Koppenberg: Berge der Welt #9 Zitternde Beine und Arme so schwer, als würde man die Einkaufstüten am Black Friday tragen – es fühlt sich an als würde man Feuer einatmen, und jeder verdammte Pflasterstein ist der sprichwörtliche Tritt in den Allerwertesten. Man ist ein paar Pedaltritte davon entfernt sich zu übergeben und dann… wird man von einem Auto angefahren. Genau das ist dem dänischen Radrennfahrer Jesper Skibby auf der Ronde von Vlaanderen , der Flandern-Rundfahrt, 1987 am viel gefürchteten Koppenberg widerfahren. Skibby ging über seine Grenzen und hatte Probleme mit dem Kopfsteinpflaster, als er vom Auto des Renndirektors erfasst wurde. Dem nicht genug, wurde auch sein Fahrrad überrollt, was schließlich das Ende für Skibbys Rennen bedeutete. Als Folge des Zwischenfalls wurde der Anstieg über Jahre bei der Flandern-Rundfahrt ausgeschlossen.Die ”Beule von Melden”, wie der Kloppenberg auch vor Ort genannt wird, kennt keine Gnade, auch nicht für Radsportlegenden. Eddy Merckx, Belgiens berühmtester Radfahrer, sagte einmal: „Man könnte genauso gut die Fahrer bitten eine Leiter mit ihren Fahrrädern auf dem Rücken zu besteigen.” Seit seiner Einführung in der Flandern-Rundfahrt 1976 haben es nur fünf Fahrer geschafft auf ihren Rädern zu bleiben, bevor sie die Spitze des Kappenbergs erreicht haben. Selbst der mächtige Kannibale musste nach oben laufen. So bekam der Berg seinen Spitznamen: „die flämische Folterkammer“.Der Koppenberg liegt in Melden, einem Dorf in der Nähe von Oudenaarde im Herzen der flämischen Ardennen Belgiens. Diese Aufwölbung liegt zwar nur 64 Meter über dem Meeresspiegel und ist lediglich 682m lang, besitzt aber Steigungen bis hin zu 21%. Die Straße ist sehr eng und besteht aus 66 240 Pflastersteinen, die in 2 760 Reihen liegen, mit durchschnittlich 24 Steinen an der steilsten Strecke. Die sich wiederholenden Erschütterungen durch das bucklige Kopfsteinpflaster machen jeglichen Rhythmus und Schwung zunichte. Das ist es, was diesen Anstieg so brutal macht.Seit 2002 ist der Koppenberg, nach erheblichen Umbauten wieder fester Bestandteil der Flandern-Rundfahrt. Besondere Sicherheitsmaßnahmen wurden getroffen, die Pflastersteine wurden erneut angelegt und die Straße ein kleines Bisschen erweitert. Der Koppenberg ist ein regelrechter Killer und sicherlich der gemeinste Anstieg der Flandern-Rundfahrt. Sie können ihn bezwingen, falls Sie es wagen. Das berühmte belgische „Nach-Touren-Bier“ erwartet Sie im Tour Of Flanders Visitor Center in Oudenaarde.Wenn Sie den Koppenberg bezwingen wollen oder mehr über die endlosen Möglichkeiten in Flandern Rad zu fahren wissen wollen, kann Ihnen Cycling in Flanders behilflich sein. Lesen Sie mehr über bedeutende Anstiege auf der Ganzen Welt in unserer Reihe Berge à la Carte! CLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA Footnotes: Fotos von Jered & Ashley Gruber / Text Dries Verclyte von Cyclinginflanders.cc

Wuling: Montagnes du monde #8 Is it the spiritual home of the KOM? Since 2012 climbers both amateur and professional have been flocking to Taiwan to tame the beast that is Wuling. Yet many have not even heard of the far eastern mountain. The statistics of this climb speak for itself; 55km long, with a total ascent of 2,825m up to the dizzying heights of 3,275m. The average gradient may be only just over 5% but on a mountain of this scale, you know that doesn't mean every kilometre is a piece of cake.The Taiwan KOM Challenge first took place in 2012. It covers 105km, a relatively short distance, but it goes from 0 to 3,275m in one hit. In 2017, as if winning the Giro d'Italia was not enough, Vincenzo Nibali, finished off his season travelling east and setting the fastest time up the mountain in 2hrs 12 min and 48 seconds.On an island that equals only 5.5% of France's landmass, movement of the tectonic plates created this natural high mountain barrier. Wuling Pass is located in the center of Taiwan and is reached via the road that connects the west and the east of the island, in the process becoming the highest paved road in the entire South East Asia region. The first 20km of the route up the western side of the pass has an average gradient of 6.3%. That may sound a lot but in relative terms it is more of a warm up before the road ramps up and the oxygen supply goes down.Along the way, you will discover various farms weaved into the landscape, notably would be peach and passion fruit farms. If the riders are not here for challenge, we suggest a pit stop to taste the sweet fruits and not let this trip go to waste. Next up along the route is a memorial to the island people who fought against the Japanese occupation of Taiwan, culminating in the famous Wushe Incident of 1930 in which hundreds of the indigenous people died. The movie adaptation of this story, Seediq Bale, signifies bravery and hope against oppression - living on this mountain makes stern people.Arriving at 2,200m, you will be greeted by the immensely beautiful green pastures, of QingJing (translated as Peaceful State). Here you will find the highest 7-Eleven convenience store (remember that pro team?) in Taiwan and it is a good idea to take a pit stop and re-fuel because the real climbing is about to begin. From this point forth, the average gradient is between 10%-15%. Not only do riders have to deal with climb, but more importantly, pushing forward under the thinning air. The final 2.2km is like the horizon embedded within mountains; known to experienced cyclists as 'The Road to Heaven'. It is beautiful to see but extremely difficult to complete. The last stretch of road looks levelled, but in reality, it is an average of 9%. After 50km of climbing, this final leg of the journey is a true challenge to riders mentally and physically. The scenery at the arrival point is a virtual green carpet that covers the mountainous landscape. The landscape is transformed into a white world when it snows, earning an elegant description of 'Silver Saddle'. On a clear night, the Southern Cross constellation can be visible to the naked eye, a perfect spot to appreciate majestic snowy scenery, sunrise and rolling seas of cloud. Wuling Pass is the ultimate bucket list for cyclists visiting Taiwan.Read more about iconic climbs around the world in our Montagnes du Monde series. CLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA Text & Photos by Café du Cycliste retail partner Ares Studio, Taiwan.

The Wuling climbing club Here at Café du Cycliste we have a tradition of riding our highest mountain, the Bonette, every year. More than halfway around the world our retail partners, Ares Studio, have a similar habit. And in terms of pure elevation, they win. Their mountain is higher, and certainly more than high enough for pretty much every cyclist on the planet.It is, of course, Wuling Pass. It looms near the centre of the island taunting riders each year to take on the 55km challenge. At Ares a group of friends and customers has formed and each year they come together to conquer Wuling. SZ Chen and Stephen Chen are an extreme example. Last year they rode through torrential rain to reach the summit for the first time. This year they had their first baby daughter in June but despite that life-changing event, they couldn't say no to another day on Wuling's slopes.At the other end of the scale, Maggie Tai and Hsien-Chin Chiu have done the parenting but not the mountain. With the freedom of a daughter fresh from university and starting her own career, Maggie Tai and Hsien-Chin find themselves with time to cycle together. Both in misty rose Fleurettes, bien sûr. Maggie is new to cycling so Wuling is a baptism of fire.The benefit of this group is the shared experience. Sure, everyone has different levels but that means advice can be shared by the more experienced climbers before each rider finds their place on the road, which also happens to allow space to enjoy the sunshine and mountain vistas.And as things get above 2,000m, the riders exit from the trees and enter into what is known locally as the 'road to heaven'. It's the final 10km stretch when legs are already showing signs of cramping from the previous 45km of uphill. The gradient increases and the oxygen thins. A bit like Ventoux, in the last 5km they have a view of the summit to tease out the final effort. Cloud swirls over the top of the mountain to make things more challenging. Friends, Jasper Huang and Stone Laio encourage each other to the top.Everybody in the group, without exception, makes it. SZ Chen was solo on the 'road to heaven' but she was not alone. She carried the baby-grow of their new-born daughter to motivate her along the way. The baby-grow is adorned with a print of a Wuling emblem made by Ares Studio and is both testament to the impact of this mountain on the Taiwanese people and a suggestion that they will be cycling it for generations to come.Photography : Long Chang for Ares Studio, Taiwan.

