Rising 1,912 meters from the Provençal landscape, Mont Ventoux is geographically part of the Alps but stands alone north of the Luberon range. The upper slopes of Ventoux is bare limestone and the lower parts covered in ancient forest, part of the UNESCO Réserve de Biosphère du Mont Ventoux. The mountain is said to have received its name from Vintur, the Gaulish God of the summits, and a powerful God he must be; near the summit you travel along the Col de Tempêtes, or Storm Pass, where the mistral wind can reach 200 mph.
Most cycling fans will be aware of the mythology of Ventoux having been the scene of many events over the years. It was on the 13th July 1967 that British Cyclist Tom Simpson died on this mountain during a Tour de France stage. It's said he began to weave across the road before falling. Delirious, he asked spectators to put him back on his bike which he rode on to within half a mile of the summit before he collapsed and died, still clipped into his pedals. It is at this site today that you pass a memorial to Tom, a sober reminder of the risks of such an extreme pursuit. Mont Ventoux is a 'hors catégorie' climb. Hors catégorie is a French term used in cycle races such as the Tour de France to designate a climb that is "beyond categorisation" or an incredibly tough climb. Most climbs in cycling are designated from Category 1, being the hardest, to Category 4, being the easiest, based on both steepness and length. A climb that is harder than Category 1 is designated as hors catégorie.
Despite a French railworkers' strike, three of us escaped the pollution and psychotic driving of London on the Eurostar for a few days to attempt the ascent of Ventoux…and to enjoy some rosé. There are three routes; north-west from Malaucène, east from Sault and south from Bédoin. The latter is the most famous and difficult ascent—1617 meters over 21.8 km—and so this was the route we would take; hiring a car to get us from my mum's house on the Cote d'Azur to Bédoin from where we would ride Mont Ventoux.
Waking up on the morning of the 'big ride' I opened the shutters to see…pouring rain. Not just rain but full-on tempest rain. Torrential. My heart sank as I knew we really only had one attempt at riding Ventoux. We only had the hire car booked for one day and as it was the start of French national holidays that weekend we couldn't get another one. We decided to go for it anyway and after picking up the car, packing our bikes and a carrier bag filled with banana and jam and Speculoos baguette sandwiches we headed off into the rain.
It wasn't long before the rain really started. Raining so heavily that the visibility on the roads was reduced to only a few feet. Never having experienced such heavy rain while driving I can't have been the only one thinking this may have been a bit of a silly idea and that a day in the warmth with cups of coffee and a sofa could be a slightly better option. Despite this, we pushed on, the three hours drive to Bédoin seeming to be the first challenge even before we got to the mountain.
Arriving at Bédoin the roads were wet but the sun was pouring through a gap in the dark grey clouds which completely surrounded Ventoux. It was as if Vintur had given his blessing for us to ascend the mountain, which I did thank him for. We were all nervous though and in between stuffing high-calorie sandwiches in our mouthes we assembled our bicycles and got changed into our bike gear in the particularly salubrious location of car park on the edge of town. Wiggling into a sports bra in a car park while maintaining some dignity is a challenge! Although this car park had a stunning view of Mont Ventoux, rising into the golden Provençal sunshine, complete with a white crown of cloud. The very cloud that shrouded the upper slopes which we would be riding into a couple of hours later.
After getting changed, getting on the bike, warming up, getting off the bike, going to the loo (a few times) we were finally off. Remembering to press 'Start' on my bike computer, it was already telling me I appeared to be moving and would I like to start the timer. I did.
Rolling through Bédoin we were stuck by how pretty this place is; tree-lined streets and most buildings on the main streets seemed to be cafés, bars or restaurants. After one of our party procured some water for his bidons we were off…in the wrong direction. But asking a lady walking down the road this was soon rectified and we were off…in the right direction this time.
The ride from Bédoin to Saint-Estève is quite easy at 3.9% gradient over 5.8km, passing through beautiful countryside and huge vineyards. I fell in love instantly with this countryside. It had the familiarity of home with a profound beauty, no doubt helped by the golden shafts of light falling around us. After Saint-Estève however it's a different story where the remaining 16 kilometers have an average gradient of 8.9%.
Although we'd all trained for this ride, the reality is that I've never experienced anything quite like this in my life. Even cycling in the Lake District or Wales does not compare to Mont Ventoux—it's on a different scale. The road surface is very good and the beauty of the forest as you ride up the mountain is stunning but this climb through the forest section is absolutely un-relenting. Even changing my cassette to a lower gearing beforehand, most of the ride I was in bottom gear and cranking my legs. On and on, the climb continues weaving through the forest on its inexorable, winding path up to the summit. Every few hundred meters or so you see names and messages painted on the road supporting past racers that had passed this way. Although the ride through the mountain section is very peaceful you can feel the people that have been there before. In fact when we were all talking later we all experienced the sensation of never really being alone there, and we were all sure there was somebody or something throwing little pebbles near the edge of the road. Other than the three of us, there seemed to be nobody else on the mountain and certainly we saw no other cyclists.
