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.