Etape Race Preparation - Compare and Contrast A Day with Jerome and a Day with a Tour Operator

The morning after Bastille Day, Jerome, Didier and I headed for Clermont-Ferrand and the Auvergne region, site of many small, extinct volcanoes, and also of Act II of Etape du Tour, the stage from Issoire to St. Flour.

We had today, Friday, and tomorrow, Saturday, to prepare for Act II.  I wanted to enjoy Friday with Jerome and Didier and then rest on Saturday with my tour operator's group, get two good nights' sleep and be ready for a big day on Sunday.

On the way into Clermont-Ferrand, we drove right past the exit for the hotel where my tour group was staying and instead went straight to the center of town to pick up their friend Isabel at the train station. Isabel is a longtime French resident of Japan, temporarily living with her sister in a town near Avignon, post-Fukushima.

Isabel at the start village's Michelin exhibit, where Didier got new tires and tubes.
Michelin is headquartered in Clermont-Ferrand.
We saw lots of Michelin men in the region, some much larger than this.

Next we headed to Issoire, registered, ate some sandwiches, and enjoyed the atmosphere of the start village exhibitions. Didier got a new rear cassette (adding a few extra teeth) and some Michelin tires. If Clermont-Ferrand was lacking in character, Issoire looked like a very nice, large and relaxed town in the countryside.

Registration Friday highly recommended - not crowded, and a very relaxed mood.

Produits du terroir.  We skipped the sausages, but enjoyed
sandwiches on very nice artisanal bread.

Jerome in his touring garb -- horse drawn carriage available from central Issoire
to registration.  Much classier than the buses up the hill in Valfrejus last week.

My fellow travelers told me that Auvergne is the "real" French countryside, and that I should be prepared for a big and tasty meal tonight.  The mood was very festive -- and felt much more authentic than around the start village at the ski town in Valfrejus the previous week.

KTM top of the line model in orange and black. MOB's next bike?

As usual, traveling with Jerome things happen a bit spontaneously, without all the advance planning that some might think such a trip requires.  Didier had booked a hotel room for himself and Jerome for Saturday night in the small town of Saint-Nectaire, but they had no room for Friday, and none for Isabel, who they hoped would stay both nights (and could drive the car from Issoire to St. Flour, avoiding the need to spend Saturday in a shuttle operation).  I had my hotel room waiting back in Clermont-Ferrand, about a 40-minute drive away from Issoire, further from Saint-Nectaire.  So we headed toward Saint-Nectaire to scout out the situation and see if lodgings were available for them Friday evening.

At the hotel Didier had booked for Saturday, after much back-and-forth with a clerk, who was eventually overruled by the manager, it seemed they could only get one room for Friday night and no more than their current one room for Saturday.  The other hotel in town was also fully booked.  At least we got some recommendations for restaurants in the neighboring towns, having realized that everything was a bit further apart than we had thought -- further from Issoire to Saint-Nectaire, further from Clermont-Ferrand, and further on to La Bourboule, a town up the valley where we had been told there was a great place to eat.  We would keep looking for lodgings, but in the worst case Isabel could have the one room and Jerome and Didier could crash in my room back in Clermont-Ferrand.  (I had a double bed, and the camping mat from Transalp Camp).

Saint-Nectaire as seen from in front of its Romanesque church

Murol, from the chateau above

Jerome surveys Murol from the chateau

Isabel rests as the rest of us climb to the chateau.

We strolled up to the chateau above Murol, then finally drove to Lac Chambon and our next destination, the restaurant Le Grillon (The Cicada), overlooking the lake.  It was a meal memorable for the setting, the company and the uniformly high quality food in a simple eatery.  Of course, we tried the delicious local cheese.  Jerome profusely complemented our waitress on the food and as she was heading away across the room loudly pretended to place a call to a friend "Edouard" (being Edouard Michelin, founder of the Michelin Guide) and tell him to come over straight away and be ready to assign some stars.  After dinner, we stopped by the bar/pizzeria down the street where a live music band was playing out front.  I was amused to see that after our restaurant had closed, the waitress (who must have been in her late 50s or early 60s) also had made it down the street and into the bar for the live music and drinks.  The whole town was there, music wafting out across the road and over the lake.  Of course, if you lived nearby, you were subject to all the noise, so you might as well come join the party!  It really started hopping after 11PM when a group of 20-30 college students came in from some event and each ordered a meal.

The patron of the establishment came off the dance floor and behind the bar briefly, to get himself another drink (definitely not his first of the evening), and Jerome asked him about lodgings in the town.  He said he would check and headed back outside.  We saw him 10 minutes later, dancing away.  When he finally returned, he apologized, but said the one place he was thinking of was closed for the night, and he did not have a key (as it was not his place).  He did suggest a place down the road in Murol that we might try -- the Hotel du Parc.

