Legends are central to any culture, ours perhaps more than most. The Ventoux is a French legend, rising 1912m above the rolling hills of Provence. The road is thick with the paint of Tours past and the names of giants. The grade is 7%, on average, though 10, 11, and 12% are routine throughout the middle section. The classical route begins in a small town, winds through the forest, and ends amidst the moon-like rocks of the summit.
My ride up the Ventoux was not pre-mediated, unless you count my wife’s comment as we boarded the plane “You know, we’ll be pretty close to the Ventoux,” she mused. The only cycling-specific thing I brought with me was my trusty Castelli wool cap. But once we arrived in Provence, the mountain stared at me. Riding it was the obvious choice.
It could have been a Mastercard advertisement. Bike shorts: 22 Euro. Bike rental: 25 Euro. Impromptu ride up the Ventoux in October: Priceless. Except the local bike shop only took cash. The LBS did have Hervé, who was more than happy to set me up and point me in the right direction. As I left the shop, he asked if I had everything I needed. “Vous avez d’EPO?” he asked. Before I could formulate a response, he explained that he always rides with EPO: Energie (energy), Pastis (French liquor), and Ouefs (French for eggs, which is slang for balls). “Oui, j’ai d’EPO”.
Many rRules were broken, perhaps more than the number of kilometers ridden. I did not look pro; I looked like the tourist that I am. I had a screw-top water bottle from the gas station and street shoes in toe clips with the straps cinched down hard enough to leave a mark on each foot that is still there 24 hours later. I did manage to pass a few guys in full kits and carbon frames. And then, I got passed in the last km by a 22-year-old kid in a local team kit, with no helmet and a fanny pack. The French, apparently, have their own rules.
Rules! Hear me fools: The Rules mark the beginning of the path to enlightenment, not the end. There are higher planes, expanding dimensions. Beyond the color of your bar tape exists a man, a mountain, and a bike. This is where the world begins.
Legends are things that lodge in memory, things that are unique enough to pause space and time. The best legends are those that transcend.
To ride a legend is to find that place, to connect the mystic with the real. Le Mont Ventoux, c’est une légende superieure.
I know as well as any of you that I've been checked out lately, kind…
Peter Sagan has undergone quite the transformation over the years; starting as a brash and…
The Women's road race has to be my favorite one-day road race after Paris-Roubaix and…
Holy fuckballs. I've never been this late ever on a VSP. I mean, I've missed…
This week we are currently in is the most boring week of the year. After…
I have memories of my life before Cycling, but as the years wear slowly on…
View Comments
IMO, anyone who's pedaled to the top of any of the sacred climbs looks pro.
Chapeau!
Jim, Congratulations on living this experience. Awesome. Also, it's awesome that you have such a supportive partner to move through life. It's nice when they accept your passion, however fervent, and realize both of you will be happier if it's welcomed, not hidden or disparaged.
Great writing and though we're strangers, I smile thinking about how wonderful that ride must have been.
Now...toe clips. Goodness. Good on ya. Secondly, Pastis? He should have provided some and, can I get away with riding with Becherovka in my pocket each ride? Incredible. "Got my multi-tool, got my house key, got my liquor...oh, I nearly forgot that."
I would say that in this situation breaking rules was worth the return.
@jim - My chapeau is not large enough to do your ride justice. The feel of the ride is there even though the travelogue included little detail about it - the imagery was all the better for the mystery. Great that you could make that ride and I only hope that one day I can complete a similarly memorable one.
Chapeau indeed !!!!
A man after my own heart. I rode in toe-clips for many years as a callow youth, and still have them on my track bike, which is now doing duty as a commuter. I have just come back from a ride on it.
The Rules, are definitely the beginning of enlightenment, not the end. I may have even made a few recent posts with that sentiment.
I was in Maui a couple of years ago, before the road bike bug bit, and while I did the ride down Haleakala, I deeply regret not riding up it. Maybe next year.
@jim - rules? YOU rule! Chapeau!
The rules are sacred, but the relentless pull of gravity observes only Rule V. It doesn't care whether your spare tube is in an EPMS, if your saddle matches your tape, or if your guns are shaved. The mountain respects only force, grit, and unyielding will. To a cyclist, the mountain is the only true arbiter.
Chapeau, indeed.
This might be the paragraph I read all month.
Fuck yeah!