got up it fine, even overtaking a number of people on the way. There was a huge queue for drinks at the drinks stop, but some very welcome fig rolls and biscuits soon got me re-fuelled and back in the saddle.

As I’d lost my group (or they’d lost me), I set off on my own for the lunch stop and soon found myself in the wilds of Surrey and Kent. Quite a severe headwind in places but made good time down some great descents and straights. It was a long time before I caught anyone up, but I eventually caught up with a guy and a girl who seemd to be taking it easy, so I had a chat and then shot off ahead. This clearly riled the girl in the group, and they quickly caught up, and I spent an enjoyable few miles with them, particularly fascinated by the girl, whose name I’ve forgotten, doing no-handed on-bike excercises that looked like they were certain to overbalance the bike, but never did. Clearly I have a long way to go before my balance on the bike is that good! After a while she got bored with us mere blokes, and shot off up a hill with no effort whatsoever.

I caught up with a couple of guys before lunch and tagged along – it was getting pretty windy, so I was glad of a bit of drafting. It was at this point that my chain came off for the first time – the pedals just locked, and there was a hug ‘ping’; I thought something had come off the bike, but looking back, I think something got caught in the chain. I think it probably bent the cage as well as I had all sorts of problems changing off the granny ring until Halfords sorted it out (see later)

On to lunch at a great pub somewhere in Kent. It was so tempting to have a pint, but discretion being the better part of valour, I didn’t; there were over 50 miles left to the ferry, then a further 10 to go once in France. I carried on with the same guys, and, as the wind was really getting up, offered to go on the front for a bit and take the wind. Unfortunately, the wind was so strong I couldn’t hear them behind me, and, when I stopped at a later junction, found that I’d shot off miles ahead and left them behind. Oops!

Inevitably on these rides, you have to fall off and you have to have a puncture. My puncture came about 10 miles after I’d left those poor guys behind, and some might rightly say “serves you right!”. Impressively quick to get the new tube in, but, like the tire, felt pretty deflated when I got my tiny 4 inch pump out to try and put 120psi into the new tube. Luckily at this point, Halfrods turned up and stirrup-pumped it up to pressure – what a relief that was. The guys came flying past while I was sat on the roadside with the tyre and, while they didn’t say anything, I suspect they were (rightly) smirking inside…

My fall came after the final drinks stop when I was negotiating a road which had loads of road works on it; little trenches about 2cm deep. I swerved round one of these only to hit a pile of sand and stop dead in my tracks. Cue sideways fall across the road and into a hedge. Nothing too badly hurt except pride, but not ideal. I shook myself down and got back on the saddle and headed off in the general direction of Dover with some, but not too much, blood dripping from elbow and knee.

The mistake I – and I believe everyone else – made was to think the last stage was easy; it wasn’t. There were at least 4 belting hills, and, after 70 or so miles already, these proved pretty tricky. The scariest part was heading for Dover – as you head for Brighton, the South Downs loom above you, and you know you’re going to have to get over them. Same thing going to Dover, but luckily, as you get nearer, you realise there’s a valley going through, and it’s downhill all the way to the coast. Relief!

Ended up at Cullins Yard Dover for a quick pint, recover bar and recovery drink (yes, I believe in that order…). Lovely atmosphere as more and more riders arrived in various states of knackeredness and stsrted swapping stories, mainly about the hills in the final section. A tough ride, but everyone was in high spirits as we headed for the ferry. It quickly got noticeably quieter as tiredness kicked in, but it was a fun experience loading nearly 200 riders onto a ferry. As I remarked to a fellow rider, we must have looked like the crappest peloton ever, sauntering along at 5 kmh.

Cullins Yard

The amazing thing about these long rides is the amount of food you eat. I managed to squeeze down a huge plate of pasta and meatballs, chips, sticky toffee pudding and a beer, and still felt hungry. Met up with a guy and his wife – he parks his bike next to mine in the Sky car park – and had a good old chat. He does traithlons all over the place, so found himself doing the hills, then going back for his wife, and doing them again. Fair play.

Great night ride through Calais for about 10 miles to get to the hotel arriving at about 1 in the morning; this was clearly not going to be a trip where a lot of sleep was involved. It was here that I met Mars, my roommate for the trip and we soon realised we were in pretty much the same boat; we’d been put in group 4, but that group was a bit too quick for us, particularly going up hills. So we decided to try group 3 the following day. Having stored the bikes, Mars went for a quick pint, but me, being the lightweight, crashed gratefully into bed and was out like a light until the alarm at 6:30 on day two.

There was a slight nagging problem from day one – I never get saddle sores, etc., even after previous 100 mile rides, but sitting in my sweaty kit for hours on the ferry meant I had a bit of soreness on my left/bum cheek which was clearly only going to get worse. Legs generally felt great tho’.

