Biased Blow-By-Blow - 2026 Paris-Nice Stage 8

Introduction

Almost thirty years ago my wife and I were visiting the south of France, and at a train station were spied by a fellow American. This was disappointing in and of itself because we were trying not to look like tourists. We probably thought we were dressing in a Euro style, and lots of foreigners wear Levi’s, but clearly we were easily identifiable by our countryman. He looked like Elmer Fudd and, in the loud and uninhibited style we Americans are known and despised for, he hollered across the platform at us, “Does REE-tard mean late?!” He was referring to the signs announcing the delays caused by the almost inevitable rail workers’ strike that day. I resisted the temptation to reply, “No, REE-tard means you!” Because of course I was too politically correct, even then.

And what does this have to do with the Paris-Nice stage race? Almost nothing, unless you saw the word “Nice” and sounded out our English word “nice” in your head. It’s pronounced “neece,” you retard. Pardon my French. (Don’t pretend you thought I was using a vulgar and insensitive English word; I was using the French word that’s pronounced “ray-TARRR,” to suggest that you were late to grasp that this race ends in a city in southern France. I mean, come on!) Anyway, today I cover the final stage of this eight-day race, in my unprofessional blogger’s style, jettisoning journalistic traditions of impartiality and tongue-biting, particularly in the case of someone I think is doping, whom I might flippantly refer to as a … dummy. And during lulls in today’s action, I’ll fill you in on what happened in the first seven stages, too.

Paris-Nice Stage 8 – Nice to Nice

As I join the action, the riders have finished the first categorized climb of the day and are descending toward the Category 1 Côte de Châteauneuf-Villevielle which I translate as “coast of nine castles old city.” Whatever, French dudes. Valentin Paret-Peintre (Soudal-Quickstep) is off the front solo, chased by Marc Soler (UAE Team Emirates – XRG) about 35 seconds back. A reduced peloton is another 30 seconds behind Soler. There are about 50 kilometers to go so obviously the breakaway’s only hope is if some great riders bridge up to them. Here’s a photo of Paret-Peintre. Sorry it’s so grainy … Peacock blocks screen captures, because you know, if people are able to grab still images of cycling footage, the terrorists win.

Since nothing important is happening at the moment, I’ll catch you up on what’s gone down in this stage race so far. First off, Tadej Pogacar (UAE Team Emirates XRG) is not here. If he were, I wouldn’t bother to watch, much less report, since he wins constantly, easily, almost inevitably, without needing any tactics. For example, he soloed with like 80 kilometers to go in Strade Bianche recently. He makes the race and the sport boring AF. (If you’re not familiar with the acronym “AF,” click here or ask a teenager.)

In Pogacar’s absence, his perennial nemesis Jonas Vingegaard (Team Visma – Lease A Bike) is dominating the Paris-Nice GC, having handily soloed to victory in stages 4 and 5. The Dane is 3:22 ahead of the next rider, Daniel Martinez (Red Bull – Bora Hansgrohe) and 5:50 ahead of Georg Steinhauser (EF Education – Easypost). So it would take a lot (e.g., a crash or illness) to shake up the GC today. The only really close GC battle is for the best young rider competition, which is currently led by Steinhauser who has just 19 seconds over Kevin Vauquelin (Ineos Granadiers). Fun fact about Steinhauser: he shortened his first name from George to Georg to save weight. It seems to be working. Rumor has it Vaquelin is going to start going by “Kev.” It’s what his girlfriend already calls him.

They interviewed Soler earlier and are showing that now:

INTERVIEWER: How are you feeling about the stage?

SOLER: It’s a good, tough stage and I’m only in sixth overall, so if I feel good, I’m going to attack.

INTERVIEWER: Let’s talk about that tantrum you threw during the 2019 Vuelta a Espana when you were off the front and your team called you back to help your team leader. That is, to do your fricking job. And then you were gesticulating and whining like a little bitch.

SOLER: Are you really bringing that up? Come on, man, I was young, inexperienced, hotheaded, and I made a mistake. Why do I have to be tortured about that for the rest of my life?

INTERVIEWER: It left an indelible memory. You were acting like a big spoiled child.

SOLER: Haven’t you ever done something you regret?

INTERVIEWER: Well, when I was in grammar school I lost an 8-inch acrylic rod. I cried for weeks.

