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.
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On a more serious note, that reminded me of my trip to Alpe d'Huez in 2004. I had my own bike with me, but I slept in a rental car at the foot of the mountain the night before I rode it. Being there and doing it is the most important thing of all. EricW summed that up nicely in his response above. Chapeau indeed.
"...a man, a mountain, and a bike."
Which side did you go up? Didn't you love those km markers telling you there is yet another km at 9-10%?
@Mrdays
+1
Genius.
Really great piece.
This bitch of a climb is still very much on my list. We were there on the tour in 2009, but the sheer numbers on the mountain on race day scuppered our chances of getting to the top. One day Mont Ventoux, i'll be back!
@936adl
There are The Rules and there is The Ride and whilst I believe in strict rule compliance, without The Ride we would be little more than fops.
Jim, chapeaux, nicely written and what a ride. All the more special for having made the summit not on your own bike with the comfort of knowing it's foibles and intricacies but an unknown rental.
@936adl Ventoux is also very close to the top of my must ride list.
Not that tricky logistically: Friday morning Easyjet to Marseille, hire car to Bedion, two and a half days riding, Sunday night flight home.
Wow.....nice! Any more pictures?
Fantastic, fantastic stuff. You lucky bastard Jim!! There's a few climbs that I think all of us have on our "bucket list" (I despise that term), and le Mont is in my top 5.