We’re in Israel for the Gran Fondo Arava
Israel’s Gran Fondo Arava is the anti-altitude ride, taking cyclists to 430m below sea level – the lowest place on Earth
The Akrabbim Ascent – the Scorpion’s Pass – lives up to its name
I’d been climbing through the desert for almost an hour, gaining 600m vertically. The bike computer read just over 400m in elevation. A GPS malfunction? Desertinspired hallucinations? Come to think of it, that sign back down the road was telling: half way up the side of the Arava valley in the middle of the Negev desert in southern Israel, I reached a sign declaring ‘sea level’. No sign of water anywhere, let alone at sign level.
I’d arrived the day before, glimpsing the lights of Jordan in the distance through the desert dark, as our minibus wove down the twisting road into the Dead Sea valley. Eating breakfast in the lowest place on earth, 430m below sea level, it struck me that this was exactly the opposite of an altitude training camp. Does that mean it would make me slower and less fit?
Stark beauty
I’d come to ride the Gran Fondo Arava – a 161km race through the desert with just shy of 2000m of climbing. The landscape has a barren beauty. Little grows here, but the weather-sculpted mountains, rocks and ravines are striking.
The area is believed by some to be the site of the fabled cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, and the mountains of salt and potash manufactured from giant evaporation ponds in the region give the claim some credence. The Romans occupied the area to secure salt supplies and the spice trade route ran through the desert here.
The first 20km was a feelgood-inducing slight downhill, heading north, with a gentle tailwind – the kind that makes you think, ‘I must be on a really good day’ only for reality to bite halfway through when you have to turn around.
Turning left, off the main road in a westerly direction, the tarmac started to ramp up, gradually at first, the distant Akrabbim ridge drawing closer. Gaining some elevation, the views along the valley opened out; a line of white rock in the mountains on the Jordanian side of the valley contrasting with the dusty reds and browns of the surrounding desert.
The contours of the bare rock stacked up in geological layers as we passed. Before too long, the road kicked rudely upwards, forcing me out of the saddle for the first time. The Akrabbim Ascent – the Scorpion’s Pass – lives up to its name. The sting is there alright, but so too are the poisonous arachnids, abundant in the rocky land all around. Though the main climb is just 3.5km long, gaining 300m, it averages nine per cent, with ramps of 15 per cent, and the pass itself is
sandwiched between a further 5km of climbing at lesser gradients.
The pass was first constructed by the Romans in the first century AD, and rebuilt under British control. The magnificent series of switchbacks was too good not to enjoy, so I knocked off the pace and tried to take in the surreal experience of riding 100 miles through a desert. Old oil cans lined the road, passing for a safety barrier against the precipitous drop offs.
Unexpected sprint
The gradient eased as the switchbacks ended and the road wound its way still up along a series of gullies to a high plateau. However, the climbing wasn’t over, and after negotiating a stonking crosswind, the road cut into the rocks again, bringing us through a wide gorge opening onto the broad, rocky crater of HaMakhtesh HaGadol, several kilometres wide. Slammed by crosswinds and then leaning into the less severe gradients of the crater edge, we neared the halfway point.
Unexpectedly, everyone in the small group I was with started sprinting to a random point on the road as we approached a small town. It turned out this was the end of the timed section of the race. This may have been explained at the start, but arriving with two minutes to spare before the flag dropped gave us little time for such details. Or indeed for any timing chips.
Equally unexpectedly, the race then halted for the best part of an hour while all the riders gathered in the refuelling station to reform the peloton for the more relaxed return leg.
We retraced our steps – or pedal strokes – through the crater, a fast, smooth descent, returning to the main road but this time heading south. The headwind reappeared, though before I could contemplate how long we’d have to endure it we took a sharp left onto a rough, unmade desert road – rutted to the point of pave-like juddering. This was Paris-Roubaix Israeli-style. Something else the missed briefing may or may not have shed light on. Either way, it was great fun, and made me glad for the first time I wasn’t on my own bike. The recent rain kept the dust to a minimum, but made negotiating the sludgy, sandy normally-dry riverbeds at the bottom of hills interesting.
Returning to the tarmac, a steep descent pushed the speedometer to 80km/h, as riders with greater descending skills and less fear overtook me. Happily, after another extended pave section and then rejoining the road we had climbed up at the start of the day, we settled into a group with a workhorse of a man on the front who appeared happy to take more than his fair share of the work. It was no less surprising plunging back through sea level on the way back down.
