Day 4 - The Bus and the Tour

Bonjour Gilles! Our dedicated bus driver. He seems very jolly. Laughs? Continously.
An early start and we are driving to Sault. We let Gilles know our route and that he should secure us a spot at a campsite in Dignes. We shouldnt be long. Gilles laughs again. He doesnt think we will get there until late. Its a very long way, he claims. Rubbish. Not the last time a frenchie will try and misguide us I am sure.

We are in the zone. Cobby has had some EPO or something. He is on fire and will not get off the front. Note to self......urine tests necessary next year. We are starting to see more and more cyclists as we get closer to the tour. This is inspirational stuff. One little fat fella tries to do another job on us and swings past us before a reasonable descent. The red mist falls again and it is on. Does he not know this is about nationl pride? Poido mutters on about one of his tests against the french in 1983 and goes off like a man possessed.

Before long we are getting closer to our destination. Cobby suggests a right hand turn to join the route rather than to work around it. This is too good to miss. We agree. Vites. Allez. The temperature is rising. We are drafting behind a tractor doing about 45kmph and Cobby wants to overtake him. Madman. If he was a fuckin sheepdog I would shoot him.

We are starting to flag. How much further is it? We are passing folk who have set up camp in the middle of nowhere. How much further? We get the news. It cant be right. Another 50km. Shit. We are running out of food and drink and there are signs the Tour Cavalcade may be appearing behind us pretty son.

Interlude: about 2 hours before the racers take the course a massive convoy of sponsored vehicles clear the course and cause a stir. Giant bottles of water. Ladies in lycra. Loud duff duff music. A spectacle to behold and so good at stirring the roadside fans into a frenzy of delight. Oh la la.

Hang on. The Wallabies are playing the Yarpies in Perth. STOP. We take a break. It is sweltering. We are in a little busy cafe and Poido has SMS updates coming in from his family in Sydney. Beer and jambon please. The Aussies win. Nice. Wouldnt like to see Poido unhappy.

Quick! Here comes the cavalcade. We know we have a big hill to come before Digne. It wil be fine. Head down and bum up. The crowds are getting bigger. This is incredible. We are on the course and we are being applauded. Almost famous. Allez Cadel. The less accomplished members of the team get all feisty and want to take off to the applause. Easy. Take it easy. Soak up the splendour. We reach the hill and go easy. We have a couple dressed as kangaroos running beside us. Surely we arent going that slow are we? Cobby wants to win. Half wheeling has become his forte today. Easy tiger.

Over the top and the crowds are getting bigger and bigger. We fly into town doing a healthy 60kmph and run all of the way to 1km short of the finish before the police guide us off the course. Wonderful. Wonderful. Where is the bus, I am buggered and hot!

Here come the riders....

Day 3 - An easy ride to Sault

Yesterday’s hammering has left us happy but a little fatigued. Luckily Negus aka Le Petit Wok, has got what sounds like a lovely trip through the gorges planned. Cruisey. What a joy.

The scenery again is wonderful. For my early stay on the front I find myself beside Betar our resident brother from the Lebanon. Crikey he seems to be puffing a bit. I check to see if he has left his brakes on. Nope. He eases up and grabs my shoulder and mutters that breakfast is likely to reappear any moment now. He pulls up and disappears to the back of the bunch as our first climb begins.

The climb is steady but we keep a good pace. The setting is like something from a Bond movie. I keep on finding myself lost for words and in fact using the same superlatives to voice my delight. This is a magnificent part of the world. I am in love.

Out of the blue – some fella on a recumbent zooms past us. He is flying. The red mist falls and it’s a race. Only the massive Wok and Poido reach and pass the little chap. The audacity of the man.

We reach Sault - an old fortified village perched along the top of a high ridge overlooking a wide valley, with large lavender fields spread out below to the south and west. Along with the ancient buildings lining the high ridge are the remains of a huge feudal castle. Breathtaking stuff.

