MIKE & KYLE'S RIDES Two steel bikes from different continents and completely different eras. "It's like some photographers will stick to digital and never try film. Film photography and its whole process is beautiful. Steel bikes are the cycling equivalent". These are the bikes of THE CLIMB.

THE CLIMB Last summer Michael Angelo Covino made the coastal trip from Cannes Film Festival to Café du Cycliste to rent a bike immediately after securing the finance to produce his directorial debut feature length film. A group ride up Col d’Eze, a few noisettes and three months later, Mike was directing and starring in the first scene of THE CLIMB on the Col de Vence, duly kitted out in a custom Café jersey with a peloton clad in Monique Audax jerseys chasing him and his co-star and writing partner, Kyle Marvin, to the summit. Fast forward to this year’s announcement of the Cannes Film Festival Official Selection and The President, Thierry Fremaux, confirmed THE CLIMB would be included in the ‘Un Certain Regard’ category. The film premieres this Friday, 17thMay and whilst Kyle and Mike have a packed schedule, they did of course have time for a catch-up whilst climbing Col de Vence, where it all began. Directorial debut, selected for Cannes - CONGRATULATIONS – how did that happen? MIKE : You’d have to ask the selection jury… I don’t know what they were thinking…. It’s been a crazy journey. We had a short that people seemed to like. Once it got selected for Sundance we started exploring ideas to expand it into a full feature. But we had to move fast. We turned in our first script five days before Cannes last year and then we were shooting in August. It was an absolute dream scenario to premiere this movie at Cannes, both because we shot here – 35 mins from the Croisette – but also because the undertones of the film are very much based on an American persecptive on French sensibilities and French culture and on cycling. So to have been selected is unbelieveable, especially as when you’re making the movie you have no outside validation – only your own conviction in what you’re doing. KYLE : In some ways the journey started here. Mike first presented the script in its final form, at Cannes last year. And then we shot one of the first scenes here so in a weird way it’s manifest destiny – we started here and now we’re premiering here. Could you define the concept of the film in two lines? MIKE : I think it’s a love story about friendship between two guys told over the course of 12-plus years, that deals with the challenging ups and downs of that relationship. Why did you choose THE CLIMB as the title? MIKE: Life is a climb. I think that title is the best representation of what the core of the story is about - how life is this constant struggle uphill for these characters who have to accept that it’s not going to be easy and there will be these challenges that make things more and more difficult. It’s a bit like the way the good cyclists are those who can take a lot of pain over a long amount of time. Our ability to enjoy life and experience it is directly related correlated to our ability to endure suffering. A bit like Kyle on the Col de Vence today when he was cramping, but he kept turning the pedals…. So that’s why you chose to use the bike as a theme to tell a story? KYLE : there’s a lot of reasons. One because it’s a great physical challenge which lays bare your emotional state, when your concentration and your energy is consumed by the physicality of doing the thing. There’s a purity of thought and the conversation in bike riding and in film making you are always trying to capture exactly that. The first and last scenes take place on the bike – it’s a strong theme in the movie. And you clearly feel a connection with France? MIKE : there’s a cycling history in France unlike any other. The drama and stories and history are endless. But it’s actually more to do with having a French ex-girlfriend, and then a period in my life when I was starting to fall into French culture and it subjectively got tied into my experience of love at a time when I was ready to make a film. French cinema is an influence too – these big ideas of love come from French stories, cinema and poetry. And we needed to create an exotic mystery about the character that Kyle and Mike are in love with. A French woman is very ‘on the nose’, and in line with two delusional American characters who have idyllic notions of what love is. Why did you chose the Col de Vence to shoot the first scene? We went with it partly due to logistics but also because the view is insane; you can see the ocean and it really places you in the setting. And there are also weird little things like a little pony farm just after the Col that I could never possibly have imagined as part of the end of the first scene unless it was there and I’d seen it. Each scene of the film is shot using the single take ‘one shot’ technique – what was the reasoning behind that and how difficult was it to pull off? MIKE : There’s an immediacy that exists when you don’t cut. You get that in documentary style. And when you also utilize cinematic techniques and movements and blocking, and mise-en-scene to create a cinematic atmosphere in front of the camera then you kind of get the best of both worlds – intimacy of documentary plus the expanse of really dynamic camera movements. You’re utilizing the most ‘showy’ aspects of cinema in a way. The way we wrote the scenes were very conducive to that style of shooting….Even if that resulted in putting Kyle under an ice lake when it’s -20 outside for 45 seconds…. KYLE : Or struggle up a hill on bikes for 7 minutes while saying words. There’s also a pressure and focus on the acting which comes with it. Everyone gets into the moment really intensely because you have to really live in it every second. You’ve been to Cannes many times before on other movies that you’ve been involved with either through writing or producing – what’s so special about this festival? MIKE : for me it’s the biggest stage in global cinema, which makes it surreal to be playing there. It has a history of celebrating film that not a lot of other festivals do, and it has this amazing mandate – to bring in the best of world cinema from every corner of the globe and from every genre. It’s a curation platform, really like no other. You’re both still cycling regularly? KYLE : Hell yeah. I wasn’t a cyclist before. When we did the short I hadn’t ridden a bicycle since I was 12. It’s been an epiphany in terms of discovering the beauty of it. We had to get into it so intensely. We went up and down Col de Vence maybe 24 times in total last summer. The day before that we rode it in full (with you guys). We know Col de Vence pretty well. It’s an old friend. We cycle when we write in California. We take a break at lunchtime and ride to Griffith Park, the Hollywood sign and back. It’s a great way for us to change our pace and get that therapy that it provides and that clarity of headspace. It’s a part of my life now. MIKE : I got into cycling because I wanted to buy the clothes and I thought it would be weird if I was wearing the clothes without a bike. I wanted to be wearing lycra at all times and to protect myself from being considered a real creep, I thought I should buy a bike. What do you look for in cycling clothing design? Simplicity I think. Either simplicity or outrageousness but the colours are the most important thing. We stuck to a very specific colour scheme both for the characters and also the entire visual of the film. And that’s why when we first spoke with Café du Cycliste I wanted to find a way to collaborate because the aesthetic of the film and colours and designs the brand uses was a perfect match. It’s simple but also really bold colour choices that stand out and pop rather than having crazy designs and things going on all over the place. KYLE : there’s also an authenticity to the brand. You can wear flashy stuff but it’s not authentic with good performing fabrics it just feels cheap. The quality really makes it feel natural. MIKE : It helped that you’re French, you’re on the ground here and connected into the local scene. You helped so much in sourcing local riders to make the peloton and all the cycling logistics. We definitely couldn’t have pulled off the opening scene without you guys. Photography: Eugénie Pigeonnier

