The Étape du Tour sportive welcomes thousands of participants every year. It’s an opportunity for them to take part in a legendary and very difficult event, but also to experience memorable moments throughout the event weekend. Nicolas relives his experience for us.

By Nico NSO – Photos: All rights reserved

Every year it’s the same ritual, towards the end of October, when the cycling season is drawing to a close and the All Saints’ Day holidays are approaching, there’s one last event that sets the small world of professional and amateur cycling abuzz. This event is the presentation of the Tour de France route. Every year, Twitter accounts and well-informed “followers” try to guess the route to be the first to reveal it. Every year, the presentation of the Tour route is also an opportunity to announce which stage will host the “Étape du Tour” sportive.

When October arrives, my friend Rémi and I have already been getting excited for a few weeks about putting our wheels on an event. He’s a regular, with several participations in the Étape du Tour and the Ardéchoise, including podium finishes. For my part, I’ve always done everything to avoid lining up for this kind of event, always finding a good excuse not to have to confront the reality of the stopwatch and the rankings: too expensive, too far, not enough time because of family life, not enough time because of professional life – excuses are convenient.

When Rémi starts talking to me about going on a sportive, the idea appeals to me because he handles all this very well; it’s a guarantee of confidence in the organization, and for my part, once I’m logistically committed with someone, there will be no question or possibility of backing out. Rémi is that kind of friend who always looks better than you on the bike because he has the right outfit, the right glasses, the right jersey, the right position, but also and above all, he has the natural ease of those guys born to pedal. Agreeing to accompany him means exposing yourself to time comparison, but it’s also and above all the assurance that every minute of training and every watt generated will be scrutinized. It’s quite reassuring but above all very motivating.

I dream of La Marmotte and its terrible loop course from Bourg d’Oisans. Through exchanges with my accomplice, I sense that he’s not against it, but deep down, it’s the Étape du Tour he wants to do again.

So the Tour presentation arrives. Bingo, the organization has decided to choose the most difficult stage of the entire 2022 program: Briançon – L’Alpe d’Huez, passing through the Lautaret, the Galibier, the Croix de Fer, and the final climb to Alpe d’Huez, 170 km and over 4600 m of elevation gain. I dreamed of Marmotte, the Étape du Tour offers almost the inverse route. Barely shorter, almost as hard, it’s going to hurt, it’s written, but it’s decided, we’re signing up.

Eight long months will pass between registration and D-day. Long months of preparation, rides in the rain and cold very often with Fabien, long hours on the indoor trainer trying to improve FTP or at least maintain it, sequences of hills to try and accumulate elevation, a few passes in the Vosges with friends to smooth out the pedal stroke and realize that “still, hitting 4600m D+ won’t be easy” and especially very long solo rides to get used to what I’m about to experience in early July: a very, very long day on the bike. Long months during which I will read and re-read David Polveroni’s course reconnaissance for www.3bikes.fr and watch again and again the filmed reconnaissance by Benjamin from the Pédaleur Box team. Eight months is long, but everything goes by very quickly, and the first days of July, and thus the big start, have arrived, even though I feel that physically I’m missing many things to present myself serenely on the starting line.

Our organization is completely oiled, we meet up in Bourg d’Oisans with Rémi to leave a car there and head towards Briançon to take possession of our small rental. I also discover the terrible kilometers that punctuate the end of the Lautaret descent towards the foot of Alpe d’Huez, and I think back to the various reports from Marmotte participants who strongly recommend not facing them alone. I also think back to my father who took part in the event, in its early years in 1983, with a bike equipped with a 5-speed freehub and a 39×28 as maximum gearing. I can still hear him say, “I did 130 km rides with all the hills in the Vallée de Chevreuse to prepare myself.” I can’t help but smile, thinking of his struggle.