We sit in the square and talk nonsense over a coffee before beginning the next exciting chapter - a trip out to discover a Lesbian Lovers Den in Brantes. A bookshop and café tucked away along a tiny cobbled footpath. The view again is amazing. We are sat on the edge of a cliff face quaffing Rose and eating omelette. Herbe? Fromage? More. Give me more.

The 50km ride home is entertaining. The spirits of some seem to have been left with the Sirens of Brantes. In fact the ride is beautiful. Rolling hills and wonderful roads lead us through a wonderfully pretty tree lined route back to our shack at Crillon Le Brave.

Tomorrow is the start of something special as we hop on our executive tour bus and begin our Chase de Le Tour 2008.

In preparation we order in pizzas and raid the wine cellar. Pissed and full. What a great way to end one adventure.

Day 2 - Ventoux

I think we drank too much yesterday. I have a dry mouth and a blocked nose. I look out of the open window and see the sun rising over Ventoux. Those folk that claim Manly as God's Country need to pop over here and have a looksie.

Breakfast is served by Alex - our hostess and help. We are looking for inspiration and help and the only thing we can smell is fear. Poido is making no sense. He is as nervous as a puppy dog. Cobby keeps on yelling at Ventoux and calling it a pussy. Me? I hop on the wheels and make the rookie error of forgetting I am in France and almost get taken out by a 16 year old Renault 5 heading north in the right lane.

It is all a bit weird - we are all dressed in matching Aussie lycra, complete with a boxing roo on the front. Now I am a proud Pom, but the boxing roo proves a bit of a talking point and a tonic for the french locals who have traditionally hated the British. So, all in all a good call from the King who organised the kit.

The journey out is pacey. A couple of mechanicals. We get hooked in with a local farmer who gives us a bit of a tow out behind his Massey to the base of the hill where Cobby picks up his 'Knob of the Day Award'. Not only had he forgotten to tighten his handlebars he had also missed hearing us yell 'slowing' as the tractor turned right and shebang he wallops Poido's back wheel and falls like the proverbial. Brilliant. 7km down!

For those of you that dont know....the Wok is 128kg and 6ft 8in. He is a unit and to drag that mass along the flat is a challenge....Ventoux is a bloody big hill.......and he dropped off the back of us within a couple of hundred metres of the start......mumbling obscenities under his breath.

And then there were three.

The Pommie Domestique - keen to prove my worth, I hop on the front and do the work to help the other 2 old blokes up the hill. Tempo is good. I am just tapping away.

As we powered our way through the trees there was nothing to be heard but the constant beep of Poido's heart-rate monitor.

On the road were aged messages from fans to their Tour heroes. I was hoping to find something to inspire me. Nothing. I just had a lot of pain and the hope that very soon all of it would end.

Can't hear much from behind me. Maybe Poido's heart-rate has eased. No complaints. Hang on. No bloody riders. And then there was one.

The first half of the ride is set in trees and you can feel the incline. It's in fact relentless. The surface is nice and there is little traffic. Corner. Climb. Corner. Climb. I look at my watch and we are 45 minutes into the hill. We had been set a target of 2 hours by some random American tourists we had met last night. So, I am about half way and everything hurts. I think my heart must be sitting at about 160bpm. I keep on drinking. It isn't going to ease, so finding a rhythm is important. I look back every so often and do get glimpses of Poido and Cobby. I think they might be chatting away. Why aren't they in pain? In the saddle. Out of the saddle. It is all pain. Mouth is dry and there is another corner.

Suddenly there is a clearing and a spot where a few cyclists are catching their breath. I keep on climbing trying to look relaxed and pushing out the odd 'bonjour' to anyone and everyone.

Cobby is coming at pace. He is yelling at me to stop at the next corner. I back off. Ease it up until he comes up. Something must be wrong. No. He just wants my wheel. By the time he has got to me he is puffing like a train. He hops on and we are off. The trees have gone and there is suddenly a full-on wind. The only way to ride into the wind is down on the drops and in the 27. It is hard, really hard. We turn another corner and the wind is behind. Cobby swings in front and takes off. Mother fucker! I am gone.