TCR checkmate Dismantle, bubble wrap, tape, take the TGV. Unpack, build, check and double-check, take a regional train. Here we are. The start line of the TCR. If you are keen, it’s relatively easy to get to the start line. But then there’s the other line. The ‘F’ one. I’ve been waiting months for this moment. To find old friends at the start, and make new ones too making jokes and playing down what lies ahead. Being the second time that I find myself at the start of the Transcontinental Race everything is more fluid, the routine is more familiar. I'm serene, I have a goal, a vision, a single focus. The finish line.Speeches, pats on the back, encouragement and embraces amongst competitors Adrenaline mixes with excited anxiety in a surreal scene when night falls, the church clock tower indicates 22h, some shouts of the Town Crier, the bell rings and the parade lap begins. First a ceremonial ascent of the Muur together as a peloton, followed by a tour of the city, returning to the square. Then the second ascent of the Muur, the real start, the torches, even more screams, a right turn and into the dark nothingness... Conversation peters out and the sound of freewheels take over. The silhouettes of other riders are already beginning to stretch themselves out on their aero bars. Very quickly everyone takes their place and their own pace. The first big junctions see the peloton begin to gradually divide, scatter, and find their own path to CP1.Me? As the hours pass, the more I find myself alone. The excitement of the departure falls, the early morning rises and before long the first signs of fatigue announce themselves only to be denied and ignored. It has started. The first two check points are a stretched-out time trial. Measured effort over distance mixed with a calculated strategy of road and elevation choices. The TCR really is an ultra game of chess. And the first move? Leave Belgium by the north of France, go to Strasbourg, cross Germany to summit the first ‘real Col’, descend to Switzerland and pass in Austria. The cycling pawns move across borders and countries as if they were checkers on a great chess board painted across Europe. After validation at CP1, I rail down the serpentine road that starts the journey to CP2. For this second leg I add the reward of a first hotel before more border hopping. I enter the Tyrol whilst saying hello to Italy, then return to Austria before crossing the Slovenian border. I pass an abandoned mining town of the Eastern block and attack the ascension of Mangart Sedlo, one of the only obligatory parts of the course, before descending to get the second stamp on the brevet card. Summiting Mangart Sedlo and knowing I would make CP2 in good time was a confidence boost for me. Last year I tasted failure. On the TCR failure doesn’t normally come in an instant. The glitches follow one another, the delays accumulate, the bad calculations and errors in route planning come on the scene and the morale gradually declines as the innumerable excuses increase in number. Twelve months earlier I scratched at CP3. This year was very different, and in a good way. The memories flood back to me on top of Magnart Seldo and begin to take more out of me than the climb itself. I spot a quiet place in the grass above the road. I have not slept since my hotel two days before and tell myself that it is a good place to stop and enjoy this moment. Here, an intense emotion invades me. I understood a language without words that tells me that everything is fine, that everything will be fine, that nothing would prevent me from reaching the finish. The dice were thrown and the anticipation of a successful completion of the race upsets me. Tears roll down my face, those of revenge. Not on the race, she was far from over, but on life, on bad luck. Last year’s scratch wasn’t just because of in-race events but the race itself symbolised the struggle of life and finishing it is a reassurance of my ability to endure tougher obstacles.It sounds rather easy, but once it’s done and you zoom out on the map the plan looks rather simple; cross the Alps. To CP2 was 1250 km and 12000 m. D + in four days and fifteen hours. The details and the memories of what are in between the checkpoints are only for the riders. They can’t take that away from us. The next goal is 800 km, all the way to the north. While many participants embarked on a new Alpine crossing, I decided to go back bypassing the mountains and cross Vienna because I’d never been there and wanted to see it. A bit of accelerated tourism is also part of the adventure. It is with undisguised happiness that I leave the humidity of the mountains to find a hot but dry climate, with the promise of new borders, passing into the Czech Republic on smaller roads for a brief visit to Poland and CP3.Arrivals at checkpoints have this funny funnel effect. Whatever the route chosen by the participants, paths converge at the checkpoints and reunions take place. It’s an opportunity to meet new friends too. When I arrive, I announce to the few participants who surround me that it's my birthday, and they make me feel good with warm words. It is a privileged moment to celebrate a happy day at the heart of the adventure of a lifetime. After the ‘birthday party,’ things begin to get serious. The TCR has that power to turn up the heat, just when you think you've been through the worst. The wind is rising, and as usual, not in a good way. My route takes me down the Czech Republic, a passage into Slovakia by Bratislava. Then a new crossing to Hungary, to finally reach the unknown: the Balkans and my entry into Bosnia.The road that was supposed to run very smooth turns out to be much more complicated, the wind slows down the predicted progress and the smallest problems, bumps and lumps become exhausting. All of a sudden the trucks are more threatening and the first packs of stray dogs are also coming into action earlier than expected. So from the south of Hungary the TCR reminds me that everything up until this point was just a training. In the Balkans everything changes. Do not expect the road to be where your Wahoo GPS says it is. The scars of war are still present and sometimes you will find only the remains of a bridge where once a small road existed. Shops are rare, the atmosphere is harsher, the mountains take on a different shape and the humidity returns . Paying can also be a problem, as this is the world of cash with no place for plastic cards. And of course each country has its own currency, otherwise it would be too easy. Approaching and passing Sarajevo I begin to wonder if it is ignorant or indecent to pass through places with such a heavy past and not acknowledge it. Or should we flash by them just like everywhere else. Nevertheless, it's euphoria. CP4 is ticked off after 12 days and 21 hours and now I can enter the Hell of the Balkans. The last part is like free falling. The further you go south, the more intense everything becomes. The traffic is heavier, the dogs more threatening, finding food is more complicated and the weather is hotter. I lack the experience required to find the good road choices, anticipate currency changes, identify the right places to buy food or have wifi network to take stock and make informed decisions. When fitness is very good but the kilometres tick by slowly by sheer 'fact of the road', my morale takes a hit. It is at this moment that one must remain calm and accept and roll with the surprises found around the corner, owing to your own bad choices. It does not matter if the planned 50km of smooth road turns into a cobblestone yard, if the city where you expected to eat does not offer any service apart from a roadside bar serving only drinks, if the long valley road planned towards the Greek border proves to be non-existent.Now the game of chess it not just physical, it is also mental. It’s a question of maintenance and the management of fatigue. Here, my girlfriend did a fantastic job. If on paper the Transcontinental Race is a solo race, it’s a fact that a large part of the participants have what is called a 'dot watcher' - someone who will follow more assiduously than your friends, who will be a bit like your guardian angel 24/7. They will also be your mental coach, helping you stay focussed on the race. In my case it was my girlfriend who had already taken the game on last year. Knowing me perfectly, she has always been able to find the right formulas to revive me or to rationalise a situation. What does it matter, behind the chaos of the cities, ubiquitous Albanian Mercedes, the dirt of the streets, and all the remains. If the mass effect might be repulsive to some, smaller details and features are touching, warm, hospitable and the countryside is immense, beautiful and simple. The day is not quite up in Kodovjat, where I slept two hours on a café terrace thanks to the benevolence of the owner. I still have 295 km and 4000 m. from D + to the finish line, and it's the day of the official 'closure' of the checkpoint. The hours pass, my doubts about my arrival time disappear, nothing matters. I’ll arrive, and I'll arrive tonight. When we cross the Greek border, everything is left to play for. But nothing can stop you anymore. Fatigue, last jokes from the stray dogs or closed shops because you had the good idea to arrive during a national holiday? These are simply minor details compared to all that is left behind. I arrive. Exhausted, on a cloud, dodging the last problems, a last phone call to Alain who confirms that beers and food await me. I arrive. 3968 km, 33725 m. D +, 17 days across Europe. It is August 15 and Meteora is revenged.

Café du Catskills Le Week-End Prolongé : Add an extra day (or two), breathing room to find riding space somewhere special. Or simply somewhere simple. Get up, kit on, ride out kind of trips. Cycling for the soul. Stephanie had never seen a firefly before, apparently. If that’s not a good reason to escape the city, what is?Hailing from the Pacific Northwest but now a full time NYC resident, she met Lucia and Ted when her competitive spirit led her to the racing scene. Lucia and Ted are board members of the Century Road Club Association, and they help make sure the NYC cycling community has a full calendar of events to burn off all those miles and watts banked by laps of Prospect Park and repeated River Road rides. Ted describes the NYC cycling scene succinctly; ‘race, race, race’. Lucia sees it as ‘diverse, passionate and defiant’. Steph agrees on the diversity, saying there is much more representation compared to the rest of the white male dominated world of cycling. They all agree, however, that the best thing about NYC riding is the community. No matter what type of cyclist you are, you will find your tribe. And the truth is, these days, people often float between the packs – one day urban masher, next day crit racer and, increasingly, wayward weekend adventurer.     Enter the Catskills. When people hear of the Catskills they usually think of Woodstock. Perhaps you’ve heard of that small music festival that happened back in 1969. The actual festival took place in the town of Bethel but that’s another story. Head another 60 miles further north west of Bethel and you’ll reach the small town of Bovina. The clue is in the name – this is remote, rolling countryside. ‘Farmland for days’ as Steph said. And Bovina is indeed bovine, with our beefy friends literally everywhere, outnumbering humans and profiting from the great outdoors just as we were about to.Dissecting the green spaces are smooth paved rollercoaster roads and shooting off to criss-cross the fields and dive into the forests are crisp gravel doubletracks, or ‘groads’ as they are known in these parts. A friend, Nik, had recently built a cabin on top of Bramley Mountain, just north of Bovina's centre, and had offered it up as a ride base for the weekend. “Magical” is how he described it, which is certainly the case for Steph who arrives for the start of the weekend just as the burnt red sun rests on the horizon. With hammocks slung under the awning of the cabin, focus turns to the riding, and more particularly, to the forecast. Around the campfire, comparing weather reports reveals that rain would be the theme for the weekend. But what becomes apparent amongst the group is that competitive racing backgrounds breed tenacity. No-one will let a little water get in the way of this city escape – there is too much on offer right outside the front door, including the ridiculously steep ‘groad’ driveway leading to it. Sunset was not followed by sunrise, as a blanket of fog seemed to stop the big yellow ball getting out of bed. Ted helped lift any mental fog with some AeroPress coffee and wheels were turning in no time. A big day on the saddle was planned – a short distance at 48 miles but 5,800 ft. of climbing, most of which would be on dirt roads. At least that’s what was hoped for. Google street view hasn’t made it out this far west so a bit of guesswork was involved. But the rain…..A couple of miles in and the trio were completely soaked and freezing - wishing for that heatwave they’d gladly left behind in the city. Logic prevailed, and shelter was sought. The good thing is low density does not mean fewer options. The Catskills have been a NYC escape destination for over half a century and it has the culture and the cuisine to show for it. As evidenced by Russell’s General Store - a Bovina staple since it opened back in 1919.A second round of coffee and a proper big breakfast and things risked getting too comfortable. After a couple of hours the downpour had reduced itself to constant drizzle so there was no option but to continue even if bib shorts were still on the damp side. The trio crawling out from the café like the little orange newts that Lucia found adventuring out of the grass and onto the road. Steph can add a new species to her weekend of wildlife discoveries. Another discovery was the dirt. Half way round the route and faces are speckled with mud and backs stained from the wet unpaved roads. It’s not just kit and bikes that suffer – the soft red clay mud requires a lot of power to make progress. The topography might be rolling, but like the Ardennes or the Strada Bianche, that also means some steep ramps are hidden in the folds. The second half of the ride was more mud slinging than gravel grinding. But suddenly – finally - the sun came out, just in time for the planned stop at Wayside Cider to stay true to the farmland theme. With craft brews and artisanal food on offer, the five mile climb back up Bramley Mountain to the cabin was always going to be the hardest part of the day’s pedalling.Day one had been due south, so obviously day two was a loop to discover what lay in the opposite direction. The sun was out and the weather was looking promising. The thought of riding in dry kits got everyone excited. However, dark clouds suddenly appeared as soon as the descent down Bramley was done. A light drizzle then turned into a downpour It was time to talk tactics on how to endure the weather. Riding on Highway 10, the discussion focused on whether the paved road or the nearby rail trail was the better option. The debate was settled by a German Shepherd. Clearly feeling his farm was at threat by three non-bovine beings, he charged the group. A sprint ensued, and thankfully the dog gave up first.The effort helped open up the legs for the cyclocross style ride over the rutted rail trail. More mud required more power and concentration to pick a line. Which meant the weather became a secondary concern. The benefits of all road riding are many. And the scenic trail arrived back at the bottom of Bramley, of course, as soon the sun came out to shine on the last climb of the weekend. The drive home to the city was broken up by a visit to the famous Phoenica Diner, whose owners transplanted themselves into the natural beauty and nearer to the great ingredient box of the Catskills back in the 80s. That raised the question about moving from the city to the wide open spaces. The consensus is the trio could never leave their beloved NYC. Lucia gets her energy from the city, and tomorrow morning it’s going to be needed – being wet for almost 48hours somehow saps a lot of energy. But rain and mud aside, Nik was absolutely right. Bovina is quite a magical place.