FURTHER Further is the brainchild of photographer Camille McMillan. It is described as ‘A new frontier in Adventure Cycling’. It’s a chance to discover a lesser known part of the French Pyrenees and explore new perspectives on cycling. Camille explains what Further means to him. 1. IF THIS WERE AN EXAM QUESTION IT WOULD BE : ‘DEFINE FURTHER’ Further the event is a race and a rally in the Ariège deparment in the south west of France. It’s happening from 23-26 August. There will be no women’s race, just one race. Women and men race on an equal footing. The race will play with borders, departmental and national. Further the concept, to me, is not far. It’s about making a decision to ride somewhere you’ve never been before, somewhere that makes you curious for whatever reason, somewhere that presents a physical challenge, somewhere that is a point of interest. The interesting places are usually hard to get to, that’s the way the world is these days. Further is about poetry in sport, not science in sport. It’s about gaining fresh perspectives via the bicycle but not necessarily on the bicycle. That narrative can be created by people – cyclists – from all walks of life coming together. Which is the call to action for the rally. 2. HOW HARD WILL THE RACE BE? It will be really quite hard. The race starts on a Friday and you have to finish it by Monday. But there is no pressure other than that which is self-inflicted. Riders can peel off and return to the rally if they have issues. There are checkpoints but not all will be manned. There are some very inventive ideas being thrown around as to how riders prove their presence at the unmanned CPs. For those at the front, the established riders of this discipline, I’m thinking of it as an ‘ultra sprint’. I know these guys and they will go at it hard. This first race year is by invitation and we’re looking for ten women and ten men. 3. THE RALLY – A GRATEFUL DEAD CONCERT FOR THE CYCLING WORLD? PLEASE EXPLAIN… In 1964 Ken Kesey and his band of comrades (the Merry Pranksters) set out in an old school bus on a road trip around the United States - the bus was named Further and the Grateful Dead was the house band. The trip was documented by Tom Wolfe in the The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and was a beacon of the counterculture of the 1960’s. To this day an icon of rebellion. Whilst I am not suggesting that Further is a beacon of counter culture, Further will create a space to explore new lands mentally and physically using the bicycle (not a bus or LSD). 4. WHO WILL BE THERE & WHY WILL THEY BE THERE? Curious people, I hope. People who want to explore and discover new things. I expect a diverse group of cyclists from different cultures and backgrounds. I know plenty of these people already. Heart surgeons, writers, engineers, artists. They are all cyclists but what their day to day jobs or other hobbies brings to cycling – especially adventure cycling - is interesting to me. These are the people from the long distance and ultra endurance community. Connections and friends from TCR. I’m also hoping some riders will get the over-night train after finishing Paris-Brest-Paris. It’s an event organized to capture and capitalize on the shared experiences and emotions adventure riders have in common. The race is a loop with headquarters on the plain at the bottom of the mountains. There will be wild camping but with a swimming pool, a bar and the race tracking on a big screen. And, of course, it’s all surrounded by an undiscovered cycling playground where people can go for a ride then come back and watch the race with everyone else. 5. HOW HAS YOUR EXPERIENCE IN THE CYCLING WORLD GOT YOU TO THIS POINT? At age eight I did my first race, a cyclocross one. I got destroyed but eventually I developed a love of autumn cyclocross on dry off-road terrain. So off-road riding must be engrained in my physce since then. I’ve been through the road racing phase from start to finish. From crit racing, road racing to covering the Tour de France. That eventually all began to feel a bit too structured. Then Mike Hall invited me to TCR and I was hooked. Off road, on road, riders getting lost, narratives being created by every cyclist I encountered. It was all the things I love about cycling. It had a dynamism that really attracted me. 6. NOT MANY PEOPLE WILL HAVE HEARD OF THE ARIÈGE – WHAT SHOULD THEY KNOW ABOUT THIS AREA OF THE PYRENEES? When people think of the Pyrenees they ask ‘how far is Lourdes’, or ‘is it close to the Tourmalet’. No-one thinks of the Ariège, but the Tour passes through here every year. The joke is that the locals are Belgians who got lost on their way to Spain. It’s not touristic France. It’s a rural, bucolic France stuck in time. There is a mixture of indigenous people and people who come here to live alternative lifestyles. There is a lot of subsistence farming and local markets. They say bears were reintroduced here from Romania. It’s a controversial subject (a bit like the wolves in the Mercantour National Park). It’s a wild landscape with lots of forests on the lower slopes and bear mountain peaks up above. But there are no foothills. 7. PHOTOGRAPHY IS STILL A FUNDAMENTAL PART OF YOUR LIFE. WHERE IS ITS PLACE IN THE FURTHER MIX? I have to document Further. I’m constantly documenting. Where I’m going, what I’m finding in the preparation of the event. Digital photography is effectively note-taking for me. But. I also have a large format wooden film camera and I’m going to start shooting ‘considered’ film. Slow, deliberate photography. To find out more, to join the race or rally or to simply be part of the Further Community, click here :FURTHER - ADVENTURE CYCLING

Bike Ski - The New Duathlon At 1600m up, deep within the Mercantour National Park, surrounded by snow-covered peaks, the pick-up truck is being loaded two by two. Bikes, check. Skis, check. Mountain packs, check. Up here you could be mistaken for thinking cycling had been left behind on warmer coastal roads in favour of the more traditional alpine winter activity. Not so for Manon and Audrey who, when faced with a choice between the two sports, take the third option – both. For them the skyline is the limit, how you get there is the fun part. Audrey was born in the mountains, Manon by the sea. But both were raised on the slopes (Manon’s parents hail from Grenoble). Adventure, speed and a love of the outdoors are engrained in their psyche. Audrey is a former downhill ski racer turned teacher in Saint-Étienne-de-Tinée, the village in the valley below her birth town of Auron. Manon is a business student turned shop proprietor in Auron. The two have been friends since Manon made the move from the seaside town of Cagnes-sur-Mer to the mountains some two hours above. They bonded by exploring the mountain playground on their doorstep. Auron is situated above the Vesubie valley on the western side, just before the road climbs out of the basin in Saint-Étienne-de-Tinee to make its southern ascent to the Col de la Bonette. Whilst access to Europe’s highest road (we know, highest paved ‘through’ road that passes from one valley to the next) may be closed during these winter months, the possibilities remain endless – especially when equipped with the correct gear. Life in the mountains mid-season is busy, Manon and her partner Flo never stop working with ski rentals and equipment sales to the demanding masses seeking a quick mountain fix. As a school teacher, Audrey also has a full agenda educating the local children, save for Wednesdays when her pupils get a mid-week break. So ‘hump day’ is the guaranteed escape into the plein air for what is regarded as an essential weekly dose of mountain adventure. Away from the ski lifts and chalets that ooze the smell of melted cheese, just 15km north lies Saint-Dalmas-le-Selvage, the hamlet at the base of the first valley to fork left off the Col de la Bonette climb. It’s a beautiful village that has retained its traditional appearance – only stone and wood are on show. No shop facades or synthetic materials here. Located at the base of the Col de la Moutière, it's the perfect starting point. The Moutière is the lesser-known alternative way to the Col de la Bonette and as the smaller sibling, it does not get the attention of the snow-clearing déneigement teams. Audrey and Manon get loaded up – packs with ski boots and essential spares, skis clipped on to back packs in criss-cross fashion. Fat tyres touch the snow. Ride the road until the ski-randonnée piste begins and traverse the mountain to the summit. For the past two years Audrey and Manon have been developing their strategy for getting up any mountain the smoothest and most delicate way before descending with effortless speed and a shot of adrenalin. “I find inspiration on the bike when discovering new and untouched roads. It is the same feeling clicking into my skis. The advantage of our region is, that no matter where you go with your bike or with your skis, it feels magical, it feels untouched”The silence that comes with riding on snow just adds to this sensation and leaving the road to explore further and higher is the next level – time to unclip the pedals and clip into the bindings. Getting off piste into the wild and fresh powder, its up to you to decide which way to go. It is set to be a challenge, but not a challenge that you can't overcome and win. It is all about looking ahead and looking up. Ever up. When reaching the mountaintop overlooking Saint-Dalmas, the sun has changed its position and is casting strobes of light and shadow across the slopes below. The unmarked snow now marked with trails from the skis, it is time to change direction and adjust the bindings that provided the traction on the ascent. But not before a moment of appreciation. Suddenly Audrey remembers why she returned to the mountains after having studied for a few years in Nice: 'Can you hear that? That is the sound of the mountains”. The descent is Manon’s favourite part. She lives for “la sensation de vitesse” - the sensation of speed that comes from analysing the terrain as you surf gravity's wave on the way down, whether it be by ski or by bike. Adrenalin is her primary motivation to climb. And after the effort, both are happy to point their skis downwards as it’s now l'heure du gouter. Raclette anyone? With a population of only 60 in Saint Dalmas during the winter season, the silence of the village is deafening. Passing the few locals that are out for lunch with skis strapped to the bag it doesn't go unnoticed but Audrey knows everyone in this region so when they recognise her, all is understood. Chez Valerie is the only restaurant in town. Audrey shouts ‘bonjour’ and immediately walks into the kitchen to organise the raclette. Double the sport means double the menu, bien sûr. Sitting beside the fire as the light fades outside Audrey and Manon start discussing the location for next week’s adventure. The skyline is definitely the limit for these two. Footnotes: A big thank you to both Audrey and Manon for sharing their adventure lunch ride.

It never rains But when it does. Be prepared, for men and women.

