FEEL THE BE RN AND WIN!
The Swiss stretch of the Tour de France is tough but exhilarating, says Mark Porter
Once beyond Gstaad’s diamond- crusted High Street, we scoot along the wide bottom of a valley and into deepest Switzerland, where the absurdly beautiful scenery plays out to the tinkle of cowbells.
High above, the serrated, snow-topped ridge of the Alps casts its shadow, inducing an icy tingle in the spine. Soon enough, we are cog-crunching our way up the infernal zig-zag of road to reach the rocky heights.
We are here to tackle — in one day — stage 17 of the Tour de France, the nonFrench bit which runs 115 miles from Bern to the lung-busting finish at the Finhaut-emosson dam on the SwissFrench border.
The trip is organised by Grand Tours Project, a hard-core cycling outfit which has opened up the high roads to older fatties like me. But more about the cheating later . . .
normally, my idea of a cycling holiday is to pack a couple of panniers and a credit card, and see what happens. A leisurely affair; a good excuse for exploring and dining in unknown towns. I usually come back a stone heavier. This is something altogether different, and the only training I’ve done is put my 55-year- old body through the cabbage soup diet ten days before.
The Scott Addict bike I’m assigned costs £7,750, weighs less than last night’s dinner and, going downhill, is the fastest thing on two wheels. Unfortunately, much of the ride is uphill, starting with the nine-mile ascent of the col des Mosses mountain pass.
I begin to notice lither and younger figures getting gradually further in front, before disappearing over a distant horizon led by The Stick, a 10st Swiss strip of muscle and lung.
He’s our team leader and a pro-level cyclist who converses effortlessly in several languages while turning to take photos on impossibly steep hills.
If he wasn’t such a charming chap, I might hate him.
THe cheery guys in the back- up vans offer energy boosters and bananas as I grind my way doggedly up the 2,300ft climb. Julie, one of the organisers, cycles with me. It is surprising once you establish a rhythm how the pain dissolves into mere discomfort, and then into actual pleasure. You get used to the short gulps of air, and each horizon becomes a fresh challenge until, hey presto, you’re there.
There is a five-mile descent to the Rhone Valley and the town of Aigle near the southern shores of Lake Geneva. The Rhone is already a muscular mass of fast-flowing and vivid blue-green water.
Here is a blissfully flat section of 17 miles running past the fairytale ramparts of chateau Aigle and its wine museum, and past the vineyards where, for 2,000 years, alchemy has turned the chasselas grape into nectar of the gods.
During the hellish last 18 miles, there are two climbs totalling 7,000ft. With darkness only three hours away, I am urged to switch to an electric bike. I did not object.
even though I am pedalling quite hard, the Scott e-Sub Sport makes the steepest climbs pretty easy. If the battery had not needed changing just before the summit, I’d have even beaten The Stick.
We finish well before dark with a huge sense of achievement — even those of us who had cheated for the last brutal miles. Thank God for mechanical doping; it opens the skies even to armchair athletes.
Wild boar stew, beer and wine in the excellent Arc- en- ciel restaurant hits the spot just before the halls of Morpheus claim me for the sleep of the just.