Although I wrote a piece a couple of weeks ago about Ventoux (see here) I realised that, compared to past efforts, I have not said much. Here is why.
What the hell is it with me and Mont Ventoux? A wonderful obsession since I first saw it. A holiday in the Luberon in 2008, dominating the horizon even though it was about sixty kilometres away. Then I loved walking. Eight years later it was my first real mountain by bike. Two more climbs that I enjoyed in a pretty sadistic way. When your muscles are screaming it feels good! All the emotions, doubt, joy. Achievement. Past rides had blog updates every ten minutes about long preparation rides and even diet starting months before. It reflected how seriously I took it all!
So why am I so quiet now? Just two posts? What’s up?
The Beginning
That I was not quiet about the first climb is logical. It was a sponsored climb. ‘Klimmen Tegen MS’ or Climb Against MS. The sponsorship reached 10,000 Euros. With that kind of support, not to forget the kind messages that came with them, I felt I had to succeed. That meant training in all weathers. Wind, rain. A couple of memorable hailstorms. Also indoor training to simulate gradient change, get the muscles used to the different challenges of climbing. Not perfect but it worked.
Of course I doubted that I would succeed. But I did, on a memorable day. I was reckless. I remember overtaking riders on the lower slope thinking ‘why are they so slow?’ Because they knew what was coming. The calves ached. But I made it.
Three Climbs
There are three routes to the summit of Ventoux. I have done all three, though not all in one day. I was never that fit, unlike friends who have done so. Bedoin in 2016, suffocating and enclosing. The best known route. Malaucene in 2017, steep yet open, exhilarating to know that you are climbing, to look down on the world. Those aching calves are suddenly more bearable. The last in 2019 was the easiest, via Sault. If you can call more than 1,000 metres of climbing easy. With the stunning preamble of the Gorges de la Nesque.
Relationship
It would be easy to just associate Ventoux with some kind of masochistic self-torture. But it has never been just about cycling up it. In a beautiful area it stands alone. Perhaps less epic-looking than other famous mountains but it stands totally alone. Transfixingly alone.
For me, there was always an element of relief about it. We started staying closer to the mountain and to see the sun set against the almost blank flanks of the bald mountain gave such peace of mind. That something that gave me so much rest also became something of a private proving ground, a means of resistance against MS, seems strange. Yet logical as the rides were so beautiful.
The Present
MS will win. I am still strong and fit but this is not the place for toxic positivity or denial of what is happening. This is not the nervousness of 2016. It is the reality of the more recent past, of aborted climbs. Of progression. The legs are strong but the right gets numb so it does not feel strong. So why do it?
The e-road bike will hopefully give my legs that little extra, as it did last year in Nice. Ventoux is a different proposition but I would like to try one more time. Not recklessly, though. Perhaps a judgement call early in the ride or during one of the warmup rides. But… obsession is too unhealthy.
If I cannot complete, what has actually been lost? It is also my good fortune to be able to even go on this trip and enjoy some cycling with good friends in a stunning area. I am prepared to fail this time. To accept that something once within reach is now out of reach.
Oh, I will be frustrated, of course. Not bike-throwing-in-fury frustrated (I did do that once but my arms are so cr*p it was more picking-it-up-and-sort-of-dropping-in-fury, to be honest). Just a shrug. But I can do other routes and I will be in the shadow of Ventoux. To be in the shadow of Ventoux is to be alive. After any frustration it will be time to enjoy what is there. So I go back, quietly. Looking forward to watching the sun set against those flanks.