Okay, I should come clean about something: I don’t always render those interviews all that accurately, especially if nobody’s saying anything interesting. And that bit about the 8-inch acrylic rod? That was my dad’s self-acknowledged “sole regret.” My brothers love to dredge that up, even more than Soler’s tantrum.

Speaking of Soler, he’s been caught.

The riders are starting their way up the Châteauneuf. Ineos heads the peloton, setting up their leader, Vauquelin. OMG, there’s a crash! It’s Martinez!

It looks like he was passing his teammate, who altered his line and bumped Martinez right into the ramped curb there, flipping him over. Martinez has gotten up but looks like he’s really suffering. His teammates drop back and the team car arrives. They’ve got him a new bike and his team is pacing him back up. But he’s lost a lot of time.

Ineos continues to pound the pedals and the gap to Paret-Peintre is coming down. Vauquelin sits fourth on GC, almost four minutes behind Martinez, so it’s possible he could make it on to the podium, if Martinez is hurt and isn’t able to keep that gap under control.

Getting back to my recap, in terms of the stage results, the first was won by an American, Luke Lamperti, in his first season with the EF Education – Easypost team. He then placed fifth in the second stage, thus keeping the yellow leader’s jersey and (virtually) the green points leader jersey. Stage 2 was won by Max Kanter (XDS Astana Team). The third stage was a team time trial, won by the Ineos Granadiers. Oddly, ASO—the race organizers—have been tinkering with the rules for their TTTs and instead of taking the fourth or fifth rider’s time, they take the first, so teams have much less incentive to stick together. I guess they’re embracing the every-man-for-himself, dog-eat-dog mindset more associated with Americans. Somebody should point this out to the ASO so they come to their senses and go back to the original rules. Anyhow, the result is that Lamperti was left for dead by his team and dropped to 70th place on GC. In the overall, one of the favorites, Juan Ayuso, was well served by his Lidl-Trek squad and took over the GC lead.

Getting back to today’s stage, Visma is on the front setting tempo, presumably to keep Steinhauser from attacking. They’re nearing the summit of this climb.

To finish up my recap, I already mentioned how Vingegaard handily won stages 4 and 5, destroying everyone else. Stage 4 was a monster, with absolutely frigid, wet conditions that saw Ayuso crashing out. Vingegaard was dressed in like five layers, with the straps of his bibs pulled up over his yellow jersey. It was really the most undignified look I’ve ever seen for a race winner. He didn’t do a victory salute at the end, probably for this reason. Stage 6 was won by another XDS Astana Team rider, Harold Tejada, in a bold solo move toward the end. And yesterday’s penultimate stage, which was supposed to have a mountaintop finish, was shortened to just 43 kilometers due to fresh snowfall in the mountains. It was absolutely frigid out there … look at this guy’s crazy getup.

Without the climbs, the stage ended up being another opportunity for the sprinters, with Dorian Godon (Ineos Granadiers) taking  the stage. Lamperti managed fifth, but this wasn’t good enough to save his green jersey.

I would say the most exciting aspect of Paris-Nice so far was this amazing snot comet that Godon had to contend with after his victorious but very cold race yesterday:

Commentators are already calling Godon  “the snottiest man in cycling.” Rumor has it that Kimberly –Clark, the company behind Kleenex, is offering him an endorsement deal.

Paret-Peintre is over the top and maintaining his lead. And now the GC group is up and over. Martinez looks pretty good in the chase group behind, his teammates pacing him and keeping the gap steady.

They’ve got a long descent now and Papi (I’m coining a nickname since I’m too lazy to keep typing the full hyphenated name) is really digging deep. I note that he’s on a Specialized bicycle, which bodes well for him, even if it’s 40 km to the finish.

Now Papi’s on an uncategorized climb and we shall see what this does to his lead. He’s clearly suffering, as his shoulders are rocking and his head is bobbling a bit. Not bobbing, mind you. Bobbling. That’s a much bigger deal.

Visma has three riders left in this group, which is more than other teams do. With Vingegaard’s main rival more than a minute back, Visma doesn’t have much to worry about. It’s not like Steinhauser could take six minutes out of him on the final climb, the Category 1 Côte du Linguador. I mean, it’s only 3.3 km.

