Report: La Provençale Sainte Victoire

[Andrew Scheyer]

Alors, y'all reminded me to write something up - this was a couple of weeks ago, but I've got one coming up in two days that should be pretty interesting (155km, 3000+m climbing, 95% chance of rain) so I'll have another comin' atch'ya in due time. Then a week later I'll be doing a 24hr relay race on the Paul Ricard racing circuit (4 men, 24hr to complete as many laps of a 3.8km circuit). Then it's two more weeks until the borderline-suicidal Café du Cycliste-hosted 'La Mercan Tour' (180km, 4600+m climbing) and then I'm off for a week of solo bike-camping en route to rendez-vous with Monsieur Baller-Time Ed all up in 'dat Italy-lyfe. In conclusion: come visit! It'll hurt your legs and soul but it'll be totally worth it (I can almost promise that)..

Pre-race

On a windy afternoon, Laura and I set off on our bikes, loaded with basic travel bags (Fairweather Cycling makes fucking killer-good bags if you're in the market) north towards Aix en Provence. At the time, this was Laura's biggest ride so it was a nice, gentle opener for me to pull her there (since, I've introduced her to her first metric century, to Arles and back in one week-end). We got hella lost trying to avoid busy roads, and ended up eating a lot of biscotti on the side of the road and watching the birds peck at new vines in the local vineyards. Eventually we arrived in Aix, ate a shitload of falafel and watched The Simpsons on french network TV in our AirBnB. So, basically everything was as it should be. 

Racing in France, as I may have mentioned in a previous report, is a totally different beast. The biggest reason for this is that the races start all together, regardless of category. There is a small (300 person) corral of people with FFC (think of it as the USAC for frogs) points, then the rest of us line up behind them. Whether you're a former pro with a 450W threshold or a tubby fois gras-munching retiree who had to remember to remove your handlebar mirrors before toeing the line, you all line up behind these 300. In this particular race, I remembered to show up nice and early, so I was only about 4 rows deep after the points corral. That put me somewhere around 350/1000. PRETTY GOOD ODDS FOR THE PODIUM.

Anyhow, it was cold as fuck due to La Mistral (the adorable name they give the gale-force winds that come in off the coast in southern France, averaging 50+km/h for days at a time). I shivered and tried to hold my pee for about 45 minutes before the gun went off. During this time, I was graced with a potentially morning-drunk (whoo Pastis for breakfast!) announcer trying to hype everyone up while competing with the blaring sounds of such diverse gems as Katy Perry's 'Firework', Praga Kahn's 'Breakfast in Vegas' and Freddie Gibbs' 'Bout it Bout it.' As per usual, everyone thought I was German (something about my accent? blue eyes and blond hair? we'll never know) and I just went with it to avoid having the 3,000th conversation about 'what is the fucking deal with Trump?'

The race

For French road-racing, this was a relatively short one (134km) so I knew off the bat it would be guns blazing. The first climb comes less than 10 minutes into the race and if you're not at the front.. 'tant pis' as they say here (easiest translation: tough shit). That circling in the back of my head, I go full-gas from the start. Within about 2 minutes I've made my way out of the bozo-pack and up with the big boys. Or so I thought.

As expected, a little under 10 minutes in we hit our first climb (St. Antoine). It's about a 13-14 minute climb that I've done a handful of times, averaging about 6-7% with some moments at 17-20%. It's harsh, but not so long that I can't hold myself in the red. Remember that ominous note from the last paragraph? About 30 seconds into the climb someone in front of me crosses wheels with the one in front of him (note, we're about 200 riders already separated from the pack at this point, I'm sitting 30th wheel or so). He makes a quick handlebar swing and hits the deck like a drunk sailor. I go down with him, curse his whole family in my best German-sounding French and get back up. As instinct overrides logic, I assume the only way I'll succeed in not sucking wind for the rest of the race (remember, the day so far is averaging 50km/h wind and we're only gaining altitude..) is to catch the leaders again. So I hustle my ass up the climb and crest, joining a small group who has fallen off the break. 

After catching my breath I orally survey the group I'm with: mostly hard-workers, ready to chase. They tell me about 40 riders have escaped off the front, including the projected winners. Our group is about 30 deep as well, but only the 10 of us at the front seem properly motivated. In short order I make friends with another team-less rider and we hatch a plan. There's a long descent about 60% through the race that I've done a dozen times. If you're aggressive you can do it in 10 minutes or so (Paul, you did this with Pelle and I). It's windy and narrow and you can easily disappear. So the two of us sit in the rotation for an hour or so, taking our pulls and bringing the whole of the chase-group closer to catching the break. The moto tells us we're about 8min back still, so we've got work to do.

When we reach the peak of the climb just before the long descent, we put our plan into action. I'm sitting second wheel in the rotation and he's just finished his pull so he attacks on the left and I on the right. No one seems terribly motivated to do anything about it, so within about a minute we've got a substantial gap. Then the big descent starts and we are out of sight. Good shit. Or so I thought. 

As it turns out, I may have made a lapse in character-judgement (cut me a break - he was a Croatian speaking French and I was an American/German trying the same). As soon as we escape he is looking over his shoulder every 15 seconds. Rule #1 of escaping: don't. look. back. To complicate matters, this is right about where we start encountering the riders who are doing the short race (yeah, about 10 minutes after we launch, a second, 95km course begins). As we approach each one, from 20 meters away my partner yells 'DROITE' ('RIGHT'). But what the fuck does he mean? Stay right? I'm on your right? Nope, just 'right.' This leads to obvious confusion, several near-misses, and some serious slowing of our breakaway. I decide it's time to end this romance and put down some hard watts, quickly dropping what had become a very tired Croatian. 

Oh god, what have I done. Somehow in the midst of all of this, plus the glorious blockade of trees and mountain passes, I've forgotten that I'm about to exit the forest into flat, open vineyard territory to dance with La Mistral. Alone. I spend the next hour or so alone, occasionally hopping onto a group (at this point I don't care if they're doing the 133km or 95km course, I just need to catch my breath) before taking off again. As I crest the most brutal climb of the day (Col de Sambuc), I can hear the whirring of the riders behind me. I'm quickly swallowed up, and despite my best efforts, moved to the back. At this point I've burnt my matches (and my bridges) and I just want to hang on. After cresting Col de Sambuc, there's only about 17-20km left in the race and things are heating up. Our group splits open on the gravelly roads of the descent and shatters into dozens of duos and triplets. I'm toast and I know it so I hide behind my sunglasses and try to find someone stupid enough to pull me. My legs are jelly, I have the distinct feeling that someone is standing on my chest and I'm fairly convinced my brakes are rubbing. Also, I need water. Fuck it, let's just cross the line.

In the end, I finished 84th (34th in the 18-29 age group). Not where I wanted to be, but as some mélange of Wayne Gretzky and Sven Nys once vaguely said, "you miss 100% of the podiums you don't attack." Or something.

Until next time...

--

Andrew F. Scheyer, PhD

perpetual student

Institut de Neurobiologie de la Méditerranée

Parc scientifique de Luminy

163 avenue de Luminy

BP13 - 13273 Marseille cedex 09 - France