New Yorkers' New Year, Finding Light on the Riviera New intentions for the New Year are great, but only if you have the right weather.   It being the case that in January New York doesn't have the best riding conditions, photographer Donalrey Nieva and partner Karen Yung took a last minute plunge onto the flight databases and found themselves based in Vieux Nice.   After a day's riding with them in the winter sun on the south side of the Col de Turini we exchanged some questions and answers together with a selection from Don's trademark 'from the saddle' photography. Karen says you only go on holiday to ride bikes is this true? Generally speaking, yes. Riding a bike is hands down the best way to explore a place. I think it offers a unique perspective and a more authentic experience that you can only get when riding a bike. And, in my defence, we've definitely gone on holidays where we didn't bring our bikes. Does renting a bike count? It’s your first return to the Côte d’Azur after your #nicefarride adventure with Far Ride Magazine – what brought you back? Originally we had our sights on Mexico City as I wanted to ride over Paso de Cortes - a 3,400 m mountain pass. The logistics on trying to plan that trip were proving to be quite a headache and just a little ambitious. At the end of the day we just wanted to be somewhere where we can relax and at the same time have access to good riding right out the door. Nice is perfect for this - sleep in, ride 100km or so, come back to a beautiful sunset, eat some good food, and repeat. Also, Karen has never been to the South of France so that was another reason. I liked it the first time I was here, but I fell in love this time around. Your Firefly is as immaculate as it is beautiful but it’s no lightweight mountain-goat – how does that affect the way you ride? It is slightly heavier than my other all-road bike and at times it does feel like I need to put in just a little more effort to keep up with people. Although I think this is more likely due to my lack of fitness and the 1x gearing than the actual bike itself. With that said, I did have this bike built with adventure riding in mind. So going a little slower is okay as I get to soak in all the views. Overall it's just a pure joy to ride this bike. You found some 'Groads' – how do they compare to others you’ve ridden around the world? The groads I've ridden here are quite nice especially on my 2.3' tires! I particularly like that dirt road up to Col de Braus. It reminded me of some of the gravel roads we road in Colombia. Actually, @caleyfretz over at CylcingTips rated that Braus groad a 9.5 out of 10 via my Instagram story! I think so myself. What comes first : food, photography or bikes? Bikes comes first. I wouldn't have gotten deep into photography had it not been for bikes. Although Karen has definitely made me appreciate good food in general. What was the best post-ride meal you had whilst in Nice? We went to dinner at Boccaccio one night and ordered a Paella for two as they're famous for it. There was so much food that we ended up having enough left overs to have it as a post ride meal for two days! It was so good! You're famous on Instagram for your #lightbro pictures of NYC - how does the Provençal light compare? It's quite interesting as the sun here in Nice never gets too high. So it looks a never ending sunset, well until it sets at 6pm. It was a #lightbro paradise. How does your approach change between photography jobs and photography on personal trips like this? The approach doesn't really change. I still look at things the same whether it be composition, light, etc. Although on personal trips like this I do feel a little guilty asking people to go back up a road so I can capture a shot I have in mind. Quickfire questions: Croissant or pain au chocolat? Croissant Vous parlez français? Non Seaside or high mountains? High mountains 700c or 650b? 26' because #26IsNotDead. It's also the wheel size on my new Firefly. Red or white? White on white for sure.

THE BEST SOCCA IN THE WORLD The Best Socca In The World can only come from Nice….Nizza….Nissa la Bella. The Best Socca In The World is a matter of opinion, expressed strongly by those who have grown up eating it with papa, maman, grand-mère et papi. The Best Socca In The World is perfectly crusted on top yet still moist underneath, dusted with simple ground brown pepper if you prefer. The Best Socca In The World comes after a classic niçoise ride out west on the Grande Corniche over Col d’Eze to Menton before turning north and then east over the infamous Col de la Madone. The Best Socca In The World should be accompanied by Provençal rosé chilled to the point where condensation gathers on the outside of the glass. The Best Socca In The World is poured, turned, scoured and scraped by Mourgan, who learned the trade from his patron, who learnt the trade from his papi. The Best Socca In The World is one part chickpea flour, one part yeast, one part water but is textured and tastes like no other pancake you have ever experienced. The Best Socca In The World, in our entirely correct opinion, is found at Chez Pipo behind the church at the top of Nice’s Old Port, in the quartier where sailors once roamed. Read more about the perfect soul food for cycling in our the best of series.

The last ride #9 Imagine for a moment that there was only one more A single day, a final chapter, a last ride. Of all the miles covered and all the roads ridden, which would draw you back to experience them one more time? CHASING THE PERFECT CORNERMountain-biker & Photographer // @mattwragg One last ride? It's a great sharpener for the mind. After all, if we've got a lifetime of riding left, why does it matter which one we do now? But just one more... it's a great chance to think about what you really love about riding. Is it the adventure, the freedom, the fitness? For me it's far simpler than that: I love riding bikes. What I mean is that I love the very act of riding a bike. I'm not a graceful man. I stumble through this world an awkward, clumsy man with heavy hands and a treacherous sense of balance. Yet on the bike I can rise above it all. There are delicate, fleeting moments of grace. Times when I can make the bicycle dance beneath me, when I feel like I can make it do whatever I want, however I want. And if I can only do it once more, that's all I want. I have always been a mountain biker at heart, it always was and will always be my first love, so it's only right things end there too. The where doesn't matter, the when hardly does either. But the ground, the dirt, is so important and if there is one thing more precious to a mountain biker like me than anything else, it is loam. Soft, deep soil that gently sprays across your shins as you ride. That feeling is about as close to the pure, white joy of childhood as you will ever find this side of puberty. It is the one thing I miss more than anything else living in the South of France - we just don't have enough dirt. There was a time, maybe a decade ago now, when the locals started kicking in what they called drift tracks at Chicksands, a small riding spot an hour or so north of London in the UK. The soil there was always incredible - deep, soft and sandy. The tracks were nothing really. Off the back of the bike park we'd head off into the forest to find some secluded slope and kick in some corners between the bushes. And that was all it took: good dirt, a few corners and a group of friends. Part of the beauty was the lack of consequences. The soil was so soft and forgiving that you could crash your brains out and come up laughing. We could push and push and push until we went well over the limit and landed in a heap. It was everything I love about cycling in one place - there was no destination or goal, just the simple of act of trying to corner fast and deeper, to get the bar right down to the ground as you turned, to play with the entry and the exit, trying different lines, all the while chasing that ever-elusive feeling of the perfect corner. Whether we ever found that perfect corner never mattered. It was never about speed, time or any other measure; just the simple feeling of turning a bicycle in the dirt as the loam gently brushes against your shins. That and laughing like hell when someone got it wrong and ended up in a bush or on their head. So for my last ride I just want a group of good friends and a hillside with rich, deep soil. I would spend my last hours on a bike chasing after the perfect corner, laughing at each other as we go flying off into the bushes, chatting shit and riding until the sun sets and we have to walk back to the cars in the twilight. UNFINISHED BUSINESSTech Writer at CYCLING WEEKLY // @PaulNorman I’ve got unfinished business with the Passo Giau. It may not have the mystique of Alpe d’Huez, but it does have more hairpins – 29 of them – and its summit is over 400 metres higher at 2236m. When brands invite journalists to launches, they usually choose impressive locations or those steeped in cycling mythology. There can be few which encompass both as completely as the Dolomites. The scene of the final showdown in the 1973 Giro d’Italia, the Passo Giau features in the classic film of that race, The Stars and the Water Carriers. In those days it was still unpaved, with Merckx and Gimondi battling it out over the gravel with an angry swarm of Spanish climbers. Most recently – now tarmacked – it’s featured in the 2016 Giro, with the Maglia Rosa of Andrey Amador distanced and lost on the climb and handed to almost-winner Steven Kruijswijk. The Giro commentary on the stage ominously described the climb as “il terribile Passo Giau”. So when I was invited to the launch of a new bike by a famous Italian brand, the lure of the Giau over the horizon was irresistible. After breakfast, I made my excuses not to join the short launch ride and headed off on my own towards the pass. There’s no such thing as a flat road in the Dolomites, so I had a good thousand metres and a few hours’ riding in my legs before hitting the Giau, with its signs warning of those 29 hairpins ahead of me. With images of 1973 in my mind, I forged on up the lower slopes. It took me until bend 10 before a few facts quickly came to me: I was not Merckx, my legs hurt, I was hungry and running out of water. And there were another 19 hairpins to go. The organised ride that I’d forsaken had other benefits. It ended at a café where food and drink had been laid on. Realising that I had no energy bars with me, I’d grabbed a few bread rolls from the hotel buffet before setting out. I’d munched a couple before reaching the Giau, I now reached into my pocket to find that the last of these had fallen out on the road somewhere on my approach. So there was nothing for it but to keep heading up, in search of civilisation. Bend followed bend, with the sun beating down on the airless valley and the climb seemingly stiffer and longer between each turn and each hairpin sharper and steeper than the last. There was no sign of life before bend 21, where at the end of an empty car park there was a ski lift with a restaurant at its base. A large plate of pasta, a bottle of water and a slice of apfelstrudel later and I felt rather more human. I was ready to carry on. Despite the considerable extra weight I’d taken on, those final eight bends seemed remarkably easily covered and the road was all downhill from then on.Looking at my Strava file when I got in, it was impressive just how slowly I’d climbed the Giau, especially with the hour’s lunch break in the middle. So my last ride would be up the Passo Giau, but this time with a following car to hand me up gels and bottles and to shout encouragement when I started to wilt. And it would be on an e-bike, so I would climb the Giau a bit faster on my last ride and maybe experience just a little of what it’s like to climb like Merckx.

