Next morning I woke up and it wasn’t raining (as forecasted) and began thinking…

I thought I could ridden stronger on the previous day’s ride and found my mind wandering for a brief moment. Now at first I thought “self, you must be joking”, you don’t need to do this, you just did it (and had enough red wine at dinner that would end any contemplation). Then I started to wonder ‘what if’.

Amazingly, my legs weren’t sore, body wasn’t aching and I felt pretty good when I walked down the stairs to breakfast. Two thoughts entered my mind, either I’m still pain-free because of the wine at dinner, OR I might be getting in shape. At breakfast my curiosity grew…

Sitting at the breakfast table my curiosity turned into hope, my hope turned into a plan and then all of a sudden I was eating a “pre-ride” kind of breakfast instead of a tourist-breakfast. Nothing was perfect about this moment; my favourite clothes needed washing, I had been drinking more the night before, no sleep again (what’s that anyway?) and I had to check out.

It was decided; I’m going to do the ride AGAIN and it might be kind of ‘fun’ because now I have no pressure and hey, I’m in France! Then walking up the stairs to my room I was quickly reminded that I had just climbed 2200 metres the previous day BUT I already had made up my mind and committed myself to doing it.

Frantically, I got myself ready and shot out the door at 10am on my bike with everything I needed for a successful repeat (and betterment) of my previous day’s ride. Climbing on my bike I felt ok, legs were a bit stiff but I quickly was distracted by a Belgian guy in his mid 40’s that was leaving Valloire to Telegraphe to descend so he could ascend. There seems to be a common, multinational theme with cyclists visiting the Alps: bring your bike, find a big mountain, start at the bottom and ride to the top.

Descending Telegraphe was WAY better this time (as there was no rain or residual moisture) and since I was keeping an eye on metrics, I took notice that I descended several minutes faster. On my way down the Col, I saw a whole string of cyclists that were on the way up Telegraphe (which is inspirational, more people to ‘catch’ on the way up), a couple ambulances, police cars/motorbikes and a helicopter on one of the switchbacks (an accident that didn’t look good). About 500 metres from the base of the climb I noticed a guy going up in the maillot vert (sprinter’s jersey). I quickly turned around and thought he’d be a good person to chase…

After about a kilometre I managed to chase him down and then exchanged pleasantries in French and we both agreed on several things (je suis plus fatigue, je suis tres chaud, Thomas Voeckler, Viva le Tour de France and the countdown of each km in French to the finish). Somewhere during our brief ride together, I also found out that he was French, 29, weighed 69 kilograms, was 173 centimetres, and was only doing Telegraphe then c’est tout. We climbed together for 11 of the 12 kilometres and I (le grandpere) set the tempo so I could beat my time from the previous day. This young Frenchman had company (his dad) with him who would stop every kilometre on the side of the road, yell at him and then offer him water and encouragement, nice dad.

At halfway I pulled away and began riding solo thinking that he had fallen off the back. 3 Kilometres later his dad stopped in front of me and was cheering him on, so I knew he was getting close but I wasn’t about to slow down. We rode together for another 2 km exchanging facial expressions and noises only (another common theme when you don’t ‘speak’ a foreign language but this communication always prevails). With 2 km to go, I turned the screw and pushed the pace. He followed for about 500 metres but then I couldn’t hear him anymore and knew that I had gotten away. A quick sprint for the summit ensued and after summiting, I waited for him (with his grumpy looking dad). When he got to the top he was all smiles and I was very happy to see that I had helped “push him” on the climb. I invited him along for Galibier but he looked at me with an expression that didn’t require language or hand gestures.

So I zipped-up and descended into Valloire.

Always riding with music is my one motivation when all else is failing (mostly my body) and on Telegraphe I had ‘unplugged’ to carry a conversation of broken French, grunts, sighs and some other weird noises he was making. Unfortunately when I hit ‘play’ on my ipod, nothing was coming out and my motivation slowed to a grinding halt. Given my effort on Telegraphe, coupled with an ill-functioning ipod and a long (read: conquest) drive ahead to Frankfurt; the hotel driveway suddenly looked very inviting as it approached.

This would be my last ride before returning to Toronto.

As I drove from Valloire toward Frankfurt through these magnificent Haute Alpes, I felt sad to be leaving a place of such beauty and inspiration.

To be continued…

Today started off like any other, woke up sweating like crazy at 4am and tossed and turned until I dropped out of bed and dragged myself downstairs before breakfast ended at 9:30. Threw myself in the shower and ate some dark chocolate to ‘wake up’. Spent 45 minutes cleaning my bike, drinking water and trying to find some music on itunes radio. Blocked my pelvis (get your mind out of the gutter) as Dr Jay and I have decided helps keep my knee in check since Mallorca and then hit up a few websites for today’s parcours. At 11:30 I was dressed, bike ready and out the door…

Decided on a strategy of riding from Valloire up to Col du Telegraphe (5km uphill), then descending Telegraphe to turn around at the bottom and begin my benchmark ride to Col du Galibier some 35 km away. Ride started off well, decided to take it easy and just find myself at the base of Telegraphe whenever I got there, which is a good thing because there was some rain as I descended. Took some pictures, enjoyed the scenery and the smell of rain on the pavement.

Reaching the bottom of Telegraphe, I turned around, took one last picture and then shot uphill to the Category 1, 12km summit in 45 minutes. At this point I was in ‘conservation’ mode, trying to keep things easy and spin up in as small a gear as I could without losing too much time. I had a goal of about 2 hours to summit Galibier, a time I’d achieved back in 2006 so I wanted to be mindful of the big climb that came after Telegraphe. You may be thinking (as I am), 2 hours to ride 35 kilometres? Yes, sadly, it means an average speed of nearly 17km’h to haul myself up 30 km (from the base of Telegraphe) of climbing, only descending 5km of the 35. I can assure you that the podium hopefuls in the Tour are doing this exact route (as they did in Stage 19 this year) in less than 90 minutes…scary.