The surreal experience of riding 100 miles through a desert was too good not to enjoy
Historic horizon
The final stretch – an additional 20km of false flat, with a gentle but nonetheless unwelcome headwind – took us along the Peace Road, which is actually more of a lane, joining a few Israeli villages along the border with Jordan. In 1994, Israel and Jordan signed a peace treaty, ending years of hostilities between the two countries. The stretch of land was a sparsely populated area of desert, home to just a few nomadic tribes. Several Bedouin villages remain in this part of Israel.
As part of the accord, Israel ceded some land to the Jordanians, moving the border several hundred metres into what had been Israeli-held territory. This new border resulted in Israeli-dug wells being relocated into Jordan. But land mines left by Israel also passed into Jordanian territory. The mines do not appear to cause problems for the sparsely populated Jordanian side, but signs along the Peace Road in Israel warn of the danger. When it rains, which is infrequently, flash floods streaming along the riverbeds that are dry the rest of the year can sweep a few mines downstream and back into Israel.
The contrast between the two countries along the southern stretch of the border couldn’t be starker. Scanning the historic horizon, from which the Israelites first came out of Egypt and into their Promised Land, the miles of bare rock and scrubland comes to an abrupt halt, met by row upon row of Israeli greenhouses.
Water here governs everything. The dry courses of the rivers briefly bloom to life after rainfall as we arrived after an unusual spell of rain. The first settlements here are only a few decades old and part of Israel’s policy of security and sovereignty through settlement, though courting none of the controversy of those further north in the Palestinian West Bank territory.
There were some Palestinians at the race by invitation, but Gazan athletes continue to face severe restrictions by Israel on international travel, which barrs them from competing internationally. Horrifically, Palestinian former national champion and Olympic squad rider Alaa al-Dali was crippled when he was shot in the leg by an Israeli soldier as he protested the blockade along the Israel/Gaza border last year.
Sport is trying to heal divisions. The Gran Fondo hosts a ‘journey for peace’ where Palestinians and Jews come together to ride and talk and socialise.
When it rains, flash floods can sweep land mines downstream and back into Israel
Raising the profile
Israel is also trying to raise its profile in the world of cycling. In addition to hosting the 2018 Giro d’Italia start, the country has set up the UCI Pro Continental level Israel Cycling Academy, which will jump to the WorldTour for 2020 when they
take over Katusha-Alpecin’s licence, plus a new velodrome in Tel Aviv is to host a youth development squad. This squad will be headed by Steve McEwen at the Israel Cycling Federation. Steve’s a track development coach at the Rabobank team.
Tourism is clearly on the agenda, too, although the infrastructure is not as well developed for cycling as in Europe. But, perhaps because of the lack of easy access, it’s a fascinating place to ride.
Along the Peace Road, pioneering farmers from nearby Moshavs – co-operative farms – in the Arava have drilled for water from hundreds of meters underground to irrigate their crops; rows of date palms and polytunnels housing kosher herbs and summer fruit such as peppers and tomatoes. The soaring summer temperatures mean they grow their traditionally summer produce through the desert winter, meeting international demand for year-round produce.
The water comes at a price. The water in the Dead Sea table is extremely saline, which has a stressful impact on plants but it promotes sugar development in the fruit, and makes for tasty dates, a great energy and recovery snack at the end of our low-altitude odyssey.
Myth and millennia
Nothing is very far away in Israel. Most of the main sites are just a few hours’ drive apart, and a
short transfer after the race along a highway through the West Bank took us to Jerusalem, host of last year’s Giro start. The confluence of so many millennia of history, myth, legend and religion make it an obvious draw.
The walls to the old city are relatively modern, dating back a mere 500 years from Ottoman times. The narrow maze of streets covers an area of less than one square kilometre, but is host to a staggering array of history from three seminal world religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. A Muslim mosque stands on the site of the ancient Temple of Solomon and Jews pray along the last standing piece of the original fortifications protecting the temple – the Western Wall – while Christians flock to the supposed site of Jesus’s crucifixion. The original city walls from the time of King David can be seen deep below existing foundations, and tucked away in the Arab quarter are Roman baths – the setting for Christ’s healing of the sick man.
Nothing here is straightforward, and while a relative peace seems to exist, it is enforced or protected by heavily armed Israeli security forces.
Hemingway said: “It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best.” Israel has innumerable contours to navigate, but travelling by bike is a good way to start.