Mountain Moods

A Transcontinental Architectural Tour As seen through the eyes of #TCRNo6Cap109, aka Manivelle.cc aka Matthieu Lifschitz

Madone beats The Golf-Drouot in the 9th arrondisement in Paris is roughly 1,000km north of the Col de la Madone. One was once a temple of rock 'n roll, the other is perhaps the most famous climb that has never featured in the Tour de France. One man and two passions brings them together. To the beat of the drum. The Golf-Drouout poured fuel on the fire burning inside Michel. He was born in mid-west France but he quickly emigrated north to the capital to find work. Michel had already fallen in love with the music of Elvis and his French counterpart, Johnny Halliday. He found himself selling haute-couture to the rich and famous on the Champs-Elysees. Living beside his work was, well, no bad thing. Reverberating through the floorboards was the music from the Go-Go dancing nightclub below. To the beat of the drum. The Golf-Drouout : 'C’était le temple du Rock and Roll '. The Rolling Stones used it as their press conference site whilst in Paris in 1965. It was Bowie’s first gig outside England. It was the place to be and Michel was in the thick of it. The impression lasts long enough to motivate a 50 minute commute from the Grande Corniche on the outskirts of Nice to 925m above Menton, the Pearl of France that lies at the end of the French Riviera. To the beat of the drum. The Golf-Drouot was a different time and a different place compared to home. Once a week, Michel packs his drums into the back of his car with one intention : to let loose up high without fear of being evicted by his wife. He candidly admits, “Je ne joue pas comme eux, je ne suis pas le batteur des Rolling Stones !' (I can’t play like them , I am not the drummer of the Rolling Stones !”). But what does it matter when your audience is wild boar, the odd shepherd and his flock and a brace of cyclists that occasionally includes a peloton of pros like Chris Froome? To the beat of the drum. The Golf-Drouot was down the street from where Michel's career selling haute couture to the well-heeled started. He found he had a natural talent for it. Being friendly but not too-friendly, helpful but not pushy. After four years in Paris he moved to the Croisette in Cannes where the customers were just as rich and just as famous. The clothes, if good enough, sold themselves, he said. And to be good, they must have colour and vitality. 'We need things that are bright, we are in a country of sunshine'. In a country diverse as France, with places like the Côte 'Azur, in Michel's opinion 'we miss nothing'. Therefore the clothes have to be special and colourful, as good as their surroundings. To the beat of the drum. The Golf-Drouot is closed now but in 2014 the Parisienne authorities erected a plaque in memory of it’s cultural significance. The original, traditional col sign on the Madone isn’t there anymore. The local marie got tired of replacing it every time it was stolen, such was the post-Lance lure of this climb that still, to this day, has never featured in the Tour de France. That doesn’t matter to Michel. He goes to the Tour almost every year, but more as an excuse for a journey across France to ride in the Alps and the Pyrenees. His principle is to have a good time and to ensure others do the same. From time to time, when cyclists stop on the Madone to chat, he gives them a cap from the collection he’s gathered from his trips to the Grande Boucle. To the beat of the drum. The Golf-Drouot started with sport (of kinds) and ended with entertainment. Michel first discovered the Col de la Madone when he rode it. The first time he thought it was never going to end. At the top he found a wild place, a complete contrast to the hustle and bustle of the Croisette, a place he only had to share with the sanglier and the shepherds. Up there Michel mounts his drums, inserts a CD into his stereo and rediscovers the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Chuck Berry. Nearly at opposite ends of the country, a bit of the Golf-Drouot lives on and will continue to do so for as long as Michel is able. “Je pense jusqu'à la fin de mes jours de monter là-haut et je jouerais de la batterie rien que pour le plaisir.” (I think for the rest of my days i will go up there to play the drums, simply for pleasure) To the beat of the drum.   Footnotes: Photography & Video : Matt Wragg

The garden of Èze They say a Col d’Eze a day keeps the doctor away. The fruits of your labour are borne in the legs and they will take you deep into l’arrière-pays niçois when time permits. A ten kilometer climb straight from the city, it’s used by locals as a training ramp before or after work. Scores of cyclists can be seen staring at their stems – some because they are going for a time, others (who are new to the region) because they underestimated what is a ‘proper’ climb. But look up and you’ll find a not so forbidden fruit. The figs of the Grande Corniche. Actually, they are first noticed on the ground. The premier stage of the hunt is to scope the road edge for a semi-circle of smashed green and purple mulch. Some pre-ripe green figs remain in shape, but not for long. The second stage is to understand your orientation and elevation. The first two kilometres of Col d’Eze face west so only get the sun in the afternoon and early evening. It’s a beautiful view across the city but it’s not the prime spot for fig maturation. You must make the cross-over that comes by looping around the back side of the Observatoire and transition almost instantly from mountain vistas to coastal views as you pass through the Quatre Chemins. Face to the south, the sun rays and sea breeze are your soigneur for the rest of the climb, just as they are for the mother tree that is the fountain of fig on the Grande Corniche. The location of the mother tree is not secret and it is not hidden. It lives somewhere within the final four kilometres of Col d’Eze. Like cyclists, the fig tree likes dry and sunny climates and can cope in amongst the rocks, but isn’t suited to cities because of its aggressive root structure. The mother tree is there to be found but we are not about to tell you where or how. Because you have to ride for your figs. And now is the time. Like the legs, figs ripen in late summer and into autumn. A whole season of sun packed into one juicy punch. A time when main objectives have most probably been ticked off and riding is freeform and fun. So you can pack your figs in your musette and go long, or you can take a seat and savour the moment. Whichever way you want to do it, just go fig. See more about Col d’Eze