It’s time to talk about climb rating inflation. Paris-Nice is terribly guilty of this: all week they’ve had these piddling little climbs they’re calling Cat 1s. It’s total BS. Just looking at today’s climbs, we have the Col de la Porte at Cat 1, and it’s only 7 km at 7.2%. And that Chateau thing they just did: Cat 1, but only 6.6 km at 6.6%. No way is that a true Cat 1 … it gains only 435 meters. You want to know a real Cat 1? The Col du Télégraphe, which is 11.9 km at 7.2%, gaining 1,567 meters. That’s more than triple the elevation gain!

Well, that last little climb was too much for poor Papi. His lead is down to nine seconds with 32 km to go. Surely he’ll get Most Aggressive for the day, which is kind of nice (but doesn’t come with a cash prize like he’d get on a Tour de France stage). Maybe he’ll at least get a bottle of salad dressing or something.

They show Martinez’s crash again and again, like it was the most spectacular footage ever. But it’s just not. We get the frontal shot, then the aerial view, and it’s like come on, the guy basically tipped over. I’m sure it hurt but it’s not that remarkable.

Papi is burying himself but it’s all for naught, you can see the GC group barreling toward him. It’s all over but the crying now. They should play the 1947 song of that name by the Ink Spots. But then, would fans even recognize it? I confess I’ve never heard that song in my life. Maybe I’ll cue it up on YouTube for the next Peacock commercial intermission—of which there are gobs throughout this footage, it’s really annoying.

Now the GC group has caught Papi and he dresses them down. “Thanks a lot, guys,” he complains. “You just shattered my dreams.”

The Red Bull – Bora Hansgrohe team is doing a great job for Martinez. The lead is now under a minute as they tackle this last “Category 1” climb. 

Vingegaard has just one teammate left, his super-domestique Victor Campenaerts, who is a total baller.

Campenaerts is totally drilling it and whoa, there Vingegaard goes! Launches a blistering attack! Suddenly the whole group is covered in blisters. That’s gotta hurt.

The Dane instantly has a huge gap over everyone except Lenny Martinez (Bahrain Victorious).

Back in what’s left of the GC group, Steinhauser is drilling it on the front, trying to reduce his losses and solidify his white jersey of best young rider. He has almost two minutes over Lenny on GC and just needs to keep that gap down, and set a high enough tempo to keep Vauquelin from going up the road.

The two stage leaders have just one klick to go on this climb. Is it klick or click? Let me set up a quick reader poll to decide. Oh, wait. I have no way of setting up a reader poll. Never mind.

Steinhauser has one teammate left so he should be able to defend his GC position. Lenny’s main ambition is likely a stage win. Somehow I doubt he’ll get it, unless he descends like a madman and Vingegaard doesn’t feel like taking any risks.

Sure enough, Lenny is going full throttle on the descent. Vingegaard is playing it safe but still keeping the gap fairly low. Behind, the other Martinez and his crew are keeping the gap to the white jersey group down to just over a minute.

The descent is a bit wet, and as a parent I kind of wince watching the riders sail through the curves. “Be careful, guys!”

Now the descent is over and Vingegaard goes to the front. I don’t see this breakaway getting caught unless the chase really gets organized. And after eight days of racing in the cold these guys probably have strabismus. What’s that? You’re confused? I’m trying to coin a new cycling term here. Surely you’ve heard the expression “cross-eyed” to indicate a rider going so hard he can’t see straight? I’m just trying to make it more clinical. Help me popularize “strabismus,” okay?

Vingegaard’s pulls are way faster than Lenny’s. It’s kind of amazing. They’re about a click/klick from an intermediate sprint point. If the Dane can take this sprint and the stage win, he’ll win the points award (alongside the KOM that he already has). Okay, they’re past it and Lenny got it. So now if Vingegaard wants the green jersey he needs to win the stage. I’d guess he kind of wants that anyway. (You think?)

They’re on the last little descent before the flat run-in, the gap to the white jersey group holding at 36 seconds. These guys are just flying, working really well together.

Surprisingly, the gap is coming down now. The leaders have lost about 10 seconds in the last couple minutes. Steinhauser is drilling it on the front. It’s possible this will come together but I kind of doubt it. As it is, I’m kind of excited for this finish … it’s really impossible to say whom I favor in the sprint.

Ah, the gamesmanship has begun, with Martinez not wanting to pull anymore!

Clearly Vingegaard wants him to lead it out but Lenny is slouching! But Vingegaard won’t pull through! That gap has got to be coming down! But this broadcast isn’t showing the split anymore.

Martinez leads out the sprint! He’s totally hauling ass!

But now Vingegaard is pulling level! It’s down to the wire!

