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La Marmotte Cyclosportive 2006

       

Ben Cousins, James Beaumont and Lawrence Smith rode the Marmotte Cyclosportive. Here Ben and James share their experiences of the ride, for both their hardest day on the bike so far.

I felt pretty good at the start of the event, writes Ben Cousins. On Friday I rode up the Alpe fairly conservatively, not pushing too hard, and I managed to ride it at about the same pace that I had the previous year (while pushing myself much harder). The weather forecast didn’t seem to cold or too hot, with clear skies but relatively low temperatures (last year it was 40 degrees in the valley between the Glandon and the bottom of the Telegraphe, and 5 degrees at the top of the Galibier – this year the temperatures were more consistent). I suffer badly in extreme heat so I was happy with the weather.

James and I took the flat section to the bottom of the Col du Glandon at a relatively fast pace, riding on wheels and wasting as little energy as possible. When we got to the bottom of the climb, it was still quite cool, and the riders were pretty bunched up.

The first section proper of the climb is pretty steep, between 6 and 10% for a few kilometres. James rode away from me after a while, but I was still overtaking plenty of people and felt pretty strong, my knees not playing up at all.

After the slight descent at Le Rivier d’Allemond, I caught up with James who said his legs were feeling ‘dead’ and that he was expecting a bad day. I eased off a little to ride with him, but soon started complaining of a slightly ‘empty’ feeling in my stomach. I’d been taking a fair amount of Ibuprofen for the swelling in my knees for the previous few days and I wondered if this was going to cause me any problems. I ate and drank a bit to see what happened and promptly felt a bit too full – not a good sign.

James and I continued to ride together to the top of the Glandon, I’d forgotten the steep section after the dam (barrage) but we got to the top feeling reasonably ok and now riding in the sun. We stopped for some water, but at the top of the Glandon, gendarmes had stopped about twenty riders, telling us there was an accident 2km down the climb. Luckily they only held us up for 10 minutes or so, letting us ride down in groups of ten. When we reached the accident, I had a quick look, saw the first pool of blood and then looked away to avoid seeing anything too nasty. We later learned that a group of guys riding at the very front of the race had hit a marshal, knocking them and about 5 riders over a three metre drop onto the lower section of road There were some nasty head injuries and a broken hip I think.

Many other riders who got to the top of the climb later, were held up for up to an hour as six ambulances attended to the injuries.

The sight of this carnage somewhat put me off taking the descent of the Glandon too fast, but didn’t seem to slow down many of the riders around me, who seemed desperate to make up lost time by riding like idiots. I had a brief scare when my pump came loose and I had to stop, but I eventually caught up with James and we started riding the flat section, through the valley from the bottom of the Glandon to the bottom of the Telegraphe. This section is a wide main road, and there was fairly heavy traffic, false flats and a headwind. Even riding in a group, which eventually numbered about 90 riders, we were doing well to hold 30km/h.

We got to the bottom of the Telegraphe – I was looking forward to this climb as last year I’d found it very easy and enjoyed riding off ahead of the people I was with…

...but at about the five or six kilometre point I started complaining to James that both my knees were hurting. He found a second wind and rode ahead, but I started worrying about the state my knees would be in by the time I rode the Alpe. I pulled my route guide out and saw there was medical support at the top of the Telegraphe, so I struggled on hoping to get some help when I got there. On arrival I had to hang around a bit while they found some Ibuprofen pills and gel (I’d stopped worrying about my stomache at this point, because my knees felt so bad). I gave my tyres a quick check for pressure, and was alarmed that my front was slightly soft. I pumped it back up to 120psi, got my medical attention and rode on through the descent into Valloire.