Honeymooning on the Transatlantic Way We, Becci and Al, take thee transatlantic way, to be our long-distance cycling honeymoon... Venue. Tick. Band. Tick. Dress. Tick. Now for the most exciting part of wedding planning - where to go on honeymoon. After completing the Transcontinental Bike Race (TCR) in 2016 and the TransAmerica Bike Race (TransAm) in 2017 we wanted something a little more... active once the knot was tied. A small amount of route planning revealed that we'd be swapping the honeymoon suite for 2255km in the saddle around the west coast of Ireland on the TransAtlantic Way (TAW). For us it was the perfect escape. Focusing on the primal needs of eating, sleeping and riding for 12-16 hours a day provided the ideal post-wedding wind down. And after all, nothing says romance quite like eating sausage rolls on the side of the road followed by a 250km bike ride in the rain. FROM THIS DAY FORWARD, AND AROUND, AND OUT AND BACK...... The TAW spans two countries on one island - the Republic of Ireland ("the South") and Northern Ireland ("the North"). Start in Dublin, finish in Cork - it looked pretty close on the map, a mere 280km according to Google... so where was that other 2000km coming from? On closer inspection, we would actually start by heading north to find the Atlantic, the complete opposite direction of our final destination. The first checkpoint was in Derry before following pretty much every single inch of coastline on Ireland's west side - around all of the peninsulas as well as out and back to every headland. From the most northerly and to the most southwesterly point of Ireland with the sea being the ever-present 'third wheel' on our honeymoon adventure. The most northerly point of Ireland was a loop around Malin Head in Donegal - a spectacular piece of coastline with some of the most fantastic views on near-deserted roads. The dramatic descents and tough climbs out of the bays were worth every watt of effort. There were times that riding this convoluted route became quite psychologically tough... especially when seeing a countdown for Tra Li on a particularly wet and windy day - a town we’d stayed in over 200km of riding ago, and yet we were headed straight back. The stunning coastline kept us focused and enjoying the ride, along with the rowdy media crew. Just when we started to think we were out there on our own someone would beep their horn and put their head out of the window to make sure we were ok. TO HAVE AND TO HOLD, TO FOLLOW THE WHEEL..... We often get asked “how is it riding together?”, “it must make it easier having someone to ride with?”, “do you argue?”. Riding as a pair has positives and negatives. It’s great to have someone to keep you motivated and tuck in behind when you’re struggling, like on the penultimate day when I woke up with legs of lead. I took some pain killers, ate a massive breakfast, had a coffee, listened to music, had some sugar, another coffee... but nothing made it better. I continued to grind, locked in my own battle even with Al's wheel to sit on. I know Al could have quite easily zipped off and made much more progress that day than we did - but being a pair we stuck together. It can be difficult when your good days and bad days don’t align. For the most part though we are in sync and it’s great having someone else to share all of these moments with and to reminisce together afterwards about the parts of the adventure no one else can understand. In sickness and in health, in form and out of form.....THROUGH SUNSHINE AND HAILSTORMS..... We started the ride in beautiful clear blue skies and gentle winds. It was glorious - riding late into the summer evening, watching the sunset and soaking in the scenery. One of these evenings we rode through Glenveagh national park – epic scenery, no cars, sun starting to set, when I saw we were taking a right turn off-piste down a gravel descent- I was glad it was sunset rather than nightfall! With the extra weight from my bike packs though I was like a tank – so sturdy – I’ve never ridden so quickly on gravel. That night we rode until midnight under the romantic light of the stars. Then storm Hector hit early Wednesday morning- we awoke to drizzling rain, feeling fatigued and drained from 6 days already in the saddle. We had a short disco nap in an Audax restaurant (petrol station) before continuing as the rain became torrential and the winds started to howl. It was pretty miserable riding made so much better by our shared suffering and the knowledge that we weren’t alone. That evening we took shelter early with the hope that tomorrow would be kinder. The dregs of the storm continued into the following morning. Our spirits were soggy and I wasn’t sure how much more pruned fingers and toes I could take. Feet frozen, head down to avoid being blinded by the rain we continued to ride. After a 6am start we rode over the Gap of Dunloe, a stunning mountain pass taking you up along single track roads through a luscious green scenery past a lake and through the jagged rocks at the tops. We were greated by a rainbow arching over the road. The rewards from these long distance rides cannot always be put into words - but in that moment we were glad we had gotten up that morning, glad we had ridden so far the day before, because in what other circumstances would we have been up there at dawn in the rain. It is these moments I cling to, remembering that nothing lasts forever. Plus, of course the double breakfast we feasted on 80km later.TILL CLIMBING DO US PART..... The TAW didn’t have any great alpine passes like in the TCR or any long drags up to 3500m such as in the TransAm, however it is interspersed with some beautiful mountain roads. In order to honor Mike Hall’s memory, long distance cycling legend who was tragically killed during last year’s Indian Pacific Wheel Race, the organisers added in a climbing challenge to recognise the fastest rider up each of the ascents. The most memorable climb was the Gap of Mamore in Donegal. You can see this beast ascending tightly up into the sky as you approach. At only 2km in length it makes up for its short distance in gradient maxing out at 22% in parts, explaining why the road up was littered with cyclists pushing their laden bikes. At the top we had an enthusiastic greeting from one of the local cycling club’s presidents who had been trying to catch as many riders as possible - he informed me that all of the women he had seen were crushing the men up this climb! There were around 15 female riders at the start line out of 160 so we were definitely in the minority… Hopefully as cycling sheds its traditional male-dominated image we will see more and more women lining up to take on these epic rides.AN EXTRA VOW.... Getting to the finish was a mixed bag- exultation to have finished in just over 9 days averaging over 150 miles per day... excitement to catch up with all the other riders we had come across on the road… sadness that it was all over and I wouldn’t be riding my steel pony tomorrow. Flash back 2 weeks later, sat in a café eating breakfast whilst simultaneously waving for the bill we looked at each other. “No races next year” we promised each other. Definitely not. They take over your life, there’s no time for relaxation, you feel guilty about any time off the bike and you can’t enjoy your meals. No races next year. As I write, I’m sat in our fancy hotel ordering room service and relaxing… looking up which race to do next.

Where we ride – Global Climbs Explore some of the most celebrated climbs globally. And a few less celebrated but no less good.L'ALPE D'HUEZ ALTITUDE: 1850 M LENGTH: 14.4 KM ASCENT: 1123 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 9 % MAX GRADIENT: 11.80 % START: LE BOURG D'OISANSVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTEBEAR MOUNTAIN ALTITUDE: 393 M LENGTH: 7.6 KM ASCENT: 387 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 5 % MAX GRADIENT: 11.50 % START: STONY POINTVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTEKOPPENBERG ALTITUDE: 64 M LENGTH: 0.5 KM ASCENT: 62 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 12.60 % MAX GRADIENT: 23 % START: OUDENAARDE VIEW MOREVIEW ROUTEMOUNT BALDY ALTITUDE: 1935 M LENGTH: 7.2 KM ASCENT: 628 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 8.70 % MAX GRADIENT: 14.50 % START: SOUTH ANTELOPE VALLEYVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTEMOUNT HOTHAM ALTITUDE: 1850 M LENGTH: 28.7 KM ASCENT: 1358 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 4.70 % MAX GRADIENT: 13.40 % START: HARRIETVILLEVIEW ROUTENAMSAN ALTITUDE: 262 M LENGTH: 4.3 KM ASCENT: 213 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 5 % MAX GRADIENT: 16 % START: TSEUN WANVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTESA CALOBRA ALTITUDE: 682 M LENGTH: 9.5 KM ASCENT: 647 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 7 % MAX GRADIENT: 16.30 % START: ESCORCAVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTEPASSO DELLO STELVIO ALTITUDE: 2758 M LENGTH: 24 KM ASCENT: 1774 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 7.4 % MAX GRADIENT: 12.90 % START: LE BOURG D'OISANSVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTETAI MO SHAN ALTITUDE: 930 M LENGTH: 9.8 KM ASCENT: 845 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 8.60 % MAX GRADIENT: 14.50 % START: TAI MO SHAN ROADVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTECOL DU TOURMALET ALTITUDE: 2115 M LENGTH: 17.1 KM ASCENT: 1210 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 7.10 % MAX GRADIENT: 20.40 % START: MONGLI SIDEVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTETHE TUMBLE ALTITUDE: 512 M LENGTH: 4.1 KM ASCENT: 347 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 8.50 % MAX GRADIENT: 12.20 % START: ABERGAVENNYVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTEWULING ALTITUDE: 3275 M LENGTH: 53 KM ASCENT: 2623 M AVERAGE GRADIENT: 5 % MAX GRADIENT: 18.20 % START: PULIVIEW MOREVIEW ROUTE

Col du Tourmalet: Montagnes du monde #7 ‘Vous êtes des assassins! Oui, des assassins!’ It's a famous quote but it bears repeating. And in the context of that quote, the giant silver statue at the Col du Tourmalet erected in memory of Gustave Lapize could almost be interpreted as an apology. Lapize was the first rider over the Col du Tourmalet in 1910 during the Tour's premier adventure above 2,000m. He pushed most of the way up the then gravel chemin and at the top expressed his disgust at the race's organisers. At 2,115m tall and with an introduction like that, Tourmalet is the king of the Pyrenees and the grand-father to most of the other climbs featured in the Tour.Any day between May and October, you’re likely to find small groups of riders surrounding the fountain in Sainte-Marie-de-Campan, filling their bidons in anticipation. Others sit, waiting for the companions they’ve dropped on the descent. Whichever side you choose to attack Tourmalet, you’re likely to be passing through this quaint village at some point. After the snow has been cleared sometime around mid-May, the air is gradually filled with the rhythmic ticking of chains. Then once every year or so the crazy caravan that is the world’s biggest bike race arrives. The sounds of cicadas and bikes are replaced with raucous crowds, waiting to greet the circus performers.Tourmalet is a true cyclist’s climb. It’s steeped in history and whereas many popular cols are often polluted with coaches and sports cars, Tourmalet is relatively quiet. Whilst some sections are tough it rarely touches ten percent but at 19kms it’s long from Luz-Saint-Sauveur. There is a notable difference in road engineering – the accepted knowledge being that the Pyrenees have a different flavour than the Alps. Less hairpins, more changes in gradient, long stretches with daunting views of the task ahead. Perhaps the greatest challenge though, is the weather. Temperatures can reach over 40 degrees on the lower slopes before you escape la chaleur of the valley, yet on the same day it’s been known for hailstones the size of golf balls to start hammering down. It’s that unpredictability that makes for an exciting challenge and dictates whether the fast descent into Sainte-Marie-de-Campan is an enjoyable one or a bitterly cold one.The Tourmalet has featured in la Grande Boucle more than any other climb. For over one hundred years the peloton has passed over its summit. It started with Alphonse Steinè’s famous near-death reconnaissance (despite which he assured Tour founder, Henri Desgrange, that the road was passable) before the first inclusion in the race. Since then many have encountered tribulation on these iconic Pyrenean slopes. In 1913 Eugène Christophe set off for the 326km trek from Bayonne to Luchon, trailing the race leader by a mere five minutes. It was a relatively insubstantial gap for such a monster stage that took riders along the what is now known as the Route des Cols; a roller coaster over the Aubisque, Tourmalet, Aspin and Peyresourde. Christophe summited Tourmalet close behind the eventual winner Phillipe Thys and was informed by race officials that he was on his way to the lead of the general classification. But as he set off in chase of the Belgian his forks broke – the official line was that he’d been hit by a car, but it was later claimed that he’d fabricated the story to maintain Peugeot’s reputation and that the forks had in fact failed.The rules were clear, a rider could not change bikes. So, he was forced to carry it on his shoulder the for the remaining 14kms down to Sainte-Marie-de-Campan. Once there he was led to the local forgery where he set about fixing his bike under the watchful eye of the race officials as the regulations stipulated that a rider must make his own repairs. Following the instruction of the local blacksmith, Monsieur Lecomte, he managed to single-handedly weld his bike back together. Unimpressed by the organisers lack of empathy, when one of the supervising officials asked commissaire, Henri Desgrange, if he could go and eat, Christophe shouted angrily, “If you are hungry eat some coal…I am your prisoner and you will remain my keeper.” Ultimately the incident would cost him well over four hours (including a three minute penalty for allowing a 7 year old boy to pump the bellows) but he went on to finish in seventh place. A plaque now sits outside the forgery, and the story remains something of legend in the village.The (almost) annual pilgrimage to Tourmalet takes place again this year, and whilst we’re unlikely to see Romain Bardet carrying his bike down the mountain, thousands will pass by the plaque in the small village at the foot of the climb, marking one of the Tour’s most heroic performances.Read more about iconic climbs around the world in our Montagnes du Monde series. CLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA Photography : Antton Miettinen