Descending into Valloire I began preparing myself for the next step of today’s ride: Col du Galibier. The climbing starts before the blink of an eye and then it’s all uphill from there to the summit some 18km’s away. It’s hard because you have a steep section right out of Valloire and then it becomes a grind-fest where you are in the open battling wind and a constant 4-5% grade for 9km before you even hit the base of Galibier. You catch yourself wondering “am I there yet”? The ride to the base of Galibier affords some amazing views of the beautiful mountains. Between gasps, looking up you are simply amazed at how spectacular this landscape truly is; stunning.
Legs start to tire after a constant ‘false flat’. As I make my way to the base of ‘the climb’, a nifty little sign tells you that you have 8.5km to the summit. Awesome. Deciding to do something different this time, I start off a bit slower and in my smallest gear (hello 38×26) to give my back a rest (thinking of something crazy that I was considering doing after the summit). The climbing began…

Things seemed to be going along pretty decent for the first 3 kilometres and then reality set-in, this isn’t Alpe d’Huez, Platzerwasel or any other climb. I’ve waited 5 years to climb this Goliath of a mountain and it’s really happening. Galibier commands all of your attention, focus and concentration. You’re constantly giving yourself feedback (self-talk) about your pedaling cadence, your position on the bike, the way you are applying pressure to the pedal stroke (pedaling circles with power, 360 degrees), watching the pitch in the road, hitting the switchbacks and banking off them to gain some speed, checking your breathing, your heart rate and at the same time watching traffic and taking notice of what the weather is doing. You’re monitoring all of these factors as you pull on the brake hoods with each pedal stroke, alternating with the tops of the bars and taking note of what your back is doing and how it’s being used for each revolution. You get tired and feel your cadence start to slow a bit so you get out of the saddle and stop on the pedals a few hundred metres and then sit back down, paying attention to how far back you are sitting, ensuring you are pulling back and up, getting good use of those hamstrings.
On today’s ride I had the good fortune of amazing weather on Galibier and some riders (ahead) acting as carrots that dangled in front of me: a goal. Climbing on, I hit markers for 5 then 4 kilometres to the summit. I climbed on.

Never shared this before but back in 2005, the first time I climbed Col du Galibier it was at this 4k point to the summit (and I’ll never forget it) that I had a mini-meltdown and was forced to get off my bike and stand there completely dumbfounded at what was happening and why I wasn’t still on my bike riding up the mountain. After a few minutes I did get back on my bike to crawl up the mountain toward the summit but again with 2k to go my mind started wandering and I became flooded with emotion at about 2400m of elevation. I chalked it up to fatigue and hypoxia and pressed on until I reached the top. The second time I did Galibier in 2006 I rode-on past that 4k marker on the side of the road but again had this overwhelming emotional release-thing with 2k to summit. Well, today I wanted to make sure that that 4k marker wasn’t going to be a sticking point for my ride and I needed to prove to myself that last time wasn’t a fluke, so I made a point of standing and stomping on my pedals when I reached it. No fluke, we’re good at the 4k to summit point. Something about 2k ‘to go’ still has me… I’ll never understand it: 3 for 3.

Last kilometre of Galibier is ridiculously hard. You’ve been climbing steady since the base of Telegraphe for 29km and then it hits you like a wall. It taunts and toys with you because you can see the summit and the few people that are up there and although it’s only 1000 metres away (and then you start breaking it down to the simplest form, recalling a ride when you were a kid to the corner store) you are dying and you have almost nothing left when you finally reach that damn sign that says “Col du Galibier – 2645m”. Taking a picture of (what else) the sign, I zip-up and begin my 18km descent into Valloire thus signalling the end of my ride and the end of this trip.

Descending has to be one of my favourite things to do on this planet, passing cars, motorbikes, other cyclists, it’s exhilarating and you feel alive. Nearly running out of road a few times around corners I had the opportunity to remind myself that ‘this is what it’s all about’. You ride with everything you’ve got and you take up every available centimetre of the road and if you’re going too fast into a corner or see an oncoming car when you’re trying to pass, it will always work out. When tears are streaming from your eyes, the air rushing all around you, your chest and knees tucked snugly to the top tube and your eyes focused as far ahead as possible (and on the small rocks/sand/water on the road directly in front) and the ground moving underneath you at tremendous speed; it is in this very moment that I feel calm and free, infallible and invincible.

Part of my ‘plan’ today was to summit Galibier and then descend to Col Lautaret and climb the south side of Galibier before heading back to the hotel but Jekyll won, Hyde lost and sanity prevailed. Reaching the summit today at 2:03, I decided it was a success (in its own right) and I had nothing further to prove on this ride.
One of the great things about the mountains is that they will always be here. They are a constant that will never change; only we will. I’ve already set a goal for myself to do the same ride in 1:50 when I return.

Col du Galibier is truly one of the most mythical mountains in the Tour de France. It will continue to inspire, motivate and evoke emotions I didn’t know I had. Climbing Galibier is the closest I’ve come to a spiritual awakening. It has the capacity to be that powerful. You never feel alone when you’re on your way up even when you’re that close to your breaking point. A powerful force or divine intervention visits you; drives you, propels you and lifts you to that next switchback when all you want to do is give up and quit.

Merci Galibier.

As I sat at dinner tonight drinking some vin rouge, I caught myself thinking: I have nothing left to prove.

I’ve put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to have this remarkable last ride before returning to Toronto. It got me thinking how we each set benchmark’s for ourselves from a very early age and spend a lifetime trying to live up to these expectations (we create) which may or may not be realistic or attainable.

Funny how one single ride can define (and determine) the success, enjoyment and fulfillment of a whole vacation… In this moment, this is the stark reality.

As I sit here staring at this screen with my bike in the background I can’t help but think; it’s really not about the bike. Maybe it’s not about winning or losing. Maybe it really is about “how” you play the game. When I see these 50 and 60 year old men riding up these Col’s, I can’t help but think, they’re playing the game the way it’s meant to be played.

Admittedly, Its tough when you have a fire inside that ignites a ‘win’ only mentality. I’m seeing that ‘winning’ can take on different variations and in this fleeting moment, I’m counting my ‘wins’. Coming on this trip was a win; tasting amazing wine and eating food to die for was a win. Seeing the Tour de France on Alpe d’Huez, meeting new people, not having a ‘plan’; all wins.