At Valloire I stopped quickly for some food and gave my tyre a quick press – it was soft again! On learning I had a slow puncture and would need to mend it, I’d given up hope of getting a gold and set about trying to survive the race. I changed my tyre and quickly rode off, seeing that Lawrence had passed me and was some way up the road. I pushed it a little bit to catch him on the flatter section up to Plan Lachat – seeing that he’d stopped for water and was only a few tens of metres ahead. Riding together up this hard final section of the Galibier would have been good but I just couldn’t catch him and didn’t have the energy to call out. As Lawrence pulled away from me I slowly began to crack – the altitude was affecting me and my knees were slowly getting worse and worse. About 6 km from the top I reached a real nadir, riding in my lowest gear (34/23) and really crawling and grinding as I was passed by hundreds of riders. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to make it to the top.

I managed to somehow ride through the worst of this dip and with about 3km to go to the top I realised I was probably going to at least finish the ride, as I knew the Alpe was easier than these last few kms of the Galibier. This realisation pushed me on through the last kms and I finally got the the top of the climb where I promptly ate an energy bar, several bananas and a pile of cake. A Dutch guy approached me as I was setting off, seemingly at random and started asking me in a mixture of English and French, if I had a tool that would fix his shoes. The catch on his Sidis had come loose and the allen bolt was an odd size - nobody he’d previously approached had been able to fix it. I pulled out my multitool and none of them fitted. Suddenly I realised I had another allen key for my odd-sized seatpost clamp which miraculously fitted his Sidis! I sent him happily on his way with mended shoes and felt somewhat rested and relieved that I had finished the worst section of the day and had a long descent to rest my legs. I set off for the descent of the Galibier and the Lautaret.

This is a really long section of the ride – almost 60km of constant downhill. I decided to take this opportunity to rest my legs and pedal as little as possible. My right knee was much worse than my left, and my physio had recommended that I keep it straight whoever possible, so for the next hour or so I kept my right leg fully stretched out on the bike (even on right hand hairpins, which I took much more upright than normal).

I managed to tag onto a smallish group on the long descent and was able to tuck in to close gaps rather than pedal. We rode downhill into a strong headwind, which didn’t make it that easy, never mind the long and not particularly well-lit tunnels. As the road flattened out and after a few slight uphill sections I managed to ease my legs back into pedalling and felt ok. Close to the bottom of l’Alpe d’Huez I ate my last energy bar and set about tackling the climb – which I’d ridden the previous day comfortably, if a little slowly.

The bottom half of the Alpe was alright – my knee was ok, I was riding in a fairly high heartrate without too much discomfort and as a result I was passing riders that I’d remembered passing me on the Galibier (it’s amazing how much you fixate on other riders and remember tiny details of them as you ride). My bike computer had stopped working for several kilometres of the Galibier (because I was riding too slow!) so I had no real accurate indicator of how I was doing for time, but by doing rough estimates based on the actual time of day, I realised I still had about an hour and twenty minutes to still get a gold! It was looking possible!


The Kingston Wheelers paint on the road at Huez perked me up a bit, as did the group of English guys playing loud rock music at one of the middle hairpins, but soon I had the distinct and horrifying sensation of my stomach rumbling – I was running low on blood sugar and I’d eaten the last of my food! Having suffered a really nasty bonk a few months ago I started really panicking about surviving the ride, and stopped pushing myself too hard to get the gold, in case I ran out of energy and suffered a complete collapse close to the finish.

In the final 5 hairpins, the fear of bonking started turning into the early psychological symptoms of hypoglycaemia– I was jealously eyeing people’s cans of coke and apple cores thrown at the side of the road. Each rider that passed me had bulging back pockets which I imaged contained all kind of sugary treats. I was very close to asking for help from another rider, but my mental state wasn’t very good and I kept getting distracted and forgetting to ask.

As I rode into the village at the top of the climb the temptations got worse – a Coke machine outside a bar - two guys holding juicy sandwiches next to a display of fruit. Again I could have stopped but decided to motor on and take my chances. Soon I was within a km of the finish line, and riding very slowly so as not to waste energy, it looked like I was going to make it - riders were passing me all the time now, but as I turned the final bend as saw the finish line I got a new lease of life, thumped it into the big ring and sprinted for the line, overtaking all the guys who had passed me in the closing kilometres.