Die Alpe d’Huez – Die Berge der Welt Nr. 6 “Dies ist ein reichhaltiger Hang!“, waren die Worte, die von den Römern überliefert wurden. Reinstes Kupfer- und Zinkerz aber auch Kohle wurden hier in einer risikobelohnenden Unternehmung untertage abgebaut, die manchmal tödliche Lawinen auslöste, die die steilen Hänge herunterstürzten.Übertage wurde Alpe d’Huez schnell ein beliebter Wintersportort. 1936 richtete man hier eine erste Version eines modernen Skilifts ein. Also hielten der Radsport und die Tour de France erst spät ihren Einzug an diesem Ort. Es ist nur schwer vorstellbar, dass erst 20 Jahre Später der Grande Boucle diesen vielleicht berühmtesten Anstieg in seiner Geschichte erreichte. Die Industrie und der Tourismus führten zur Ingenieurskunst. Es ist anscheinend der Weg des Menschen zumindest gerade diesen Berg zugänglich zu machen: 21 Haarnadelkurven, die über 13,2 km hin und herführen bei einem durchschnittlichen Steigungsgrad von 8,1 %.Im kommenden Sommer werden jede Biegung, jeder Kilometer und alle Strecken zwischen den Spitzkehren von den farbenfrohen Radsport Jerseys angeregt und begeisterte Stimmen aus weit entfernten Orten wie Australien und Russland zu hören sein. Die Straßenbaukunst wird durch das Radrennen in ein Monument verwandelt. Wie das Stilfser Joch beim Giro d’Italia hat die Beziehung zwischen Alpe d’Huez und der Tour de France 1952 mit einem Etappengewinn von Fausto Coppi angefangen. Seitdem, besonders aber seit den 70ern, hat sich dieses kleine, alpine Dorf auf der Radsportkarte seinen festen Platz verdient.Jede Biegung hat ihre eigne einzigartige Geschichte. Sie erhalten Namen von Etappensiegern (manche auch zwei). Man weiß, wo sie ihre legendären Attacken begonnen wurden. Die siebte Kurve ist auch als die niederländische Ecke bekannt. Es schein fast so, als würden die Fahrer aus den Niederlanden ein Stückchen der Alpen für sich beanspruchen, um den Mangel an Anhöhen ihres Landes zu kompensieren. Den Rekord des schnellsten Anstieges hält Marco Pantani, der 1997 die Bergstation in lediglich 37 Minuten und 35 Sekunden erklomm und die Etappe gewann. Das Podium an diesem Tag bestiegen neben Pantani Jan Ullrich und Richard Virenque und ihre Zeiten zählen zu den Top 10 aller Zeiten. Diese besondere Auflage der Tour galt als diejenige, die am meisten „leistungs-verbessert“ war…Diejenigen, die ihre Zeit registrieren lassen wollen, sollten mit Respekt starten und früh am Tag anfangen, um der Hitze und den Massen zu entgehen. Die ersten paar Kilometer sind besonders schwergängig, und es braucht Zeit, um seinen Rhythmus zu finden. Erlauben Sie sich selbst von einem nostalgischen Gefolge zu träumen, und stellen Sie sich all die unglaublichen Kämpfe vor, die auf dieser Straße stattgefunden haben. Zählen Sie die Haarnadelkurven rückwärts, von 21 bis 0 – Armstrong hier, Schleck oder Sastre da.Das Dörfchen Alpe d’Huez ist sicherlich nicht das schönste, verglichen mit anderen Skiresorts in Frankreich. Allerdings ist es weniger touristisch und hat eine erstaunliche Radsport-Atmosphäre. Jeder ist begeistert und freundlich. Es gibt kein Gefühl der Rivalität, und die Menschen tauschen ihre Erfahrungen bei einem Kaffee aus und diskutieren die weiteren Pläne des Tages. In dieser herrlichen Mischung aus Nationalitäten sind alle einfach nur durchs Fahrradfahren miteinander verbunden.In der Saison kommen rund 1000 Radsportler pro Tag auf den Berg. Die Analogie, dass diese Radsportler hier sind, um in der reichen Geschichte dieses Bergvelodroms zu graben ist offensichtlich und unausweichlich. Beurteilen Sie dies oder genießen Sie es einfach, und wenn Sie den zweiten Espresso getrunken haben, machen Sie sich bereit für die kurvige Talfahrt. Dieses Mal empfiehlt es sich von 0 bis 21 zu zählen - Conti hier und Hinault da.Lesen Sie mehr über die bedeutendsten Anstiege rundum die Welt in unserer Rubrik:Montagnes du Monde. FORDERN SIE IHR ABZEICHEN AN VIA STRAVA Fotografie & Video : Karol Jaworski

Stilfser Joch: Montagnes du monde #5 „Ich bin jetzt gerade am Pass und dieser Platz ist hässlich.“ Ein gewisser Fotograf hat dies einst gesagt. Er lebt in den Bergen, er arbeitet (meistens) in den Bergen und er ist ursprünglich ein Mountainbike-Fahrer. Folglich kennt er sich mit Bergen aus. Stellenweise hat er wohl recht. Es gib einen Teil des Stilfser Jochs, der voller Hochspannungsleitungen ist, die auf den typischen stählernen Strommasten ruhen. Hier hört man nicht gerade einen musikalischen Klang, jedoch manchmal einfach den Sound eines Superbikes oder Superautos. Es ist nicht unbedingt das, was die Internetrecherche Ihnen zeigen wird.Fragen Sie jeden Radsportler, ob Profi oder Amateur, und alle werden Ihnen wohl das Gleiche sagen: Dieser Anstieg ist hässlich - zumindest im Sinne der Anstrengung, die dafür erforderlich ist. Er ist Europas dritthöchster Pass und misst eine Länge von 22km bei einer Steigung von durchschnittlich 7,1%, was wirklich keine Überraschung ist. Trotzdem haben Menschen seit der Bronzezeit diesen Pass durchquert und sie kommen Jahr für Jahr wieder. Vor allen Dingen wegen der Serpentinen, aber auch wegen der Geschichten. Seitdem der Radsport ein weltweites Phänomen wurde, hat sich das Stilfser Joch seinen Platz in der Geschichte dieses Sports erobert. Es ist der originale und höchste Cima Coppi (der Preis, der für die Bezwingung des höchsten Anstieges auf Italiens großer Tour verliehen wird) in der Geschichte des Giro d‘Italia.Von Bormio aus benötigt man schon eine wilde Mischung an Kletteranstrengungen. Die unteren Hänge erfordern noch einen milden Antritt, während sich die Straße durch mittelhohe Bäume und Büsche Schlängelt. Dann jedoch erreicht man eine Serie von Tunneln, auch dieser Countdown durch die 35 Spitzkehren verläuft relativ relaxt. Sobald man von den Tunneln wieder ins Tageslicht fährt, beginnt der Hauptteil der Serpentinen, das schönste Stück des Anstieges ausgehend von Bormio. Man fährt durch die Schlucht hoch zu dem Wasserkraftwerk und gelangt schließlich zu diesem perfekten Satz Haarnadelkurven. Neben dem, was man vielleicht, vielleicht auch nicht, als „hässlichen“ Gipfel bezeichnen könnte, liegt diese strahlende, brillante Schönheit. Nach den Spitzkehren fährt man weiter durch ein Tal neben einem Bach nach oben. Es ist schön, allerdings ist es offen und deshalb ziemlich gnadenlos, wenn die Sonne scheint. Wenn Sie aus dem Tal emporsteigen, biegen Sie an dem alten Zollhäuschen scharf nach rechts ab. Nach links sind es nur 200m bis zur schweizerischen Grenze, und Sie beginnen das Hochplateau zu attackieren. Das ist der eigentlich „hässliche” Part mit offenem Fels und die Biegungen der Straße sind nicht wirklich so eng, dass es Spaß machen würde. Sie sind einfach nur modern und ein wenig langweilig. Das Plateau wird von Hochspannungsleitungen durchkreuzt, die von gigantischen Stahlskeletten gehalten werden. Dies ist kein abgelegener Berggipfel und man muss ihn mit denjenigen teilen, die mit Motorkraft hierhin gelangt sind.Diese anderen Besucher haben vielleicht nicht den Endorphin-Kick oder sie schätzen wahrscheinlich die Radsportgeschichte nicht, die hier geschrieben wurde. Die Meteorologie des Passes hat fast immer eine Hauptrolle in den schriftlichen Aufzeichnungen gespielt. Der Schnee wurde erst am Vortag geräumt, als Fausto Coppi bei der ersten Passage sich und den Berg permanent in die Radsportgeschichte des Giro d’Italia einschrieb. Das Bild von “Il Campionissimo”, der sich beim Giro von 1953 einsam den Weg durch die Schneemauern bahnte wird für immer in Erinnerung bleiben. Und diese erste Passage über den Berg wurde durch den Cima Coppi Preis unsterblich gemacht.Weil er der höchste Punkt ist, der jemals bei der Giro d’Italia durchquert wurde, führt dies seine eigenen Komplikationen mit sich. Das Stilfser Joch hat eine Geschichte von Aufschüben und Absagen aufgrund schlechten Wetters hinter sich, und das wird durch den Fakt bestätigt, dass dieser Pass tatsächlich nur 12 mal seit seiner Einführung 1953 Teil des Giro d’Italia war. Bei diesen Höhen öffnet sich das Zeitfenster der Möglichkeiten im späten Mai oder frühen Juni und schließt sich irgendwann im September oder Oktober wieder. Es erhöht Vorfreude und Vergnügen, wenn die Schneepflüge das Weiß hinwegkratzen und der dunkle ebene Asphalt zum Vorschein kommt.Das Stilfser Joch ist nicht nur ein Anstieg, ee ist auch Vorläufer einer Talfahrt, die genauso hart ist, wie der Weg nach oben und an der Rennen gewonnen und verloren werden können. Bernard Hinault und Jean-René Bernaudeau entschieden sich den Sieg vor die persönliche Sicherheit zu stellen, um das Maglia Rosa zu erlangen. Und vor weniger als vier Jahren spielten die Talfahrt und das Wetter wieder eine destruktive Rolle. Als die mittlerweile berüchtigte Kommunikation über den Rennfunk versuchte das Rennen nach unten zu kontrollieren, aber nicht zu neutralisieren. Drei Fahrer, inclusive dem Titelverteidiger Nairo Quintana, rasten bereits die Trafoi Spitzkehren hinunter in völligem Unwissen darüber, welch Schauspiel sich am Gipfel abspielte. Viele Teilnehmer des Hauptfeldes glaubten, das Rennen sei annulliert, stoppten und wickelten sich in so viel Außenbekleidung wie nur möglich.Ob man nun auf dem Gipfel anhalten will oder nicht, ist eine Frage des Geschmacks. Die Spitze des Passes ist flankiert von funktionsfähig aussehenden Hotels, Kiosken und Fastfood-Restaurants, die Wurst verkaufen. Aber, wenn man hinaufschaut, sieht man das Refugio Garibaldi. Es wurde in den 60igern neben den Ruinen des Schweizer Hotels, das im ersten Weltkrieg zerstört wurde, errichtet und ist eine Feier der Bergkultur. Und deswegen kommt jedermann, vom Motorradfahrer bis hin zum Sportwagen Enthusiasten hierhin, selbst Mountain Bike fahrende Fotografen. Ja, der Pass an sich ist wohl eher nicht der schönste, allerdings vergisst man dabei die Reise durch die Schönheit der Umgebung darunter.Lesen Sie mehr über die bedeutendsten Anstiege der ganzen Welt in unserer Rubrik Montagnes du Monde . FORDERN SIE IHR ABZEICHEN VIA STRAVA Fotografie: Matt Wragg