Martinez is a total baller! He holds off the Dane and takes the win!

The rest of the group sprints in and honestly, I don’t actually care how the rest of them did. Okay, here’s the stage result.

They’re interviewing Lenny Martinez.

INTERVIEWER: Ayo, that stage looked brutal, bro.

MARTINEZ: For reals, that whole final stretch I got my director coming through my radio straight whylin’ like “don’t let this busta jack your stage win!”

INTERVIEWER: The action was getting’ straight-up hyphy with the chasers bearing down. And then Vingegaard be triflin’, makin’ you do the work. Kinda grimey!

MARTINEZ: Nah, Vingegaard is straight gully, I’d have done the same. Don’t be tellin’ fans I’m butt-hurt about that, I was just glad I didn’t get pwned in the end!

INTERVIEWER: Word up, you salted his move with a quickness! Balls like King Kong!

MARTINEZ: I’m super amped. That stage was off the chain!

Full disclosure: Martinez was interviewed in French and I’m not exactly fluent. I did my best to capture the gist and spirit of what they were saying.

Here’s Danny Martinez, who’s gotta be relieved he held on to his second overall after that crazy crash. He looks like he’s in a lot of pain.

Papi crosses the line almost seven minutes down. That’s got to be a big letdown. I hope he likes salad dressing. Let’s make that a new expression, okay? Whenever somebody misses out on a big achievement, but stands to get some piddly consolation prize, we can say “I hope he likes salad dressing.”

Here’s the final GC.

They’re interviewing Vingegaard.

INTERVIEWER: So you finally get a Paris-Nice victory, after being third in 2023 and abandoning last year.

VINGEGAARD: Yes, It’s the race I couldn’t get right, and now I finally get it right. I’m extremely happy to sit here in the yellow jersey.

INTERVIEWER: Happy because of the yellow jersey, or because you’re sitting?

VINGEGAARD: Honestly, it just feels good to sit down.

INTERVIEWER: Are you using this victory to send a message to Pogacar?

VINGEGAARD: Are you joking? What would that message be? “I can still win when you’re not there?” Or, “I’m still fairly competent, even if I can’t solo for 80 klicks?”

INTERVIEWER: Hey, how do you spell “klicks”? With a C or a K?

VINGEGAARD: Wow, that’s a fascinating question. I haven’t really thought about it but I will now. I’m really curious about it … could you do a poll or something? I’d love to see that.

INTERVIEWER: Unfortunately, no.

Well, the bit about “finally getting it right” and the question about “sending a message to Pocagar” were real, anyway.

Martinez takes the podium. This is actually pretty interesting: this is the first podium I’ve seen in years that features two women standing next to the winner, both of them attractive. In the olden days it was always two beautiful women on the podium and they’d kiss the winner simultaneously, which was admittedly kind of ridiculous, especially given how sweaty these guys are. So then the sport became embarrassed about that, and got rid of the podium girls entirely. They dabbled in having one man and one woman, attractive but very conservatively dressed, before devolving into a bizarre tradition of two utterly dumpy persons there, literally in like a dingy sweatshirt and, like, plum-colored pants and ugly sneakers. Even earlier in the week we were seeing that here. So it’s refreshing to see this now.

Vingegaard mounts the podium for his final yellow jersey, and we’re down to one attractive woman and one random guy. He’s not dumpy, exactly, but the mixture of khaki, charcoal, and purple seems haphazard. Who is this guy and why is he here? You can’t tell from the still photo but he looks just a little bit disoriented.

And now as the Dane gets his final polka-dot jersey, another rando mounts the podium and also seems confused. In fact, look at his gesture as he looks to Vingegaard for guidance. Kind of a palms-up, “hey, what do I do, I just kind of stand here?” kind of thing. They probably just pulled this guy off the street.

Papi did end up winning the Combativity award. Here he is with the latest rando, who really looks like he dressed in the dark this morning. Camelhair jacket, ratty jeans, and bright white Nike sneakers? And what’s that disco-looking shirt? I thought the French were en vogue and à la mode? This guy’s not even presentable. And nobody gives Papi any salad dressing.

And here’s your final GC podium. Sunglasses off, please!

Well, that’s it for Paris-Nice. Tune in next month for my exclusive blow-by-blow coverage of Paris-Roubaix! And, for my entire archive of past race reports, click here.