Crossing the line and riding into the crowds at the finish, I quickly became totally focussed on food and sought out the ‘food hall’, which I’d heard two Australian riders talking about in my maniacal final kilometres. I eventually found it and the sweaty cold meat, dry French bread and cheap pasta looked like the most delicious thing I’d ever seen. I’m ashamed to say I stole an unattended coke bottle from the floor, ate three plates of food in about 2 minutes and subsequently nearly fell asleep in the baking hot tent.

I managed to wake myself up and trudged over to the tent where you pick up your certificate, still unsure of whether I had finished within the gold time. During the wait, an older lady in front of me had to go out to throw up, and another older man fainted and had to be seen to by the medical staff. I got my certificate and was surprised and astonished to see that I’d got my gold medal by just 7 minutes and 22 seconds!
My immediate reaction was that given the crappy ride I had, I didn’t deserve gold, and the contrast to the Ardéchoise -where I really enjoyed the ride and felt I deserved a gold - couldn’t have been greater.

The Marmotte is really, really hard and I don’t know if I’ll attempt it again in the next few years – possibly trying out some other cyclosportifs instead. I recommend it as an ‘experience’ for anyone interested in pushing themselves to their physical and psychological limits, but the concept of riding it like a race or as a pleasurable experience is beyond my ken!

 

 

"My worst day ever on the bike"

The ride is named after a cute furry rodent that lives in the Alps, writes James Beaumont. Naming the hardest cyclosportif going after this little guy has its funny side but you won’t be laughing on the day. It’s the only event I know where you can tick a box on the entry form to insure yourself against death. A bargain at one euro. So if you’re lucky to survive, the day includes 5,000m of vertical climbing over the Glandon, Télégraphe, Galibier and up to Alpe d’Huez, all in 176km.

I’d been feeling sick in the days leading up to the ride but still rode the bike fine. I even climbed Alpe d’Huez in 45 minutes - a good time for an amateur – in between the rain showers. But I was getting headaches and not recovering properly. I just put it down to staying at altitude, the gîte we were in was at 1,650m. But as I was to discover on the day, I was ill with a flu-like bug and spent three days in bed after the ride.

The big day came and the sun rose in clear skies, illuminating the Alpine peaks with a yellow glow at 6.30am as we descended from our mountain base at Huez to the town of Bourg d’Oisans below. We passed some riders standing by the road, they’d punctured already. Ben and I had start numbers in the top 1000, but Lawrence had entered later and so had a higher number. We tried to smuggle him in to the front starting pen with us but it was no use and the stewards stood firm, only for Lawrence to bark “We’re the Kingston Wheelers!” but oddly this was no use, the stewards wouldn't relent and he had to go back.

I snapped this pic at the signing-on: the Dutch really love their sport

The ride rolled out easy. The majority of riders in the Marmotte are Dutch and it’s almost genetic, they know about riding on the flat. We sped along the valley towards the first climb sheltered behind a variety of colossal riders, they mashed big gears in the only moment of the day suited to their bulk. Soon came the first climb and riders went everywhere. Forwards, backwards, left and right. And up. The climb of the Glandon is like a staircase, with several sections above 10% and the morning was already warming up as we climbed through the forest. I’d decided to take it easy on this climb and was forcing myself to ride steady. Some riders went charging past but you’d see most of them minutes later, spent. Ben and I were with others who set a firm but consistent pace and overtook many riders, spending most of the climb on the left of the road to pass the others. As we passed the lake towards the top of the Glandon, we could see the road ahead but couldn’t see the front of the race: because it wasn’t that far in front of us. Up to the top of the pass and my legs weren’t good, they felt wooden. We were stopped at the top for a few minutes as there’d been an accident just in front, if we hadn’t stopped for water a moment before, we’d have just made it past the temporary blockade. On the descent, we rounded a hairpin and saw the accident, riders lying beside the road with a lot of blood running down the road. It made me reflect but others ignored the ghoulish spectre, descending like idiots and I saw some pay the price, overcooking the bends: game over for them. Further down, Ben had to stop, something was rattling on his bike and I sat up, soft-pedalling downhill. He caught me in soon enough and we rolled down to the valley, easy.

