After reading the post on the chatroom of the Gentlemen of La Pomme, I did not sleep. How would I get there, what would the weather be, could I do it, and of course, what would I wear? This was a few weeks ago when Patrick, one of the Gentlemen posted that he would be hosting a ride and lunch from his country place near the famed and feared Mont Ventoux. The ride of course would feature the traditional ascent from Bedoin, a grueling 21.3 km ride, climbing 1,579 metres to top out at just over 1,900 metres.

So, with extra time on my hands without sleep. I did some further research on what laid ahead of me. Patrick was good enough to send around a package including a downloadable Strava map. I studied the map and as if the Bedoin ascent wasn’t enough, he had mapped out a route that would take us over 80 km and a total of over 2200 metres around Ventoux. Simply going up and down was clearly not enough for the Gentlemen.

I read websites on tips of what to expect on the climb and how to prepare, knowing it was really a little too late for that. I did though take the precaution of changing the wheels on my bike from carbon to aluminum. I had been warned last year on a ride with a long descent that the carbon can pass the melting point very quickly with breaks applied. As slow as I am going up the hill, I am probably slower coming down. The “Tortue Canadianne” in me wanted one less thing to worry about on this field trip. The bonus of this was the largest chainring on the rear aluminum wheel I have is slightly larger than that on my carbon wheel. I am told that that is generally a good think. As poor as my french is, my understanding of bike mechanics is even worse. This little change of course involved changing brake pads and adjusting the brakes, something that I was actually able to do.  And then there was the wardrobe. I would of course be wearing the La Pomme kit, but longs or shorts, vest, or jacket and if jacket, which one? So many decisions.

The big day finally came and I was up before dawn to go through my departure timetable procedure checklist. Tires pumped, bidons filled, snacks packed, electronics reattached to bike post charging and off I went to La Pomme to meet Luis who it was agreed was going to drive. Not that Luis of course spoke a word of English, and my French may as well be Martian. After a few moments of initial panic of (i) did he forget me, (ii) did I have the time wrong, (iii) did I have the meeting place wrong, Luis arrived and off we went.

Mont Ventoux is no more than an hour and a half from Marseille. Given its size and unique bare lunar landscape (with huge antenna), the “Giant of Provence” as it is called, is seen well before you get there. It stands out and looms larger and larger with every approaching  kilometre. In a word, daunting.  We arrived in Vassols and parked as instructed as the other Pomme similarly rolled in. Final preparations were made, which included, after looking at what the others were wearing (of course), leg warmers and the choosing of the outer layer. We walked bikes and gifts to Patrick’s home around the corner, which of course was a few century old home on the main street. And after a coffee we were off.

Why we needed a good 15 km warm up ride, including climbing, was above my pay grade and place in the peloton. As always, I just followed. I am working on a new app, much like Vivino where you can just take a picture of the rear end of a cyclist in front of you in the peloton and it will tell you who they are. From where I ride, that is all I ever see.

We arrived at Bedoin and there is really a painted start line across the road indicating where the 21.3 km of pain starts from. How thoughtful. Off we went. The first five or so kilometres were as advertised, being relatively easy. And as we rounded a hairpin turn and into the 10 km of forest, that all changed. All of a sudden, I was, as often, alone. All you see is forest. All you hear is your own (heaving) breath, the odd bike passing you and the sounds of nature. For maybe 30 seconds somewhere along the way you actually see Ventoux. Other than that, just forest and a never ending road going up and up and up. It is relenting. Your mind plays games with you. I looked forward with anticipation to each kilometre road marker which also included the grade in percent of the following kilometre. There was really no need for that. It was all doubt digit and I just kept turning my legs and singing to myself or out loud Israeli folk songs. Don’t ask me why. I did that as well of my friend Steve, back in Toronto, then in a rehab hospital overcoming Guillain-Barre Syndrome.

The monotony was only broken by the odd cyclist passing me shouting out words of encouragement (did I look that bad?) or car, motorcycle or truck. What I did not really need was the belching exhaust of paving equipment. Thank you very little. It was no doubt there for the pros who this coming July 7 will climb what I climbed as part of Stage 11 of the Tour de France. They will actually climb it twice that day, once each from two of three routes up. Close to the top, a photographer took my picture and handed me his card. I looked later, and it really was not a postcard with my shirt undone and gut hanging out.

The top of the Bald Mountain (its other name) came into view as did Sacha who was kindly waiting for me at Chateau Reynard, which notwithstanding its picturesque name, is nothing more than a car park area, picnic tables and a restaurant (selling pizza of course). But what a welcome site it was! After a comfort and water break, off the two of us went for the final five kilometre push up the lunar face. We had to duck around further road resurfacing equipment and a road barrier still down and up we went. Charly, no doubt wondering what had ever happened to me, cycled down and met us and up the three of us went.

It really is the moon. There is nothing by white limestone rock and not a blade of grass or weed to be seen. And thankfully there really was no wind. But it certainly was getting cool. We were passed often by cyclists on electric bikes. Personally, I have no issue with that at all and no doubt the next bike I buy will be an e-bike. It is a great thing to get more people outdoors and doing things that they otherwise could not do. Nothing wrong with that at all. We got closer and closer and chugged up and up. We passed the memorial to Tom Simpson, a famed British cyclist who during the 1967 Tour de France died of a heart attack on this very piece of road. His memorial, as is tradition, was festooned with bidons, or water bottles.

We tuned the last corner and up the final ramp and were met by the cheering Pomme. We made it, Steve. A few quick pictures were taken and given that they no doubt were already there for an hour waiting for me, we donned jackets and made our way down a switchback road back to civilization. And if that climb was not enough, on we went for a good further 30km before ending up back at Patrick’s home. Fun is fun but enough is enough. I think it was pretty scenery, but by then, I just wanted to get off my bike. I really did not need more climbing.

Once back at Patrick’s bikes were put away, clothes changed and we sat outside in the backyard with food and drink. It was delightful and for me as memorable as the ride itself. This really is Provence. And while the language was French, I could if I concentrated, follow along a bit, add from time to time the five words I know, and just sat there smiling and taking in the events of a very memorable day.

I don’t need to climb Mont Ventoux again any time soon, but I am very glad I did it. And yes, after a week of not really sleeping, I indeed slept very well that night.