Thousands of cyclists descend into La Bourg d'Oisans for La Marmotte. They separate the starting groups into three lots - 0-2000, 2000-4000 and > 4000. That's right - more than 4000 cyclists take part in La Marmotte! It's insane.
Ben and I started in the second group, and went off at 7:30. We saw a few of the 2000-4000 group jumping into the first wave. It was beautiful. Nic and Kate watching the start told us the organisers physically grabbed them and stopped them from starting the race - but only AFTER they crossed the timing mat. The French rock!
We rolled out at a pretty quick pace, and before too long were at the base of Glandon. I lost Ben during the climb, and when I looked up he was 200+ metres in front of me. I pushed to catch up, and decided I'd try a quick photo. Next thing - he was gone. There goes my riding buddy for the day. He went on to kick my arse by fifty minutes!
During Glandon I stopped a few times to take some snaps. It's not every day that you get to enjoy Glandon in perfect conditions. The descent from Glandon rocks. I hooked up with a guy with a Quickstep jersey on and he gave me a descending lesson. I went down pretty quick, but had to really work to keep up with him. Turned out he was an ex pro rider. I sucked his wheel all the way to Telegraph, and he left me after 1km. Flying.
Col du Telegraph is the next climb on the agenda, and working our way up was just a taste of Galibier. In the distance the Telegraph station grew reluctantly at each hairpin as we fought for each metre of altitude. I earnt this col, and gained the snap. There were quite a few people amused by me posing for photos in the middle of the race! Didn't worry me though. And got some great memories.
Valloire, and Ben had promised me "The best gingerbread ever". Nup. Either I was too slow and there was none left, or this year, the gingerbread wasn't there. Fortunately he missed out also, but I was not amused. As I climbed Galibier I entertained myself with all the things that I'd do to his bike if le petite cyclists that he promised at the top of L'Alpe d'Huez weren't there.
Things are starting to get tough now. At altitude, Galibier winds you through the valley as far as it can until it comes to a dead end. Then a series of hairpins climb like a staircase as it spits you over the pass. At 2800+ metres, it's the highest I've ever been on a bike. Each pedal rotation and I could hear my heart pounding in my head. Nothing but the creak of gears, my exhalations, and the bunnies in front to keep me company. Cresting Galibier was one of my favourite experiences.
At the summit, I spent a good ten minutes taking video, photos and food and just generally soaking up the experience. It was amazing. The look on peoples faces as they suffered through their own personal purgatory to reach the summit - and the resigned expressions as they commenced the descent knowing that l'Alpe d'Huez was still to come will forever remain in my memory. Unless I get some brain fade disorder when I get older.
Ben had warned me about the first few hairpins on the Galibier descent, and I was rightly cautious. After those though, it was time to open up, and three of us really started cranking. On the tighter twisty corners my lower centre of gravity and smaller bike allowed me to gap, but on the straighter lines, I was forced to tuck in and draft. We worked really hard down Lauteret and through a series of tunnels.
The tunnels are awesome. You can see the black hole in the mountain approaching and you line yourself up where possible with the little white spec in the distance, praying that it's not an approaching Renault. You flash into the tunnel out of the bright outside light, sunglasses dangling precariously from your jersey, hoping that your eyes will become accustomed to the dimly lit, or in some cases unlit, tunnels before you smack into a wall. As you grow accustomed to the darkeness you can feel the road rattling underneath you, the dank mouldy smell of a wall that hasn't been dry for a hundred years and then whoosh - straight back out into the bright light, frantically grabbing for your sunglasses before the approaching bend so that you don't launch yourself off the edge. Finally, you look around for the peloton, and realise they're all doing the same thing. Back into the tuck, and start looking for the next tunnel. Brilliant.
Finally, and definitely too soon, we're at the base of the mythical mountain, l'Alpe d'Huez. With 40km of dead legs, it's not as appetizing as it was the day before.
The first hairpin is OK. Still pumped, and aware of the dead legs, you know (hope) that they will pass. See Nic, put on a brave face, get out of the saddle, puff out my chest and hope that the vacant look on my face from fatigue appears as focus. Next hairpin, deadlegs going... only to leave behind legs with 3,800 metres of climbing already in them. As the deadlegs disappear, you realise your normal legs aren't coming back. Slowly, working my way to the second hairpin, motivated by le peloton de petite cyclists promised at the top.
The third hairpin isn't any easier, and to cut a long story short - there are twenty one of these, and whilst the gradient gets easier, the fatigue doesn't. Slower and slower I wound up the mountain, loving and hating it. The only motivation was passing many people, some even walking. It made Buffalo at the end of Audax look like a criterium!
Finally I got to the finish line, and after 8 hours and 9 minutes from the start, it was a pretty good feeling. Crossing the line, I was ready to bury my bike. Complete. Finit. Done. A little emotional, my first thought was, somewhat scarily - where are my petite cyclists?
Collecting my cyclists (one for each winner of l'Alpe d'Huez Tour stages) I stuffed the box up my jersey and headed down. Fast. Tired and happy. Saw even more people walking. La Marmotte is a long day for some. It was a long day for me, but I'll definitely be back to do it again.
PS: and for those who want to know what a petite cyclist is? Pop over one day and you'll see them climbing our balustrade