Day Three - NICE2TRI.COM Tour de Chamonix
“Where’s Lostboy?” I enquire as the Lord rustles himself up some brekkie. “O’Connor’s dead I think” comes the reply. Without question I accept this as a fact and crack on with a bowl of muesli.Everyone should pack a Lord Gordon when travelling in the Alps. He’s like John Kettley and Michael Fish rolled into one. Accurate up to the minute weather reports emanate from his laptop like spells from Harry Potter’s wand. Hence his frustration at our tardy departure from the Palais de Gerbil. Initially we aimed to leave circa 9.00am. This ends up being 11.00am and results in our arrival in Morzine (acting as the base for our assault on the Col de la Joux Plane) at around midday.
The Lord is forecasting thunderstorms and rain for circa 3.00pm which we all take with a pinch of salt (in hindsight a very bad move). The Dog drops into a bike shop to replace a front tire that has developed a very nasty bulge. The bike mechanic stares in disbelief when the Dog tells him of the previous days antics riding over a number of high Cols. A new tire is purchased and the Lord gets his gears tweaked.After a quick ham and cheese baguette we commence the slow climb out of Morzine, land of the big bouncy downhill mountain bike, and up through Les Gets. A nice gentle pace is set and heart rates are kept very much in check due to the severity of the “Hors category” climb to come. Through Les Gets and the road points downhill rapidly. With speeds approaching 50mph it can only be a couple of minutes before “Dog the descender “ moves to the front………what no dog? It’s the Sneddon instead! Rapidly followed by the Lord pedalling like a madman out of the corners to squeeze an extra couple of mph out of his bike. No dog?! , no matter. I press on with these two swapping the lead and grinning so much my face hurts.
The descent to Tanninges takes approx 15 minutes and we regroup at the bottom. I question the Dog at the bottom as to his absence at the front and all he’ll say is “it didn’t feel like the right thing to do”…….very mystic Meg! A left turn and a smooth ride along the valley floor in balmy temperatures takes around 30 minutes. Nobody seems in a hurry as the peaks between which we will soon be cycling are fast approaching. The town of Samoens arrives quicker than I remember and we stop for pictures to be taken in front of the sign showing the start of the climb to the Joux Plane. Helmets off and Lostboy disappears up the first switchback in a frenzy of pedal strokes. This climb is pure evil. There is no respite. Even on the apex of the switchbacks most climbs allow you 2 or 3 metres of flat(ish) tarmac just to ease the rapidly increasing lactic acid in your legs. Not the Joux Plane, the apex of every bend here is like a wall that you have to sprint into just to get up and round.Lostboy is gone. While I reach for a gel the Sneddon opens a gap of 20 metres or so and I feel no urge to try and close it. The Lord makes a brief comeback but the Dog is nowhere to be seen. I resolve myself to riding solo for the bulk of the climb and it takes all my will power to keep the legs turning over. It’s hot, really hot and the black tarmac is acting like a storage heater. A hand carved water trough looms on the right hand side and the sound of clear ice cold glacial water is amazing. I choose not to stop however for fear of losing my rhythm and my will to push ever upwards.A few minutes more and the car park at the top becomes visible. A fixed point to focus on to get me up the final stretch. Out of the saddle, round the last bend and I’m there. Lostboy and the Sneddon are sitting outside the restaurant next to the small lake at the top.
A few pats on the back and out with the arm warmers and gilet. 2 cans of coke and 2 Mars bars are consumed in the blink of an eye to bring my vision and hearing back to normal. The Lord arrives smiling through the pain, just the dog to go now. 5 minutes pass, then 10……..20 minutes now and we start to wonder where on earth he’s got to? My phone rings……..it’s the Brownedog. He’s breathless and clearly in pain. The only words I can glean from his opening salvo are “I’m a broken man…….my legs won’t pedal anymore” (along with a torrent of four letter words). Remembering some advice from my parents when handling angry dogs, I try and keep my voice calm and low……”where on the climb are you” I say, “I don’t f*****g know” is the reply. Trying to get an idea how far up he is I ask “how many times have you stopped before now?” There is a silent pause and he answers “more than ten?!” I start to laugh and tell him to get his ass up the climb a bit further and he’ll find a trough full of ice cold clean water. “Ok bye” and he hangs up. 15 minutes more and the dog arrives claiming the water trough saved his life. More pats on the back. More Mars bars. More cans of coke.
The Lord gets zapped by an electric fence and leaps in the air like an Andalucían pony (I laugh so hard I’m nearly sick). Storm clouds are gathering and it’s time to get off the mountain. The descent into Morzine via the Joux Plane is one of the fastest in road cycling. The famous sprinter Sean Kelly claims to have gone over 70mph on the route we are about to take. Then just as we cross the saddle of the Col and are about to drop to Morzine the heavens open with the biggest fattest rain I’ve ever seen. Lostboy shouts “into the trees” and nobody stops to argue. We take shelter for a good 15 minutes until the downpour eases up. Time to make a break for it but I’m really not relishing this descent in the wet. Four years ago the Sneddons older brother nearly met his maker coming down here in the dry so we’re aiming to play it safe. 2 minutes into the descent and the heavens open again. The road is now a river and the brakes are useless. This is by far the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done on a bike. If you overshoot the corner there’s no way you can stop let alone turn. Take the racing line and pray there’s no car coming seems the best policy. I have my daughter’s hair band (which I found in my pocket while sheltering in the trees) looped around the clasp on my glove in the hope it will bring me luck……..and it does.
The Brownedog takes his usual place at the front and I’m hot on his wheel then on one of the lower switchbacks I don’t swing wide enough to cut the corner and have to overshoot. I end up travelling 15 metres or so up the driveway of a small chalet. The loose stone chippings slow my skid and I stop just before my front wheel bumps the door of a very surprised looking French granny. Unable to speak because I’ve just shat my pants I only manage a wave and turn the bike around and finish off the descent. Again we regroup at the bottom and high fives all round for making it unscathed to the bottom.Through town in the pouring rain and back to the underground car park where we left the cars. As I come down the ramp I struggle to fathom why Lostboy is sliding across the car park floor like he’s on a vehicle inspection trolley. That’ll be the polished cement and yellow paint/rain combo. He extracts himself (and his bike) out from under the car he’s just clattered into and looks just as sore and embarrassed as I was in getting my front wheel stuck in the tram track the previous day.Change of clothes and a short drive back to St Gervais with another major day of climbing in the bag.