The view is incredible. We are on top of the world. I pass a pile of folk on bikes and another fela just out running. The climb just goes on and on and on. The wind is getting stronger and it is getting colder. I think I must almost be at the top and check my watch. 1 hour and 32 minutes. I turn a corner and look to see the summit and it looks so much further away than I hoped. My heart drops a bit but I do know it must be only another 3km. Head down and out of the saddle it is the last few minutes of incredible pain. My back hurts and my legs have gone. The arms are sore from hanging onto the bike. But this surely has to be the most incredible ride I have done. Just stunning and amazing.

As I reach the summit, Cobby has come down to inspire me and makes me charge for the top. A wonderful moment to share and to enjoy. I am on top of the world. Time? 1hr 46 minutes.

I cant speak, don the arm warmers and jacket and smile a lot. A couple of minutes later and Poido is coming up onto the summit. He is dribbling but over the moon like everyone. He mentions Gracelands a couple of times and punches his fist into the air. 1hr 51 minutes. Bloody brilliant work. He calls his wife in delight. He is still talking to Elvis though. Making no sense and hands the phone to Cobby complaining that she doesnt think a 24km climb is far. Not far? Not far? Well after we have cycled back....that'll make it a 50km ride. Maybe she will be better about that.

Wok Waugh isnt too far behind and reaches the top looking remarkably composed. He is still swearing. Photos and some light-hearted revelry and we are on our way back down.

It is an incredible decent. The roads are smooth and seemingly camber to help cyclists on tight bends. Max speed is about 79km. Brilliant fun. We stop at Bedoin for some lunch, wine and something more substantial. Back at the hostel we find Negus and more fun. Mike Betar isnt too far behind and then there were six.

Dinner is splendid - heaps of laughter and in a wonderful restaurant at the base of Ventoux. I am giggling at random attempts by everyone to prove points. The wallpaper in the toilet is cushioned, patterned cloth! What the? Great wine, great company, great fun.

Day 1 - The Journey

One man down. Family tragedy. Unfortunately his journey will start a day later but the great news is he will be joining us.

Me? Too bloody tired and too bloody excited. The bag isnt packed, the bike is still at the shop having a new bottom bracket or something else equally unnecessary fitted.

The journey begins at the airport where we have some good news and some bad news. The good news? We discover that by luck of all lucks we have been upgraded to the front. Not sure I know how to drink Champagne, while lying down having a massage and eating froe gras. The bad news? One of us isnt ugraded. It isnt me, so who cares.

Fly. Fly. Fly. London. Fly. Fly. Paris. This is where we wait a short while admiring the beauty of Paris from the comfort of a garden chair outside a sandwich shop inside the TGV Station. Train. The journey by train is a must-do. It is beautiful, lush and goes past really fast. It's the first time everyone has sat down together and talked without being fueled by beer. We struggle and an early call for ale is made. Thank God. One more story from Cobby about the last time he went up Ventout would have resulted in tragedy. Train. Train. Train. Avignon. Taxi. Arrive. Jesus Christ.

We have landed in heaven.

The Chateau is stunning. We overlook Ventoux. It is absolutely stunning. The only distraction is the smell. We havent washed for 42 hours. Is Cobby walking around with his dipstickers on there? Ah ha. So that's why they call him Softcroft.

The bikes are built. It is like an early episode of The Muppets. Poido puts a wheel on the wrong way round. Is that possible?

This place has a secret. A wonderful secret. Hidden in the bowels is a place where only the few are lucky enough to venture. Bottle after bottle of vintage wine. Acres of the stuff. Piled high in crates. Stacked to the ceiling. As the Wok gazes on, the reality strikes hard. "Mate, giving me this stuff is like feeding strawberries to pigs". We make off with 3 beauties.


The views are amazing. We eat in a courtyard beside the Chateau. Poido in an attempt to get his second wind, wonders off like Oates. Only he comes back, regailing about more views up the road. Seems a shame to ruin this with a bike ride tomorrow.