We pick up the apartment keys, noting that we are just a few pedal strokes from the start gates. From this moment on, we enter a bubble where we will think and live cycling, and that’s pretty cool. Our only occupations will be riding, watching the Tour, cleaning our spades, and incidentally, eating pasta. We go for a ride to stretch our legs in the Lautaret. I’m amused to see that motorhomes are already in place in the pass, even though the Tour only passes five days later. The Lautaret is a real highway; I feel sorry for these poor tourists.

The town is full of cyclists, everything is about bikes everywhere in every street. We feel good, we feel at home, we feel in our element for our event.

The town is full of cyclists, everything is about bikes everywhere in every street. We feel good, we feel at home, we feel in our element for our event. We go to the start village to pick up our bibs and race instructions, and we take the opportunity to tour the exhibition and exhibitors. We don’t discover much, we’re surprised to find Shimano Dura-Ace brake pads in quantity when we struggled to find ours, we regret not having taken advantage of the promotion for Specialized Turbo Cotton tires, we try on jerseys at Gobik, we spend a little money, we just browse. I’m surprised to run into familiar faces when there are nearly 15,000 participants, I catch Paul, a young racer from our area, at a stand chatting with an acquaintance. “Wow, you know, I’m coming here without ever having climbed a pass in my life.” I know the guy a bit from following him on Strava; he’ll suffer like everyone else, but I’m not worried about him. The Étape du Tour is also an opportunity to meet super-fit cyclists, others who could surely have found their place not far from the pro echelon, and some who seem to have started cycling the week before. It’s also an opportunity to see almost all the best equipment among the participants; Rémi and I are not left out, but we still spend most of our time dissecting the gear of those we meet.

The Étape du Tour is also an opportunity to meet super-fit cyclists, others who could surely have found their place not far from the pro echelon, and some who seem to have started cycling the week before.

Sunday morning arrives quickly, and as expected, there’s no turning back. Thanks to his past performances, Rémi will start from gate 1; I, by an improbable stroke of luck, will be in gate 3. Excitement obliges, we are ready well before the scheduled time. We descend to our gates, a final simultaneous pat on the back; we each have a rendezvous with the Giants of the Alps.

The streets are teeming with excited men and women, some a bit haphazard, but overall everything goes well and everyone finds their place. Gates 0, 1, and 2 have left, it’s our turn to join the starting line, I put the windbreaker in my pocket, I start the Wahoo, I take a last sip, the sound system blares Sultan of Swings by Dire Straits. This song and this band accompanied me so much during my indoor trainer hours, I see it as a sign of destiny. Frankly, I don’t see what could go wrong.

7:22:30, we start and it’s full gas, my legs are seized up. I’m well positioned in the peloton and I see guys leading the group without worrying about what awaits us; internally I tell myself, “Either they’re completely stupid, or they’re completely strong, or a bit of both.” The watts I see on my bike computer alarm me more than they worry me, and I feel at Monnetier les Bains that it’s starting at a pace far above what I had planned. I let the group go and settle into wheels much more in line with my ambitions for the day. The Galibier arrives very quickly, and there we begin the very high mountains. I am very surprised by the silence amidst all these cyclists; no one is talking, or perhaps everyone is already a bit in agony. I am very surprised to see so many spectators and people applauding and ringing bells on the roadside: it’s not the madness of a real stage of the real Tour, but it’s super nice. I try not to look too much at the watts produced, but still, I look from time to time. I’m a little panicked by the relatively low numbers. The altitude doesn’t explain everything; I don’t have great sensations, or rather, I already feel like I’m pushing hard.

We descend the Galibier towards Valloire. I’m not a great descender; the steep slope on this side and the still substantial groups mean my descent is far from perfect. No matter, the main thing is to stay on the bike. I try nonetheless to enjoy the completely crazy landscape a bit; I try in vain to spot a Plan Lachat sign, having heard so much about it. The first aid stations arrive, and it’s also time to take stock of the state of my legs and mind. I laugh inwardly seeing signs for Next Repatriation Zone in 5 km and tell myself I shouldn’t be tempted too much. In the Maurienne valley, I feel like the day has truly begun, and I push myself to catch an imposing group that will help me get through these transition kilometers with as little effort as possible.