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Epic Trans Alps Cycling Trip - Part VI

Introduction

I’ll bet I know just what you’re thinking: “Damn it, Dana, stop living in the past!” And it’s true, I can’t seem to stop blogging about a week in France that ended over a month ago. The cycling legend Eddy Merckx once said, “Compared to cycling, life is much easier,” and he might as well have added “though less interesting.” Frankly, nothing I’ve done since my Epic Trans Alps trip has been nearly as blog-able as this, so here I go again. But I promise this is the last lap. Here I tell the tale of the final day of the tour, and my unspectacular meltdown on Alpe d’Huez.

(If you’ve somehow missed the rest of this series, Part I is here, Part II is here, Part III is here, Part IV is here, and Part V is here.)

Breakfast

It is only because breakfast is so good at a fine French hotel that I would ever bother to write (home or here) about it. But it was a big deal for me, especially on Day 7 of this tour, because I was pretty convinced the rest of the day would be a fairly miserable slog through the cold and wet. The forecast was for persistent rain and drizzle, and I was pretty well knackered from the previous six days. I went into this meal figuring it would be the highlight of my day. Here’s the view out my window that morning:

This time there was no hi-tech coffee machine; a guy at the bar asked what I’d like. This is a bit like a barber asking me how I want my hair cut: the answer is, “I don’t fricking know, okay? You’re the professional, you figure it out!” As I blogged before, coffee in France mystifies me. I wanted to ask for an Americano but apparently only Americans know what that is. I think I asked for a latte but who cares, when the pastries are really the point? The problem was, for the first time all week, there weren’t any. I was about to panic when one of the hotel folks said, perhaps in French, that the patisserie hadn’t yet delivered them. This is about like saying, “Soon, you can look forward to your happiness quotient doubling.” So I created this basic plate just to tie me over until the pastries.

Pretty tasty for just the opening act! I thought that little wrapped “Président” item would be cheese, but it was butter—the first butter I’d had for my bread all week. The meat was sufficiently tasty that I didn’t feel jaded, despite having eaten cured meats two to three times a day all week. And the bread: well, just look at it … glorious. And then, after a few minutes, the pastries arrived. There was a bit of a stampede for the basket but there was plenty to go around. I’ve never had such fresh pastry and it was as good as it looks. I could have roared with pleasure.

Col de Lautaret

A couple thousand calories later, it was time to face the music. Leg warmers, arm warmers, thermal base layer, long-sleeve jersey, and my big black Stay-Puft Marshmallow Jacket … it all came out. Fortunately I was in good company: true to their word, Craig and Ian hung back with me as we set out on this (albeit only Category 1) climb, the Col du Lautaret. The evening before, upon hearing the weather forecast, I’d considered dropping back to the Trans B group that only does two climbs instead of three, but my pals promised to ride with me to provide moral support, no matter how feeble my pace.

We were surprised to see that several peaks which hadn’t had snow on them the day before now did.

The Col de Lautaret, from this direction, honestly isn’t that big a deal. It’s only 4%, albeit for over seven miles. A bit of a slog, of course, but we enjoyed the view. Here, you can see that Ian’s knickers aren’t even in a twist.

Why do cyclists wear knickers? What’s the point in not taking the fabric all the way to the ankle? Is it to save weight? Or is it to create a cold patch on your leg to help you appreciate that you’re not just in shorts?

Okay, fine, I’ll try to speed up the report or we’ll be here all day. Eventually we reached the Lautaret summit, where it meets the turnoff to the fearsome Col du Galibier we’d braved the day before. I guess all the stickers on that sign are what passes for graffiti in France. (In much of the American West, the sign would be full of bullet holes.)

We set off on a fairly long descent … another fun one, except for the long, poorly lit tunnels. It’s odd … when I raced here in 2003 and 2006, I really enjoyed the tunnels and didn’t remember finding them frightening. This time around all I could think of was running over a rock, crashing, and getting run over.

Col de Sarenne

We stopped abruptly at a turnoff, toward the little town of Mizoen where I’d stayed both times I did La Marmotte. This was the base of the Col de Sarenne, an Hors Categorie climb eight miles long averaging like 7.5%. It starts off pretty harsh, at 12%, but check it out … the sun managed to come out after all!

Soon enough we passed through Mizoen, which is just as darling as I’d remembered it.

