Hotel guests hang out of windows to watch the quiet street fill up with cyclists. The first rays of sunlight stream into the start box. At 35 degrees, the sun has bigger ambitions than me. An injury kept me off the bike for months. Without a proper base, my only goal is to finish the dreaded Gran Fondo Col de la Loze.
Photo: At the start, it's immediately clear that it’s going to be a scorching day.
Exactly 399 starters chose from four distances: a neat 30 km to soak in the atmosphere, or longer routes to the namesake mountain: 46 km via Courchevel or 56 km via Méribel. I’m tackling the 117 km (4,377 m+) gran fondo that covers all the routes.
After the starting gun, everyone surges ahead at 8:15 am. The start loop serves as a pleasant warm-up for the real challenge. A serene calm pervades the Vanoise, with only the distant voice of the speaker breaking the stillness. After 30 km, we pass the microphone again in Brides-Les-Bains, and there's no turning back. Now begins the 22-kilometer climb, cruelly marked by the familiar yellow and white roadside posts. It's all about routine now: eat well and maintain the right power in cruise control. The climb feels like any other—smooth roads leading up to a ski village. Nothing new under the sun, until we leave Méribel through the back door.
On the map, this little exit wasn’t clearly marked. Provisual signals the transition to suffering. Suddenly, we're riding steeply uphill on newer asphalt, over slopes that double as ski runs in winter. This 'new mountain' has already been conquered twice by the Tour. Those stages left a lasting impression as I watched from my couch. The monstrous climb where Pogacar famously exclaimed, "I'm gone, I'm dead", captivated my imagination. In several spots, I recognize the exact Tour moments that had streamed into my living room—a fantastic connection to our shared passion.
Photo: lonely suffering in a magnificent setting.
In blue-clad shirts, the organizers ensure the course is safe at multiple points. Once again, downhill trails are blocked off, and encouragement is offered. Above the tree line, le soleil has free rein. What I see is stalled ski lifts and riders crawling uphill. The asphalt clearly exists for one purpose only: to destroy cycling legs. I’m starting to notice a pattern, with twenty percent gradients occasionally easing into (slightly) friendlier inclines.
After a spirited finish, I reach the top. Surrounded by breathtaking views, I quickly dive into the feed station. With mostly drinks and cola (it’s a French gran fondo, after all), I refill my water bottle with the black 'sports water'. My tired legs are interrupted on the descent by an unexpected uphill stretch. Ouch, I can’t expect much more from them now. This long descent will soon turn into the long final climb. I try not to think about it as I descend through the unremarkable Courchevel and spot the lead group already heading uphill.
Photo: the punishing highlight of this gran fondo, the brutally steep Col de la Loze.
At the bottom, there’s a 15 km loop (350 m+) left to complete. I try to find my legs again there. At the top of the climb, I stop at a feed station (one of seven!), where a silent group of riders gathers. Someone cracks a joke, breaking the silence, and we continue riding with a bit more cheer. Meanwhile, I reapply factor 50 sunscreen to my Dutch skin.
La Loze, here we go again! At this hour, with no riding wind, the sauna is in full force. Every year I ride a tough gran fondo, but it's been a long time since I've suffered this much. Turning around and returning to the campsite with a DNF, a nap under a tree, or a seat on a terrace in Courchevel... all tempting options I consider and delay. I glance away from the numbers on my bike computer. With only 1,000 meters of elevation left, I tell myself the last 10 kilometers mean I'm almost there. At a feed station manned by friendly ladies in blue shirts, I refill my coke and pour handfuls of cold mountain water over myself.
Photo: from Méribel, the real suffering begins.
With seven kilometers to go, we switch to the bike path. Occasionally, a rider turns into a walker when the steep climb becomes too much. Vacationers casually enjoy themselves on these slopes, with walking sticks, picnic blankets, or thick e-bike batteries—the contrast with the struggling riders is striking.
The summit draws closer, redemption is near. I push on, joining the battle for inconsequential positions. The beep sounds as my chip crosses the finish line. It's over. The seemingly impossible second ascent of La Loze is behind me. My protesting body has obeyed my mind. The announcer fumbles over my Dutch name and I laugh. In the shade, I look up at the other participants, savoring the moment amidst the towering mountains.
With my medal flapping in the breeze, I descend toward the pasta party. In the peaceful park near the river, the La Loze monster is finally out of sight. Stretched-out legs rest as pasta and drinks are shared, and heroic stories are exchanged in a symphony of languages. Hundreds of bikes stand silently on the sidelines, witnesses to the day's battles.
Photo: it's done!
Out of 204 starters in the long distance, 171 made it to the finish line. Tim Alleman (Bel) won in the men’s category, while Mathilde Fournier (FRA) was the fastest woman. All results can be found here.
|
|
|
|
|