Tomorrow when I get on my bike with the fancy new outfit I’ve been saving for Galibier, I’ll decide how I want to plan my ride and if/how I want to try to measure up to the past (or set a new benchmark) or simply be content watching others ride by as I drink my Kronenbourg on the sidelines. Most importantly, I’ll remove a multitude of (self) pressure, knowing that this trip has already been a tremendous success. Regardless of whether or not I can ride up these mountains, what my time might be or how I’m perceived on my polka dot bike; I’ve seen, tasted, smelled, touched and heard beauty in France and Italy.

Either the red wine is exceptionally strong tonight or I’m philosophizing way too much.

When the morning comes, a mountain awaits: Col du Galibier.

Seems like a million years since I last blogged about my European adventure (which began July 14th ), although it’s only been 4 days. Interestingly, I accidentally pulled up the screen on my GPS which gave me all the stats since plugging it into my car in Frankfurt. I’ve spent 49 hours driving that wonderful Audi some 3400 km’s across Germany, France, Switzerland and Italy. There were other stats but I’ll have to get back to you on those… In addition to the km’s I’ve driven there have been road taxes (Switzerland) of 40 euro and tolls in Italy that have likely cost me upwards of 100 euro so far. Don’t mind paying tolls here because the roads are meticulous. I think we need to take a page from some of these countries books and get with the program; our roads are deplorable for driving AND cycling.

Bolzano was stunning; an amazing city for cycling with hundreds of kilometres of bicycle paths and lots of mountain passes to climb in the Dolomites. I had a great couple of rides there but was really not happy with the food selection (Austrian/Tyrol than Italian) and my hotel room was not exactly up to my standards (insert remarks here). So, on Thursday morning I packed up the car (again) and decided to pick between Chianti, Menton (Nice, France) and Cuneo. In the end, Cuneo won so driving towards the French Alps began…

Driving south of Trento I thought it made sense to get on my blackberry and find out where Tedeschi and Tomassi were located in Pedemonte so I could taste some wonderful Amarones. Twenty seconds after inputting the coordinates (into GPS) I had a small tasting detour to embark upon on my way to Cuneo. Verona here I come!

Reaching Tomassi; I got in a quick Amarone tasting before they closed, bought some wine (which I’m still not sure how I’m going to bring back to Canada) and then was on my way into Verona. Verona was very beautiful and it was great to see the city (even if only while driving through), the waterway, the bridges and the architecture.
After driving around Verona, I found the autostrada and decided to get back on course as I still had a sizable trip to Hotel Portici, a “bicycle-friendly” hotel about 25 km outside of Cuneo in Vicoforte. With a long day behind the wheel, it was all about getting there before sun down so I could quickly check-in; explore the small city before finding a decent place for dinner.

The hotel is alright, which is a welcome change from that in Bolzano, my room has 14 foot ceilings and a huge window which overlooks the city square and a huge Duomo. After speaking with a few people they suggested trying a restaurant called Moretto. Best place EVER. Hands down, the best Italian I’ve had. Place maybe seats 15 people and was completely empty which meant I had them serving me countless courses over 2.5 hours.

After a day of rest (driving from Bolzano), the first day of riding began. After riding around for an hour, I got lost (again, Italians and directions don’t marry well) while looking for a way to Barolo; a mostly “flat” route. Well not surprisingly, I ended up in the mountains (surprise, surprise) on a road headed up a mountain that has seen both the Tour de France and the Giro d’Italia finish at the summit. I had no idea what Prato Nevoso meant on the sign when I saw it; all I knew is that I was riding at the base of some decent size mountains. Turns out this climb was 14km long and reached 1750m, pretty comparable to Alpe d’Huez but felt steeper (must have been the Barolo/Moscato at dinner).

With another 4 hour ride under my belt I was feeling pretty smug so decided to treat myself to gelato for lunch (which has become a staple in my diet with nothing open here from 130-430 and dinner at Moretto (again) where I’d take on the rest of the menu and anything else Julian and Maria would throw at me: Another amazing dinner.
Second day of riding was great, finally managed to find my way out of Vicoforte to Barolo. I’ve learned something about this area; you’re going up/down a hill or up/down a mountain. The word “flat” becomes relative to the amount of grade that you’re either climbing or descending. I’m pretty sure a flat road doesn’t exist within 50km of here and if it does, I’m yet to find it. Barolo is spectacular, similar landscape to any wine country but SO MANY vines. Rolling hills as far as the eye can see, scattered with vineyards and grapes.

After enjoying my ride to Barolo so much, I decided to jump in the car and return to explore the beautiful countryside and do some tastings. Fortunately, I found 2 wineries that were open; Rovello and Corino where tastings began! The first place was really nice and very small. I was the only one there and I wasn’t sure if I was even at the right place because I was basically at a house with a doorbell and it was such a change from the wineries I’d been to in Niagara where it’s all very corporate. As I’m standing at the door I’m greeted by a lady who offers to take me into their tasting area and sample some of their wines. It was really quite something to sit there and taste the wines while looking out onto hundreds of acres of vines. After tasting 5 different varietals it was suggested I check out another winemaker a very close distance away so off I went in search of Renato Corino’s place. Only a 3 minute drive I found this winery and (again) pulled up to a “house” that didn’t look like a winery but saw cars in a driveway so pulled in. After walking around the property I could hear people talking so I found some stairs and went up to a huge terrace that overlooked Barolo. Immediately, they asked me if I’d like to try some wine (there were a group of 2 couples and the winemaker and his wife, Lilianna) and asked me to sit at their outdoor tasting table where they served some sort of pepperoni/bread and 3 different Barolos. Then there was the tour, where I got to see the barrels where the wine was aged which was very cool as they only produce a very small amount of cases each year.

With 7:30 approaching, I asked them where I could find a good pizzeria. They quickly decided that I would join them (and the couples from Germany) for dinner at some local place. Fast forward; dinner was great and then we went to a gelateria where Renato’s brother and some other local winemakers were hanging out sampling (what else) wine. I left the gelateria with an open-ended invitation to return anytime for dinner or to help harvest the grapes.

Grey skies and the possibility of rain yesterday meant a rest day, hanging around the hotel, eating gelato (not once but twice) and then dinner at a pizzeria in San Michele. Dinner was ‘ok’. I expected more and was somewhat disappointed to find a mostly bland penne arabbiata and pizza but was very happy with the Ratti Dolcetta d’Alba that I washed it down with.

