Wayne Hudson's Fundraising Page

climbing the Col du Soulor

Descending the Col de Marie Blanque

The last kilo of the Tourmalet

Thanks for visiting my fundraising page.

The Etape is over and here are my blogs, edited to remove most of the spelling mistakes made while typing the originals on my mobile phone.

What a day! without doubt the hardest ride I have done in the 20 years I've been cycling.

We got up at 4am on the day of the Etape for breakfast and at 5 drove to Pau to where our bikes were stored. Then a short 3k ride in the dawn to our starting pens.

I never knew the starting positions were sorted but I figured some of it out over the next 8 hours from reading race numbers and looking at the form of their owners. Basically the first 1,000 positions were allocated to elite amateurs, VIPs and sponsors. The next 8,000 were allocated on a completely random basis and the last 1,000 were for late entries. It meant that apart from the first 150 there was no seeding so the race time started only when we crossed the starting line.

Although the event started bang on 7, it took over 1/4 of an hour before I crossed the start line. For the next two hours the pace was pretty hot, as the terrain was flat and riders were trying to move forward to get into faster bunches. But there really was no point: it was just one very long and fast procession and only when we started to climb did gaps start to open in the procession.

On the second of some little hills I dropped my chainring but it was a bit of a blessing, as it allowed me to remove my jacket and take a comfort stop. The pace continued evenly until about 6kms up the Col de Marie Blanque, when the road narrowed and the gradient steepened, the groups closed up. When two ambulances squeezed past in the very narrowest section with 2 or 3k to the summit, one or two riders were forced to dismount. That had a domino effect and all the way back down the mountain riders had to dismount and walk slowly for up to 40 minutes.

I was lucky being close to where it first happened and I only touched down for a few seconds. So the Marie Blanque was conquered - only two more to go.

From the top of the Marie Blanque we had a smooth fast adrenalin-pumping descent (after all that's why we climb mountains, isn't it). Then some more rolling roads through some stunningly scenic countryside (yes I did have time to take it in).

By this time we'd clocked 90 kms and were looking for the feed zone set up by Sporting Tours, as we'd bypassed the general feed zone at the top of the Marie Blanque. The feed zone was supposed to be at the 92 km mark but, because the Etape organisers had added 7 kms to the total distance all our measurements were out of whack. With considerable relief we found the truck at the 99km mark, filled both bottles, took some bars and gels and jumped onto the back of the next fast-moving pack, heading for the Col du Soulor.

The Soulor was the climb I'd worried about the most and it was the reason for buying a compact crankset. But, apart from the first kilometre at 9%, it was much easier than I'd expected, although "easy" is not quite the right word, as I was in the 34x26 for most of the 12k climb.

I had plenty of time to take in the beautiful views as I chugged up the hill alternating between sitting and standing to relieve an aching back. Up above the tree line it became ominously quiet and the only thing I could hear was the heavy breathing of riders around me and the occasional click as they searched for non-existent easier gears. Many riders were staring just a few metres ahead of their bikes in a trance-like state, just willing themselves to get to the top.

At the top I filled up both bottles with icy cold mountain water and continued on my way looking for another group to attach to. The descent was magnificent and I could understand why Michael Cotty, narrator and rider on the recon video, did it twice.

The descent eventually brought us to Argeles-Gazost, at the foot of the long 20km drag up to Luz Saint Saveur. By this time I'd covered 140 kms and was getting close to the limit my training had prepared me for. On top of that I'd climbed 3,400 metres and still had the Tourmalet to go. Realising the last climb would take a long time, I decided to ease back the throttle. I soon found the Sporting Tours feed zone so I stopped again, refilled both bottles, swallowed some cramp-stopping magnesium syrup and took another gel for 'just in case'.

Some of the riders I'd passed earlier in the day came past but I thought I'd be better off saving myself for the final col. After all the Tourmalet wasn't going anywhere: it would still be waiting for me.

Through the pretty little village of Luz Saint Saveur, a left hand turn and I was onto the last 18km skyward stretch. The temperature had got to 32 degrees and, although there were cheers and applause from the spectators at the foot of the climb, the chatter amongst the groups of riders stopped almost immediately. In fact groups ceased to exist, as we all found our own paths so that we could ride at our own pace. Although not exactly fresh, I started quite well all the same, bolstered by the enthusiastic applause and encouraging words of the spectators, and within 2kms I had caught the groups that had passed me on the road up from Argeles-Gazost.