The valley road was were things went wrong for me. I’d taken the Glandon steady but didn’t feel great, putting this down to a lack of a warm up. We were riding along the valley but sluggishly. The road does climb up but it isn’t always visible. Along dual carriageways, past railway sidings and the vast aluminium smelting plant appropriately called Métaltemple, this was the Alps at its ugliest and a good reason as to why you shouldn’t always come here for the cycling. You’ll find the famous climbs alright, but there are also busy roads in the valleys, full of trucks and trains, factories and quarries. We were riding at 22km/h on this flatter section of road. Not many wanted to work, I did but soon realised my legs didn’t and this is where the mind-body split happened. I was all up for leapfrogging from group to group but my legs wouldn’t leap.

The Col du Télégraphe arrived. You turn right past the a huge factory, over one bridge, under another and it’s up and away. The initial ramps were steep. My breathing wasn’t right on this climb, I was like a backing singer for Parliament’s “Atomic Dog”. Riding with Ben, I told him I was on a bad day. He was too, his knees were sore. But as we got halfway up, I suddenly felt better, I think it was my body switching over to burn fat and whatever it was, I got a lift, even a jolt, and rode on a bit. I didn’t get a chance to say ‘see you later’ to Ben, I thought he’d come up to me but that didn’t happen. The Télégraphe wasn’t so bad, the hardest part was the start, the first five kilometres. I didn’t stop at the top and took the short four kilometre descent in Valloire, where the Galibier really begins, as time to eat and drink. Valloire is a ski station, a town built for tourism, its modern buildings clad in pine for that authentic alpine architectural atmosphere. The town was busy with people, they lined the road, not as supporters, I think they just wanted to cross to the road but couldn’t for the constant stream of riders flying off the descent.

Then came the Galibier. It’s reputed to be the hardest climb going. Some pros don’t like other climbs. Bernard Thévenet always hated the Glandon because he’d had trouble there; same for Lance Armstrong who fears the Joux-Plane because he’d cracked there once. But set aside individual traumas, the Galibier must be the hardest, it’s steep, long and takes you almost as high as you can go in the Alps. It starts off ok, you leave Valloire up a steep road but it soon levels out and for a while, on the way to Plan Lachat, you ride up a wide valley and the gradient is low, almost flat in places, a pretty mountain stream below you. The scenery didn’t matter, I was almost going backwards at that point and it wouldn’t have made a difference if I was riding past smelting plants or cement factories. The temperature was up but I was shivering on the bike, teeth chattering and getting cold sweats. I thought it might the cool temperatures at altitude but a quick check on my bike computer and it was 26°C. I was just ill and the flat road - in reality a 5% gradient - just seemed interminable. Riders were passing me, but the only encouragement was that they weren’t coming by too fast.

But I arrived at Plan Lachat and saw the road bend to the right, cross over the river and then go up, the gradient looked like 45° and you could see riders crawling up one by one. At this point, I was still in the top-500 riders and if these useful riders were struggling, it must be hard. I started the hard part and it wasn’t so bad. I’d been struggling on the flat, the gradient was just another slog and at least it was slowing down the others. But they were still passing me. Then, for no reason, I just couldn’t ride on. I didn’t stop for a drink, or to eat. I just wanted some time out from the relentless series of leg-presses. By this stage I was feeling very sorry for myself, self-pity was taking over from determination to get to the top. I’m ashamed to say I wanted to abandon but was cold riding the bike and knew that I’d freeze waiting hours for the broom wagon.