Beach to Bonette Transhumance is the seasonal movement of people and their animals between low and high ground. In the mountains, part one is the ascension to abundant mountain pastures in the summer, part two is the descent to the valleys for winter shelter . In Saint-Étienne-de-Tinée, at the southern foot of the Col de la Bonette, there is an annual festival to celebrate the process. The cyclists of the Provence-Alpes-Côte-d’Azur region are no different from the shepherds and their herds. As soon as the déneigement team has finished its annual battle with the snow, riders flock to the Bonette. It’s an annual habit for Café du Cycliste, although this year we were a bit late to the party. Normally it’s a rushed drive up to the base at Saint-Étienne-de-Tinee to get to the col whilst the snow banks are still high and passing traffic low (not that this climb is ever as busy as its more famous counterparts). Having missed the opening week due to Ventoux gravel adventures, why not slow it down and ride up for sunset? From the beach to the Bonette has a nice ring to it. And statistics to match – from zero metres above sea level to 2,802m in 120kms. Like any serious ride, it is best broken down into the parts that make the whole. INTRO: WE ARE LIKE ROCKS Nice does not have fine white sandy beaches. It has galets, those smooth oval pebbles that are formed in the rush and tumble of the rivers that flow from the mountain tops of the Alpes-Maritimes. Riding in the opposite direction – up, ever up – shapes and moulds us cyclists, just as the rivers shape the stones. We rode to the Promenade, put some galets in our pockets, clipped in and rode north. PART ONE: A RIVER RUNS THROUGH ITFirst the wide open plains of the Var, from the estuary at the Med, to the confluence with first the Vesubie, and then the Tinée. Locally the valley is known for its two-directional wind. Headwind in the morning before the land mass heats up, tailwind in the afternoon. Luckily we planned to hit the summit at sunset, so it was tailwind to the bridge.PART TWO: IN BETWEEN ROCKS & A HARD PLACEPlan-du-Var is like a gateway hamlet between the open plains and the valley gorges. Almost immediately the road is clinging to the high rock face while the river rages below. It’s easy to miss the tiny road to the Tinée valley on the right, which like the water is squeezed between the cliffs of the Gorges de la Mescla. The road and the river criss-cross each other and we discover a “Parcours de pêche a la mouche”. Fly fishing in the belly of the mountains, a scene of tranquility soundtracked by the noise of the rapids. Apparently there’s a “no kill” policy. Which is a bit like the riding pace. With a 24km climb at the top of the valley, it’s a case of keeping the powder dry.PART THREE: RED ROCKS & BUNKERSAfter the junction that leads up to Rimplas with its tennis-court-equipped concrete bunker, the landscape changes dramatically. Out of the deep grey gorge and into the higher and more open one that is a battle between the almost luminous green horse chestnut trees and red shale rock. We’ve been part of Bunker Research before so are fully aware of not only the road side forts but also those perched above that stare down on us. This road was originally a matter of national importance for its founder, Napoleon III, and later one of national security during WW2. It flattens out and snakes its way north with an almost constant faux-plat manner.PART FOUR: HALF-TIME SAVIOUR SAINTCyclists are, as we all know, saved by patisseries. Being located almost exactly halfway up the valley, the boulangerie in Saint-Saveur-de-Tinée is regarded as an essential fuelling point (even if you are in the car). The tropézienne is trop bon. Rivers from the side valleys here powered the old mill, in a village which was once more commercial than touristic. On the northern outskirts the Col de la Couillole climbs out of the valley towards Roubion. It’s easy to forget in this sleepy town that the Tour used to pass through here and the Couillole was a contributing factor to The Canibal’s grand defaillance in 1975.PART FIVE: TO THE BASEThere are many great climbs out of the Tinée valley. Always, on the way to the Bonette, the arrival at Isola tells you the end of the valley is near. Known more for the ski station 2,000m old-town Isola is the starting point for the Col de la Lombarde. It's a beauty of a climb in itself and scene of ‘What About Joe’ during the 2016 Giro. But our pilgrimage is to ‘Europe’s Highest Road’ so it is up and over the final valley ‘climb’. On the summit of the hill before the town, nature is putting on a light show as if to suggest we have arrived in cycling heaven.PART SIX: ON THE SLOPES, ON THE ROPES.There is no time to stop in Saint-Étienne. Sunset may be at 2100h on the Promenade, but the sun dips below the sea’s horizon first and that is a long way for the light to travel to reach the Cime at the top. The treat for us comes above the hamlet of Bouseyias, past the half-way point on the climb. The world is divided in two parts; light to the east and shadow to the left. Like the gorge below, the green grass that leads the whole way up to Camp des Fourches, is iridescent. We may have been behind the other riders, but we are ahead of the shepherds and their sheep and are surrounded by the reason they keep coming back. We enter the familiar last section of dark grey rocks, dappled with light and the last remnants of snow. The Col is open, but the Cime has been closed off, amusingly, by a barricade of snow. We demount and follow the last rays and, distracted by the view, the 15% slopes are less painful than expected.OUTRO: STONED AT ALTITUDEIt’s probably the effect of the altitude. We almost forget the galets in our pockets. Pulling out the pebbles and placing them on the roadside does exactly what it was intended to – immediately, standing on the lunar landscape with the sun setting behind the peaks, the contrast to the busy beach at the start of the day is almost too much to comprehend. RIDERS' NOTES Komoot Route - click here Footnotes: Photography : Matt Wragg

Ça peak – Dieser Gipfel Der Mont Ventoux ist ein zweischneidiges Schwert, denn hier handelt es sich um den Mont Ventoux. Sicherlich mag die Casse Desérte, das Geröllfeld an der Südseite des Col d’Izoard, Sie an die oberen Hänge des Giganten der Provence erinnern, auch mögen die Wälder des Turini das gleiche Holz haben, jedoch ist der Ventoux alles miteinbezogen einzigartig. Der große Wald, der die unteren Hänge umgibt, diese Kalksteinfelsen am Straßenrand, diese rotweißen Masten und dieser perfekte Straßenbelag, der hinauf zu dem etwas surreal anmutenden Gipfel führt. Dieser Gipfel ist nicht der Col de Ventoux, damit also kein Pass, und der Weg stellt nicht etwa die Verbindung zweier Täler dar. Nein, um von der einen Tal-Stadt in die andere zu gelangen, muss man vielmehr den Berg umgehen, als über ihn zu fahren. Deshalb ist dies Frankreichs einziger und größter, 1911m hoher Anstieg, der einzig und allein existiert, um ihn zu erklimmen. Der Ventoux zieht die Radsportler an, wie ein gigantisches Licht Fliegen. Jedes der ihn umgebenden Städtchen, Malaucène, Bédoin und Sault, ist voll mit Radfahrern, Fahrradverleihen und Fahrradgeschäften - ein Fahrrad-Mekka. Verglichen mit der Abgeschiedenheit und Ruhe auf den Straßen des nizzaischen Hinterlands ist dies, ehrlich gesagt ein Schock der Grundfeste. Radsportler…überall, Motorradfahrer…überall, Sportautos…überall und auch Campingwagen...soweit das Auge reicht. Dennoch gibt es immer einen Weg den Massen zu entkommen. In diesem Fall ist es Gravel-Biking. Auf der Liste des Clubs des Cinglés du Ventoux steht ein quartième Montée, ein vierter Anstieg. Wir haben allerdings eine andere Tour geplant, die von Bédoin aus nach oben und nach Malaucène herüberführt. Diese Tour beginnt sofort mit dem losen Gravel-Untergrund, der uns fast den gesamten Weg zur Spitze begleitet. Die Talfahrt findet dann auf sanftem Untergrund statt.Das französische kartografische Institut wird abgekürzt IGN genannt, das Kürzel steht für “l'Institut national de l’information géographique et forestière'. “Forestière” ist eine erst kürzlich dazugekommene Ergänzung, die aber nicht unwichtig ist. „Les routes forestières“, die Waldwege gehören zur nationalen Infrastruktur. Sie werden von öffentlichen Mitteln finanziert und verschaffen Zugang zu Gebieten, die gelegentlich auch Privat sind. Auf dem Ventoux wird seit dem 13. Jahrhundert Forstwirtschaft betrieben. Hier waren die Waldwege wohl einst wichtiger als die ebeneren Straßen. Wenn Sie mit dem Gravel-Bike unterwegs sind, können Sie die Waldwege als weiß umrissene Linie mit schwarzgepunkteten Außenlinien erkennen. Sie finden sie unter den Routes Nationales und den Routes Departementale sowie den Chemins Departementale. Danach schließlich kommen diese Pisten.Eine Piste kann eine Vielzahl an Nebenwegsünden bedeuten: ein Pfad, eine Spur, eine Fahrrinne, zwei Fahrrinnen, eine Landebahn, eine Manege, wenn Sie so wollen… Theoretisch kann man die Pisten, die auf einer IGN-Karte verzeichnet sind, mit einem Gravel-Bike befahren - theoretisch. Es ist die unbekannte Konstante zwischen dem was auf dem Papier steht und der Wirklichkeit, die das Lesen von Karten zu einem viel interessanteren Ereignis macht, als es sich anhört. Unbefestigt bedeutet, es gibt keine Garantien. Wenn man die Piste des Graviers blancs befährt, wird klar, dass das Wasser des Frühlingsregens alles durcheinandergebracht hat, indem es Kanäle voller Felsen gebildet hat, die definitiv nicht gut sind, um zukünftig der Schwerkraft zu trotzen. An den unteren Hängen ist es am schlimmsten.Nach der ersten Serie an steilen, harten Serpentinen kommt rauer Asphalt in Sicht. Darüber ist Mylène so erfreut, dass sie vom Rad steigt und den Boden küsst. Dann pflückt sie eine Handvoll Thymian vom Straßenrand. Der Effekt für die Nase ist stärker als der eines Salbutamol-Inhalators. Das ist etwas Gutes, denn der Asphalt hört nach 100m wieder auf. Doch außer des Lachens hört man nichts, weil niemand da ist, noch nicht einmal Wanderer. Darum wählen wir Gravel. Mit zunehmender Höhe verläuft die Piste immer länger am Berg entlang und führt immer tiefer in den Wald aus großen Zedern und Tannen. Lange Geraden bieten Sonnenlicht und Schatten zu gleichen Maßen. Wenn der Mistral nicht weht, veranlasst uns die berüchtigte Ventoux-Hitze die Seebrisen der Riviera umso mehr zu schätzen.Schließlich gelangen wir an einen großen Carrefour, eine große Kreuzung von Pisten, die die Frage aufwirft wie viele Wege es eigentlich gibt, um den Berg über eine Gravel-Strecke zu erklimmen. Danach wird der Weg flacher und die Geschwindigkeit erhöht sich, aber leider auch die Anzahl der Wolken. Ein Bergdrama entfaltet sich vor unseren Augen. Mit all diesen Ablenkungen naht das Ende der Piste schneller als erwartet, und es ist als würde man jetzt auf die Autobahn abbiegen. Radfahrer fahren in beiden Richtungen vorbei in teilweise nicht enden wollenden Zügen mit schmerzverzogenen Gesichtern, die nach oben schauen und mit großen Augen nach unten blicken. Ein Radsportler lehnt sich an eine Leitplanke und ruht sich nach seinem Sturz an der Ecke, an der der Schotter in den Asphalt übergeht, aus.Die Gravel-Route, die in Bédoin begann, hat sich derart um den Berg gewunden, dass wir jetzt die letzten vier Kilometer auf der Seite von Malaucène hinauffahren. Auf der Strecke gibt es zumeist entschlossene Fahrer, jedoch fährt man in der Gesellschaft von allen möglichen Zweirad-Abenteurern: Rigiden Mountainbikern, Tourern und Liegeradfahrern. Es herrscht eine besondere Atmosphäre auf dem letzten Kilometer zum Gipfel. Der ortsansässige Fotograf ruft auf der letzten, verbliebenen Serpentine aufmunternde Worte, während er Schnappschüsse schießt, von denen er hofft, dass sie ihm ein paar Euros einbringen. Allerdings ist es eine schöne Anerkennung der Anstrengung den Gipfel erklommen zu haben für jeden einzelnen Fahrer.Für diejenigen auf den Gravel-Rädern ist es fast eine ungeschriebene Gipfel-Regel nicht da aufzuhören, wo der Weg endet. Andrea entdeckt eine einfache Fahrrinne hin zu dem berühmtesten aller Masten. Ihn zu sehen, wie er gegen die Steigung ankämpft mit losen Felsbrocken vor dem Hintergrund der riesigen Antenne, während Wolken an der Bergspitze vorbeiziehen, hat schon etwas Besonderes. Um die Erfahrung eines Gipfelaufstiegs reicher, ist es jetzt an der Zeit, die 21 km lange Talfahrt auf einer kurvigen und perfekt asphaltierten Straße anzugehen. Allerdings ist die Luft gefüllt mit fliegenden Objekten. Mund zu, Brille auf, Pausen werden auf das Nötigste beschränkt! Dies ist eine Erinnerung daran, dass hier die Natur an erster Stelle steht und der Abenteuerplatz für Radsportler an zweiter. KOMMENTARE DER FAHRER Fußnote: Fotografie: Matt WraggMont Ventoux, Mont Ventoux, Frankreich