The Croix de Fer and its “Summit 29 km” sign appear; it’s starting to get hot, but the road is completely reserved for us, allowing us to ride in the shade all the way to the left of the road. If everyone was quite calm and managing their effort on the Galibier, on the Croix de Fer I realize that some are starting to realize they’re digging their own grave. Rémi and I have dissected the profile so much that I know exactly how to approach this climb, ideally. The pass profile on the Wahoo and the power meter also help me to smooth out the effort as much as possible. It’s not going fast, but it’s not going too badly. I even surprise myself reassuring guys riding with me by telling them about the flat sections and the length of the difficult parts. The watts are still barely worthy of a completely exhausted ride back in the Chevreuse valley, but at least I’ve made my peace with it. The arrival in Saint Sorlin d’Arves signals the last very difficult phase of the pass, I know it. It’s also at this moment that my body decided to test me and sent a kind of cramp into my thigh, a small signal that forced me to ease off even more to finish the pass. Another episode of the same kind would have almost led me to give up; fortunately, it never happened.

The last kilometers of the pass are incredibly beautiful, breathtaking. As incredible as it may seem, I spot Roberto, a friend from the Paris region, ahead of me. I know he has a proven tendency for impetuosity and therefore fast starts, even if it means finishing hard; he will confirm it to me verbally with a “Damn Nico, I scouted Alpe d’Huez yesterday in the car, I cried. I’m not ready.” Unlike the descent of the Galibier, that of the Croix de Fer was a huge moment of euphoria, surely partly due to the impression that the big chunks were behind us and that anyway, for others as for me: Alpe d’Huez would be done mentally, and from that point of view, I am armed. Completely closed road, new asphalt, warning signals with whistles in almost every bend, this descent and the panoramas offered towards Lac du Verney alone are worth the efforts made during all those hours.

Completely closed road, new asphalt, warning signals with whistles in almost every bend, this descent and the panoramas offered towards Lac du Verney alone are worth the efforts made during all those hours.

Once again, I push myself to catch a group ahead of me; strangely, on the flat, my legs are turning very well. Last aid station, we are in Bourg d’Oisans, I have a rendezvous with myself but I don’t know it yet. We arrive at the foot of Alpe d’Huez in a group, the first ramps rise before us, I hear a guy behind me say “Oh damn.” Indeed, “Oh damn,” the last time I saw so many cyclists zigzagging was on the Planche des Belles Filles and I don’t have good memories of it. I try to control things as much as possible, but I control nothing, I’m suffering. There isn’t a single shaded area, my Wahoo indicates 39 degrees. More than at any other moment of the day, I wonder what I’m doing here. Up to La Garde, I suffer and hope it will calm down later “Ah ah ah, poor fool.” Nothing calms down, I see guys lying on the side of the road the whole climb, I see guys walking up in socks, I even see guys walking up with a crank in their hand: if even the mechanics abandon you at such a moment. More than during the entire stage, no one speaks, no one is able to speak anymore. More than during the entire stage, the presence of people on the side of the road is an invaluable comfort, and the cold water bottles they pour on our bodies almost make us want to put a foot down. The temptation is too strong, the risk too great. I try to detach my mind from what I, like my colleagues, am enduring. I think of my friend Jool who must be barbecuing at JD’s and who might be following me on LiveTracking, I think of Caro, Thom, Paul, and Arthur who welcomed me in the Vosges, I think of my daughters and their messages asking me “to go win,” I think of my wife who also endured this stupid preparation for a good part of the year. I look at the names associated with each bend but I don’t dare look at the ridiculous level of watts I’m putting out. I have the sweet impression that my brain has made a deal with the rest of my body: it provides the minimum required energy to allow my legs to carry me to the summit, the rest being devoted to maintaining my vital functions.