My mind got worse. I started to think about climbing into a spectator’s car. Would they drive me to the Alpe? Maybe I could pay them? How much would it cost to bribe them to smuggle me to the foot of Alpe d’Huez? My background as an economist meant I was calculating all the costs and working out a formula in my head for the bribe: I'd lost the plot. All the while, the kilometres were counting down, but slowly. At 10km/h, seven kilometres pass slowly, and you rationalise, refine and reduce, “in fact I’ve got nearly 6.5km left now, I’ll round that down to six kilometres and besides I’ll be ok once I get to the last kilometre, so it’s really 5km to the end”. Thus seven kilometres becomes five.

But there’s nothing to do but ride on. However slow you are going, you can stop by the road but you’ll still have to get to the top. With 4km to go, a lightbulb flickered in my mind: “breathe” and I started to take deep and regular lungfuls of air. I’d been riding up so slowly that I barely needed to breath but once I started putting the thin air into my lungs, I got going again. It was the rare atmosphere above 2000m that was making even harder and forcing myself to breath helped but for too long I was too tired to think about this obvious fact. I saw a Dutch rider in trouble by the road, I shouted “breathe deep” at him and within a minute he rode past me, smiling. The Galibier’s secret – breathe. Eventually the summit came into sight, pleasing in one way but from a distance you can see a vicious series of switchbacks. At least they were loaded with spectators, encourageing the riders in French, English and above all, Dutch: “kom op!” they shouted and I muttered a “bedankt” (thanks) to some of them, for it really makes a difference, you cling to anything positive you can.

A quick stop at the summit. I looked at the views but the beauty of the clear skies and glistening peaks below me was unneccessary, I just wanted to don my cape and get water from the soldiers who were distributing it to the huddle of refugee cyclists. The descent was hard work, I was counting my blessings that we didn’t have to come up this way but it’s actually just as hard on both sides. Past the Henri Desgranges memorial, no time to stop. My hands were hurting from riding on the drops. I’ve ridden my bike for months, no problem, but it’s the combination of the gradient and the braking. Gradient, for you’re tipped forward by gravity to put more weight on the front of your bike, on your hands. Braking because you’re gripping the brakes very hard, so much that you’re pulling your hands into the drops. Soon you drop down on to the Lautaret and it gets easy. I found this descent so easy, I could have done it with my eyes closed. Wide roads, sweeping bends, it’s a main road designed to accommodate a lot of traffic at high speeds.

All in all, it was a 75 minute freewheel off the Galibier to Alpe d’Huez. There were a couple of rises along the way but these just helped to keep the legs warm. And I started to feel better, eating and drinking a lot and able to appreciate the scenery, even if I kept my cape on for a long time in the hot temperatures, for although it was 30°C, I still felt cold. The descent wasn't technical but the fatigue makes it hard, your hands hurt from gripping the drops and braking, but the Lautaret was very easy, except for a few tunnels along the way, a couple were long, darkly lit and full of fumes and once, the light at the end of the tunnel was from the headlights on a truck overtaking a tractor.

Bourg d’Oisans arrived after over seven hours on the bike and I knew I’d make it up. I was feeling much better and arrived at the foot of the Alpe with a group of 10 riders and as soon as the first ramp arrived, I shed them. I was worried about going too fast but I’d taken such a punishment earlier that the feeling of dropping another rider was delectable. A Tom Boonen lookalike passed me, dressed in full Quick-Step World Champion kit and I pulled him back and rode alongside him for a bit. We past some Brits dressed in St George's flags on Harpin 20, rock music blasting out from their car stereo. I wanted to say hello but couldn’t muster the force but the music helped and I dispatched Boonen.