After a restless sleep (I miss air conditioning at this hotel), It was time to get back on my bike this morning and do a ‘decent’ ride which meant a) hitting the mountains or b) doing a long ride in the countryside. Not feeling like climbing (a mountain) today I decided on heading down to Savona on the Mediterranean Sea. So much for my rest day from climbing, the hills were relentless and then I plunged from 770 meters down to 57 where I took a few pictures, bought some water and then turned around to greet a 63 km return trip of climbing back up what I had just descended. Fun.

One of the scary things about today’s ride wasn’t the fact that it was 32 degrees (before the humidex), the fact that I was doing an ‘out and back’ ride putting me pretty far from the hotel, but the half a dozen tunnels that I had to ride through en route to Savona and then back to Vicoforte. Technically the little sign with a bicycle and a BIG red circle around it means that you aren’t supposed to ride in the tunnel but how else am I supposed to get there if I don’t take the Autostrade? What’s awesome about these tunnels is that they vary in length from a few hundred metres to a few kilometres. What’s even better is that lighting in these tunnels is sort of well, crap or non-existent. This all meant one thing for today’s ride… when you hit a tunnel, go like hell and time trial until you see light again and try not to look back at 18 wheelers coming from behind and pray that the one coming at you and the one coming behind don’t try to squeeze through (at the same time) with you riding on the side of the road.

Gave it about all I had today, riding as hard as I could down to Savona then back to Vicoforte. Feeling pretty spent the last few days from a combination of factors, not sleeping well, burning a gazillion calories and the constant barrage of hills that are never ending. Thinking tonight will be my last at Hotel Portici and then I’ll head somewhere closer to the Alps where I can begin preparing for ride that will define this entire trip; Galibier. I’ve done Galibier twice in the past, on 2 separate occasions, tackling Col du Telegraph first and then on to the monsterous Col du Galibier. Each time I’ve ridden up Galibier it was like an out of body experience, flooded with emotions and attempting to balance mental strength with physical exhaustion. To this day, nothing has touched me more than this ride. It holds the ace, yet to be trumped by something else.

I’ve undoubtedly spent more days riding in Europe than my previous trips to France (today was number 12 to be exact of 19 days) although don’t have a racing season under my belt (for the past 4 years), I’m 5 years older and exactly how strong can you really get from only 12 rides? Guess we’ll find out soon enough…
Wine consumption is also undeniably higher this go-round. Thankfully, I’ve managed to balance riding with eating and drinking (perhaps in excess), but my riding hasn’t exactly been leisurely so I think the 2 ‘excesses’ balance each other quite nicely.

I’ve never been one to approach things half-fast, settle for normal, mediocre or the status quo. Why would I start now?

In Europe, one word continues to resonate with me: PASSION.

Monday morning I woke in Montalcino to see the sun shining, which was a welcome change from the previous day’s rainstorm. I decided that it was a good day to check out of the hotel and continue on to a new place. Before leaving Montalcino I was certain to stock-up with some local wine which has become my favourite over the past year.
Reaching Florence (for what I thought might be lunch), it became clear that there were 2 problems, 1 being in a car in Florence is just wrong and 2, I’d skipped the Chianti region on the way up. Solution: drive around looking for parking in downtown Florence and then decide enough was enough and head back to Greve in Chianti for tastings and lunch. Am I ever happy that I decided to check out Chianti… of course I also bought some wine there too…

Hitting the road it became obvious that I need to head back to the mountains for a good challenge and some better weather than I had in Tuscany. So another long drive ensued, stopping briefly in Milano at the STRAF hotel and then continued on to Bolzano for some riding in the Dolomites. Damn, am I ever happy I went for the Audi A4, S Line Avant this trip; been in the car FOREVER.

Decided it would be good to get out first thing yesterday and see what these Dolomites are all about knowing the Giro d’Italia visits them every year. Spent the first hour looking for a road that went up (a mountain), instead ended up riding around the city aimlessly searching for an access road. Finally I found one and the climbing began…

Now the great thing about France is that there are these little markers on the side of the road that tell you how far you’ve ridden, how far you’ve got to the summit and the highway/road you’re on. In Italy however, they like to keep you guessing, so guess you do. Started this climb (somewhere) and ended up climbing this monsterously steep-ass climb of some unknown distance and unknown grade to God knows where. I was sweating, pedaling up this thing and I was dying. My smallest gear is a 38×26 and I could barely turn the pedals and I later learned that my speed dipped to 9 km’h (good thing I didn’t know that when I was climbing, how humbling) and that the climb was 10 km long, the grade somewhere around 15%. Unfortunately, my GPS showed a location but none of the maps that I’ve seen online or store bought show this road. Awesome. After reaching the summit I turned around and plunged back down to the valley. When I say ‘plunge’ I can’t be more accurate with that description. The whole time I descended I kept thinking to myself, ‘terminal velocity’. I was hitting ridiculous speeds between short hairpin turns/switch backs and later learned that I hit 83 km’h in one stretch without even trying. After 3 hours a ridiculously hard climb that made both Alpe d’Huez and Platzerwasel seem easy, I found my way back to the hotel; mission accomplished.

Bolzano has some of the most amazing trails I’ve ever seen anywhere for cyclists. I’ve been to Rotterdam, I’ve been to Strasbourg and I have to say that I am beside myself with the hundreds of kilometres of bike trails they have in this area. You literally would never have to be with cars EVER in this city on a bike. The number of people on bikes here is astounding. Young, old, mothers with children, families, recreational, transportation, racers, everyone. The people here are actually quite fit; everyone is relatively thin which is pretty unfamiliar to me. Everything closes here at 1:30 and everyone takes to the trails to ride. I’ve never seen so many middle aged men riding bikes all decked out in/with the latest and greatest. One thing though, NO ONE smiles. Everyone seems to have a scowl on their face when they are riding on the trail. Now I’m nowhere near Mr. Happy but I thought to myself if these people could go ride in the smog centre of downtown Toronto and play chicken with cars every time they ride, THEN they would have a reason to be so grumpy. So I made it my mission to start smiling at everyone when they rode by, even initiating conversation as I rode by them. I’m sure some of you are pissing yourself laughing at this but hey, when in Italy…

After having eaten like a king in Montalcino, Tuscany, I was less than satisfied with anything Liefers (just outside Bolzano) had to offer. This translated into one thing for dinner last night: gelato. Then it hit and hit HARD, I hadn’t drank any wine ALL DAY. Day 1 of no wine on my trip. Unacceptable.