I have the sweet impression that my brain has made a deal with the rest of my body: it provides the minimum required energy to allow my legs to carry me to the summit, the rest being devoted to maintaining my vital functions.

The first chalets of Alpe d’Huez finally appear, I remember that the pros go back over the plateau. This completely idiotic idea crossed my mind when I dreamed of this Étape du Tour; at the present moment, I am unable to change gears and am well stuck on the 36-tooth chainring and not much less at the back. We also get our red flag and our last kilometer, I recognize or think I recognize the bend where Lemond skidded in ’90, I try not to crash, that would be too stupid. I hear a “Go Nico” coming from the crowd, I turn my head and spot Rémi, I raise my hand in a “Look how I’m handling this, Man” gesture.

The line is crossed, I feel someone pushing me to move, they put a finisher’s medal around my neck. I think I’m close to throwing up and/or fainting. I try a selfie, like a stupid Instagrammer, to put on my Strava. I look so bad, I’m scary to look at, I won’t publish it. I go through all emotions, I’m happy, I’m proud, I’m disappointed, I’m sad, I cry thinking of my father and his 39×28 who should have been there.

A moment that feels like an eternity is necessary for me to regain my thoughts and find my friends. They are there, fresh as if they had barely pedaled. They did a fantastic time, I think “the bastards.” Youth doesn’t explain everything. They drag me to the pasta party which will definitively put my thoughts back in place. It’s only mid-afternoon and competitors will arrive until late tonight. It’s time for us to head to the car, passing through the Col de Sarenne and its terrible descent that I will do entirely on the brakes so as not to crash. We load the car, it’s time to go home. I feel in an almost altered state, I don’t have the strength to speak, I just listen to Rémi and Antoine. That’s enough for me, I don’t really know where I am anymore. I read all the SMS messages received from family and friends during the day, it fills me with joy that they got into the spirit of the event by following me with the tracker. We expect traffic to get back to Briançon, but there will be none.

Back at the rental, a shower, we tidy up the mess, and it’s time for Rémi to head back to Aix. “Be careful on the road, a little text when you arrive?” I feel like his mom. I find myself alone in the quiet little rental in Briançon, the feeling is as strange as it is unpleasant. I go into town to eat something, there’s no one left, the excitement has died down. I feel like a guy still a bit drunk at 6 AM in a nightclub who doesn’t realize there’s no one left on the dancefloor and the DJ has cut the music. I wish everything would go back to how it was the day before and the day before that. I cross paths with a few guys who did the event, we nod to each other like RATP bus drivers greeting colleagues during their shift. We recognize each other by our monstrous sunburns, our shaved legs, and our t-shirts which are mostly related to the cycling world.

At the restaurant, the tables are quite empty. I have only one idea, to fill myself with something substantial, as much as possible:
– Hello Sir, what will you have?
– Hello, a Briançonnaise crust, I think I need that.
– Ah Ah Ah, did you do the Étape?
Me, halfway between pride and embarrassment: “Yes… does it show that much?” she laughs, looking at my trucker’s sunburn.
– But did you manage to finish?
Me, no longer embarrassed and particularly proud: “Yes, yes, no problem.”
– Alright, I’ll bring it to you, you’ll see it’ll perk you up.
I confirm, the country bread soaked in white wine, truffled white ham, raclette, egg, all served with a green salad called La Croûte Briançonnaise, it perks you up.

One last night in Briançon, completely exhausted, packing bags, a quick clean-up, and it’s time to hit the seven-hour drive home. I pass groups of cyclists making the Alpe d’Huez – Briançon journey to pick up their cars. I don’t know if I envy them or pity them, it must be a good mix of both. I replay the day in my head. I was generally in line with my predictions, but I tell myself there was better to do, not much better but a little better. Meanwhile, summer holidays will soon be here, and then quickly, without realizing it, we’ll be waiting for October for the traditional annual ritual and the presentation of the 2023 Tour.

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