Cycling, it is said, is a socially acceptable way of being by yourself and by this point our small group had strung out with me in the middle. Although we all set out together, as they say, the only way to do it is to do it and there isn't anybody else that will get you to the top; that's down to you.
The forest section seems to continue for ever and as my body attempted to extract as much oxygen as possibly to fuel my muscles, I cranked up the hill. Much of the ride I was focussed on a tiny spot of road only about 2 feet in diameter in front of my wheel but when I looked up my eyes were met with the most beautiful oaks, beeches, cedars, larches and junipers and it was during one winding section that I turned to corner to see all of the trees bright with the glorious sun.
Having read about the forest section of this ride many times before attempting it myself not one account tells of anything other than a tough climb. I don't think I have the words to describe the climb, it's something that needs to be experienced, but I have a profound respect for every rider that has attempted Ventoux. It's not a short climb, it goes on and on, around a bend and then straight, then another bend and straight... Occasionally the gradient is lower so your legs and lungs can get some respite but soon the road kicks up again and you're back down the gears and legs pumping to keep yourself moving forwards.
By this point I could see more mist in the treetops and ahead of me the cloudbase was approaching slowly and ominously. We knew it was there, having seen it from Bédoin, and we were prepared to enter the clouds to reach the summit. Slowly but surely the mist gained a foothold in the forest and visibility dropped. Reaching Chalet Reynard, 6km from the summit, signals the end of the forest section but also signalled the end of any footage from the camera mounted on my handlebars too; the visibility was rapidly dropping. Each time I've seen Ventoux on TV I've seen riders streaming past Chalet Reynard in the bright sunshine. Here I was with hardly any visibility, alone and on the top of a mountain. All three of us knew we were close by but the feeling of solitude was absolute. I pressed on, past a 4km marker, 3km, 2km…then Matt, riding in front of me, came back down the mountain having reached the summit. We said a brief hello and I mumbled something about "Be back soon, just going to the top…" and I was alone again.
Two kilometers would be over in the blink of an eye usually but here at the top of Ventoux it was possibly the longest 2 kilometres I have ever ridden. The visibility was closing in and I pushed on. I saw the summit and cycled fast for it but then realised it was just an observation point and next to it was a sign saying Summit 500m. Head down, legs pushing the pedals round and round I fought up the last few meters and suddenly arrived at the summit. It was only really then that I was hit by a very strong wind and realised it was starting to get quite dim as well as the visibility dropping. I quickly snapped a photo of my bicycle at the summit, despite the visibility being so poor you can hardly even see my bicycle in front of me, and then turned to get back down to meet the other riders quickly. Almost as soon as I stopped pedalling uphill I started to get cold. The temperature had dropped very quickly and the wind came from nowhere, nearly blowing me over. I walked my bicycle back past the observatory at the summit and then started my descent.
Soon I met up with the others and we made our descent to Chalet Reynard as quickly as possible. However descending a mountain in failing light with very limited visibility is rather more slow and colder than we'd hoped. At least you couldn't see the drop from the road we were inching along, feathering our brakes as we traced our way down the mountain by following the sporadic white line near the edge of the road illuminated only by the LED light on the front of my bicycle.
Arriving at Chalet Reynard it was like we'd all had a bucket of iced water thrown over us. We were all extremely cold and we'd all started to worry. We were up here alone, except for a dog barking in the distance, but we had to get back down and so we all needed to keep it together. We tried to eat some food and I managed a gel and some of an energy bar. This helped and we had to get moving with me deciding to rabbit on about getting back to the warmth and having a coffee to 'keep spirits up'.
We all got back on our bicycles and tried to get our hands moving a little. Being careful to pick the correct route back to Bédoin, we kept pushing onwards, following the edge of the road in the tiny pool of light in front of my bicycle, the three of us in some kind of damp and cold V formation. We kept riding and as we got into the forest section the wind slowly dropped and we started to feel a little warmer. Suddenly out of nowhere it started to pour with rain and then 10 seconds later it stopped again as if we'd ridden through a waterfall. As soon as we were out of the rain the visibility suddenly opened out and we could feel the warmth returning to the air; we were out of the clouds!
We started to smile a bit more at this point as relief overtook us and we started to enjoy the ride back down again, chatting and laughing as we went and making more plans about 'the next ride'. After leaving the forest section we were again greeted by the roads through the vineyards and in the falling light we raced along through quiet hamlets. I felt quiet speechless…something quite profound had happened today. We set out to do something hard and we achieved it. We all had respect for Ventoux before we arrived and had respect for Ventoux when we left.
Sitting in a local café in Bédoin we ordered coffees and warmed up, leaving our bicycles propped up outside next to a snoozing dog. It felt surreal…like we had just come back from another world...
Although maybe we had.