There's always gonna be another mountain

"This is the bedrock of reality: however grim you feel physically, whatever defeatist temptation clouds your mind, giving up solves nothing. The kilometres ahead of you, the steepness of the road, the suffering, mental and physical, that it's going to take to surmount them: all that lies ahead of you and won't go away. The inclemency of the weather may change, granted, the geology will not and time ticks on. Thinking you won't make it is like worry-it changes nothing and merely adds the weight of anxiety to the problem. This you can do without, so shun it in favour of the reality: I can't go on, I must go on, I will go on. The formula may be simple: it most decidedly is not simplistic. It has to be earnt and learned from the inside out"

Graeme Fife, page 105, "The Beautiful Machine"

I have read many books and articles on cycling, and a lot about the Tour de France, its history and tradition. The passage above is not just a great piece of cycling literature, it sums up my whole life in so many ways.

I have been delighted and awed by Thomas Voeckler this week. In what has turned out to be the most exciting and closest Tour de France for a long time, he has personified the spirit that the race demands. Heart, soul, body and mind. Right down to today, when he was cooked on Alpe d'Huez, he gives Pierre Rolland, his loyal domestique, permission and encouragement to go and win the stage. His jersey gone to the shoulders of the younger Schleck, who may lose it to a rehabilitated and somewhat more human Cadel Evans tomorrow, he still gave his all, leaving open the possibility that he might claw his way onto the podium.

Perhaps we all dream that he might just win, but it seems unlikely. Even Contador managed some human frailty, lashing out at a spectator who taunted him with drug accusations on the slope of the final mountain of the Tour.

And then there is Cav. Struggling through the mountains, but as honest as ever, even about his climbing limitations. I managed to avoid the result of today's stage, and it made for a great experience, not knowing who had won. But right at the end, up popped Mark, who looked as knackered as I do after an easy sportive, to say how hard he found it.

Who will win yellow? Evans would seem the favourite, but Andy put up a good fight in the TT last year, so you never know. And don't rule out Voeckler. All it takes is for Evans to puncture, lose time, anything could happen.

And what mountains we have seen. Hats off to all who completed the Etape this year, especially anyone who plumped for the one in the Massif Central. Not content with dishing out a broken femur to Vino, numerous other injuries to the professionals, including a rogue French TV car-driver wiping out Flecha and putting Hoogerland through a barbed wire fence, the elements devastated the amateur field last Sunday with sub zero temperatures and massive rainstorms.

Skip did the Etape in the alps, as did one of my work colleagues. I bumped into the latter today, he did it in 4 hours 55, to sneak into the top 100 (at least) so well done to both of them. The climb of the Galibier looked tough, but the descent looked unbelievably scary and fast. Add in the heat, which their fellow riders might willingly have swapped for their weather, and all in all it looks like a tough 68 miles.

It's only just over a month until I get to sample the Pyrenees again, Bunny and I are off to base ourselves near Luchon over the Bank Holiday weekend. We are not sure what we are going to do yet. Well, cycling for sure, my friend already, but which mountains we are going to tackle, well that's still to be decided. One things for sure, my friend already, I need to get some practice.

Which brings me to my own ride today. In to work at stupid o'clock, I left home at 5.45AM and I could be forgiven if I forgot it is actually Summer. Rain, cold, wind (a headwind both ways today, oh joy). The ride in through Wrington over the hill and down, was pretty direct, owing to a need to be at a networking breakfast in Bristol by 8 o'clock. Still, it was worth it, and the bacon sandwich was nice.

I also got a good going-over by the osteopath today. The culprit? Well mini MR may have delivered the coup de grace, but it seems that the Red Madone is not set up properly and has put undue pressure on my back and neck. Oh dear. That is probably why K-1 feels so comfortable at the moment, it's not wrecking my body.

By the time I came to ride home it was predictably warm, so I did my best to stuff some layers in the back pockets. Particularly as I had a mind to do a few climbs of my own. The direct route up Dundry Hill is the Alpe d'Huez of Bristol. But with fewer  drunk Dutch people for sure already my good friend, and a lot more traffic. Which is why I took the scenic route up its slopes.

The descent gets steep, up to 17.2%, and combined with the high hedges, twisty corners, and lots of  gravillons, is enough to frighten Andy Schleck, so naturally I took it easy. Good job, I met a car halfway up, or down, and inched past on the single-track road.

Once up again to Winford manor, I decided to go straight down the A38, which was a blast as the traffic let me do my 40 mph+ descent thing down,  and do Burrington Coombe. I'd enjoyed the climb so much last Sunday I decided to do it in sunshine, and at least I had a tailwind helping me up that part of the route. From there it was over the lumps and bumps on the top, before heading down the gorge, which was fairly dry.

So I only did 48 miles or so, and not very quickly. Given I'd been awake over 12 hours, and had a hectic day, I was quite pleased. I may not have climbed like a mountain goat, but I did see lots of them on the slopes of Burrington. What we need now is for the Prince of Orange to start standing on the corner where the ice-cream van is parked, and start Somerset's very own Dutch corner.

http://ridewithgps.com/trips/325097