The last ride #8 Imagine for a moment that there was only one more A single day, a final chapter, a last ride. Of all the miles covered and all the roads ridden, which would draw you back to experience them one more time? EVENING DELIGHT WITH DAD Marshall Opel // Podcaster & Fly Fisherman // @marshallopel It’s just past six p.m. and the breeze pulls at the puffy white seeds from the cottonwood trees along the street. The work day is done and these extended June days mean evening bike rides and barbeques. I’m the first home and get the bikes ready. Air in the tires and a cold lemon drink in our bottles. We clip in and roll down the hill, still relishing in the fact that no extra clothing is required this time of year. A right turn takes us through downtown Whitefish where tourists are starting to fill the bars and restaurants. Pickup trucks pulling boats and families piling out of their minivans, wearing the unmistakable look of relief, they’ve reached their destination. We remark on the annual influx of out of state licence plates that will populate our little town in the coming months. Our route crosses the train tracks and heads north toward the alpine skiing destination of Big Mountain. Aspen trees, and their radiant green leaves flutter in the breeze. Hungry young deer break from devouring the yet to be cut grass to watch us pass. The Lodge on Whitefish Lake is buzzing with activity, a full parking lot signals the weddings and parties to come. Any traffic dissipates as the road follows the north shore. Lake air fills our nostrils, drawing up nostalgia of one form or another in us both. A short rise in the road allows us to stand from our saddles and stretch our legs. The work day fades as the miles tack. The ride undulates along the shoreline. Dappled sunlight and a mellow evening breeze steady the temperature. A rich blue sky has us dreaming about possible weekend adventures in Glacier National Park. We chat and joke, sharing stories about our work day, catching each other up on world events and local news. My dad is past his athletic prime, so we ride his pace, it’s leisurely for my young legs and lungs. Towards the end of the lake road, we slow to examine any new houses being built. Gordon is always one to appreciate interesting architecture and good design. We stop at the end of the road and drink from our bottles. However, the sound of buzzing mosquitoes has me back on my bike in no time. My dad is slower to clip back in. Maybe additional rest is required, but I think it’s him, taking an extra moment to appreciate the setting in its fullest. The pace is slightly faster on the ride back. My dad drafts my wheel and somehow it doesn’t feel long ago that it was the other way around. Me, staring at his rear wheel straining to ride a straight line. I reflect on the multitude of lessons he bestowed on me, the pleasures of relaxed evening exercise remains a cornerstone. Our route brings us back to town where wafts from grills permeate the evening air. We wave at familiar faces and smile at strangers. It’s summer in Montana, a time of plenty, a time of celebration. Our conversation shifts to what belongs on our grill. Burgers, sweet potatoes, salad, and a cold beer on the deck. This is good living and we are lucky to be alive. Long live the evening summer rides. WHY LIMIT YOURSELF? Jake Schuppe // Cycling Enthusiast & Advisor // @jake.schuppe I believe the idea of your “Last Ride” should be an exercise in creativity, not dissimilar from a “pipe dream” or “bucket list”. Ideas you build and develop in your mind to motivate you to continue your own adventures. You may never achieve your “last ride” but that dream has undoubtedly lead you to other countless adventures. With that being said here are my last rides. #1 Gravel Adventure I am riding on a coastal gravel road, warm air blowing off the ocean and the full moon is lighting the landscape. I have been riding this road most of the day working my way down the coast over climbs and descents. Each town I pass has its own character and I stop to appreciate the local coffee. Now I am riding down the coast again, tired and hungry. My last stop for the night is the final town along this road, it is lit up in front of me and although it’s not my final destination it feels like home. #2 Downhill for life I am at the top of the mountain, it has taken me several hours of climbing to reach the top. The air is cold and dry but refreshing. My bike is new and free of any creaks, the suspension is supple and reactive with the perfect tune. After adjusting my gear and appreciating the view one last time I drop in. The trail is flowy and picks up speed quickly, one berm after another winding through a large sloping field. Each berm is a little larger and each time I exit a berm I exit with more speed than the one before. The trail leads me into the trees where the terrain quickly changes from high speed berms to technical rocks, mud, and roots. The trees are tight, and I am on the limit of control. With each second my arms become tighter and tighter and it is becoming harder and harder to manage this technical terrain. The trees give up their density and open into a clearing with a buttery smooth pump track, untouched from any other riders. Each jump becomes a bit more progressive, I have never been the best or most confident on jumps but the feeling of flying through the air and following the momentum of my bike on the downside of the jump is one I will never forget. At the end of the jump line I stop to catch my breath, shake my arms out, and laugh at the ridiculous beauty of this trail I have found. When I look downhill I see where I started and the flowy trail I first dropped in on. #3 The Team Imagine crossing the finish line after the hardest, longest, most difficult race you can. When you step off your bike who do you imagine being there to congratulate and welcome you home. Those people are your team and who are most important to you. My team is my family, my wife, and my parents. No matter what “Last Ride” I come up with my team is always there with me putting me back on my bike when I can’t myself or congratulating me every time I cross a finish line. #4 The Real Ride – The Race Across Minnesota The Race Across Minnesota is held once a year near the end of summer on August 18th. Covering Approximately 240-miles (486km) from the small town of Gary South Dakota and ending in Hager City Wisconsin. For those of you not familiar Minnesota it is located in the Midwest of the United states, nestled between South Dakota and Wisconsin with Canada sitting above it. This area is known for its agriculture, abundance of lakes, winters, and small-town feel. Because there is so much agriculture in Minnesota you can find beautiful gravel roads for hundreds of miles. In this case 240 miles all the way across the state. The race starts at Midnight Saturday August 18th, you have 24 hours to complete the distance to cross the finish line in Wisconsin. From previous results you will find that this race has a very high attrition rate, with the best of the best finishing in roughly 13 hours. What makes this race unique is that it is a 240-mile point to point race with only 3 checkpoints. When starting the race, you are only given enough direction to get yourself to the next checkpoint. If you are able to arrive to the next checkpoint before time cut off they will provide the directions you need to move forward. Outside of these checkpoints this is a completely self-supported race, no outside aid from your support crew (Team) is allowed. I grew up in the Midwest just east of Minnesota in southern Wisconsin. The area (Not dissimilar form Minnesota) is covered in rolling hills, green grass, and farms with big red barns for miles. The lifestyle here is slower, and vastly more simplified than what I have become accustomed to in the Bay Area of California. Near the region where I grew up, I will be able to find that simplicity again. Take the moment for what it is and enjoy the suffer, the quiet, the stars, and the adventure. ALPINE REDEMPTION Lori Nedescu // Chef & Dietician // Elite Cyclist // @cadencekitchen Asking my friends to join me on a trip to Briançon would be the beginning of my last ride. Little did I know, that they would all agree without hesitation. After having watched Le Tour on my computer screen from my couch in Ohio (where the roads are as flat as crêpes), we would set off for a Last Ride of redemption to settle a score with the Alps. It would be exactly as before. Our group barely settling into the mountain top rental house before assembling bikes. Maps scattered across the kitchen table, flowing local red wine and big plans being discussed. The next morning, the 5 of us Americans from central Ohio set out filled with gleeful exuberance and cappuccinos to tackle the day’s route. The route that we were about to tackle once more was nothing less than 90 miles and 13,000 ft of climbing, including about 40 miles of ‘rolling hills’ (8 category 4 climbs and 1 category 3) before reaching the start of Agnel (HC). We’d climb Europe’s third highest col before retracing our steps back down then up and over the Izoard to Briancon. It was a daunting plan but seemed doable given that we were all fit cyclists. Kitted up, pockets stuffed with snacks and arm warmers, we clip in and take off. We chase each other around the beautiful rolling mountainside scenery for hours, taking it all in. Every mile is a spectacular departure from the corn field views of midwestern USA. We pedal through Saint Martin de Queyrières to Les Vigneaux, along la Durance and stop for a long, leisurely coffee ‘pit stop’. Time isn’t a concern to those working in the mountains and why not just embrace it? Roughly 45 miles down and approaching Agnel, this time the fatigue doesn’t come. No one turns around but on the climb we separate to find our own pace for the huge task ahead. The rain falls but only to keep me cool as I find my climbing rhythm . I know that this climb can get you at the end. I’m ready for when my mind starts playing its tricks as the air gets thinner and tries to tell me I’m closer to the top than I actually am. I surf the adrenaline bursts served up by views of the summit and weather the deep fatigue that threatens to bubble over as the road turns the other way to wind its way up the mountainside. Alone in the rain, I would be happy with my place in the world. And arriving at the summit with a sense of accomplishment, I’d move up from 11th fastest women to take the Strava QOM. Recovering from the effort I would re-group with Luke and take another selfie at the French/Italian border. This time we’d be better prepared for the descent. The sun would shine and we would float down the mountain. There would be no shivering and sheltering half way down the road – we would only stop for photos of the beautiful vistas. As a result we would reach the bottom of the Izoard with plenty of time to enjoy the climb. There would be no last ditch rescues from friendly French men like the previous attempt at this ride. We would climb Izoard and summit just as the sky was turning to dusk before descending with the sun to Briançon for a regroup and more of that great local wine.

