The Col de l’arpettaz awaits us up ahead. It’s a 14.8km hors categorie climb
to follow his wheel as we make our first foray onto gravel a few kilometres further up the road.
This sector is only 2km, but it acts as an early test of both equipment and nerves. We turn off the main road on the outskirts of Doussard and the quiet of the bunch is traded for alarmed cries as riders fight to hold a straight line in the loose, dusty gravel.
I’ve chosen a good wheel to follow it seems. Cannondale Guy makes decent line choices and we slowly pull ahead of the main bunch, such that by the time we rejoin the tarmac we’re in a select group at the front. Back on the smooth road all becomes calm once more – but not for long.
The Col de l’arpettaz awaits us up ahead. It’s a 14.8km hors categorie climb, gaining 1,165m in elevation at an average gradient of 8%. This is where the wiry riders on their pure road bikes come into their own. They come streaming past me and I have to be strict with myself not to waste energy trying to keep up with them.
For the first 5km the road sticks at 5-6%, but by the middle it has ramped to 7-10%, maxing out at 12%. There are hairpins galore, and when I emerge out of the tree line in the upper reaches, I’m treated to a spectacular view of the Aravis Alps – jagged peaks set in a sea of green fields, accompanied by the gentle clang of cowbells.
It’s a true gem of a climb, offering similar stats to Alpe d’huez but with almost twice as many bends and not a single car to be seen. As I stand at the 1,581m peak of the Col de l’arpettaz, slightly mesmerised by the vista, I become aware that the climb has put a sizable dent in my reserves. Thankfully the mountain refuge on the summit is also a feed station, as well as a checkpoint to collect our first road book stamp.
Staying on track
As I munch on fruit cake, my eye is drawn to the ribbon of pale grey snaking away from the refuge. It is the Route de la Soife, and in the distance I can pick out riders dotted along the rugged track. There are no groups, just individuals, each having their own personal battles to stay upright and avoid the dreaded hiss from a punctured tyre.
As I make my way onto the track, gingerly at first, it’s not long before I encounter the first of many who have succumbed to the puncture demons, crouched at the roadside fumbling with inner tubes and pumps. It’s reassuring to know that out on the course are several bright yellow Mavic Service Course motos loaded with spare wheels (just like in the Tour de France), to ensure no one is left stranded. Already the indications are that they’re in for a busy day.
My 40mm tyres have definitely come into their own. I feel confident riding at the kind of speeds that mean I’m quickly catching and passing those skinny-tyred whippets who had overtaken me on the Arpettaz climb. Aside from the tricky surface, the track is rarely flat and it can be difficult to control speed on the descents while trying to pick the best line through clusters of rocks. When the gradient points up, the challenge switches to maintaining rear-wheel traction on the loose surface.
It demands concentration at all times and by the end of its 14.3km my arms and hands have taken as much punishment as my legs. The ordeal ends at the 1,498m summit of the Col des Aravis, where we rejoin the tarmac road again, and I’m relieved to have come through the toughest part of the course without a glitch.
After an arduous couple of hours, I’m now treated to a long descent to La Clusaz and Saint-jean-de-sixt. Kilometre after kilometre ticks past at speed, and I relish the wide, sweeping curves, although in the excitement of the descent I somehow miss a route arrow and find myself off course and needing to backtrack up part of the climb. I’m annoyed at my error but equally concerned that this misspent energy will haunt me later, so I chomp on an energy bar as I make my way along the picturesque valley road towards Le Petit-Bornand-les-Glières, which I’m well aware is the last stretch of flat road I’m going to see for a while.
Up next is the second of the two major ascents on the full route. On paper, the 6.8km Col des Glières shouldn’t be as tough as the first climb, but only a kilometre later I’m not so certain. The path carved into the cliff face is
relentlessly steep – 9% average with large chunks over 10%. At every hairpin I feel certain the gradient must ease, but it never does, and by the time the summit eventually comes into view, I can barely appreciate the towering limestone cliffs that stand like sentries on the skyline.
My bottles are supped dry and my legs are close to cramp. The Col des Glières has drained my physical reserves, and looking around at other riders slumped in chairs at the feed station, or draped over benches stretching out hamstrings, I realise I’m not alone in having found it brutal. Then I see the sculpted National Monument across the plateau, and my perspective is reset. All I’ve done is pedal a bicycle up a climb in glorious sunshine, which pales in comparison to the suffering the Plateau des Glières witnessed during the War.
What goes up
The road once more turns to gravel as we make our way across the plateau and past the monument. Dust kicked up from my wheels is quickly dispersed by the breeze,
It can be difficult to control speed while trying to pick the best line through clusters of rocks
which is also chilling my sweat-dampened jersey to the extent that I feel the need for my gilet. The stony surface here is well compacted, a far cry from the Route de la Soife. Instead of feeling like a pinball, I can get some speed up on a humdinger of a descent that winds down through a series of hairpin turns, losing altitude rapidly to Thorens-Glières.
This may be the final part of the course, but I’m still careful to conserve my energy having learned by this point not to underestimate this event. When I signed up, 130km hadn’t sounded too difficult. In fact that distance would only warrant the ‘short’ course for many Alpine sportives these days, but the difficulty of the terrain has made La Resistance far more taxing than I was expecting.
Only as I pull up at the final checkpoint back down in the valley at the Necrapole Memorial Museum, adjacent to the cemetery where 105 soldiers of La Resistance are entombed, can I finally begin to feel confident of ending the event in a respectable state. From here it is 10km to the finish, and I scoff a handful of jelly beans to prepare for the final climb that stands between me and a cold beer.
When I eventually cross the finish line back in Talloires, I don’t stop. Instead, I ride up to the edge of Lake Annecy, drop my bike, strip to my bibshorts and take a running jump off the end of a diving board. Grasping my knees in mid-flight, I hit the crystal clear water with a mighty splash and sink deep as the cold envelops my body.
As I clamber out of the lake, Cyclist’s photographer, Geoff, tells me he got a great shot of my dive-bomb, but could I do a re-take to be sure? I’m happy to do it a couple more times. And then maybe once more, just for luck.