The Tumble : Montagnes du monde #4 South Wales may offer up a completely different parcours to Paris-Roubaix but both locations, which on paper may seem like unlikely cycling hotspots, share a common history in the development of the sport in their surroundings. That history was born underground, by deserted mines that helped spark the Industrial Revolution. And whereas the Hell of the North has the cobbles of the Arenberg, the Brecon Beacons have the slopes of the Iron Mountain, aka, The Tumble. It’s one of southern Britain’s most iconic climbs and like Roubaix, its environs offer up some gritty riding.It’s considered as the gateway to the South Wales Valleys, where towns and villages appeared as industrialists discovered the reserves of iron and coal under the green and undulating landscapes. At 4.7km in length, with an average gradient of 8.2% there’s no surprise that it’s a favourite amongst local riders, and featured as a summit finish in the 2014 Tour of Britain.And riders who know the history of The Tumble will ride it from the Govilon side to go up and over into the heartlands of rural Wales. The gradient is kind to begin with, becoming steeper after 800m as you ride through the woodland. Hidden under tree cover, the initial slopes of the climb are relentless. A cattle-grid halfway up signals the start of the moor-land, which offers a more forgiving gradient, but often exposes you to a punishing wind.As the trees disappear, and road flattens off, the view will open up to your right hand side. On a clear day, it's picturesque, with only rolling hills and green farmland to be seen. The road undulates towards the summit, descending slightly before kicking up again for the finale at Keeper’s Pond. Make friends with the sheep as you cover up for the descent towards Blaenavon, the UNESCO World Heritage site that is a living memoire of a mining town. The huge Ironworks and the Big Pit, the canals and the railways and the terraced houses where workers recovered from their subterranean endeavours all evidence what is considered as one of the most important elements of the Industrial Revolution in the United Kingdom.And, as cycling history shows, these places and that time also produced hard men to whom cycling was a welcome escape and, for some, a chance to make a new and better life. It is impossible to read about Welsh cycling without crossing Arthur Linton’s story. It is a tale of outstanding talent and success followed by tragedy. With his salary from working down the mines he bought a penny farthing before progressing to more familiar shaped ‘safety bicycle’. By 1890 he was winning races and his rise to stardom culminated in breaking the world 100 mile record at Herne Hill Velodrome, before the move to France. He became a successful track rider, winning in the famous Velodrome d’Hiver in central Paris, and that form was quite naturally transferred to the road. But therein lay the problem.In 1896 Linton returned to mining country, this time by finishing fourth in the first edition of the Paris-Roubaix. It was then considered as the little sister to the biggest one-day race on the calendar, the Bordeaux-Paris. During the race, mechanical failure led to a crash, which led to a bike change, which led to a wrong turn, which led to another crash, which led to a desperate chase to the finish line. After much furore about Linton’s deviation from the parcours and pre-event route changes that weren’t communicated to riders, Linton was eventually awarded the joint win with Gaston Rivière.But the damage had been done. He was entered into more races in London and Paris and could not finish due to ill health. Linton returned to Aberaman in South Wales only to eventually die from an official diagnosis of typhoid fever. The unofficial diagnosis was a combination of physical exhaustion and alleged doping. It’s a rise and fall legend that serves as a reminder that it is a true privilege to be able to ride beautiful climbs such as The Tumble at leisure. So when climbing those first steep slopes, remember Arthur Linton, smile and remember to claim your badge afterwards.Read more about iconic climbs around the world in our Montagnes du Monde series. CLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA Photography : Luke Davies

Adventure commute noun: commute; plural noun: commutes. 1. A regular journey of some distance to and from one's place of work."the daily commute" No app in its right mind would suggest this route, but perhaps that’s the aim. Twenty kilometres there. Twenty kilometres back. Most days the aim is to arrive quickly and efficiently. Carve a trace amongst the buses and taxis until you join the daily peloton for the usual single-focus ride: across the bridge, along Embankment and back amongst the buses and taxis to the finish. Why not make the regular irregular? Deviate from the beaten path to find a more beat-up track that makes your ride, well, more upbeat.Head to Richmond Park on any morning and you’ll find plenty of cyclists. Smashing out laps or simply passing through, on bikes ranging from worn out workhorses to aero TT stallions, punching holes through the morning air. But it’s a big green space amongst the grey, and a chance to get amongst the foliage in the morning mist. Early in the morning the single tracks around the park are deserted. It’s a chance to play; to ride amongst the deep grass; an opportunity to ride solo at a time when most are either sleeping or on someone else’s wheel. And the gravel demands your focus on one thing and one thing only: riding.Exit the park, and instead of the bus lane, get up close to the river. In the shade of the trees, interspersed with sudden shafts of light breaking through the undergrowth, you feel the coolness of the early morning. The river to your left, the boat houses to your right. Instead of white vans and bin lorries to accompany you, you have dog walkers and runners. The sight of rowers is somehow relaxing, seeing them effortlessly cut through the water, nothing in their way. On this ride, everything is going against the flow, in every possible way.Then it’s time for some bridge roulette. The next one will do. Head north of the river, and see where you end up. The further you get, the mind starts to focus. A flurry of cars and traffic lights greet you as you hit the main road. Then Hyde Park gate appears, and there is calm again. Busier than Richmond earlier, the paths are littered with riders who have become fatigued with the battle on the bitumen.Getting closer to the City and some things are unavoidable. As you exit the park past Marble Arch, you can start to feel the pressure mounting. A sense that time is running out, queues and traffic beginning to build. Time to head east. At this point imagination helps to maintain the illusion – to maintain the adventure. Ducking down side streets, riding cobbles, climbing walls. Scouring the urban forest for all it has to offer…past the Horse Hospital and onto the Panther House.Then everything is clear. Buildings look familiar, and it becomes apparent that these roads have been ridden before. Work is just around the corner. Time for one final stop, to reflect on the journey.As you cross the square, the suits are beginning to arrive, stale from the underground, gripping their daytime drug coffee cups. A quick glance at the bike where white dust and grit clings to the down tube; remnants and reminders of the ride in. An extended commute. An adventure commute. One that makes the post-ride coffee taste better and adds endorphin highs to the day ahead.

Bear Mountain: Montagnes du monde #3 The Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Brooklyn Bridge and Central Park are all famous landmarks synonymous with New York City. However, ask any local cyclists for their pick and they will most probably mention Bear Mountain. Although, it is not technically within the city limits, it is perhaps the best known peak that’s accessible to all New York City cyclists. Located approximately 50 miles north of the city amongst the highlands of the Hudson River valley, it is within reach when a big day is on the schedule.During the American Revolutionary War, the Hudson River valley was considered a strategically critical area. Gaining control of the river meant controlling supplies, men, and materials between the New England states and those further south. Remnants of the battles fought, such as the famous Battle of Forts Clinton and Montgomery, can still be seen scattered within the bounds of Bear Mountain State Park. Nowadays, the park is mostly frequented by folks trying to escape the city – cyclists included.There are a few ways to reach Bear Mountain. One way, which many locals consider the scenic route, is entering the park through the north side by way of Seven Lakes Drive. As the name implies, this route will take you through seven beautiful lakes within Harriman State Park on roads mostly devoid of car traffic. During summer days, a dip in one of the lakes is a must! The views, however, do come with some added miles and climbs before reaching Bear Mountain. The most direct route – and the one that counts on Strava – is entering the park through the south entrance by the 9 West Highway or 9W as the locals call it.At its peak, Bear Mountian is just shy of 1,300ft in elevation on a 4.5 mile stretch of beautiful paved road - a tiny mole hill compared to some of the world’s most famous climbs. However, what it lacks in grandeur makes up for having some of the best views of the Hudson highlands. From the south entrance, the first mile to the roundabout gets quite steep compared to the rest of the climb – kicking up to about 9%. Follow the roundabout north to Seven Lakes Drive and the road eases down to about 5-6%. After 2.5 miles take the right to Perkins Memorial Drive – named after the man who helped create the state park.During most of the winter, this road is closed off to car traffic – perfect for those hunting KOMs - but be wary of hikers as the Appalachian Trail crosses through Bear Mountain. Once on Perkins Memorial Drive the climb steepens to about 10% as the road opens up revealing the view of the Hudson Valley. The final narrow section then returns to a steady 5-6%, waiting to be attacked if you've saved enough for one final effort. Once you’ve reached Perkins Memorial Tower, you know you’ve made it to the top. From there, you are rewarded with an incredible view. In fact, you can see four states from the top of Bear Mountain – New York (obviously), New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut. And on a clear day you are able to see the skyline of Manhattan and see how far you’ve come! And the distance is what makes Bear Mountain a challenging climb – there’s anywhere from 50-60 miles to get to the start of the climb. It doesn't take a mathematician to know that the out on back from the city will make it a 100 mile day. Perhaps, the best thing to do is to ride over to the other side of the Hudson and take the train back to the city from Peekskill. But make sure to grab a cold one to enjoy on the train back home.Read more about iconic climbs around the world in our Montagnes du Monde series. CLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA Photography & Text : Donalrey Nieva