We made it back to Murol where, miraculously, the immigrants who ran the Hotel du Parc were still awake and accepting guests to fill up their last few rooms.  It was not the best of accommodations, but at least we had someplace, and it was pretty clear there was no way I would get back to Clermont-Ferrand that night.  Didier was my roommate.  He snored, worse than MOB, so I slept with my iPod on.

Roomies.  I thought I was done with that after MOB headed back to Germany ..

In the morning, I noticed that the only "art" in the hotel were old posters of cyclists, local heros from the great duels of the 1960s between Anquetil and Poulidor.  Anquetil won the Tour 5 times.  Poulidor defeated him in many one-day classics, and was a perennial second or third in the Tour, but never managed to wear the yellow jersey.  He was the son of a farmer and a self-taught natural talent as a cyclist, an incredible story of someone who lost his greatest battles, but (or perhaps because so) remains incredibly popular to this day.  Poulidor and Anquetil had their greatest battle on the Puy de Dôme, the 1500 meter tall volcano on the west edge of Clermont-Ferrand.  Relationships within many families suffered as people chose sides, Poulidor vs. Anquetil.  And on Sunday's stage, mixed in among the the fans' painted slogans on the roadway left over from the Tour a week earlier, as we climbed the Pas du Peyrol, among markings for "Sylvain" [Chavanel], [Thomas] "Voeckler", "Andy" [Schleck] and others, I laughed out loud when I saw someone had written "Poulidor", still cheering him on in large white painted letters, only 40 years too late.

Raymond Poulidor -- the local hero -- rode for Mercier his entire career

Anquetil = Lance Armstrong
Poulidor = Jan Ullrich, but with personality, and without the career-end disgrace

True to his word and feeling a bit guilty about not getting me back to my lodgings on Friday night, Jerome treated me to the hotel, awoke earlier Saturday than he probably would have liked, and drove me back to Clermont-Ferrand.

Jerome enjoys (?) an early Saturday breakfast.
The waitress is the same woman who checked us in late last night, back at work.

Back in Clermont-Ferrand, I could sleep some more, in a noticeably larger, cleaner bed, and had none of the distractions of the French countryside to interrupt my race preparation.  In fact, in order to maximize our chance of success on Sunday, my tour operator had thoughtfully booked our group at a faceless Hotel Kyriad (somewhere between a Motel 6 and a Days Inn), in the middle of the Zone Industrielle du Brézet, just off the highway exit and near the little-used airport.  No distractions at all as we tried to focus on our race plans.

Zone Industrielle du Brézet.  No distractions. Nothing at all of interest.
I took a short warm up ride ... actually, not so short,
to try to find the nearest supermarket.

We had really crappy food for dinner -- pasta without sauce that must have been cooked for at least an extra 45 minutes -- but that would not cause us any digestive problems.  I did not see or hear any live music or other entertainment nearby.  Great for an early night to sleep for the big race.  Not so great for a visit to France.

I must say that while the two guys from the tour operator who interacted with us -- Sébastien and Vitor --  were really nice, the tour organization left something to be desired. They need to learn to post (or email) written explanations, instead of depending upon word of mouth for passing on crucial information like what time the bus leaves, from where, and how to meet up with them after the finish, etc.  (they were supposed to meet riders at the finish of Act II ... but failed to do so for anyone I spoke with, leaving us cold and wondering where we were supposed to go for our clean clothes we had deposited in the bus and the promised showers).

But the crappy food, even if barely edible, did not make me sick.  And the breakfast was tolerable -- hard to mess that up -- and they had us to the start line well in advance, with plenty of extra time in which to get cold.  Maybe the lack of distractions, fun, culture, or interesting food is why two of our group placed so well -- 25th and 40th, out of the thousands who rode?

The contrast between Friday and Saturday was almost too much.  With Jerome, Didier and Isabel, I had seen a vibrant countryside that was authentic, with rich colors, delicious flavors, warm smiles, healthy animals, and a beautiful sky. On Saturday, I was in an industrial zone in a Motel Six-clone.

In Issoire, we had seen a rag tag local marching band as we left the registration area.  My fellow travelers did not seem impressed, but for me they will symbolize the quirky, slightly disorganized and charming side of Issoire and neighboring towns that I saw.  I could not get the tune out of my head as I lay resting on Saturday in the Zone Industrielle.  I don't think there is much risk if you watch this sketchy video of part of the song, but be careful, if you do get hooked, it could require a trip to the Auvergne.  Just let me know -- I can lend you some maps I picked up and am saving for my return.

