cycling Alpe d'Huez

Alpe d�Huez is the most glamourous mountain in French cycling, featuring in nearly every Tour de France since 1976. It draws cycling fans like no other. Half-a-million people cram its slopes and the twenty-one hairpin bends during the race, many of them Dutch, whose riders have a knack of being first up the hill. The winner of the Alpe climb is nearly always a contender for the yellow jersey or the King of the Mountain. 

Aware of this symbolism, the authorities have named each of the twenty-one bends after a mountain victor, starting with number twenty-one at the bottom. It�s a tad cheesy, but who am I to disagree with millions of cycling fans who count off the bends and the names.

The morning is bright and sunny and Anita, the owner of the Bed & Breakfast, offers me a huge breakfast. Nervously, I check my gear three times before leaving the B&B a few kilometres south of Le Bourg d�Oisans. I try to relax into the warm-up ride along the valley. Alpe d�Huez looms to my left. I focus instead on the road ahead. I�m pleased there�s a bike lane, so I can concentrate on my breathing. Truth is, I�m scared of the first two bends, which are both further apart and steeper than their higher brothers. I drove up the mountain yesterday and my Citroen struggled, so I�m a little apprehensive as I cross the Romanche River and look up. The road resembles a ramp in a shopping centre car park, only one that keeps going. If I was Catholic, I�d cross myself about now. Welcome to 12% land. 

I immediately drop to the lowest gear my new hire bike, who I�ve dubbed Monica B, can offer. My speed slows to a crawl. Could I walk quicker? I struggle, unsure whether I can go on. My Garmin tells me I�m less than a kilometre into the climb, my legs scream it�s all over. Finally, the first bend arrives. Bonne matin Senor Fausto Coppi, winner in 1952. However as there have been more than twenty-one winners, he nows shares naming rights with seven-time ex-winner, drug cheat and charity tour-de-force Lance Armstrong (2001). Their names stand together, uneasily. The punishing gradient continues to the second bend. I concentrate on looking at the spectacular view of Bourg d�Oisans well below me and the snow-capped mountains rising opposite. I keep telling myself to settle into a rhythm. I rise from the saddle and pump just that little bit harder. Monica B responds, tentatively. She is more nimble, lighter and racier than any bike I�ve ridden. I only wish she had another front cog. 

Second bend, bonjour my Dutch friend, Joop Zoetemelk (1976) and the Spanish winner, Iban Mayo (2003). I permit myself a wry smile. The last football World Cup Final was between The Netherlands and Spain, a hostile affair where the Dutch kicked anything that moved. It seemed so out of kilter with their national character - jovial, quick to laugh, inventive. They did not play the villain role well, and were finally beaten by a Spanish side executing the beautiful game as it should be played. I wonder what Joop and Iban would say?

The thoughts of another sport, less torturous than the one I�m playing right now, gives me a boost and I round the third bend easily and start to enjoy the climb. I even overtake another cyclist, wearing a Sky jersey. Each of the guides I�ve read suggest utilising the bends to your advantage by building rhythm and slowly counting them down. It helps that the gradient has dropped to a much easier 7% and I can pace myself against other cyclists. I switch into relax-mode and count the bends, slowly. By the time I�ve rounded number eleven, nodding respectfully to Bernauld Hinault, I feel much more comfortable and alert. It�s amusing to read all the messages of encouragement painted on the road by fans, many in Dutch. �Hup� seems to be the most popular word! Fittingly, before the next bend I�m passed for the first, and only, time by another rider. He�s wearing the orange colours of The Netherlands. Hup!

A few kilometres from the top is the Huez village with a lovely little church framed by snow-covered mountains and, as I cycle by, a herd of cows roam the nearby meadow, cowbells tinkling down the valley. From here to the top, alpine flowers dot the landscape and I imagine I'm in a television ad for Swiss chocolate, one where the overweight cyclist wheezes all the way up the mountain before gorging himself on kilos of the finest Swiss delicacy. But enough of that dream. I have... quick check of the sign, eight bends to go. For the first time, I�m sure I�m going to make it and defy predictions of a heart attack. 

The final four bends are slightly further apart, but I�m so engrossed in the view across to the mountains and above my right shoulder to the Alpe d�Huez village that Monica B and I barely flinch at the increased gradient. 

9%. 

Pah! Hup! Sorry, I�m starting to sound like a Dutch Ramones cover band.