Let’s talk about my hotel room for a second. Having come from the straf I landed myself in this 1950’s, never been renovated amazingness with carpet floors, a built in stereo (in the headboard), the ugliest bathroom you’ve ever seen complete with toiletries that had been there since the place opened and a TV on a swivel arm that MIGHT be 10”. Best thing about this room is the modular chair that I’m sitting in which I’m sure is the original fabric that has enough ass sweat in it to give me some kind of disease. Other than that, it’s completely charming and offers a sumptuous breakfast of eggs, any way.

Yesterday I met Thomas, a Swedish guy who’s here to do the Giro Dolimiti (Saturday). Saw him at breakfast today so we hooked up for a ride, an easy 4.5 hour spin up 2 passes. This is the first time I’ve ridden with someone in France/Italy and it was good to know that I’m as impatient as everyone says. From the word go, I was hammering away at 36 km’h towing along Thomas all the way to the base of the climb in Lana. When we hit the climb my initial reaction was to ‘jump’, find a rhythm, hitting my training heart rate of 165-175bpm as quickly as possible. Well this wasn’t going to be this kind of ride today. It became abundantly clear that this was going to be an ‘easy’ day. So I climbed this AMAZING climb at 133bpm in my easiest gear and the whole time I wanted to be redlining… Since Thomas was gracious to show me a route to ride I didn’t want to be a jerk and ride off so I met his pace for the duration, up Gampenpass, short descent (where I pushed my heart rate to 154bpm) and then Mendelpass.

After sucking diesel fumes for nearly 2 hours on the way up, it was finally time to dance down this descent and have some fun. Started off well with Thomas right behind me holding my wheel, drafting (he has smaller gears – a compact so can’t go as fast when you CAN pedal) and then I took off. Encountered a row of 5 cars that were being led by a small RV and were sucking the fun out of this; BIG TIME. So waiting for the right moment I started passing the first car, and then the second and then I had a bit of a straightaway where I thought I had enough space to overtake 3 cars before the hairpin coming up… Slammed it in my biggest gear (53×11) and got out of the saddle and gave it everything I could to pass these 3 cars before the hairpin. All was going well until it started to rain. There’s something not so fun about descending at God knows what speed playing chicken with oncoming traffic, passing traffic in your lane (making sure they aren’t about to do the same thing) and then hitting a hairpin at full speed 200 metres away when it starts pouring rain.

Well, since I’m writing this you all know how the story ends, ultimately. Yes mom, I was wearing a helmet and yes, I did manage to overtake all 3 cars, stay upright and avoid getting hit by and oncoming car or going over the barrier and into an undisclosed wooded area a 100 meters down the mountain. Life is about experiences and I have to say that when it starts to rain and you’re going 60+ km’h downhill into a hairpin, you get really excited when you come out unscathed. With all of the cars behind me for the rest of the descent I had another few kilometres of switchbacks, hairpins and rain to contend with and then it was dry and clear sailing all the way to the base; fun times!

As I waited at the bottom for Thomas, I thought, he must think I’m crazy. Instead, when he made his way down (with the traffic I passed) he says to me “you’re fast going down”. I tell him, “it’s my favourite part”, we both laugh and continue onward.

Lesson learned; when you wear a helmet you are infallible and you have super-human powers.

After an action-packed first driving to Alpe d’Huez from Munster, the rain, the cold and the first ascent; the second day was far more relaxing. First climb up Alpe d’Huez in 5 years was a subtle reminder that a) I’m getting older b) that’s one serious climb and c) maybe half a bottle (or more, lost track) of wine the night before my ride (while blogging) isn’t the best way to “carb-up”.

Second day was spent in Bourg d’Oisans looking for essentials like arm-warmers, a gore-tex jacket and the perfect croissant. Of course the bike shop was PACKED full of every person on 2 wheels in the area looking for the same ‘essentials’ given the weather; feeling more like October than July. After deciding there was nothing in my size to buy except a jersey that I hadn’t seen in Canada I made my way back up the mountain (referred to as Dutch Mountain because they have the most wins going up) it was clear that the tour was almost near. With every intention on riding once the weather cleared, I stumbled into a bar and began watching the Tour on television at 12:30… Must have fallen into Tour-fever because I didn’t end up leaving until Stage 18 was over and it was almost dinner time.

Decided to try my luck on a pizza place called Pinocchio’s that got good reviews and then ended up back at Au p’tit Creux for dessert (cheesecake with berries). While having dessert I met a Belgian commentator that had been working every stage since the tour began nearly 3 weeks ago. We chatted and got on well as he recalled the World Championships in Hamilton in 2003. Seems everyone seemed to be speaking English this trip. First night at the restaurant I met a woman that works for team Leopard Trek as the event planner who I overheard speaking English, Italian, Danish and French. At the Pizza place there was an English couple in their 50’s that started up a conversation with me about the Tour which went on forever as we compared our list of Col’s climbed.

Onto the last day at Alpe d’Huez which was an early one as I wanted to get in one more climb before the mayhem and the road closures. I’d heard the previous day from several riders at the bar that there had been some bad accidents with cyclists hitting cars (or visa versa) and cyclists losing control and some serious injuries resulting. As I said before, thousands of people come here each year to ‘climb’ the 21 hairpins but few of them know anything about how to get down the mountain once they reach the summit (read: scary).

Leaving at 9 o’clock after my pre-ride croissant from Florentin it was abundantly clear that with the road closure at 1030, everyone staying near the mountain decided it was time to start making their way up. So you’ve got team cars, officials, spectators walking/driving, the press and a gazillion cyclists riding up Alpe d’Huez all at the same time… chaos.

If there was any kind of hope of trying to climb to set some sort of personal best, forget it. It was a good climb after the first few km’s and I felt WAY better than the first time up but too many people meant nowhere to find open road to ride fast. At this point people were madly painting the roads with their favourite team/rider and “Dutch Corner” had become a circus which is to be expected since it’s ‘their’ mountain. Picture a hundred or more guys that have been camping out in trailers, cars and tents drinking beer incessantly for 3 days leading up to the stage and you have a good idea of what kind of shenanigans go on.