So in summary:

• Chain off twice
• Fell off once
• Puncture
• Swallowed fly
• Monster hills
• Night ride through Calais

Day Two

Day Two Route: Calais to Amiens

You have no idea how much food you need on a ride like this. I had about 8 croissants, a big plate of ham and cheese, a bowl of cereals and some fruit juice.

Set off from Calais in nice cool, overcast conditions with group 3, but left them behind on the first major climb. From then it was pretty much me and Mars on our own in the beautiful French rural countryside until the draughts and blurs that were groups 4 and 5 came inevitably by.

It didn’t stay too cloudy for long – the sun came out and it became a glorious day in the French countryside. The roads in France are fantastic, and the drivers are very respectful of cyclists; you don’t feel like they’re breathing down your neck all the time waiting for an opportunity to shoot past too quickly and too close.

Met up with a group from Canada and did a pretty scary hill with them. It was all very chatty at the bottom, but conversation soon petered out as we went up. At this point, the mad-keen triathlete I met on the ferry came flying past at an impossibly fast speed. I was also almost at an impossible speed as it wasn’t physically possible to go any slower. He then flew back down the hill back to his wife while we still climbing.

It was during day two that we found two rules about French roads:

1. Whenever you turn left, you go up a hill
2. Whenever you go under a railway bridge, you go up a hill

It was the second rule that came into play on day two. A lovely mosey through some fields ended up at railway bridge, and, sure enough, once through, there was long, winding, steep climb up through some woods. A real leg burner, but absolutely beautiful.

Lunch stop was the best of the whole trip; a beautiful little village called Hesdin on a river with nice shaded tables. Lovely fresh baquettes with ham and cheese and lots of fluids meant we were well fuelled for the afternoon trek.

There was one killer hill left before we could relax and cruise into Amiens (although the cobbles of Amiens were less than welcome after 2 days in the saddle). It wasn’t too steep, or too long, but it was on a long, straight main road, and you could see it looming in the distance from miles away. There was no shade and, because it was so straight you felt like you weren’t getting anywhere. Once that was out of the way, tho’, it was plain sailing into Amiens, albeit with an outrageous stench of fertilizer for the last few miles.

Got to the cafe at Amiens in time to gulp down a well-earned recovery drink and then see Chris Froome effectively win the Tour de France – great atmosphere and everyone in seriously jovial mood. Went back to the hotel for a shower and a well earned, if expensive, pint of 1664.

Lunch Day Two

Bonus at the hotel – single rooms! Win! Nothing against Mars (and vice versa), but still very nice to have a room to oneself. Apart from anything else you didn’t care about just flinging your sweaty old bib shorts on the floor and forgettng about them…

Very nice meal chatting almost exclusively about cycling. One of the Canadian group joined us and told a great littl anecdote about her friend who runs a bike shop. She gets a lot of the pro teams old kit to sell in her shop. Unfortunately, no-one who wants to buy it can get it on; pro cyclists are pretty thin, and you can’t get the tops over your arms.

Day Three

Day Three Route, Amiens to Paris

Set off from the hotel, to get back to the start point, and it was at least 200 yards before Mars broke his sunglasses. I did feel sorry for him having to ride 100 miles in the baking sunshine without them, but there was nowhere open on France on a Sunday morning; in fact, we never saw any shops at all once we got out of Amiens, open or otherwise.

Drinks Stop Day 3

The weather was amazing – cloudless sky and belting hot sunshine. Just how hot it was going to be was reinforced when we looked over at a huge group of wind turbines which were not moving at all – so no cooling wind all day, then. Mars was slightly slower than me up hills, but absolutely fearless down hills, and, as we crested a gentle hill, I saw an amazing descent before us with a little chicane-y bit about half way down. I knew that if I didn’t keep up with Mars going down it, I probably wouldn’t see him until Paris (I wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop before Paris, the speed he was going), so got into my best downhill position – down on the drops, as flat as possible – and hurled myself down. Pretty exhilarating, and probably where we clocked our top speed on the trip of just over 60kph. Note to self – take the brown cycling shorts next time (I wonder if that’s why A2GR wear brown shorts? :-))

A2GR – Brown Shorts

A few km later we went through some beautiful forests on cycle paths with no traffic (not that there was any traffic on any roads in France on a Sunday morning), and saw a big bunch of group 4 rides approaching us pretty quickly from the rear. As these group 4 riders came past, we managed to tag on the back for about 10 miles doing a breakneck (for us) speed of about 40kmh – wonderful. And then we arrived at a hill (we turned left, so obviously there was a hill), so we wistfully watched them disappear into the distance.