Tai Mo Shan: Montagnes du monde #2 While the bipolar island temperatures and dense crowds make Hong Kong an unlikely candidate for riding, the cycling culture in the city has been rapidly developing over the past few years. In fact, it has the one of the fastest growing cycling industries on the globe. And with the second largest concentration of billionaires and some of the best dim sum in the world, riding in Hong Kong means possibly rubbing shoulders with society's elite but definitely eating like a king.The expansion of Hong Kong’s territories also means that there are many more routes to explore, and in a city so thick with intensity, the need to get out of town is as essential as oxygen.Climbing is one of the reasons why Hong Kong cycling is so famous. Victoria Peak is one of the most famous and is situated right in the center of Hong Kong Island. The Fei Go Shan climb boasts anywhere from 15% to 20% gradients. And Lantau Peak in Lantau island is topped with massive Buddha statue on the top of the peak.But the most iconic and highest mountain in Hong Kong has to be Tai Mo Shan. Once famous for a type of green tea called “cloud tea”, Tai Mo Shan is also known as the “Cloud Mountain” because of the almost permanent meteorological dressing on top. Riders say that when the conditions are right, you can even feel as if you are part of the sky.Before you reach the actual Tai Mo Shan segment, you will be warming up on a section called “route twisk” which starts at the Tseun Wan station. It is about 6km long and the grade is rather mellow - perfect preparation for your lungs and legs before the climb gets punchy on the actual Tai Mo Shan climb.Coming out of the “route twisk” you will pass the sign that says “Tai Mo Shan Country Park.” This is the indication that you have just entered into the main segment of the climb - a 2.5km sinuous route up the mountain at a steady 9% average grade, all the way to the peak.First timers tend to get fooled by the relatively easy grade at the foot of the mountain, but it gets tougher and tougher until you hit the three switch-backs before you arrive at the peak. Once into the switchback section, it is time to pump out everything you have to end the climb with a bang. With the climb done, all that's left a descent to Choi Lung for their famous dim sum. Photography & Text : Far Ride MagazineCLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA

What is long? From the underground, past the tipping point and into popular culture. The Transcontinental, the French Divide, the TransAm Race - ultra distance cycling is now in the mainstream. It has a long (yes, we know....) deep and, if we may so, quite french history. But like other extreme sports, have a conversation with an outsider and the question remains the same - a big fat 'why'? The Three Amigos - Matthieu, Elisabeth and Gregory - from Due North, the Nice to London shop to shop adventure, attempt to explain the what, the why, the give and the take of long. WHAT IS LONG? MATTHIEUOur discipline, our type of riding, is inspired by the Audax tradition, the sporting randonnées, events created by the Brevets de Randonneurs Mondiaux (founders of Paris-Brest-Paris). The range of distance is very subjective, but I think we can start to classify it as 'long' when we spend a full day on the road. Then it becomes natural to extend the days, to ride into the night. It always progresses - from a few days to several weeks and so the adventures grow.ELISABETHIt is a way of riding that has existed since the beginning of cycling and which combines, in my opinion, an aspect of endurance and travel. The tradition of long-distance riding has never been lost, and has continued in France with events like Paris-Brest-Paris, Les Diagonales, Les Flèches (arrows), etc. It seems to me that we can start talking about long distance beyond 200kms per day, including riding into the night. Long distance changes the notion of performance: we do not speak of average speed or moving time, but of a global elapsed time to go from point A to point B. The management of stops is more important than the speed on the bike.GREGORYLong distance is the school of humility and patience. It is something that requires a lot of caution because nothing happens as expected and it requires an ability to get out of your comfort zone, no matter how big or small that might be.WHY LONG?M: To fill two aspects of my personality. On the one hand, I have a contemplative and curious nature, and on the other I admit to having quite a bit of nervous energy and I find trouble channeling myself naturally. The hypnotic, binary practice of cycling has managed to regulate my energy, to find its rhythm. It allows me to balance this unnecessary energy expenditure with my natural idleness by giving it meaning, becoming the driving force (in the literal sense of the term) of my curiosity. It allows me to advance, to discover new places, to climb new passes, to enjoy riding a well-tuned machine but also to bring back graphic content of these adventures that will become the main focus of my daily work between rides. E: I do long distance because it corresponds well to my physiology and my psychology: I am tough and persistent and I do not really suffer from the effort over time. I discovered that I am more comfortable on long outings than on brief and intense efforts. I like to know where my limits are, and I enjoy real life challenges. Finally, I keep a wonder in tact for the concept of the distance that can be ridden on a small 10kg pile of scrap using only the force of your legs. I do not have a car, I ride far by bike and it's a form of reaction to certain behaviours of some of my contemporaries. Some people go to get bread by car - one tonne of scrap to lug a 70kg human! G: Because I'm looking for something, something that everyday can not bring me, a different routine, a fresh look at things. A shower takes on a whole new dimension when it's the first time in three days, a text message of encouragement from 1000kms away gives you wings even when you think about giving up and going home. It is these emotions that I seek and that long distance brings me. To lose oneself to better find oneself.WHAT DOES LONG TAKE?M: The mental aspect is different for each rider. It is fundamental to find balance in your head and, to a certain extent, a meaning to our wanderings. Or at least to make us believe in something or some purpose. Of course you need quality equipment adapted for long distance. A bike with a good balance between comfort and performance, a position that doesn't distract or cause pain, a functional luggage solution and clothing designed for the purpose. If pitfalls and glitches will always be part of the story, having equipment designed and proven for long hours in the saddle is a real benefit. And take a knife, a knife always serves you well.E:First you have to want to. There are many other forms of cycling, and long distance does not necessarily suit everyone. Then you need to train. You must acquire a habit of long hours in the saddle. It is essential to have found the right settings of the position on the bike to avoid injury. It is important to have tested all your equipment to avoid being stranded somewhere. Finally, you have to have the taste of the effort and a certain desire to surpass yourself, as well as a form of patience. It's important to get along with yourself and know when to stop. It is a discipline that makes you introspective and contemplative, it calms the nerves!G: Mental strength, lots of mental strength. So much is in the mind because no matter what the distance, the weather alters the emotions, which take on quite different dimensions and you can pass from laughter to tears in less than five minutes. It requires an ability to cheat with your brain and yourself make believe that everything is fine. WHAT DOES LONG GIVE?M: A feeling of being outside of time. In an unreal reality. All temporality evolves, distorts itself, after a few days the animal instinct begins to dominate our behaviour, the senses sharpen, the feelings too. A satisfaction. The retrospective to have travelled 'all that' without the help of anyone, to have pierced the life of a country like a silent arrow and to have chosen your playground. And, of course, stories of extraordinary friendships.E: Well, a hell of an endorphin shot! And the pleasure of a long trip, which unfolds like a film almost uninterrupted. The satisfaction of having gone far with simple mechanical means. And finally a break in everyday life, because the only concerns on the bike are of aesthetic order in front of the landscape, physical effort and logistics, in the very short term. We are in a sense constrained to immediacy and it feels good.G: Memories, good or bad, but unforgettable. Friendships too, sometimes unexpected and often strong and above all, a different perspective on the world because the expectations are lower when traveling with a bike and a sleeping bag.Footnotes: Photography by Manivelle.cc

Sa Calobra: Montagnes du monde #1 Der in Palma geborene Ingenieur Antonio Parietti wusste es nicht. Genauso wenig wusste es die Mehrheit tausender Radsportler, die die balearische Insel Mallorca jedes Jahr besuchen. Allerdings sind sie Gleichgesinnte: Liebhaber der Natur und Befürworter guter Wege. Wir Radsportler sind Parietti zu Dank verpflichtet, für eine der am besten ausgebauten, asphaltierten Strecken Europas: Sa Calobra.Nachdem Parietti in Madrid seinen Hochschulabschluss als Bauingenieur erhalten hatte, kehrte er nach Palma zurück und wurde nahezu sofort bei einem Straßenbauprojekt engagiert, das die Aufgabe hatte, einige der schönsten Flecken der Insel besser zugänglich zu machen. Die erste seiner Meisterleistungen wurde 1925 mit der Eröffnung eines Pfades zum Leuchtturm von Formentor am nördlichsten Teil der Insel eingeweiht. Diese schöne Straße schlängelt sich um den Bergrücken des Cap de Formentor. Man könnte behaupten, dass dies nur die Übung für das kommende Meisterstück war. Denn Sa Calobra ist die von Ingenieuren wie Radsportlern meist gehuldigte Straße auf der Insel.Die Ortsansässigen haben viele Spitznamen für den Anstieg: „La Cobra“, „der Knoten“, „die Krawatte“ oder einfach nur „das Loch“. Sa Calobra ist eigentlich das kleine Dorf unten an der Küste, das vorher nur per Boot erreichbar war. Pariettis Straße hat dies geändert. Sie wurde 1932 eingeweiht, ein Jahr bevor bei der Tour de France Bonuspunkte für die Bergwertung eingeführt wurden und Anstiege zu einem der wichtigsten Bestandteile im professionellen Radsport machten. Und so ist es auch auf Mallorca.Bei Sa Calobra treffen die Berge der Serra de Tramuntana, welche den Nord-Westen von Mallorca dominieren, auf die See. Deshalb ist es nicht einfach, nach Sa Calobra zu gelangen. Erst muss man klettern, um dann die Sturzflug-Talfahrt in das „Hafenloch“ zu genießen.Wenn Sie von Palma aus starten, sollten Sie sich auf einen Parcours vorbereiten mit ähnlichen statistischen Daten, wie auf einer der großen Touren, sowie auf zwei Weitere Gipfel, die des Coll de Soller und des Puig Major, auf der Hinfahrt.Glücklicher Weise ist die Serra de Tramuntana so schön, dass man abgelenkt wird. Sie wurde von der UNESCO zum Welterbe erklärt und für seine wohlerhaltene Balance zwischen Mensch, Natur und der Erhaltung des Naturreichtums gerühmt. Auch Parietti hielt sich an diese Philosophie.Es wird berichtet, dass er seine Straßen lieber der Kontur der Berge angepasst hat, als sie zu durchtunneln und die natürliche Landschaft zu verändern. Ein großes Kompliment dafür! Aus diesem Grund ist der Verlauf der Straße eine so perfekte Schönheit. Sie birgt mehr als 26 Haarnadelkurven zwischen der See und der berühmten 270 Grad Kurve, dem Krawattenknoten, kurz vor der Spitze. Der konstante Steigungsgrad sorgt für ein gleichmäßiges Klettererlebnis.Gleichmäßig bedeutet jedoch nicht einfach. Sa Calobra ist der schwierigste Anstieg der Insel mit einer Länge von 9,4 km und einer durchschnittlichen Steigung von 7 %. Ähnlich wie unser Col de la Madone ist auch Sa Calobra ein perfektes Trainingsgelände ohne Kreuzungen und mit gleichmäßiger Steigung, um das letzte Bisschen Kraft aus sich herauszukitzeln. Der Strava-Titel „King of the Mountain“ (KOM) wird offiziell von Sergio Henao gehalten, mit einer Zeit von 24 Minuten und 54 Sekunden, während gewöhnlich Sterbliche froh sein können, es unter einer Stunde zu schaffen und eine gute Zeit bei 40 Minuten liegt.Eigentlich ist es widersprüchlich von Statistiken und Zeiten zu reden, wenn man die Schönheit der umgebenden Berge betrachtet. Das Ziel ist es den Anstieg zu erklimmen, ein Hin-und-Zurück-Abenteuer, und wir würden Ihnen empfehlen nicht zu lange auf die Lenkstange zu kucken.Lesen Sie mehr über legendäre Anstiege auf der ganzen Welt in unserer Rubrik der Montagnes du Monde. FORDERN SIE IHR ABZEICHEN VIA STRAVA Fotografie: John Braymard