At every kilometre from the base of the climb is a sign indicating the elevation, distance to the top and the average gradient for the next kilometre. There were 18 of these signs and I was fixated by them, hoping that the next kilo would be easier. I could tell the difference between 6 and 7% by the relative ease of being able to spin instead of grind for a few metres.

And then we climbed out of the trees and into the heat. I still had a bottle and a half of water, so I knew I could get to the top without refilling, provided I didn't tip the water over my head to cool me down. But I didn't have to worry: scores of generous, enthusiastic spectators filled bottles, pots and pans with water from the nearby mountain streams and offered to pour the ice-cold fluid over us. The immediate effect was amazing and my speed would go up by 1kph after each dousing. But it only lasted for about 200 metres and I was looking for the next spectator with a bottle. I would veer across the road just to get water on my head or back and then, with a 'merci bien', and point the bike back up the road.

With 7 or 8kms to go I started to see more and more riders scattered along the roadside in various states of collapse and despair, tended to by concerned spectators. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn't unclip my shoes, partly out of pride and partly because I was worried about not being able, or not wanting to, get back on. And so I boxed on, in and out of the seat from one cold dousing to the next at a speed that hardly ever got above 10 kph.

With 5k to go I swallowed my last 'just in case' gel, figuring it would last me to the finish. Only 5k? True but at an average speed of 10 kph it was going to take another half hour. My head had started to throb, so I loosened the tension on my helmet. My back was aching too and I couldn't get comfortable, but I was determined not to crack.

2k to go and cramp attacked my right thigh and wouldn't go away for what seemed an eternity but, so long as I continued to pedal, I kept at bay.

1km to go: the crowds were getting thicker and applause was getting louder. I couldn't stop now. And then a sharp left hand bend and encouraging calls from the crowd: 'you're almost there, only 200 metres to go'; the steepest section of all (at least it felt like it after 180 kms). A little respite and then only 100 metres. The finish line was just around the corner - I couldn't see it but I knew it was there. I sat back down, pushed harder on the pedals and turned that last corner to see the finish line. I couldn't help punching the air in pure exhausted relief. I'd finished my hardest ever day on a bike.

A few hundred metres down past the finish line I got into the queue for my finishing medal and a ticket that would entitle me to a food pack. From there I had to ride up (I thought I was done with "up") to the food tent, collected my bag of goodies and went further down the hill to find a quiet space to eat some of the food. Sadly it wasn't that appetising and I threw most of it away.

Not knowing when my friends would turn up, I decided to carry on down the other side of the Tourmalet to where the bus was parked in Bagneres de Bigorre. While 20k of the ride was downhill, the last 12k were flat or undulating, which didn't appeal to my legs. However, I got to the bus park ok, found my own recovery food, washed myself down with a hand towel (no showers) and changed into more comfortable clothes.

An evening meal had been prepared for us but it was a long wait - some 7 or 8 hours - before the last of our group finally arrived around 11pm. Many walkers (partners of riders especially) were stuck on the mountain top unable to find transport down; Tony, who had crashed and been eliminated after 90 odd kilometres, waited until 10pm for his bike to turn up.

Apparently 3,000 riders failed to finish the Etape, most of them on the final climb.

The Tourmalet was the slowest I've ridden up a hill: just over 1hr 50 for 18 kms meant an average speed of just over 9kph.

My finishing statistics were: 1669th place overall (adjusted for the 14 minutes it took to cross the start line); 276th in Cat D - 50-59 age group; total time 8:17:24, which was sufficient to earn me a silver medal.

I have to say that I am pleased with the result, taking into account the heat, the fact that I hadn't done an event like this before, the randomness of the allocation of starting positions, the traffic congestion and the difficulty of preparing for something like this in a New Zealand winter.

What enabled me to get through the Etape was: some good miles and quality training in my legs; a lot of food and drink in the first two hours of the Etape (the equivalent of one and a half daily meals); comparatively good luck on the Col de Marie Blanque compared with some people further down the road who had had to walk for up to 40 minutes; the kindness of the spectators on the Tourmalet who cooled me down; and finally but no less important, the knowledge that I was riding for a cause which has been supported by so many friends and colleagues.

Knowing that they have been so generous with their sponsorship, not finishing would have been letting everyone down. It was this thought that stopped me from putting a foot down in the last 8kms.


So a final thank you to everyone who followed my progress and who contributed to PWI to help them in their efforts to reduce the stigmatism and ostracism of NZ women and their families who live with HIV and AIDS. It's been a most excellent adventure.

If you would like to make a donation to the cause, there is still time. So please select the 'Make a donation' button below. It's simple, fast and totally secure.

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Many thanks for your support.

Wayne