Twice over the Giant of Provence

 

RIDERS will  twice race over the feared Giant of Provence, the legendary 1910-metre high Mt Ventoux on stage 11 of the Tour de France in July!

Twice in one afternoon!

Wow. That was my first reaction, upon seeing the course in my Tour guide.

My second reaction was to ask, is this wise?

It is 54 years since Tommy Simpson died after collapsing in intense heat on the cruel slopes of Mt Ventoux, in the 1967 Tour. The temperature was over thirty two degrees Celsius.

He had been unwell. Drugs were said to a contributing factor, as was alcohol and a stomach complaint. 

The tragedy further tainted the mountain’s reputation as a hostile place, unlike any other climb.

Punishing mountainous terrain routinely push riders to their physical limits.  On the grand tours they represent the ultimate athletic challenge.

And the Ventoux is prone to sudden changes in the weather, strong winds which can blow you off your bike, extreme heat, extreme cold even in the summer months, fog.

Officials halted a sportive there some years ago now, when riders became distressed as the temperature dropped to near freezing at the summit.

This year, the race climbs it twice in the space of two hours, ascending via the south face as is usual, and descending the north, to pass through the lovely town of Malaucene at the base, finishing there next time round.

In 1967 Tom had been clearly unwell in the days before the Ventoux stage. “Why don’t you pack it in, Tom?” Sid Saltmarsh, reporting the race for Cycling, said to him, not unkindly.

Stopping was unthinkable for Tom, the first Briton to wear the famed Yellow Jersey

of race leader in 1962 when he finished 6^th overall.

He was a star of the single-day classics, most notably winning the Tour of Flanders; Bordeaux Paris; Milan-San Remo; and in 1965 a famous double, the World Road Championship followed by the Tour of Lombardy.

In 1967 he was lying seventh overall in the Tour, where he led a British team. He desperately wanted to win outright.

His dream cruelly ended two kilometres from the summit, when he collapsed when trying to a bridge gap to a group of favourites.  He was flown by helicopter to hospital where he died that same evening.

The Tour was shocked. The tragedy was reported across the world.

The memorial to Tom Simpson, erected and paid for with contributions from readers of CYCLING.

Was the Ventoux culpable, asked Mirror Sprint in their detailed report the following week.

Non, said the majority of riders.

So perhaps I’m over- reacting. After all, there are only two fourth category climbs before the two ascents of the Ventoux which is rated 1^st category.

Tour stages often include four or five, even six cols.

In 1967 that fateful stage covered 211.5 kilometres, not much further than the 198.9 this year.

But the overall distance of the ’67 Tour was much, much longer at 4,779.8 kilometres, making it 1,400 kilometres longer than the 2021 edition.

Modern day Tours are much shorter, so it is argued less stressful. On the other hand the speed is now higher.

Whatever the differences may be, the Simpson tragedy still sends shivers down the spine.  Tour riders feared that mountain more than  other climbs. Do the current crop of supermen feel that way?

It was 20 years following Simpson’s death before the Tour went up the Ventoux again. This was 1987 and I was covering the Tour for Cycling Weekly. The stage was a time trial, held later in the day, to avoid the midday day sun.  It was won by Frances’s Jean-Francois Bernard.

The rule is, never ride this mountain around noon, the hottest part of the day. And that goes for anyone, not just the Tour riders.

Mount Ventoux holds a special place in my heart. For in 1997, on the thirtieth anniversary of Tom’s death, I joined his daughter Joanne and a small group of her close friends and relatives including Tom’s teammate Barry Hoban to ride the mountain. The group included a grandson of Tom, who rode part of the way, plus his nephew, Chris Sidwells.

We were blessed with fine sunny weather, not too hot, hardly any wind.

Joanne’s aim had been to take the name Simpson to the top, to complete the course for her dad. And she did so in style; leading our group past the memorial to her father.  She was four years old at the time of the tragedy .

Then we all retraced to the memorial two kilometres below the summit, to the spot where he fell.

There we met up with the rest of the party. They included Tom’s widow Helen (now married to Barry Hoban), Joanne’s sister Jane, plus Vin Denson, another member of that ill-fated British team.

It was both an emotional and enjoyable occasion for Joanne and everyone there.

I have crossed most of the major mountains in France when covering the great race - by car. The Ventoux is the only one I have ascended by bike.  And descended the other side!

Clearly I will be glued to the television coverage of stage 11, to relive my own experience.

Having raised my concerns at the severity of the Tour crossing the mountain twice, it should be noted that that the first approach is via the less severe climb from Sault – the Lavender Route - our chosen route back in ’97.  It is a less arduous ascent at 5 per cent average, but longer at 24 kilometres.

The traditional shorter but far steeper route via Bedoin is 21 kilometres of climbing.  And they take this route the second time up.

Both routes converge at Chalet Reynard, where the gradient ramps up for the final six gruelling kilometres above the tree line. Here riders are exposed to the glaring sun reflected back from the barren white rocky, lunar-like landscape.  This place can be like a furnace at the height of summer. 

The fastest schedule has the riders crossing the summit first time at around three thirty in the afternoon, the second time at around five.

The road over the Ventoux literally goes over the very top of the mountain, passing to the right of the observatory there which from afar looks like a rocket poised to go the stars.

They will catch the first glimpse of their target as they pass through Sault, the slim outline of the observatory atop a white summit ablaze in sunlight a long way away.  

Unlike many other mountain climbs which zig zag their way to the top, the

final six kilometres of the Giant of Provence makes a bee-line for the top. The road,  a thin ribbon of tarmac snaking  up around the  exposed flanks of the bald mountain under the glare of the sun,  rising inexorably  towards its distant goal, up there in the sky.

 And once the summit is reached you really are in the sky. There is nothing higher.  It is spectacular, a breath-taking panorama on a clear day.

Our “Simpson” group took an hour 40 minutes for the 24km from Sault to the summit.

We rode a measured pace, taking our time, chatting away - until conversation petered out on the steeper slopes after Chalet Reynard!

The race will climb this first ascent in just under an hour. Probably not much talking going on.

I took 40 minutes to descend cautiously the 21km to Malaucene afterwards.  It was both amusing and a touch disconcerting see a hang glider riding the thermals – below me!

The fastest Tour riders will take 20 minutes!

Malaucene is the stage finish, so the temptation could be to take risks on roads which broaden out as they sweep down to the valley. Perhaps crashing on this descent is where the real danger lies this year.