Week-end prolongé: Père & fils Le Week-End Prolongé (n) : Add an extra day (or two), breathing room to find riding space somewhere special. Or simply somewhere simple. Get up, kit on, ride out kind of trips. Cycling for the soul. Paul-Louis Clermont, 72, is busy changing the set-up on his borrowed bike in the Café's atélier. He's trying to get back into road mode after adding a Scott e-MTB to his substantial bike collection which runs from old steel roadies, fully rigid MTBs, special edition carbon superbikes and custom gravel bikes. He’s helped by his son, and our co-founder, Rémi, who knows the set-up is as important to his father as the post-ride Strava analysis will be. Michel Icard, 61, arrives with his ever-present smile and twinkle in the eye and puts down his bag in front of the Café bar. Said bag still proudly wears the sticker bearing his race number from last year’s Gran Fondo World Championships, where, as a climber on a sprinter’s course, he was disappointed to finish only 14th. Florent, his son, arrives at the same time having just spent the morning helping skiers snap into their bindings up in Auron. Previously an up-and-coming future superstar, Flo now splits his time between the winter season in the snow and the summer season on the pedals. It’s his first real foray on the road in 2018, and he’s worried the old men will beat him up. This Week-End Prolongé had been staring everybody in the face for months. Literally. Resting on the Port every morning and evening are the ferries that bridge the channel between Nice and Corsica. It's an obvious thing to do from the Café - a roll-on, roll-off affair with no airport security and bike box lugging to pollute the experience. Corsica is important to the Icards. Michel, or Mich Mich as everyone in the niçois cycling world affectionately calls him, is married to a Corsican and him and Flo return to visit the family house buried in the southern mountains at least once a year. Flo tells us that during his years as an elite amateur with his sights on a professional contract, he didn’t train anywhere that hurt his legs like the Corsican roads did. ‘Jamais plat’ ('never flat') he says, verifying the island’s nickname of ‘The Mountain In The Sea’.Cap Corse is the obvious first pick from the ride base in Bastia. Ride the 100km lap of the peninsula anti-clockwise - catch the early sun rays on the east and ride into the sunset on the west. Paul-Louis questions the plan immediately, 'if we ride anti-clockwise that means we finish with the Col de Teghime?” He’s from Alsace in northern France but displays a knowledge of roads and mountains that suggests there is a Michelin map of every region imprinted on his brain. Paul-Louis has never competed in a race, never been in a club and he’ll join the Ventoux night ride before he’ll do a sportive. But he’s ridden all his life. For pleasure. For himself. And with his son. Rémi comes from the same mould. It has helped him see cycling in a different light, forming his own breakaway from the peloton. Cap Corse plunges you almost immediately into the remoteness that the island delivers. Endless sea views to the right, snow-capped mountains to your left, it is not a stereotypical flat branch out into the sea. Erbalunga is the first hint of picture postcard fishing village life that sustains a quiet part of a tranquil region. The Genoise Towers decorate the coast like army badges, worn by an island that has been fought over for centuries.Top tip – never ride the Cap de Corse off season without previously making a lunch reservation. Stunning tranquillity is one thing, hunger with 50kms remaining on the route card is another. Mich Mich expresses how one of the best experiences of ultra-endurance riding (one of the many many disciplines he partakes in) is to arrive in town, pass through a cloud of sumptuous cooking aromas and follow your nose to the plate. Despite his ‘sec’ appearance, Mich can eat as well as he climbs. He knows how to fuel the engine: little and often. Or maybe just often. Flo and Rémi could learn a lesson from him as they recount tales of bonking and being towed back home by their dads in the early days. After eventually finding the best charcuterie in the world in Centuri, the four-ball rolls on one of the most spectacular coastal roads known to cyclists. At points the road is a singletrack masquerading as a standard route nationale, the white line in the middle needing assistance from passing places to allow two-way traffic, if there was any. It clings to the edge of the sharp cliffs which dive into the ocean and disappears round rocky outcrops leaving nothing but dramatic sea and sky vistas behind. The group rides tight, enjoying the billiard table surface and the panorama and not much is said because not much needs to be said.Looking west the sun is the hourglass timer for the ride, its height above sea level used to determine the remaining saddle time. Nonza bay was the target. Sunset on the beach, legs in the ocean to be refreshed for day two. Paul-Louis, at 72, feels the cold more than anybody and opts out. Flo, ever the joker, opts to throw stones and splash Remi and Mich Mich as they try and enjoy the view. With a gran fondo in the tank, endorphin release is set to maximum. The only thing required is more food. In the restaurant the waiter is clearly trying to off-load the day’s delivery of côte de bœuf to the late clientele. It’s the best Corsican beef, “fait moi confiance” he repeats over and over, causing laughter and doubt in equal measure. Everyone orders pizza, but they do succumb to the sales pitch for the local wine.One day on the best coastal road in the world is followed by a mountainous 80kms loop inland, starting with the Col de Santo Stefano. The D62, like quite a few of the roads in Corsica, is marked on the Michelin map with the famous green line which denotes a scenic route. It starts in the olive groves on the lower slopes then breaks out into the gorge with a tunnel view right up towards the snowy peaks of Asco, where skiing still looks possible. But the trees are charred black from wildfires and further up the climb, peering over the cliff reveals a cemetery of unwanted cars that have been sent to their final resting place in dramatic Hollywood fashion. It’s a good excuse for a pause and a joke on the climb. It’s also a reminder that Corsica, for all its beauty, has an edge to it. First day lunch panic is replaced by second day lunch picnic. Baguettes in the back pocket and eating al fresco on a rock in the middle of nowhere. The flowers are springing but they are still over-shadowed by the empty bright yellow shotgun cartridges that pepper the grass. Flo’s grandad is a chasseur and, according to Icard junior, so is 90% of the male population of the island. The charcuterie has to come from somewhere. Through the perched villages of Pieve, Sorio and San Pietro-di-Tenda and a mis-en-scène of rural Corsican life. Down to Saint-Florent for coffee and front row seats for the post-lunch pétanque. A stout man arrives and immediately throws every boule with pin-point accuracy, much to Rémi's delight.The bowl shaped valley behind Saint-Florent that rises up to the ridgeline between Oletta and Patrimonio is like a displaced taste of Tuscany. It is perfect wine country. Patrimonio is the recognised area and the Leccia domaine is an ideal final pit-stop before the Col de Teghime and the boat home. Mich Mich takes a taste, even though you get the sense he’d rather keep riding. He understands this is a shared experience and part of this particular ride that adds to his encyclopedia of cycling experiences. Flo repeatedly asks if there is any charcuterie whilst Rémi is torn between knowing that there is limited space to carry wine back to Nice and that, once on the mainland, it may be ‘stored’ in his house. Paul-Louis? Well he is in his element. He collects wine almost as fervently as bikes and buys two cases; “it’s good but, more importantly, every time I drink it, I’ll remember this ride”. Wisdom for the long road.Flo tells a great story of a fall from glory. Having been riding in a day-long breakaway in the Tour de Savoie he had a grande defaillance on the final climb resulting in a loss of 15mins in the last 10kms. Like all racing engines, his is one of fine tolerances – it can be revved hard but if not oiled correctly it may explode. He goes ‘hypo’ on the climb up the Col de Teghime and gets dropped by everyone. They wait for him, then he sprints the summit. You can take the racer out of the racing but not the racing out of Flo. Dinner has no added ‘fait moi confiance’ as it’s a torn up chicken and baguette watching the ferry traffic on the port. Onto the boat for the return home and the father and sons split into their cabins that, on the slightly cheaper ferry, are bite size. After a weekend together, that might be too close for some, but the Clermonts and the Icards have no issue – tired bodies and comfortable silence based on the closest bond of them all. RIDERS' NOTESThe Corsican Ferries run from right outside Café du Cycliste in Nice Port. There are two companies offering the service and the possibility to travel over-night. Day 1 - Cap Corse ROUTE Day 2 - Haute Corse Heights ROUTE Footnotes: Photography : Matt Wragg

Gravel to gravel, dust to mud Cycle to Tuscany for the Strade Bianche said the little voice in my head. The Italian Riviera in the springtime; the Cinque Terre and the Med always to the right. Pisa and pizza and then finishing between rows of cypresses on the infamous Tuscan white roads, watching the pros zip past in dust and sun.A gravel bike ride to a riding gravel race – the sort of concept the little voice in my head knows I cannot resist. It could have been a short shorts and shaved legs ride: what could possibly go wrong? February is the cruellest month, TS Eliot almost wrote, but actually February was fine. February 27th, February 28th and the sun shone, though it gave out little heat. The bike was loaded and the Wahoo programmed to take me along the coast and then into the hills. Camogli. I stopped here once before, I remember, when I was a student, travelling on the train with friends. That day we took the last room in town, overlooking the pebbly beach, and watched the setting sun burnish the walls of the room with gold. Then we swam in the cold sea, heads bobbing over the dark blue, faces disappearing and reappearing in the swell, lens flare in the last rays. In the evening the locals processed statues of Saint Fortunato in the streets, fried fish and made spectacular bonfires on the beach. This time, years later, seasons earlier, it is too cold to stay outside, and so I drink brandy and think with trepidation about the next day’s cold. Snow in piles in the shade, the sun setting and the Cinque Terre rising before me.The bike route across the first hills to Portofino becomes very climby, following timeworn tracks used by walkers and pack animals. Even now they are patrolled by tiny trucks. In Italy there is an industry still making diminutive vehicles for these tiny steep lanes between the olive trees. In some places I have to get off and carry my bike, but there are three-wheeled Apes here hardier than I. In the warmest corners there is the smell of wild garlic, sole reminder of spring, but elsewhere my tyres crunch through frost. In Portofino, Russian girls in yachting wear and furs pose for a camera, but as soon as the lens cap is on they dive into the cafe where I am having coffee. Out of town up in the hills the landscape drains of colour. There are tiny birds lying frozen dead on the road. On the north side of the hills the road is frigid monochrome and on the south it is white from salt stains and snow melt. A 10-kilometre descent calls for an emergency pizza. Finally stopped, after 150km, I wash my base layers – two, and two neck warmers – in the hotel sink and go to a restaurant, where I shock the waiter with how much food I eat.The next day is 1 March and though that is the calendar start of spring, it is also when the Beast from the East comes to visit. Outside the hotel there is snow on the ground and it is snowing, a wet, cold, cloying snow. By Pisa, 40km south I give up and try to catch a train. But there are no trains running into the hills of Tuscany. Lines closed. I have to get to the Strade Bianche. I have to interview a rider for a magazine, and besides my bed that night is in the team hotel, an expensive luxury to miss. I stand around in Pisa station for a while with crowds of tourists who want to go to Florence, not knowing what to do. And then you realise that you keep putting yourself in these situations and that there is only one way out. I get back on the bike. Hours of zero degrees, sleet and dirty snowmelt road spray. The headwind the icy breath of the Beast from the East. I stop at the next station, still no trains, and no taxis too. The kindness of strangers in a café and a tobaconnist where I stop to drink coffee and eat chocolate. No photos and nothing to report beyond the tip of my nose. Empty handlebar pack, all my clothes are on. Eventually, with 30km left, I find a cab that will take me to my warm shower and bed. I drip all over the inside as I warm up. The view from the hotel is white. Two days before the Strade Bianche and it’s not just the roads in Tuscany that are white – it’s everything. The teams trickle in through the hotel lobby doors in cold gusts of apprehension, sheltering from winter’s revenge outside.The next day I recce the course with the team, and the snow has mainly gone, but it is all mud rivers and slush piles instead. How many, tomorrow, will be truly up for it? Will the battle be won before the start? Riding down to Siena that evening, rows of cypresses stand guard in the gloom over the infamous strade bianche. The women’s race starts and ends in the rain, all embrocation and sounds of brakes in the wet. The men get wet and are strafed by stormclouds all day. But heroes rise out of this mud. Heroes like Anna van der Breggen, and Tiesj Benoot, Wout van Aert and Romain Bardet. And they would not be the heroes we need them to be if these races were easy. Why do we try to do things that are so hard, I ask myself. And then I realise that I keep putting myself in these situations and that there is only one way out.