ALPE D'HUEZ - BON VOYAGE TO HELL AND BACK

After two years of 'talkin the talk' it's finally the centenary of the Tour De France and time to 'walk the walk'. Needless to say other mere mortals have fell by the wayside and I'm on my lonesome at the bottom of a mountain near the Eastern border with Italy between Grenoble and Briancon - the likes of which I have never witnessed before.

Sadly it is 32.5 degrees centigrade - over 90 degrees fahrenheit on a clear Friday morning which is fine for frying eggs but not looking good for any form of physical exertion.

Wise heads have warned - do not start too fast, if you get to La Garde in 20 minutes, which is the 6th hairpin bend out of 21 you are doing great.

Despite the fact that there are over two days to go before the stage rolls into town, there is a hive of activity with hundreds of cyclists attempting the same form of punishment and thousands of others making their way up the mountain in vehicles of all shapes and sizes to gain a favourable parking spot for Sunday's event.

Totally engrossed in this phenomenon I foolishly forget to make the essential checks, however the hair does look finer than Mario Chipollini. However having sat on a racing bike only three times prior, hopefully the gym sessions and a little mountain biking will help me make it.

Noticeably there are few big guys here - all whippersnappers under six foot and around 10 stone. At 6ft 1.5 inches and 13 stone 5 pounds I feel there should be some sort of allowance - but no such luck.

Off we go and from the outset there is no respite in the climb of 13 kilometres to 1850 metres above sea level and the first few bends are some of the toughest. However 20 minutes gone and voila I'm at La Garde bang on the button.

Damn ! - forgot to wear my gloves and my hands are becoming sore sweating and gripping the handlebars.

Slowly but surely I am beginning to get worn down by the heat and the pedalling that is even tougher than I expected. After 45 minutes on the left hand bend 1250 metres from the summit I am over 2/3rds of the way up but have to stop and lean on the barrier. A Dutchman behind me does likewise and I look at him and say its tough. He acknowledges and points downwards -what I ask ? - again he points down and I then realise a big mistake. Regrettably I have been using the largest 53 cog on the front instead of the intended smallest 39 due to being fired up and swept away in the atmosphere of the occasion. Although the damage has been done at least I can now make life a little easier.

As determined as ever I set off again only to slip over on to my left knee and then backside and almost bring down 2 other riders. With size 12 feet these stupid SPD clips which fasten your shoes to the pedals are a nightmare for beginners. Slightly cut knee and bruised bottom but we manage to get going again. Unfortunately being mechanically retarded I did not realise that the front wheel spindle had dislodged in the forks and was causing the wheel to rub on the brake block at a certain point.

Onwards and upwards we go with every revolution becoming harder as the heat is relentless, glad I took out the extra insurance I think to myself. All at once everything goes orange and I realise that I have either passed out or have arrived at Dutch corner , the bend that has become the property of Holland in recent years, fortunately it was the latter.

A little further on and the lungs seem to be at bursting point. Thankfully the only saving grace is that the trusty old legs still feel fine or it would definitely be all over now.

Many of the people camping on the side of the road cheer encouragement - suddenly we are all Lance Armstrong and the pain recedes if only for a few seconds.

At the velos sign we fork left and its the final stages, once more I have to regroup and take on yet more water. We are now in unchartered territory and suffering badly. Advice back in England that it will be below freezing at the top turned out to be utter nonsense as I continue to fry. Breathing has also become more difficult as the air becomes thinner the higher we go.

Round the final right hander and I can see the shops which is the finish. Previous plans to victoriously ride the last 20 metres blowing kisses a la Richard Virenque went out the window an hour ago as we were forced into survival mode.

Over 15 minutes later I am still breathing heavily and taking on more water with no emotion or sense of achievement just pleased to be gradually recovering . It feels like I have been to hell and back in order to make it to the promised land.

Eventually senses recuperating I walk back down a little to the edge of the finish, take in the exhilarating view and smile. In just over 2 hours I made it to the top without getting off the bike as promised.

Finally I look down and smile realising that this is one of those moments in a life time that are very few and far between.

It is now quite apparent that what is happening here has by far transcended sport. This has become a religious pilgrimage which will eventually swell to a million people on Sunday. Almost every nationality is here, however we are all as one - as your man, your team and your country are secondary to the cause of human endeavour.

Now we are at the top, the descent is the part I was dreading. Looking over the side of the cliff whilst cycling down is a nightmare. Ironically there are suicide pilots doing over 50 miles an hour on the bike and overtaking cars.

That night I ask my new friends from Belgium - would the now portly figure of 'The King' himself be able to cycle up Alpe d'Huez. One smiles and says 'the only way Eddy would get to the top these days is in the team car' - which makes me feel a little better.

Saturday morning I have the bike set up with the correct angles, the wheel is corrected and I do La Garde in a mere 19 minutes (on the 39) before branching off on another route upwards. Hey I'm on a roll - bring on Marco Pantani - second thoughts better bring the oxygen just in case - will that be the bottle or the tent sir ?