Issoire Marching Band from David Litt on Vimeo.
As we climbed up to the Chateau Murol, we passed two women who had just finished their show with birds of prey and were walking the birds down the hill.  I thought these two might have fit right in with the band.

Etape Acte II -- from Issoire to St. Flour -- "Made to Measure for a Strong Man"

Having returned to Tokyo this morning, I can at least use my jet lag induced wakefulness to give a brief report on Acte II of this year's Etape.  I will follow up later with the more interesting bits of my trip to France and some good stories of my happy time with the family Bouhet, as well as photos before and after race day ... but not enough time tonight.

Acte II was to follow Stage 9 of the Tour de France, 208km and 3600+ meters of climbing from Issoire to St. Flour via a loop through the mountains of the Massif Centrale and some beautiful countryside.  Even though the stage did not include any Galibier or Stelvio, no Mortirolo or Alpe d'Huez, it did include at least six Cat 2 and Cat 3 climbs, the highest being the 1589m elevation Pas de Peyrol, as well as lots of other nasty shorter sections of climbing.  So we knew it would be a hard course.  One analyst declared it "made to measure for a strong man. ... Except for the first 50 km, it's just climbs and descents all of the way. It’s a real leg-breaker."  Cyclingnews quotes another as saying "People associate the Alps and Pyrenees with the brutality of the Tour, but days like this are generally much, much harder. They will be full gas for 150km, and lots of strong guys will be targeting it."

When the pros had ridden it the week before, it had been a scene of some memorable crashes, including one that knocked Dave Zabriskie, Alexandre Vinokourov and several other top contenders out of the 2011 Tour, and another crash where a France TV4 publicity car hit Juan Antonio Flecha and Johnny Hoogerland and sent them flying, Hoogerland directly into a barbed wire fence.  One of the younger British riders with my tour operator had told his parents, who never watch cycling, to be sure to watch Stage 9 so they could see where he would be riding the following week.  He deeply regretted this as the carnage revealed itself and his parents began to question his sanity.  People called it a crazy stage.

Another potential issue was the weather.  From Friday onward, the forecast for Sunday had predicted at least some rain.  Some of the forecasts were for "heavy rain", while other suggested there would just be showers off and on throughout the day.  No one mentioned particular cold.

When I awoke a 4AM I stepped outside briefly -- warm and a bit humid, but still dry.  So I planned for rain gear but nothing extraordinary -- my usual summer sweatband and half length gloves, normal jersey, bib shorts and socks, and my goretex shell for any rain and to keep a bit warmer on the descents.  I did put on some thin arm warmers, in the thought that I might be cold standing around at the start, but otherwise typical gear for a summer ride with some risk of rain.

The rain started as we were still en route to Issoire and had really picked up by the time I got out of the bus and found start area #6.  Fortunately, I was able to wait standing under a shop awning, and to duck into a restaurant for a large hot cafe au lait -- still dry, I felt ready to go, with the prospect of conditions that would maximize my comparative advantages (strength and a little extra meat on the bones, plus training that did involve riding 200km in the rain and cold every once in awhile).  I stepped back into the rain just as the gun went off and the front group started, and after 15 minutes of inching forward, we too were off.

Conditions were wet but tolerable for the first 40 km.  My rear tire flatted at that point, just at the bottom of the first climb, and I changed it and moved on without incident.  Many people were suffering flats and other mechanical issues in the wet -- the small gravel and gunk that gets onto the road in the rain always seems to cause these. Later I heard many complaints of riders whose hands were too cold to change a tire or even to open a presta tire tube valve after they flatted.

After the first categorized climb, I settled into an incredibly long, hard slog, as the route went almost due west on a higher plain with a general uphill tilt, into an accelerating headwind and a real downpour ... over the next 40 km.  The wind was brutally strong and cold.  Very quickly the pace slowed, groups of 10, 20 or 30 riders making forward progress at 18-20 kph.  A rider from my tour operator, who ended up placing #40 overall out of the thousands of participants, told me that on this stretch even the front group was managing only a little better than 20 kph.

I started to see riders heading back down the road toward me, 1 or 2 at a time.  After 10 or 20 had passed, I realized what was up -- they had given up and were going downwind/downhill to seek shelter.  Then as I passed a village I saw a group of maybe 30 road bikes stacked by the side of the road, no sign of the riders, who were probably in one of the nearby houses.  Anyway, I pushed ahead, trying to move forward from group to group, whenever possible doing so together with another rider or two who would share the work. Sure, it was cold and wet, but not as cold, and not nearly as wet, as Kiyosato and Nobeyama in the driving rain at midnight in April. 

