Danger Zone

Grenoble is where my father lived in the seventies. He had told me stories about sitting on sunlit terraces drinking pastis, letting the day drag into a loud dinner, into music and friendship. The city is tucked between mountains, it is the gateway to the Alps. I met up with Andrew at his house overlooking the river. He had offered to host me that night via Warmshowers.org. I offered pancakes in return, sharing my pancake rich background. We played chess, drank tea, talked about bikes, and fell asleep. 

In the morning I woke up with a rough headache and nausea. I hadn't eaten enough the day before and I was regretting it. The journey ahead was on my mind, 2000m ascent and 100km to Gap in the center of the high Alps. Andrew and I had a slow morning, he was in the last year of his PhD and decided on a slow day for himself. The sun was out, I got my stuff packed, dragged my bike down his winding staircase, and set off towards the south. 

South of Grenoble there is what my GPS likes to call a red zone, which means a 700m ascent with only 10% incline or higher. I had not registered that until I got into it, turned on Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins and let Spotify take it from there. It took me one and a half hours to lug my bike up that hill, but I took that hill, and had a coffee on top of that hill at a rest stop where all the elderly locals were already on sipping on their rosé like a bunch of pink gangsters. Napoleon came down that hill on the march that ended at Waterloo. I was going the other way. 

After a while I sort of got into a flow and got up to 1200m before taking a break and checking my gear, drinking another coffee, looking at the spectacular scenery and thinking big thoughts. Having done that I turned on Kenny Loggins again, followed by Turbonegro, followed by Panzerchrist, pumped up my back tire - which was getting a wee bit soft - and followed my trusty GPS down a winding road off the Napoleon Route, which I assumed would be faster, just to have to climb back up a 20% slope to get back up on the same road. Meanwhile my tire was deflating mid-climbing and through the window of the farm next to the slope a man was watching me and smiling as I was grunting and puffing my 30kg mule up that stupid fucking hill. 

On top I found my back tire completely soft. I stopped and took some time to change the inner tube but couldn't for the life of me get it pumped up completely. I was halfway to Gap, I'd been on the road for four hours, I had forgotten to get sunblock and Kenny Loggins was really starting to get on my nerves. I was in the Danger Zone.

The next 50km were all exits. Every little town had a hotel. Every hotel had a bed. Every bed had my name on it. I stopped for one moment in front of a hotel, the sun was starting to hide behind the western mountains, I was in the shadow, and I was getting hungry. I knew I had another red zone to go. I felt I had two options. Quit now and reach Gap tomorrow, having to cross that red zone in the morning. Or eat all the protein bars, drink the water, turn on Kenny Loggins again and fire up the soul to 11.  

Naturally I did the latter. 

The mountain I ascended was an actual col, it was the highest I'd ever gone on a bike, it was also the roughest track I'd ever cycled, the sun was beaming on the city of Gap and somewhere down there my Airbnb was waiting, a pizza was calling me, along with a ton of fanta and the fever dreams that always followed my intense feelings of success and exhaustion. But all that was after I stood there, over the world. Having not relented was the best gift I could have given myself. 

A rest day was in order. The sun was going nowhere. I felt like a broken, victorious king.