The last ride #7 Imagine for a moment that there was only one more A single day, a final chapter, a last ride. Of all the miles covered and all the roads ridden, which would draw you back to experience them one more time? THE RETURN TO WALES Creative Director at MR PORTER // @onebhp Obviously there are bigger rides, there are more exotic, more exciting rides, rides I’d love to experience and others that I’d be gutted if I couldn’t have another go at, but if you insisted that I had only one to choose as a last excursion it’d hard not to be go back to the home lands - the bleak, steep, slopes in the foot hills of the Welsh mountains where I used to go for days out as a kid and the first place I really got a taste for the independence and beauty of cycling in mountains that has become an ever increasing draw for my escapes. It’d always start on a cold grey damp Sunday morning, my folks would send me off from a random municipal carpark (I’m not cycling miles along the A49 if I don’t have to) on the outskirts of Rhayader, a pretty-ish touristy town just inside the Welsh border, full of old people, cups of tea, Welsh cakes and charity shops. It always cold and damp at the start, but that’s just how Wales should be, you roll down the slight slope away from the tea-cups and cakes and into the damp mist, within half a mile you turn off the B-road and immediately uphill. Sharply reminding you exactly where you are. Lungs & legs start to burn all too quickly as it's just you, a few dumb sheep ambling around and the single track road in front of you. Passing places, cattle grids, and high-teen-percentages take you up through the low-lying clouds for a few km until you break through the clouds and look across the hills and valleys above the Elan & Claerwen reservoirs that supply most of middle England with water. This beautiful stretch of road, sweeps across the top of the hills, rising and falling with the landscape, short sharp climbs, sweeping descents and more dumb sheep to test your reflexes and grip levels. About 20km on you rejoin a b-road and race the holiday traffic down from the hills into Aberystwyth to finish with a seat on the seafront and a portion of fish and chips. That'll do me thanks. THE IRISH ADVENTURIST Evergreen Adventurer // PR & communications at Komoot // @fiolafoley I come from a generation that has so much to choose from we can’t choose at all. So this is the overwhelming dilemma I’m faced with when forced to choose just one last ride. I like to ride all sorts of bikes, in all the wrong places, for all the right reasons - mostly to do with adventure and exploration. But more important than the kilometres, the height metres, the speed...are the people. It's the people who make every ride memorable and my last ride will be spent with those who have been intrinsic in the growth and cultivation of my love for cycling. (And maybe a few drunken rides home through the empty streets of Zurich at night!) They live in Switzerland. They aren’t afraid to take a train. They like to drink beer and wine, preferably clad in lycra. They love more than anything to go up and down ridiculously steep mountain passes. We set off through the city of Zurich early on a Saturday morning to a long warm-up along the lake of Zurich and into the hills of Horgenberg. These dumpling-shaped hills with single trees sitting distinctly and lonely on their mounds, always remind me of Teletubby land. Our legs feel great and we work well together as a group. We are well-matched and our banter ranges from deep ponderings about the meaning of life, to the state of the world, to what we’re going to have for dinner. We ride through the hills of the Canton of Schwyz, and past its Riviera, the Sihlsee, before veering right to climb up the first mountain pass of the day, the massively underrated Ibergeregg. A gentle introduction to the day ahead, Ibergeregg’s meandering road lets us test our form to predict what the rest of the day has in store. Treated to views of the Lake of Lucerne, Rigi and Mount Pilatus on the descent, it’s hard to keep your eyes on the road. Although feasting on views makes us hungry, at the bottom of the pass we continue to pedal until we reach the tourmaline blue lake of Kloentalersee for a quick bite to eat before butting horns with Pragel Pass and its 18%-gradient ramps. Pragel is listed somewhere as a ‘dangerous Pass’. Its tight switchbacks and sometimes jagged cracks from the weight of the past season’s snowfall means there’s not much looking up and enjoying the view. It's through this pass that the Russians retreated back to their homeland in 1799. The road has been closed for motorized traffic on the weekends since 1981 so its one of the most peaceful Alpine climbs you’ll find in Switzerland. By now we already feel like just two passes would have been enough for the day - but the sense of accomplishment we’ll feel at having conquered three...keeps us going. We take a very deep breath before we begin to grind up the cobbles that mark the beginning of a Swiss epic: Klausen Pass. Don’t let her fool you - she comes in threes. Klausen’s 136 curves are divided into three sections so you pedal one.curve.after.the.next until you look up and see the last 8 switchbacks and a restaurant glowing in a halo at the top. As a collective, we are done. Sitting lightly on our bikes and winding our way down a thrilling descent, its not long before the adrenalin rustles us out of our exhausted state and before we know it, we are rolling into the train station and on our way back to Zurich. We gather our wits and shake out our legs for one last surge of power all the way through the city of Zurich to our favorite hang-out: the green grass of Backeranlage. Basking in the evening sun, surrounded by my friends, drinking the most delicious beer, eating everything in sight - if this is my last ride I’ll go to the grave content. Fiola's Last Ride on Komoot. ONE FINAL SPRINT Gravel connossieur // all-road rider // director at Focal Events // @paule78 I like to consider myself a well-rounded rider. I have no objection to riding any bike or any surface and am always keen to explore. So my last ride would have no bias to its medium or geography, it could be merely a few hours from my door stop or a multi-day epic in some far flung corner of the world. For me the only constant I seek and one that would be paramount on my final day in the saddle would be the company. I can track back through my 25 years of riding and most often when I look back to a memorable ride the defining factor is always the individual or individuals who were present. If I was pushed to make a choice though for the final foray on 2 wheels I would choose something distinctly familiar. A local loop of any distance but one that would present its own challenges. The pre-defined sprints for the signs, prior knowledge of when to attack on the climbs and the flow of knowing every inch of a fast descent… this is how I would want to remember riding. After moving back to my hometown of Newcastle in my late 20’s I got to know the local riders through a road club. Soon after joining though it was apparent that there were a few individuals within it that I preferred to ride with, so a breakaway faction formed. Mid-week rides were frequently organised as we all lived in proximity. The weekend plans were often set to involve long road rides in the summer and more off-road adventures come winter. The success of any group is always diversity in the dynamic. You need the climber, the descender, the rouleur, the joker and of course the group has its strong and the weak. Fitness is a fickle beast seeing riders periodically peak and fall in fitness forever shifting those on the front. The shifting paradigm of the fastest rider of course always dependant on the nature of that day’s ride. Through riding together, a familiarity and trust are formed and as outlined above roles are naturally adopted. It would be this now disbanded by life group of individuals that would accompany me in a fond farewell to cycling. The dynamic changed by time and circumstance, Adam having never stopped riding hard now would be delivering the hurt. Rob having survived his time in London traffic back to challenge the climbs. Rich, house now renovated, proving his worth on the descents and Neal ... well Neal has always been too stubborn to concede on any level regardless of fitness. The last ride would have to feature the age-old cycling tradition of the cafe stop, maybe here more thought would be afforded as to the last mid ride plate of beans on toast or slice of Victoria sponge with a strong coffee on the side. Obviously, my selection of mid ride cafe would be one that offered me fair chance of winning the obligatory cafe sprint. I would look for the long flatter run in, no steep gradients, maybe just a small rise initially to leave the group hard down the right. Out the saddle to break free from the following wheel then seated on the rivet with heart in mouth and legs burning just hoping to see the fictitious finishing line before the wheel of a friend coming around me. The sprint that originally brought this group together I think would be my choice. The long run in to Belsay café. A series of sweeping bends, short ups and a final raise to finish. Some of the hardest fought baked goods ever consumed. A ride surrounded by friends, flowing banter, well natured ribbing and constant probing of others fitness levels... this would be the last ride I ever did.

Grinduro: The race to party ratio How do you stage a bike ‘race’ that delivers the correct party to race ratio ? Answer : mix a ferry ride, a small but beautiful Scottish Island, 260 rad, open-minded individuals from around the world, whisky (the correct Scots gaelic spelling is ‘whisky’, Irish and Americans say ‘whiskey’), a big dose of rolling mixed-terrain and some lung-busting timed stages. Welcome to Grinduro. Special-stage racing is well established if you ride mountain bikes. In the drop bar all-road world, it has refreshed many riders' love of competition with an attractive format of all day group riding with friends, spiced up with starting a stopwatch every few hours. I’ve had my eye on Grinduro ever since the first one popped up in California in 2016. One year later, the team behind Grinduro felt it was too good not to share…so they searched long and hard and found the perfect second location. Somewhere remote enough to feel like a true adventure, yet with good enough infrastructure to make it accessible for a long weekend of dirt roads, lunchtime whisky shots and high fives. My level of anticipation was high before I’d even arrived at the ferry from the mainland. Stories from the previous event were still ringing in my ears about sinuous fireroads weaving through forests high above shorelines and twisty, smooth singletracks that begged you to go faster and push harder than you might usually dare whilst on the drops. Arran has a mystical aura. It’s a natural playground, outlined with an ever-changing coastline, dense forests and imposing peaks, not dissimilar to Jurassic Park. This year we were blessed with tropical weather but you can only imagine the toughness of the residents in the depths of winter. Maybe this is partly the reason for their famed malt whisky and creamy Arran Gold liqueur. On the Saturday morning after a night of camping at the race HQ there is a notable excitement to the crowd gathered around the coffee wagon. Those flames of excitement are fanned by bolting a strong espresso and the sounds of a local bagpiper who serenaded the waves of riders off into the hills. Party to race ratio check one. With the number of people starting together and lack of end to end timing, the rollout was relaxed and chatty. Some riders come from enduro and gravity sports, with their skill evident, they were comfortable popping wheelies rolling down the road still holding conversations and taking photos. I could tell this was going to be an entertaining day in the first 1km. We soon hit the first special stage which is a short climb leading into a fast gravel descent. This stage was more a test of nerves than fitness. Which riders would be comfortable sprinting as fast as they dare whilst trying to stay upright in sandy, loose corners. After a regroup at the bottom we rode on to the first feed zone at Brodick castle. It was 10.30am but no one was saying ‘no’ to the heady mixture of locally made ice-cream washed down with a stiff Arran gin. Party to race ratio check two. Next up a liaison stage and a chance to take in the scenery before the next timed segment. An undulating, gravel hill climb. It was bumpy and you really had to be on your toes the whole way up to spot the best line. Some bits were so steep that if you stood up you would spin out and lose traction so a clear run was important for a good time. With two stages in the bag, the figure of eight route brings you back to base to grab some food, coffee and refill bottles before setting back off for the next timed sections. Wolfing down a hot home-cooked meal mid-ride was a mega bonus and exactly what we needed. After the ice-cream and gin, no whisky shots were included, presumably to maintain the right amount of ‘race’ in the ratio. Knowing there were still two stages to go we took it easy through the liaison. The third stage was also a gravel climb, not so steep this time, but long and winding, with the numerous hairpins giving it an alpine feel. Part way along, one of the other riders, Rachel, came past me. I wasn’t going to lose her so we played cat and mouse the whole way kicking up the dust off our wheels. That was a tough stage and I could now really feel my legs tiring, but just on cue came the afternoon feed zone at Café Vélo. It’s an awesome spot and with no real time restrictions people relaxed in the sun sharing their experiences of the ride and even having time to watch the last few km’s of the day's Tour de France stage, where no whisky or gin shots were witnessed. Here we also discovered the Scottish tablet – not a handheld touch screen but rather a fudge-like snack which I think is close to 100% sugar. It was the perfect pick-me-up to provide some oomph for the final stage. The final stage delivered a true mix of everything - a rutted grass section was followed by a technical single track through the woods. This was the most varied segment of the whole race, it had it all and to succeed you needed to be fit, brave and have some ninja handling skills. Crossing the timing pad people were gathered at the bottom, recounting tails of almost losing it here, or getting pinged offline by a root there. Thankfully the organisers had made the finish a short ride away. With weary legs and big smiles, we rolled down the road to the race village, ready to re-balance the ratio with some party. It had been a big day out on bikes, seeing some stunning places and exploring an island that many have never been to. But what I think will get people coming back for more next year will be the after party. The whisky was flowing, the dance moves were going off and it starts getting wild after the awards ceremony. No doubt there were sore heads and sore legs the next day…not that people will be put off. I’m signing up for next year already. If you fancy signing up for next year’s edition you can eye up the route on Komoot. This will help you prepare for the distance, elevation profile and importantly, in this case, the different terrain types. There are also user photos to tempt you, get excited about what to expect and get a feel for this great event which has something for all who are prepared to commit to this new style of riding.