Anyway, I had one minor incident (another broken spoke -- this time on my front wheel, which remained rideable, barely) and so did two of the descents at significantly reduced speed until, 20 km or so up the road I did manage to get a spare wheel from the Mavic team to use for the last 50+ km, and slogged through to the finish, pulling a few groups on the downhills.

My time was 10 hrs and 5 minutes.  I was finisher number 1390, out of around 6000 who registered, 4000 who started, and 1982 who recorded official times -- a significant improvement on Acte I.  (The results, searchable by name or Dossard number, can be found here.  I was Dossard number 3113).   Only four riders managed to break 7 hours.  Jerome came through in 10 hrs and 53 minutes.  Didier had a major mechanical issue (broken derailleur hanger sends rear derailleur flying into gears) and was forced to abandon after 75 km.

Laurent had the most frustrating day.  He was in start area 9 and so further back in the stream of thousands than I.  When he entered Allanche, after a significant portion of the downpour/headwind/uphill section, it was "a war zone".  He was cold but otherwise okay, and made the mistake of listening to the organizers on-site who were telling people there was fog (true) and snow (false) on the Pas de Peyrol, and advising that they give up and head toward St. Flour by a lower road.  The police did apparently close Pas de Peyrol at one point and redirect riders by a different route, but that let them continue the rest of the course.  Laurent was really angry with the organizers, and with himself for having listened to them.  One expects he will have had plenty of chance to recover his spirit by riding the courses of Liege-Bastogne-Liege and Fleche Wallone this week.

I talked with another strong rider at the Lyon Airport, who had come from Canada to serve as "domestique" for a top competitor.  His leader had ended up abandoning with hypothermia on this stretch.  Our tour operator's group included about 15 Brazilians.  Not used to riding in the cold, only 3 completed the event.

The townspeople were great.  They lined the road in every city, town, village and hamlet, and they offered shelter and, apparently, hot liquids, to those who got in real trouble.  I was grateful for the constant cheers of "allez, allez, courage", willing us along.  This is the real French countryside, a part of France where epic cycling duels have been fought ... but that will need to wait for another post.

As the ASO website site notes, this 2011 second act deserves "a place on the podium" of the most difficult editions of Etape du Tour.

Elevation profile:

The Latest Fad

We saw lots of various items of compression clothing on the leaders at Transalp this year.  They are much cheaper and much less inconvenient than the fad of 2009 -- electronic muscle stimulus gadgetry -- and I think equally unproven.  But they make your legs feel stronger and leaner, and without them, it is clear that you will be written off as not a serious competitor.  It was easy to pick some up at the Etape exhibitors' village this afternoon.  I got a pair of the "medilast sport" Chausettes Pro-Sport Speciales Cyclisme, for use while riding, and another (2nd half price) of the Speciales Recuperation designed for recovery (recommended for 90-120 minutes use).  I was promised that in only 90 minutes, my legs would be good to go!  They had orange, red, black and white ... but were out of the ugly green ones we saw in action on Transalp.

UPDATE: I wore the black socks on Acte 1 of Etape. They are supposed to "activate" the blood flow. They felt good for the first 2 hours or so, then I started to notice the fairly tight, binding feeling at the top--around the knees, and I wanted to cool down as I climbed and the day heated up. I ended up folding them down around my ankles for the rest of the ride, where they did not cause any problems at least. And my feet were one of the few parts of my body that did not cause me any concern during the ride -- good blood circulation, no pain or numbness. There were way too many variables on Monday to consider this a valuable test.

UPDATE #2: I wore the white "recovery" socks for several hours Tuesday night, after a short but painful rear wheel test-ride Tuesday that included some hills in the suburbs (well, surrounding communities) of Annecy.  I must say that my legs feel really good after wearing the recovery socks.  So the first impression is that they do improve circulation and just might work to speed recovery.  I'll try them again after the 208km race on Sunday and gradually try to see if this theory holds up.

UPDATE #3: Also, I had dinner Tuesday night with a 40-year old Brit rider in this tour group who completed Monday 3 hours faster than me, and said he used race time trials with Chris Boardman (big, big local hero in Britain, for those of you who are not familiar with him -- almost as many Brits with Boardman bikes on Monday as I saw Germans with Canyons at Transalp). He mentioned that he had had a blood clot in his legs a few years ago, and used compression socks to help it clear, eventually.  That got me thinking about things like "economy class syndrome", and the use of compression socks to avoid blood clots during surgery, and for people who have had lymph nodes removed as part of cancer treatment and are subject to swelling in the legs.  There may be more science behind this trend than I had thought, even if there is not "proof" that they work. Maybe I should be wearing them on the plane back to Tokyo?