Etape du Tour: Limoges - St Flour, 238km

Two club members tell all

Graham Sheridan rode the event for the first time this year. With a family and a demanding job, a lot of Graham's training was based on his daily commute from home to Canary Wharf, along with some regular racing.
We were shivering in the pre-dawn gloom, nervous about what lay ahead, and wondering where Mark Brier's shoes were. It was too cold to ride around the supermarket car-park while we waited for the others to join us, so we just hung around laughing about what we were about to put ourselves through.

I didn't feel too bad, but the drive down and the logistics of the day before were bound to take their toll in due course. The drivers of cars passing by would shout encouragement to us, Lord knows what they were up to at 5.30am on a Sunday morning, which cheered us up.

It was a cold ride into town, but it was already clear that the cyclist had right of way on the roads of Limoges on July 11th. The start area was a mass of cyclists of all ages and abilities, and it was clear that the start was going to be hairy due to the number of riders starting together. We rode out together, and Kenton and I witnessed a couple of minor scrapes in the opening kilometres. It was a rolling 94 kms to the first feed, and Gav and I rolled in together. I was feeling pretty sluggish, and was glad to refuel.

Feeling better, I rode on with Gav until the Cote de Chalvignac, at this stage we parted as I started to blow a bit. I knew it was going to get hard, so I went into steady mode, and was caught and passed by more and more riders. I made it to the feed before the Col de Neronne, and psyched myself up for the climbs to come. The Neronne was ok, and the first 3kms of the Pas de Peyrol were easy enough, but then bang! Round the corner and up the 17% incline that rose for a further 2 kms (with one corner) to the summit. The road was blocked with walking riders, but I managed to weave my way up a fair bit, before giving in to the slope and walking until it cleared a little. Then I got going again, and got round the corner. Further up, as I wobbled across the road a kindly spectator gave me a push, and wished me "courage". A drink and a banana at the top made me feel better, but it was cold at 1,589 metres, and the descent certainly didn't warm me up.

The climb of the Col d'Entremont was fairly unremarkable, as I plodded slowly on, but the last major obstacle, the Plomb du Cantal, was a just awful. I couldn't face anymore bars or gels, my stomach didn't want to accept fluids, so I crawled along, feeling pretty low. I wondered why exactly I was doing this, and was considering what other sport to take up when I got home, when my reverie was disturbed by a rider on Coppi Aluminium Galaxy just like mine. Bless him, he was very friendly and was enquiring about my non-standard forks and paint job, but it meant I had to talk to him, and I was not in talking mode at all. Anyway, I was going so slowly, that he soon took off and left me in my grumpy silence.

The downhill to the finish, from the top of the Plomb du Cantal came eventually, but the last 10kms seemed to last forever. At least I knew I was going to finish, and avoid the broom wagon. There were plenty of stragglers to tag along with, and we found the strength to ride strongly through the outskirts of St Flour. To my shame, I couldn't resist a dig at the end, and overtook the bloke who had towed me through the last 5kms on the line... silly, but it seemed necessary at the time. The marshals at the finish handed me my medal and food voucher, and at long last I was finished. I was relieved, happy, sad and exhausted after it all; the crowds had been great, the roads were all good save one short stretch, the descents were fast and exhilarating. It had been a hard day, and I had missed the scenery and failed to appreciate much of the very special atmosphere because I hadstruggled so much. I rang home, and told Nicky 'Never again', to which she replied: "Good. You're not getting another 4 day pass!"

During the long drive home, I had time to reflect on my hasty declaration of "never again!" I sat down in work on Tuesday, and began to think about how it would be different next year.

James Beaumont writes: I've ridden the Etape a few times before and it's always been a special event. In France there is a whole calendar of similar events where typically a thousand or so cyclists race over a challening course, often with several mountain climbs along the way. Some riders take their time, stopping at local cafés and enjoying the scenery but with closed roads many choose to race over the terrain and the competition is tough. Some events, like the Ardéchoise in France, attract over 10,000 entrants. Yet the Etape, with its associations to the Tour de France is the most prestigous "cyclosportif" event.

The 2004 edition was special for me. Half my family is from the Limousin region in France and for many years I've ridden and trained on the local roads, sometimes imagining myself in the Tour de France. So when the route of the 2004 Tour de France was unveiled in October 2003, I was amazed to see that two stages would be on my doorstep; then I saw that the Etape itself would be on my training roads. I had to ride. I ended up inviting club members to stay in my house near the start.

My training didn't go according to plan. I ended up doing a lot of short distance training, fine for the 4000m pursuit or a 10 mile time trial but not for the Etape. As preparation, I went to ride La Limousine, a tough 160km event with the start and finish in Limoges. I did well, jumping away from the main group with 4km to go (the short distance training did help) and getting a trophy for coming 5th in my age category. Likewise, I rode the Ardéchoise for training but on the eve the weather forecast promised sunny skies but on the day I got cold rain and hypothermia. Then I was ill for a few weeks, unable to train properly.

On the day, I felt better. I'd seen Limoges full of cyclists when I rode La Limousine but it impressive to see 8,500 cyclists on the start line. A week of unseasonably damp and cool weather in the Limousin gave way to clear skies on the day. The first 80km were memorable. I knew the roads well and found it surreal to be racing on them. I started well and oddly seemed to be riding alongside a lot of riders I'd ridden with in the Surrey League races in the year, I could see Sigma, Addiscombe, Twickenham and London Dynamo jerseys. But this was a lot bigger than a small race I was often blocked by the throng of riders in front of me, wasting energy by sprinting to get past rider after rider.

Descending into Chamberet at 80km/h, my rear wheel seemed to scream and I looked down to see the chain dangling in the spokes. My freewheel had jammed up and I had to spend the whole day pedalling, even on the descents. I now think it helped, by keeping my legs turning I kept my legs supple but pedalling without respite for seven hours wasn't funny. The ride into the Cantal region was good, I'd got into a fast moving group.

The main climbs were worthy of the Pyrenees. I'd raced over them before but this time I had the time to take in the scenery. The Col de Neronne had an amazing view as you climbed up the gentle gradient without a bend in sight. Then came the vicious Pas de Peyrol and its steep slopes - everyone was suffering and you just had to grind to the top. As I approached the top, a spectator was counting "1003, 1004, 1005" and it turned out to be my position on the road. Having started in roughly 5000th place, this was good but I was determined to get inside the top 1000 and so started counting the riders I overtook and those who passed me. The Col d'Entremont and the Plomb de Cantal were ridden in a steady way, my body was now performing like a diesel engine - slow and steady - but given the 180km already in my legs the climbs were ok so long as I avoided any sudden accelerations. In fact, by now I felt as if I could ride all day because I'd settled into a steady pace and just had to eat and drink enough to keep me refuelled.

But if riding steady was what my body needed, my head was getting excited by the ever closer finish line. The hardest part was the stretch of flat roads into St Flour. A light crosswind felt hard due to the fatigue and I was in a group that decided to race to the finish. The Tour de France had turned into the Tour of Flanders as we sped across the flat roads, struggling to hold the wheel in front in a crosswind. But there were signs to countdown the kilometres to the finish and soon enough we passed the roadsign showing the entrance to St. Flour and there were smiles all round.

Afterwards, I didn't feel too tired. The chart above shows my heart rate in red and it rarely went over 170bpm: a steady ride, not a race. I wouldn't have ridden back to Limoges but on balance I think I'd ridden too conservatively and should have tried harder in the middle of the race to get into the top 500. Next year!