The sound of Provence "Il ne fait pas bon de travailler quand la cigale chante"   Provençal proverb: it’s not good to work when the cicada is singing. When the heat hits in Provence, the countryside sings. It's a tune beaten out from the belly of the famous cicada (cigale in French) - those small insects that click and clack with relentless continuity. But only if the temperature reaches at least 22 degrees, when it begins to be hot work for a velocipede. It adds another sensory experience to riding, and pausing, in Provence. Close your eyes for an instant and know that you're in an Occitan atmosphere, with full surround-sound. The purpose of that sound? To call to mating partners. Such a deserving cause demands volume. Cigales are amongst the loudest insects in the world. As loud as a motorbike? As loud as your breathing during the final kilometres of the Giant of Provence in oppressive heat? Louder actually. Nothing overcomes the cigales. Folklore states that angels visited Provence and were disturbed by the laziness of the peasants. They reported to God who sent the cigales to keep them awake. You could say they were sent to remind everyone to make hay while the sun shines. 'Happy lizard drink in the sun, because time passes too quickly and tomorrow might be rainy.' “Lou soulei mi fa canta” A phrase coined by Frédéric Mistral, founder of a society to protect Provençal language and traditions of the region which translates to 'the sun makes me sing'. Dolores is a lightweight cycling jersey made to make your legs beat to the tune of the sun all summer long because, when the cigales sing and the soft light shines, it shouldn't feel like work at all. Photographer; Matt Wragg

The last ride #6 Imagine for a moment that there was only one more A single day, a final chapter, a last ride. Of all the miles covered and all the roads ridden, which would draw you back to experience them one more time? THE MONGOLIAN MYSTERYCycling shoemaker extraordinaire // @quocphamshoes A few years ago I was at a cycling trade show in Germany and met a man from Mongolia. I first saw him in my peripheral vision while talking to another retailer. Or rather, my eye was caught by the quick movements of his hands as he nervously flicked a business card back and forth between long, fluttering fingers. At one point he even dropped the card and spent long moments trying to pick it up off the floor where it had caught between the legs of two tables. My conversation over, I turned to meet the man just as he presented the now recovered card. “My name is Narnaa” he said, pausing to make sure I had caught his name correctly. After a few moments of polite conversation about the show, he told me that not only was he from Mongolia, but that his company would greatly desire to become our distributor. “In Mongolia?” I asked, a little taken aback. After three days of unforgiving indoor lighting, I would have struggled to locate Germany on the map. “Yes,” he answered, “of course!” Not wishing to seem impolite, and to buy precious thinking time, I asked if road cycling was a popular activity in Mongolia. “No, not road, urban - the city!” he replied, bouncing cheerily on the balls of his feet. I frantically tried to recall what I knew about Mongolia, but for the life of me, I could not imagine that there was enough of a market in Mongolia to warrant a retailer, let alone a distributor of city cycling shoes. Although we never managed to meet up after the show, Narnaa proved to be an engaging conversationalist. His descriptions of Mongolia and its many opportunities for cycling, not the least of which were the ancient network of trade routes known as the Silk Road, left a deep and lasting impression on me. Since then, whenever a free moment presents itself, I revisit links and tourist information squirrelled away in a web folder simply called ‘The Ride’. Whether it will be my last ride or not, I don’t know. I certainly hope it isn’t, but then, the Silk Road is long, wild and clearly a good career choice for ambitious highwaymen looking to broaden their horizons. Luckily, the internet offers a wealth of information to the curious cyclist looking to ride all or part of the route that once stretched from the Korean peninsula and Japan to the Mediterranean Sea. Of particular note is the book, Lands of Lost Borders: Out of Bounds on the Silk Road, by Kate Harris, which details the author’s journey travelling Marco Polo’s Silk Road by bicycle. Although, unlike the celebrated Italian traveller, I do hope to complete my ride in slightly less than the 24 years he spent journeying through Asia. So between work and family commitments, with furtive clicks in darkened rooms, I continue to plan my adventure. Whether I take the Pamir Highway to the ‘roof of the world’ or ascend the smooth-packed dirt roads of the snow-capped Altai Mountains, sleeping in yurts beneath blanket skies, trading energy bars for a place to rest, I know that one day soon I will get tired of planning. One day I will ride the Silk Road. MOONSHINE & GOOD TIMES Grassroots Bike Builder, Writer & Cat Herder // @money_melon Although I am a natural introvert and one of the reasons why I love cycling is that I can do it alone, for my final ride I’d do the Dunwich Dynamo. The Dun Run is a mini audax, a 190km night ride on the Saturday in July closest to the full moon, where people ride their bikes from East London into the dawn of the slowly eroding Dunwich coast. It’s not for anything or anyone, except for shits and giggles. The Friday evening before, I join my closest friends and loved ones to carb load, eating a mountain of whole wheat pasta and drinking not a few bottles of solid red wine. We are merry but serious about the ride ahead of us, and so I go to bed at a reasonable hour. In the morning I eat French toast, do some laundry, listen to a podcast, and then take a nap. The weather is balmy warm - joy of joys, I can wear my short shorts! There are thousands of people gathered at London Fields park for the start. We have a half pint of local craft beer to celebrate, and when 8pm rolls around we set off. I love, absolutely love the swarms of people that leave the park, bustling about me, taking over the roads, becoming the dominant form of transport for one day a year. All kinds of people on all kinds of bikes do the ride, from your typical MAMILs and hybrids, to the more peculiar Penny Farthings and cargo bikes. It feels exactly as cycling should be, where everyone is welcome, where we all belong, and we are all starting out on an adventure together. Riding away from London feels liberating - I know it’s my home, but it’s also the source of stress, and this night I am joined by a whole gang of people who have something in common with me: we are silly enough to forgo sleep in order to ride 120 miles away from the city. Some are playing energetic music through speakers, some have fairy lights attached to their bikes, and as the sun steals away to set, a sea of red flashing lights appear before me, hypnotically drawing me into the night. The crowd starts to thin as the moon rises. Some friends have left, their cadence a bit higher than mine - I have never been a racer and prefer to cycle to the beat of my own drum, whatever that may be at that point in time. But my lover stays with me, our hearts entwined. I know his legs are stronger than mine, but that’s not what this ride is about. I do push myself at this point though, because once the sleep sets in my thighs will become sluggish. Time will start to feel like it is running out, because it is. There are rest stops along the way, and even bystanders that cheer us on - their enthusiasm to encourage a couple thousand weirdos is touching. Round midnight I turn my own music on. I’ve made a playlist of cheesy 80’s montage music, the kind that you’d find in a Rocky film, and much of the night feels like said montage. Snapshots of certain spots remain - the pub that offers us free chips, the car that slows down and asks us why on earth are we riding at this ungodly hour, (why on earth are you driving at this ungodly hour!?), the wrong turn that ended up becoming a shortcut. But the tiredness is creeping in around 3am, and I take another swig of coffee and bite of my homemade coconut pekmez energy ball. My wheel lights seem to be flashing in time with Van Halen, and I just keep pedalling, keep wondering, keep asking, where am I? When will I get there? Why am I doing this? Why must this be my last ride? I rise from my saddle to get myself up a hill, and the sun also rises. We catch up with friends who have become delirious from lack of sleep and have decided that whiskey will save us. Close, so close, I tell myself. Don’t look at the Garmin, it lies. Just when you think you’re there, you’re not. Another hill awaits. And another. And in my zombie state I catch a glimpse of…the sea? Is that the sea? I can smell it, and I can’t pedal any harder than I already am, but my heart swells as I see the tide rolling in, the smell of salt water filling my nostrils, and I silently pray that the crying gulls don’t poop on my head. There are people on the pebble beach already, bib shorts off, SPF on, sprawled out snoozing in the sun, and diving into the water. Discombobulated yet happy, I walk my bike across sand and stone, the most ready I’ve ever been to rush into cold briny goodness, to feel goose bumps rush up my back, my hair wet and heavy, and the yellow sun balancing on my face. I am at the end. We all are.

The best charcuterie in the world The best charcuterie in the world is, quite naturally, found in Corsica. The best charcuterie in the world is served in the only restaurant attached to the only auberge that is open during the off season in Porto Centuri, an idyllic fishing village at the end of a tiny road, three kilometers below the D80 that circumnavigates Cap Corse. The best charcuterie in the world comes on an enormous silver platter, with coppa, prissutu, lonzu and figatelli neatly over-lapping and counted out so no-one leaves the table disappointed. The best charcuterie in the world is sniffed out by hungry cyclists halfway around their tour du Cap Corse with as much fervour as the chasseurs who hunted the unique cross-bred pigs in the wild mountains of the island that serve the animals a healthy, chestnut-filled, organic diet. The best charcuterie in the world is served by a woman with a gentle smile who was widowed two years ago and seemingly takes great pleasure in serving four hungry rouleurs even though her kitchen closed half an hour ago. The best charcuterie in the world is a product of salting, air-curing, smoking, and cave-ageing chestnut-fed pork, using the same methods passed down since time immemorial. The best charcuterie in the world dissolves the only worry of a long-weekend of riding between fathers and sons and fuels the ride down the best coast road in the world into the sunset at Nonza Bay. Read more about the perfect soul food for cycling in our the best of series.