Stage 19 was amazing. Watched a good part of it on TV and then quickly ran out to the nearest roundabout with my camera to catch them 500m from the finish. It was really awesome to watch them climb my favourite climbs, Telegraph and Galibier; knowing exactly where they were on their way up and way down as I watched on TV.

My last dinner had to be at P’tit Creux where I became instantly known as ‘The Canadian or Canadienne” and always had a table for me. While finishing up dinner it was awesome to have the Leopard Trek owners and big wigs celebrating their yellow jersey at the table next to mine and also see some of the people I met the first night. Continuing back to my hotel after dinner I saw team Movistar setting up shop as they did (when they were caisse epargne) 5 years ago when I was there and was fortunate to meet the eventual yellow jersey winner, Oscar Perriero.

With rain in the forecast (for the weekend) in the Alps, I thought it was time to relocate and begin the long drive to Tuscany where I’d find warmer weather and lots of sunshine. After a solid 8 hour drive to Turin, Genova and 600 km later I finally reached my destination, Montalcino. Found a hotel called hotel dei Capitani, got checked in, started tasting some fantastic Brunello’s then had an awesome dinner at one of the local places here.

This morning I woke up, saw how beautiful it was outside and decided to venture out into the beautiful countryside on my bike. Was having an amazing ride, really pushing hard as I passed vineyard after vineyard on my way to Siena. Well, clouds started rolling in; big black rain clouds. Cutting my ride (after noticing fields upon fields of sunflowers turned face down) I thought it would be wise to head back and beat the rain.

And then it rained. We’re not talking a few drops. This was the biggest rain storm that I had ever ridden in… if Noah had been around I would have asked for an Ark because the run-off on the side of the roads was deeper than my rim and I was a good 20km from the hotel. First thing to get wet was of course my hair, then my back, then my feet, then I was full-on soaked from head to toe (including my ipod/blackberry). I used to love riding in the rain when I was younger but this wasn’t rain, this was a deluge; a torrential downpour of ridiculous proportions. Rain drops were as big as twonies and rain was coming from the side, the back and spraying up from my bike. Awesome. My favourite part however was riding the last 2km on cobblestones and then going down a 12% cobblestone hill to the hotel.

Fortunately I’m now dry. Bike on the other hand is going to need some help as water is in everything (read my nightmare on a trip next to not having it show up at the airport) and my shoes are completely waterlogged.

I swear this rain is following me. I’ve been dodging it since I arrived in Europe. Honestly, it’s actually been a miracle that this is the first time that I got caught. Looking on the bright side (which doesn’t come natural so I’m reaching here), it’s better to have been caught in 25C then 10C temperature.

Quick bite to eat, a thorough cleaning of my pristine polka-dot bike and out the door I went with leg and arm warmers (and a vest I’m not sure why I packed). After a ridiculously cold decent from the hotel by hands were numb… awesome.

Made my way to centreville in Munster then continued onward to Sondernach, the base of Plazterwasel. Now whoever the jerk was that coined the term “false flat” (a road that seems flat but actually goes up in grade) needs to think of something a little more realistic, how about “positive hill”? For kilometres you are gradually feeling the burn more and more and then you hit the base of the climb and you’re like “I’ve just BEEN climbing, now I have to climb this?!”. Platzerwasel is steep. How steep you might ask, well it’s close to 10% over about 8km, never mind the 8km at 3% to reach the base. Anyway, mission accomplished, got up and over Platzerwasel, passed along the Route des Cretes where I was greeted by half a dozen mooing cows along the road which makes things tricky when you want to get by them quickly without being gored and/or chased. I was sort of feeling like a cow myself at that point; slow, cold and needing to be put out to pasture (apparently a Lara bar doesn’t cut it as a power-breakfast before a 2.5 hour ride).

Descended Col de la Schlucht one more time, yet this time the road was still wet so that makes things dicey at 60 km/h and found my heart rate at 150bpm for different reasons than the previous decent: fear of “hitting the deck” – missing a turn and falling over a barrier or becoming a hood ornament of oncoming traffic; all good times. Made my way back up the final climb to the hotel and had my last breakfast consisting of bread, bread and oh, more bread.

Driving down to the Alps is always an amazing journey.

When you pass Chamonix en route to Grenoble, you start to see the ‘big mountains’ which line you on both sides. You can’t help but be completely fascinated by the sheer magnitude and ruggedness of the Alps, plus the fact that you see snow on the tops makes it all the more interesting.

After 5.5 hours in the car I finally hit the last stretch of road that takes me into Bourg d’Oisans, the base of Alpe d’Huez. Driving on the D1091 you are literally driving between mountains on either side and the last 30km are one of amazement and vocation. Such beauty, you can’t help but fall in love with these mountains. It’s funny, as I’m driving to the hotel and approach the last few km’s I start to feel excitement; it’s almost mystical and defintely emotional. Maybe it’s the history of these mountains, my past here, what it showed me, how it changed me or the fact that here I was, back again 5 years later. When you see these mountains (and the roads that wind up them) you feel inspired; you can visualize the riders struggling, you know their pain, you’ve been there, you’ve felt it: it’s real.

It’s a very visceral feeling when I see the Alps.

As I drive up to the summit (and my hotel), the road is littered with riders that have come from all over the world to take a crack at the most famous climb in the history of the Tour de France, Alpe d’Huez. With 21 hairpins, an average grade of 8%, 14km in length and an altitude of 1850m, Alpe d’Huez has provided a battleground for Tour riders since 1913 where the race has many a time been won and lost on this single climb of 21 stages (now that`s significance).

Funny, I’ve never seen so many people riding; attempting to tame the mountain. Many middle aged men, fathers and sons (guaranteed makes me emotional every time), women, daughters. You see them riding mountain bikes, road bikes, hybrids, folding bikes, pretty much anything with two wheels…Then you have the spectators that have already begun assembling; securing their position on the side of the mountain that is lined by nearly a million people for the stage.