You know how when something is really ballyhooed, and you start getting really excited about it, you sometimes start to worry that it won’t meet up with your expectations? You know, like what just happened with “Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour,” that left you disconsolate by not totally rocking your world? Just kidding, of course I know nothing about the Taylor Swift movie and whether or not it lived up to its hype. I’m just mentioning it for the halo effect, to draw people to albertnet. Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift!

Okay, so anyway, earlier in the week I had really looked forward to (and dreaded) the Col de la Loze and the Col de la Madeleine, based on their reputations, and of course the Galibier had loomed large since I’d been destroyed by it years ago. But I really hadn’t heard much about the Col de Sarenne, so it had nothing to live up to. So, what a surprise! It ends up being the most beautiful climb of the whole week (which is saying something—we did 18 of them). It sure helped that the unexpectedly sunny weather seemed to be holding up.

The three of us had a very pleasant time, chatting merrily as we pedaled along, not really suffering at all. Craig was bound and determined to get at least one good photo of Ian and of me, and took several hundred. I tried to warn him that I’m not photogenic but he didn’t want to listen. I watched the sky along the summit ridge warily, expecting to see rainclouds move in, but there was nothing but sunshine. And we had no shortage of fun switchbacks:

Do I need to say the views were stunning? I do not.

All this being said, it’s a hella long climb and a couple kilometers from the summit I ran out of water, if not steam. This is where it’s so nice knowing you have a van waiting ahead to replenish you.

(I will acknowledge that in my last post I bagged on a fellow rider for riding on the wrong side of the road, and here above I seem to be doing the same thing. The difference is, the Col de Sarenne is really just one lane anyway, and besides, it was so peaceful and remote up there, with the visibility so good, this behavior wasn’t exactly reckless.)

As we neared the summit, the grade got steeper, and more importantly we had less mountain to shelter us from the wind, which really picked up. I really had to dig deep to push through it, apparently. I say “apparently” because only upon viewing the below video did I even recall having to make much of an effort. I’d just remembered the Sarenne as just a lovely, peaceful climb, until I saw the footage and thought, oh yeah, that was pretty hard.

I now remember feeling relieved when we finally reached the top. It’s like until that moment I’d only been pretending the climb was no big deal; now, surrounded by the majesty of the summit, I felt a tinge of … well, not menace, exactly, but the great power of nature. There’s a starkness to these places even when the weather is gorgeous.

Having failed to get a portrait-with-summit-sign since the Col de Madeleine, I took a moment for this one.

Gosh, look in my eyes there … it really does look like I’d been suffering. I almost look traumatized. Is it possible my sweet memory of this climb is all wrong, having been sugar-coated by the camaraderie I’d enjoyed on the way up? Is that how this works? And do I remember the previous day’s Col du Granon as having been brutal only because I’d faced it alone? Probably not, but … possibly?

Note above that the Sarenne summit is 1,999 meters. It’s not 2,000, and whoever placed this sign felt it important not to round up. No wonder this climb didn’t seem as hard as the Madeleine … it’s a full meter lower!

Here’s a nice aerial shot Ian got of our picnic site, having had the energy, somehow, to scamper up a hill to snap it.

We descended a bit and then had some rollers to climb over, which—being unexpected—made for some psychic discomfort. The long road curled around here and there and eventually brought us to the summit of Alpe d’Huez from the side you don’t normally see. We even did a little of the descent before peeling off to add a bunch of unnecessary extra mileage to our day. We got a sneak preview of what lay ahead.

We rolled up and over some uncategorized climb, then had an oily gravel descent, and then shed some clothing at the van. For the first time, the day was outright warm. We rode into a headwind along a bike path that I think was a false flat, maybe 1% uphill. Our leader was hauling ass, and clinging to his wheel was like motorpacing. Eventually we reached the base of the dreaded Hors Categorie Alpe d’Huez, a legendary climb that has featured in the Tour de France 32 times.

Alpe d’Huez

It had been gradually dawning on me, over the last ten miles, that my energy was basically all used up. We’d ridden for two hours since the Col de Sarenne summit, and I was fried. Whereas I’d felt sucker-punched by the Col du Granon the day before, having failed to imagine how hard it would be, I was fully dreading this one. Sure, you could say it’d be easier this way, Alpe d’Huez being the “devil I knew,” but it was still the devil.

Craig and Ian, having fulfilled their promise to ride with me over the first two climbs, dropped me instantly when this third and final climb started. Alpe d’Huez is almost nine miles, at an average grade of 7.7%, and it starts at over 11%. I started to ask myself, “Can I even do this?” but the answer was immediate and obvious: “I have to … our hotel is at the summit.”