The last ride #5 Imagine for a moment that there was only one more. A single day, a final chapter, a last ride. Of all the miles covered and all the roads ridden, which would draw you back to experience them one more time? CANADIAN CAMPFIRES & WILDERNESS Writer, Ultra Distance Rider & Explorer // @laura_scott I wake up to the sound of a loon calling for its mate across the lake. The smell of the fresh pine is everywhere. I pull myself out of my bivvy bag and head straight to the lake for a quick dip before making some oatmeal and coffee over my little camp stove. Well fed and caffeinated I pack up my bike and hit the road, following the Highway 60 through Ontario's Algonquin Provincial Park, one of the oldest and largest wilderness parks in North America. The park is where I spent most of my childhood, canoeing through its, 2,000 lakes with water so clean you can drink it, home to moose, bears, beavers and wolves. It is one of the rare places where you can feel solitude and silence are possible. It was my childhood summers in this park that introduced me to camping and instilled an unquenchable thirst for adventure. In the last few years, I took up bikepacking as a way to recreate some of my childhood adventures. So it seems fitting that my last ride has brought me back to where it all started. There is something special about viewing the Canadian wilderness from your bike. The road winds between many of the park’s pristine lakes as it rises and drops dramatically through the hilly terrain. After a long, tiring day in the saddle, my last ride would end at a campsite with a roaring fire surrounded by friends and family sharing stories of our previous adventures and enjoying s’mores. COLOMBIAN CALLING Racer & Romantic // @bswh Maybe I’m still dreaming. I only just got home from Colombia but if you told me I only had one ride left, I’d be on the next plane back out. In my top five there are probably two in the UK (more for what they mean than what they are), a huge day in Mallorca and the sublime climbs around Lucca. But in Colombia - just southeast of Medellín, Antioquia - there’s a road, after you’ve climbed Las Palmas to get out of the city (and checked to see if today you got any nearer to Rigo’s ridiculously fast time), after you’ve picked up the group in Llanogrande and ridden out together laughing, fuelled by cheap coffee and an arepa to La Ceja, after you’ve floated up La Union - a dream of a climb - and bombed back down, there’s a road - heading towards Retiro - where it sinks in. This is paradise. You’re spinning freely over the velvet-smooth tarmac. The deep golden-yellow painted line in the centre of the road snakes its way into the distance. You know you’ve still got to climb Carrizales but it’s the last one and you’re ready for the burn. The green trees are so green. Of course there’s a waterfall. You get childishly dizzy with excitement when Fernando Gaviria rides by, but then so do the locals who see him all the time. Even the group - a tight band of Paisas who are always quick to crack a joke and masters at keeping the laughter bubbling, bouncing from one rider to the next - settle down to appreciate this road in silence. That waterfall you passed earlier is called Tequendamita. If you told me I only had one ride left, you’d find me there. BORMIO BOUND Watts per style // @ben_od I’ll never swing my leg over a top tube in anger again? I quickly realised this ride will be the ride of all rides. The culmination of all my efforts on the bike. The sum total of sweat gathered from after work turbo sessions. The final appreciation for a bizarre physique adorned with tanlines that scare civilian bystanders. At first I was tempted to ride to my favourite café stop with friends once more. However my last ride requires a a change of menu, provided by the Bormio region of Italy. I set about preparing for one last expedition in the usual manner. Quietly layering on lycra in the dark. Before consuming a sizeable quantity of porridge, some fresh fruit and an espresso. My music plays; disco or something equally chipper. I dance like an idiot in my cycling kit. Rolling. The route ahead is one I’ve wished to crack for some time but fate has forced my hand. My sights are set on the Italian high mountains, inspired by numerous overdramatic Giro d’Italia trailers that use, an almost comical, epic voice over. Standing on the pedals I shake my legs out. Hoping to wake them from their slumber sooner rather than later. For a moment I question why I do this? The answer is simple. Cancellara used to do it in the Spring Classics, moments before he would attack. As an amateur cyclist with a very limited palmares, I briefly chuckle to myself about this attempt to imitate my heroes and press on. Cruising down undiscovered Italian roads, friends join. A small peloton of international riding buddies forms. We laugh, we joke. We do as a gruppetto should do. All the while the terrain undulates beneath us. Demanding just the right amount of effort to maintain our two up formation as we flow through the Italian countryside. Picturesque fields on each side fly by. Village after pretty village. The sun blazes upon our backs and necks. Salt stains start to appear on the hides of the group’s ‘more efficient coolers’ as they lose nutrients. Fortunately there is enough wind to break the sweat from pooling on our brows. I look down to check I have brought two bidons. Good. The occasional town sign sprint provides an opportunity for a jousting of egos. A chance to see who has the legs today. And more importantly, who will be buying the coffees later. Following a stop for a quick espresso, which in defeat I pay for, an old Italian friend and ex-pro takes charge of the group. We ride on. Soon the climb approaches, my friends peel off in twos and threes. Each parting with a handshake or jovial pat on the backside. Upon leading me to a signpost stating that the Mortirolo is 12.4 kilometers in length and climbs 1852 m in elevation, my Italian companion departs. Climbing the Mortirolo, I feel the heat rise up from within. My internal engine feels like a furnace working overtime to turn pedal over pedal. Legs like pistons singing in a rhythmic harmony at around 90 rpm. A glimpse between the trees to a scenic outlook or a cool change in temperature being just enough to ease my feeling of pain and suffering. Close to the edge and still climbing metre after metre, I reach with my right hand and remove my helmet. Near the top of the climb a purposeful looking rock approaches. The effort of the climb has begun to play with my head. Not wanting to break my effort, I toss the helmet to the foot of the rock. With my grave now marked I press on the pedals, driving into the fearful descent. Wind blasting through my hair. I feel exposed, naked without that flimsy lid I discarded. I tear down the mountainside. A battle is taking place between nerves and will. While an uncomfortable feeling wells up inside of me. As the temperature and I plummet in tandem, I become slightly braver, daring myself to barely touch the brakes as I round corner after corner. Growing in confidence. ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ plays in my loose head. Until, snap! A slip on some oil! Somehow staying upright, I make a lucky escape. I can’t believe I’m still here. Fate conspires that I make it to my final brutal course. The Stelvio. The 21.5 kilometer climb looms large above me, my heartrate barely dropped from the previous descent. I gaze upon the endless hairpins disappearing into the clouds. I climb and begin to feel free. My mind washes clean. Eventually the images of serenity that had just washed over me are now replaced with images of cycling champions locked in fraught battles with each other and the elements. Visions of Nibali flanked by tifosi or Coppi climbing solo despite the conditions are now etched in my skull. Before I know it, snow surrounds me. It is deeper than head height, but with a clear road ahead my mind can see the finish line. It is at this point, lungs ablaze, I am reminded that climbing alone is one of the purest things you can do on a bicycle. A window into your soul and a chance to reacquaint yourself with who you truly are.

Le drame du roi If you've ridden Col de Braus you might know of him. If you are a fan of Tour de France history you most probably do know of him. If you grew up in a cycling family on the Côte d'Azur between 1930 and 1980 you definitely will know of him. Le Roi René. Monsieur Vietto. He inspired so many in our region and, during his peak, many more around the world. Just before the so-called glory years of the Tour, but when the world of cycling was moving towards the tipping point and becoming global news, René found his wings. He never actually won the Grand Boucle; the war took over the world. A symbol of suffering and sacrifice. But it's been so long, why should anyone care? Ask Julien Camy. Monsieur Camy has a personal quest to document the life of Le Roi. A film is a moving memoir. There are stories to be told, people to be remembered, achievements to be celebrated. Vintage footage, scenes and roads revisited, emotional interviews from contemporaries that make the link back to another time, bringing a great era to life for those who missed it. Julien Camy has been searching out friends, competitors and fans. He has been buried in the archives and digging through the online forums. And the objective is an hour-long, in-depth look at one of the most interesting characters to grace the world of professional cycling. The photo on the right is René racing over Col de Nice, a climb we ride regularly to reach L'Escarène and the high moutains beyond. Seeing this photo shows the heritage of the roads we ride on and is part of the reason why we believe Julien's project is important. So if you have ridden Col de Braus, if you take inspiration from cycling's history or if you are simply interested in a great human story, we subtly suggest you contribute to Julien's project HERE