When I`m here there`s a sense of `belonging`. Being a bit of a misfit, it`s comforting that I`m not the only person that thinks it`s `fun` to go ride up a mountain (and then blog about how amazing it was to want to die for nearly an hour). There`s definitely a camaraderie, and mutual respect amongst riders in Europe (and by most drivers). It`s not about the bike you ride or how much it costs/weighs, how matcy-matchy you (although I’ll take my favourite bike kit over an Armani suit anyday) , the lightness of your 5000 dollar carbon wheels, it`s about you doing something that is between you and you alone. The only person standing between you and the Arrivee sign at 14km and 1850m is well, you (well, you and the mountain).

So I`ve come to France to prove something. To prove that I can, that I will and that no one can stop me.

If the Tour de France is won and lost on some of these magical and mystical climbs, I`m sure there is something that I can learn as well. Sure I have personal best times to beat, maximum speed limits to break and that awesome pro outfit that leaves me looking like a pro, yet, there`s more at play here. I see these climbs as a metaphor for my life. Everyone has choices in life. You can quit, give up, roll over, blame someone, make excuses OR you can get on your bike, make your way to the summit and plummet down the other side with confidence, direction; riding the bike like it truly is an extension of ‘you’.

The past few years have left me a bit empty; in dire need of some riding, some thinking and a subtle reminder that in the mountains it`s a true test of one`s testament and will to survive that makes you successful (and a very healthy V02 max). It strips you to the bone and leaves you and your soul on the road with nothing to prove to anyone but you. Blood, sweat and tears.

So when someone asks me, `why would you ride your bike up mountains, how can that be a `vacation’? I simply tell them, it may not be a ‘physical vacation’ but for me, this is the only time I stop thinking and re-learn how to feel.

Mario Cipollini, arguably one of the most successful (and egotistical) Italian sprinters was once quoted saying “The bicycle has a soul. If you succeed to love it, it will give you emotions you will never forget”.

I can’t agree more with Mr. Cipollini.

Whether it’s pain, knowing you have 2 more hours of suffering, the fear of crashing on a descent, the agony of having crashed, the frustration of an injury that leaves you sidelined or a time you just can’t beat, the joy and excitement of having won a race, reached a summit, achieved a new personal best, or simply that you set out to do something you didn’t think you could, these are but a handful of emotions.

It is my wish that everyone find something that they can savour with every ounce of their being. Cycling was an unrecognized passion that started at 5 years old. It left an indelible blueprint that may have (at times) been temporarily forgotten but will never leave my DNA. One day I hope to be fortunate enough to be back here climbing up this mountain with my son and/or daughter.

Almost forgot to mention that I rode Alpe d’Huez today… surprised? Didn’t think so.

Well, yesterday it rained; rained hard. So much so that I’m quite sure if an ark had wheels that would have been my training instrument by choice. Not only did it rain it was also 10 degrees. I can’t say that I would expect 10 degrees in late July but that’s indeed what was going on over here… cold and rainy.

Pretending to take it all in stride and not be too disappointed that during my cycling holiday it was frigid and raining (can you tell just how impressed I am with the weather the past 2 days) I decided to go castle hunting yesterday and scope out Colmar and any bike shops that might be open on a Sunday. Castles don’t close; bike shops on the other hand… when you’re trying to kill time on a Sunday, might as well play good ‘ol solitaire on the computer. France basically shuts down not only on Sunday’s but also between 12-2 everyday for lunch. Point noted for future shopping trips.

Enter EUROSPORT; great channel. Spent a few hours yesterday watching Thomas Voeckler retain his maillot jaune during stage 15 and poor Jens Voight crash twice on a descent. The French seem to be very curious about the tour and each morning at breakfast I see them reading through the local paper and instead of skipping over the part about ‘le tour’ they actually read it and then talk about it. I listen.

After another sleepless night last night, I forced myself out of bed for an early breakfast at 730 where all the white and blue hair’s congregate early on. 9am I was back in bed trying to pass time while it rained and get some much needed rest. At 11, I decided to return to Colmar and search out an Audi dealership to get the CD player in the car fixed so I could enjoy music that was somewhat familiar (French music is the worst) on my way down to the Alps and on to Tuscany. Killing the day was successful, and as I started driving back to Munster, it stopped raining. Hallelujah!

Having just cleaned my bike I was a tad apprehensive about taking it out given the 43km’h winds and the black clouds that were heading in the direction of the hotel but I thought, “this could be it, my last opportunity to ride in the Alsace” so donning my best frigid-frock, I headed to the door. Dropping off the room key with the front desk an old woman that works here mumbled something to the effect of “ah, you’re Canadian, this cold temperature should be something you’re used to”, I smiled then said “putain” under my breath as I rode away…

Fortunately, all my years as part climatologist paid off as I managed a short ride around (and away from) the storm clouds and accompanying rain that ensued. First, up a few hundred meters then down (close to a thousand) then greeted by 45 km’h winds that nearly blew me off my bike. One word; awesome. Managed a good albeit short ride back into Munster and then met the bottom of the climb with fresher-than-usual legs and started my ascent back to dinner. 16 minutes and quite a bit faster than the past 2 rides, I made it up the climb to the hotel just in time for some work that needed my attention before end of day Toronto time.

If today was my last ride in Alsace, I’ll take it; although I’ll be disappointed I didn’t make it up Col du Platzerwasel for the first time since bringing my bike here. That’s the climb I use to gauge my ‘readiness’ (if such a thing exists) for Alpe d’Huez which is where I’m heading tomorrow…

With any luck, the rain will hold off in the morning and I’ll have one last kick at the can and ride myself silly before the long trek down to the rugged, barren and moon-like Alps, such a contrast from the lush greenery of Alsace.

We’ll see what the weather man brings in 8 hours (and if the sandman comes anytime soon).

Descended from the hotel and blew through Munster heading toward Zimmerbach then started my first climb up to Les Trois Epis. Funny thing today, as I started my first climb I saw this grey-haired man on what appeared to by a hybrid bike pedaling ahead. I chased and chased and couldn’t seem to catch this guy. At this point I’m climbing in my 19 and this guy is maintaining a gap and it’s been 3km. Talk about sucking the fun out of the party… I’m thinking, either this guy won the tour back in the 60’s and is showing off or he MUST have a motor in his bike. I stood up, pushed harder and slowly started pulling him back without dipping too far into the red. As I got closer, it became clear that he indeed did have a motorized bicycle. When I passed him, I looked over and said “un motor dans la velo?” He smiled and said “oui!”… I pedaled off.