Lunch was excellent, all sorts of salads and breads, etc. – the only downside was that the proprietor of the school where it was held hadn’t turned up to open up and get the chairs out, so everyone just crashed on the floor to eat. We all wanted to get to Paris, so set off PDQ after lunch. According to the profile, there was a hill almost straight away. Scratch ‘almost’ – the hill started immediately, and while not hugely steep, was a bit of a struggle with a hugely full belly. Paris was getting ever nearer, tho’, so nobody even really noticed.

Then there was the final climb up to the last feed station. It was over 5km long, and had gradients of up to 12%, but the main issue was its length; it just seemed to go on and on. I got into a nice steady rhythm and actually started enjoying it – the scenery was beautiful as it wound through a lovely dappled shade forest, and it wasn’t all mega-steep. I even passed 2 people on the way up, so was well chuffed (the odd few hundred did pass me, but I wasn’t counting them…)

However knackered we were, we knew it was downhill all the way to Paris from there, so, after a quick re-fuel, we all set off in a mass group; due to the highly staggered start times, quite a lot people had congregated. The group split into two, and, unfortunately, I managed to get myself on the back of the fast group who were going way faster than I could handle. I dropped off after about 10k when I realised we were ‘cruising’ at 45kmh. I thus found myself cruising the back streets of Paris for about 20k on my own, hoping that the group I’d left behind would catch up! Catch up they did, eventually, and we spent the last few miles riding and chatting along the banks of the Seine – a perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. The only downside was the heat – 39 degrees! It was fine when we were moving, but as soon as you stopped at traffic lights or a junction, it felt like getting off the plane when you go on holiday – the heat just hit you.

Obviously, we had to sprint up to the Arc de Triomphe, even if it was up hill, to be greeted by the people from Face and warm Champagne. Cue much back-slapping and photos, and an unbelievable atmosphere.

Arc de Triomphe

London to Paris 2013 Finish

A short ride back to the hotel was possibly the toughest of the whole trip. After the physical and mental strain of all that riding, as soon as we relaxed, brains switched off, and we’d forgotten how to ride. Cue many nearly falling offs and unclip fails. Got to the hotel and hit the bar where, unfortunately, there were problems with the draught beer. Crisis! The barman was a fantastic (not) salesman.

Me: “4 beers please”
Barman: “We have no beer – the draught pump is not working”
Me: “Do you have any bottled beer?”
Barman: “Yes, Heineken”
Me: “Fine – I’ll have four of those”
Barman: “Sorry, I only have three”
Me: “Do you have any other bottled beers”
Barman: “Oh, yes we have Carlsberg”
Me: “OK, three Heineken and a Carlberg…”

It was like pulling teeth – a bar full of fairly thirsty cyclists, and a barman you had to prise beer out of.

A quick shower, beer in the bar that was now open and had proper beer, a most enjoyable meal and it was down to the Champs Elysees for the end of le Tour. Had a fascinating chat with the chap who drove the sweep wagon – the bus that picked up stragglers, people who were ill, faller-offers, etc. etc. The ride was a lot tougher for a lot of people, and it brought home to me how essential all that winter training had been.

Could have made a fortune selling Va Va Froome t-shirts on the Champs Elysees, and got to our allotted spot well in time to see the riders do their 10 laps. Didn’t get too many good shots – can anyone identify any of the blurs in this photo?

Astonishing speeds, particuarly when Cav was drafting about an inch behind a support car doing about 80kph after a puncture; must be terrifying. After the peleton had allowed Sky to do a victory lap at the front, racing began in earnest, and David Millar went for a breakway – if you here chants of “Miilar, Millar” on the highlights, that was us! He was inevitably caught, and Cav just lost out in the 3-way sprint for the line. Fabulous atmosphere, and great just being there at the 100th Tour de France with a British winner.

#va va froome

There was a spectaular light show on the Arc, then we went off to the night club that had been rented on our behalf. As you can imagine, not a huge amount of dancing, but everyone was in high spirits and drinking late into the night depite the early start and 320 miles under their belts in 3 days. Standing outside, who should come past but Chris Froome, Dave Brailsford and Ritchie Porte doing a warm-down; 3500 miles of racing, and they do 50 or 60km warm-down! Unbelievable.

Having done the old “we’re so knackered we’ll just have one drink, then go to bed” thing, we actually found ourselves in the bar at the hotel being “hinted” off to bed at 2am by the cleaner getting the floor polishing machine out.

Day Four

Taxi to the Eurostar. Sleep. Train home. No cyling for two days until the bike arrives back at Sky. Revelling in the true awesomeness of what we’d acheived.

If someone said I could do it all again next month, I’d be in like Flynn…