Bend Number One, Buongiorno Giuseppe Guerini, is long and sweeping and the gradient ramps up yet again for the final thrust, no... final stagger into the village. I cycle past ski shops, closed for the season and a few cafes, but where is the finishing line? There appears to be no official marker for we amateurs? I slow and call out �finish� to a few cyclists enjoying a coffee. They point further up the resort. I expect to hear laughter as I push on through the village. Amateur indeed. But, sure enough, confusingly there is a bend number zero. I round this bend, but still no altitude sign. I curse and keep pedalling. Finally, the graffiti on the road ceases and I�m spent. Still, no official marker, but this will do. I pull over into a car park and give Monica B a gentle pat. Time for some naff photos of moi in front of an Alpe d�Huez road sign, grinning inanely. 

Alpe d�Huez is primarily a ski and cycle resort of snowfield chalets and chairlifts and shops selling outdoor wear. In summer, it�s overrun by shaven-legged, polka-dot-jersey wearing men, and some women, with obscenely large thigh muscles sitting in outdoor cafes drinking coffee and comparing recent climbs. So I join them, even though I have hairy legs and no bulges anywhere. But, I do have a lurid green jersey. 

The record time to the top is held by the legendary Marco Pantani at 37 minutes, 35 seconds. My time? 85 minutes. 

I wander into the shop where I hired Monica B yesterday. The owner, Oliver, greets me enthusiastically. I proudly tell him my time. He whistles approvingly. And then his wife goes and spoils it all by telling me Oliver finally beat the one hour mark yesterday. What�s twenty-five minutes, I suggest. A bloody lot of climbing, that�s what.

I retire to a restaurant and indulge in a burger with fries, washed down with an espresso. Afterwards, I wander the village. Ski resorts are curious places in the off-season. The chairlifts hang quietly over the road, most of the shops are closed, the snow ploughs loiter disused in a green meadow. The air is punctuated by the sound of Dutch laughter. A group of hail-fellow-well-met cyclists are celebrating their climb outside a cafe. Beer glasses line the table. It should make for an interesting descent. 

I pull on my jacket, take the leggings from my back pocket and prepare for the descent. The wind chill will be unforgiving. I toast the last of my water bottle to the summit and let Monica B roll. She hugs the corners beautifully and I do my best to hang on. The speed nudges 60 kmh regularly as I continually apply the brakes, too scared to go any faster. The landscape zips past. Hello cows, hello struggling cyclist still climbing, hello stupid car cutting the corner on a tight hairpin! What�s the Dutch word for bastard?

Too soon I�m crossing the Romanche River and pulling up outside Le Cascade. A beer or three is in order. I show the owner my photos. �Look, I�ve been up there.� He smiles, obligingly. I wonder how many times he�s forced to do this every day. 

I walk through the village to the boulangerie. Paris-brest. The end to a perfect day. Tomorrow, Col de la Croix de Fer.

Accommodation: Le Petit Catelan, Lieu Dit les Sables, 9 Chemin de Catelan, Le Bourg d�Oisans. Bike-friendly hosts, wi-fi, warm comfortable rooms, big breakfast, a few kilomteres from town but an ideal base for cyclists. Price: E75-85. My score: 17/20.

Route tips: Oisans tourism offers an excellent free booklet, listing in great detail, 30 cycle routes in the local area. The booklet comes in many languages and is invaluable in offering simple maps and a history of each route. If only every tourist area so valued their visitors. For serious cyclists, I�d suggest a week in town, allowing you the opportunity to tackle many famous Tour mountains, and ample time to eat at Le Cascade!

Distance cycled today: 40km

What I should have said: �Hup, hup, hup, hup, hup!�

Cycle tips: Alpe d�Huez is a �hors category� climb of 14.5 kilometres with an average gradient of 8%. Maximum gradient is 13%. Elevation gain is 1150 metres. Beware the first two bends, the gradient is steep and unrelenting. Don�t let the excitement of attacking the Alpe drain all your energy too soon. Better to slowly complete the first few kilometres and attack in the mid-section, or at the end. Allow the bends to be your friend, count them down as your climb. On descent, beware of cars driven by tourists taking in the view rather than watching for cyclists. Also beware of fellow cyclists speeding past too closely. Don�t stop for photos on the ascent, you need to maintain a rhythm to fully appreciate the difficulty of this iconic climb.

This is an edited extract from my eBook, baguettes and bicycles. To purchase this book for $2.99, go to my Amazon page, here. 

baguettes and bicycles is a travel adventure, a restaurant safari and a guidebook for those who enjoy slow food, easy cycling... and fast descents.