Reaching “la Place”, I descended to Orbey and headed up my second big climb, this time Col du Calvaire. Legs were dying today. I probably could have stuck a fork in them; they were that ‘done’. Couldn’t help asking myself, ‘this is fun, right’? Reaching Col de la Schlucht, I finally had some fun… almost forgot one of my favourite past times – passing cars while descending. Usually when you descend a Col you have an opportunity to rest and let your heart rate drop. Not today, not this time. I pushed my heart rate up to 150bpm as I hammered in my 11 tooth cog chasing (and passing) cars taking up every available inch of road as I tucked and pedaled.

Finally reached the final climb to the hotel and seriously have to make a mental note to choose my routes carefully when I’m staying on Alpe d’Huez… It’s no fun crawling up a climb at ridiculously low speeds at the end of a tough ride just to reach your hotel.

Tomorrow – Sunday, day of rest. Amen.

Today was filled with all kinds of fun, pain and surprises.

After getting my bike finalized, I headed out the door for my first ride in the lovely Alsace region. It was cloudy at noon here and a tad chilly, only 16 degrees.

Zipped-up and descended 5km from the hotel I am staying at (Hotel Panorama in Hohrodberg near Munster) and hoped that I would be warm enough for today’s ride.
Reaching the D417 I decided to test out my legs by heading up my first climb, Col de la Schlucht and ride across the top, Route des Cretes, through Markstein and summit Grand Ballon (from the North). Felt incredibly strong on the way up to Grand Ballon which was amazing because of the amount of riding I’ve done the past year isn’t even close to what I had done last time I was here in 2006. One of the awesome things about getting older; what you lose in raw-youth-power you gain (and more) in mental strength, courage and ego. Physiologically, I probably shouldn’t have been climbing Schlucht in my 19 but did from bottom to top. Big-ringed for most of my way to Grand Ballon and then fortunately, what goes up, must come down. Before heading down I was quick to notice that even though the tour hadn’t been up Grand Ballon since 2005, there were still names of riders painted on the road, especially Kessler and Ullrich both of the former T Mobile squad. Inspirational.

As an aside, I have to say, I was amazed at how many motorcyclists there were touring the area and how had almost forgotten how much respect drivers have for cyclists in France. AMAZING.

Stopped a few times to snap some pics with my blackberry and kept the pace as high as I could all the way to Grand Ballon which is the highest Summit in Alsace. Once I summited I (again) zipped-up for the descent into Veill Armand then hit Soultz, making my way back up to Markstein via Buhl and Lautenbach. On my way up the climb I had the French police slow down and start speaking to me (in French). Couldn’t understand all of it but I’m pretty sure they were asking me if I knew what the hell I was doing going up Grand Ballon for a second time and from the more challenging South climb…

At about 4 hours I was beginning to think I had made the wrong decision, a million miles from the hotel and another 20km left of climbing before Markstein then 30km to the hotel. I was tired, out of water and grinding away my 23 and even had to resort to a sobering 26 and watch my speed slow and my heart rate soar (can you say cardiac drift?). One of the things climbing mountains on a bike has taught me is ‘patience’. When you’re in a foreign country there are no options. If you’re 2 hours from home and tired, you have no option but to sit-tight and climb until you’re home.

Today’s ride was a good test of patience and mental fortitude. I was close to giving up and descending down to the base of the climb and finding my way back to Munster on the flats; but I didn’t. I kept climbing; despite my legs burning, my upper body tired (when does that even happen on a bike), both water bottles empty, and food; forget the 2 Lara bars that I ate an hour beforehand.

Anyway, after finally reaching Markstein I made my way to the Col du Platzerwazel where I descended like a demon back into Munster. This is where things get interesting. Reaching Centreville in Munster I was almost taken out by a guy on a moped and then a police car chasing him…twice! Apparently in France, when the police want their man, they want their man.

Having a hotel on the side of a mountain offers some spectacular views and it’s truly spectacular to be surrounded my lush, green mountains and foothills. This sounds all very serene and tranquil until you realize that after 4.5 hours in the saddle you have to climb some 700m and 5 km back to your hotel. At this point it’s a true testament of one’s will to survive (or intelligence – can’t decide). I basically limped home, crawling up this climb, Rue de Ligne at 12-15 km/h… painful but necessary.

Some good stats for today’s ride… never ridden 132km (5:04hrs) in the mountains before. Climbing 2700m was close to an all time record and I’m pretty sure that my max speed of 90km/h was reaching the boundaries. Ever wonder what it’s like to careen down a mountain at 90km/h? Tears are flowing from both eyes, your pupils dilated the size of twonies for oncoming traffic and barriers that separate you from death. Might sound dramatic, but seriously, try it. If you haven’t done it, you haven’t lived. Looking at my average heart rate for just over 5 hours (with photo-ops), my Polar registers just south of 160bpm. For those of you who train, exercise and try to work super hard, this number doesn’t lie.

One thing that completely bowled me over from today’s ride was how inspirational it is to be here. Tears welling on my way up to Grand Ballon when I was pushing my absolute hardest and then anger when I was making my way back to the hotel on 2 cylinders. The scenery here is to die for. As much as I love Mallorca and the Alps, this place is truly breathtaking. You can’t help but feel alive, fit and professional when you ride here.
Riding to the back door of the hotel, a man in his 70’s spoke with me in French asking if I was in the Tour de France (of course I replied “Non”) and then listened to him mutter about how I should be, and that he didn’t understand why I wasn’t. Nice.

I had mixed emotions and ego about bringing the Polka Dot bike (King of the Mountains) with me to France. Funny, they say that when you don a yellow or polka dot jersey you “rise to the occasion” and ride like a man possessed (borrowed from Phil Liggett). Either the bike has magical powers or Phil’s on to something. Day 1’s ride was something I would normally reserve for the end of my stay in Munster, if at all.
Even though I’ve missed my calling as a professional cyclist, it always embraces and reminds me that this is what I was meant to do. Every sense, every moment, every heartbeat, every emotion: raw, savoured and never forgotten.