As I climbed up, I was overtaking riders, picking back riders who’d passed me during my bad times on the Galibier. I was keen to ride hard, to make up any lost time possible. My job of overtaking was made easier by the heat, I love the hot weather and obviously few shared this, as they stopped to put their legs into the roadside streams and waterfalls. Others were cramping, one rider unable to unclip his feet in time, he fell sideways. I must have passed 250 riders by the time I got to the giant Kingston Wheelers jersey painted on the road. I knew once I made it here, it was easier afterwards and so carried on, the resort of Alpe d’Huez now in plain view above me. Once I got to the town, the road levelled out a bit and I got the big gears going, passing more and more riders, Phil Liggett's commentary from the 1989 Tour de France, on Lemond, in my ears: "he's got the big gears and he's going like a train".

Finally the final bend came, just like the Tour de France finish, you have a sweeping curve to the left and I sprinted up towards the line. It was a final uphill effort and took a while to get to the line. I finished, empty in the legs and mind alike. The final climb had taken me 1.15, from the start to the finish line. I’d never felt so tired, my legs could pedal more but my whole body felt drained and my mind was blank. After wandering round in a daze, a quick descent down to Huez and that was it.

Right after, I felt like I was finished with cycling, the mental punishment experienced today was too much, after all cycling is supposed to be fun. But fun doesn't have to mean instant gratification, much of the enjoyment of a ride like this for me comes in having something to look forward to all year, a goal bigger than the local road races and then afterwards, you can take pride in having done it. Indeed, within hours, I was thinking about what I'd have done differently and by the next day, I said to myself I’ll be back in 2007.

.

Epilogue

All in all it's a great event, a must for anyone who wants a cycling challenge and wants to try what's the toughest, best and oldest cyclosportif going. The roads are not closed to traffic, a shame but it was never a problem, its the riders you have to watch out for. One thing I didn't like was the time for a gold medal - I'd ridden badly at times yet still got a gold medal with plenty of time to spare, I didn't feel worthy of one and felt the standard was too easy. By contrast, I finished 98th once in the Etape du Tour and they gave me a bronze!

Well done to Ben and Lawrence for their rides, we all ended up with similar performances and shared epic tales after the ride, as we tucked into our well deserved meal on the terrace outside our gite. We'll all be back for 2007.

James Beaumont	8.17.42	Gold
Lawrence Smith	8.23.07	Gold
Ben Cousins	8.41.38	Gold

Kom Op! Five things to help any Marmotte rider

At first glance, 174km doesn't sound like much. But Ben, Lawrence and I each averaged 13 miles an hour. This is not an event to be taken lightly. It's hard to explain, it will tire your legs as you'd expect but your mind goes too, you get delusional. You might think you've tested your will power in a race, in the closing miles of a time trial or on the way back home into a headwind on an epic winter training ride, but the Marmotte makes these previous efforts look trivial.

Een. Gearing: You will need low gearing, don't deceive yourself, there's more shame in walking up the Galibier than in having a triple chainset. Or go for a compact chainset. Even a fit rider should have 36x25 or 39x28.
Twee. Ride steady: It's a long day in the saddle, even a gold medal winner takes eight hours so don't follow the elites or fools who use the big ring on the Glandon.
Drie. Clothing: Unless the forecast is for a scorching day, take a rain cape as its long sleeves and windproof fabric is much better than a gilet or arm warmers.
Vier. Food: The food stops have cheese sandwiches, fine in an emergency but take the race food you're used to eating.
Vief. Litter: You might see the pros jettisoning their bottles and energy bar wrappers. Don't copy them, the Alps are scenic and cyclists are the last people who should be littering the roadside with plastic wrappers. An empty Powergel sachet weighs nothing after all.

Medal times

Here is a table for the Marmotte medal times and Marmotte age groups

Cat.	A	AB	B	C	D	E	F	G
	Womens	Womens	Womens	Mens	Mens	Mens	Mens	Mens
Age	18-34	35-49	50+	18-29	30-39	40-49	50-59	60+
Gold	10:03	10:17	10:32	8:29	8:49	9:15	9:36	10:03
Silver	12:04	12:21	12:39	10:11	10:35	11:06	11:32	12:04