At least the weather was perfect … maybe a little hot, but that would change with the altitude. The scenery was lovely which made the unpleasantness of the climb almost confusing. It was like if I were a teenager again, on a first date, marveling at how beautiful my date is and wondering why she keeps stabbing me in the belly with a steak knife.

There are, famously, 21 switchbacks on this climb, so you can look down at where you were just moments ago, and feel a welcome sense of progress.

It seemed the good weather would hold up, so I got to enjoy the impressive clouds (which we don’t really get in California).

As my power output steadily faltered, the length between switchbacks seemed to draw out. I began longing for the switchbacks, both because they indicated progress toward the summit, and because they tended to be a bit shallower than the straight sections. I gradually nibbled away at the climb. Think of how sprightly a helium balloon is, and now think of the same balloon the day after the party, when it’s wilted and shriveled a bit and is dragged toward the floor by its string. That’s how I felt. Whenever possible I peered over the side to confirm I was actually getting somewhere.

The switchbacks on Alpe d’Huez are numbered, in descending order as you climb, so you can mark your progress, like a countdown. Each number sign commemorates a past Alpe d’Huez winner. I kept a close eye out for this one:

Andy is from my hometown of Boulder, Colorado. He achieved a stunning solo victory on this mountain back in 1992. Is there any similarity between his feat here and mine? Yes, actually: though it’s somewhat hard to tell, and actually even kind of hard to believe, he and I are of the same species. Yeah, seriously!

Well, there’s not much more to tell. Eventually, inevitably, I did make the summit. I have a selfie of how I looked at the finish; it was one of those accidents where you grab your smartphone and go to activate the outward-facing camera but instead you see—gasp!—your own haggard mug. The horror! In this photo I look so deflated and gaunt, it’s like someone had put a 2x4 on either side of my face and pushed them together to squeeze all my water out. (Hell no, I’m not posting the photo here—what is this, Facebook?)

It’d have been nice to collapse at this point, and maybe just sit on the ground for a while, but it was time to remove my saddle, pedals, and bike computer from the rental bike and return it to the staff. Then I checked out the picnic table, with its usual assortment of sandwich fixings, chips, fruit, and drinks, but I just didn’t have the energy to take anything. Instead I slowly stamped my tired way up the long staircase into the hotel. I made it to the lobby and was so blown I actually started to hallucinate, imagining all manner of stuffed sheep in there.

After I found my room, showered, and rested up a bit, I returned to the lobby and discovered that the sheep were real. Well, not real, exactly. I mean, they were fake, of course, but weren’t figments of my imagination after all. Somehow this bizarre lobby made sense in the moment. I hella lounged in a big furry armchair.

Half an hour later Ian, Craig, and I went for a little walk. I can’t imagine why, other than it being a nice evening, and the fact of our being tourists (sshhh!—don’t tell anyone!).

Dinner

After a beer at the bar we headed to the dining room and before long were served this diced tomato thing with some white stuff on top that could have been cream, cheese, butter, or something in between. We didn’t care; it was delicious whatever it was.

We were starving and there was some good bread, and word got out that somebody had managed to procure some olive oil and balsamic vinegar in little matching decanters. There was much hubbub as adjacent tables started asking for them. The waiters seemed to want to hush the whole thing up. As at every dinner we had in France, the staff seemed bent on everyone eating their (excellent) bread plain.

The next course arrived: a beautiful mushroom risotto.

I tried to make it last but I was ravenous and it was gone in like a minute. We all speculated on what the next course would be. Meat, of course, but what exactly? Maybe a big steak? The night was getting better and better. And then, to our great shock, dessert was served.

I was incredulous. I mean, yeah, the dessert was artful and architectural and all, but WTF?! Where was the entrée? Was this meal really almost over? It was. I suppose the dessert was tasty but I was too distracted by the void in my stomach to properly enjoy it. Kind of like if somebody told you a really funny joke but at a funeral.

Breakfast

Well, I was a bit miffed but not for long … it’s hard to hold a grudge at the end of such a beautiful, unforgettable week of biking and dining across the French Alps. Meanwhile, breakfast the next morning was off the chain. Everything was just perfect—even the grapefruit juice was fresh squeezed.

Before we hit the road for the long drive back to Geneva and the longer flight home, I spent a moment gazing out from my hotel room balcony. Wow … what a trip.

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