Lowe - Climbs and punishment: riding to Rome in the footsteps of Hannibal

After almost a decade of reporting on the exploits of the pro peloton, raconteur Felix Lowe takes to the saddle and sets out to conquer the road from Barcelona to Rome.

Powered by local delicacies, painkillers and imaginary fans, Lowe pedals his way through three countries and over three mountain ranges, taking in some of the sports most fabled climbs. Following in the tracks of the worlds greatest wheelmen, he puts professional cyclings three major stage races the Tour de France, Vuelta a Espaa and Giro dItalia under the microscope, whilst capturing the potent mix of madness, humour and human spirit that fuels stage winners and pedal spinners alike.

Tracing the footsteps of the celebrated Carthaginian general Hannibal, who led his own pachyderm peloton of thirty-seven elephants over the Alps and all the way to the gates of Rome, Lowes epic quest pays homage to the sport, examines the psychology of both the crazed amateur and the pedalling pro, and delves into the awesome march of a military genius who almost brought the Roman Empire to its knees.

Contents

Felix Lowe is best known by his alter ego Blazin Saddles, whose incredibly popular Eurosport blog has become the go-to place for an irreverent and authoritative take on the world of cycling. Over the past decade Felix has covered the major cycling races in the pro calendar, writing for Eurosport, Cycle Sport and the Telegraph. He also writes a monthly column for Cyclist magazine.

John Neil

1952 2014

TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
6163 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
www.transworldbooks.co.uk

First published in Great Britain
in 2014 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright Felix Lowe 2014
Illustrations copyright Francesca Lowe 2014
All photographs are the copyright of the author except for the following:
Swimming at LEscala Justin Pickens; Col du Prmol descent Sam Wood;
Bob cycling the Lautaret and the author cycling in Piedmont James Geen.

Felix Lowe has asserted his right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448171668
ISBN 9780593073346

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk
The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

We will either find a way, or make one.

H ANNIBAL (218 BC )

To go wrong in ones own way is better than to go right in someone elses.

F YODOR D OSTOEVSKY , C RIME AND P UNISHMENT

I D BEEN WARNED that Id leave a little bit of myself on the climb I just hadnt expected to see so much of it splattered across the tarmac.

I really couldnt help it. There was no warning, just a sudden urge to retch. Luckily none of the others were watching. Ray is ahead on his swanky 5,000 racing machine, which probably weighs less than what I had for lunch, now reduced to road carrion for the vultures that must be gathering overhead. They can spot a dead man riding a mile off.

Our support car slows until I edge a bit closer. Rays girlfriend Maria drives while her friend, also called Maria, sits in the back with the boot open. Camera in hand, Maria 2 records my every pained pedal stroke for posterity. I try to smile but the thought of cheese makes me queasy. I shake my head instead. Such intrusion really isnt on. Being videoed taking a dump would feel less of a violation.

Im overcome with a sudden surge of sympathy for the countless riders Ive witnessed hitting the wall on sharp Tour de France ascents and imploding dramatically just as prying TV cameras are thrust up close. Angered by the idea of my own suffering being broadcast to millions worldwide, I desperately wave the lens away.

Cut to commercial theres nothing to see here. Just one mans inner struggle to keep his solids down and his frown stolid.

But still Maria films my plight. This is a cycle-suffer scene bordering on the pornographic something thatd even be illegal in Amsterdam. Its all I can do to whisper a feeble stop and gesticulate forlornly one last time, almost losing my balance on the coarse double-digit gradient.

Theres nothing caring, compassionate or Christian about either Maria. The least they could do is give me a tug with a sticky bidon. If I go any slower Ill just stop and roll over, unable and unwilling to unclip. Its now a tussle between body and mind. My knees throb, my lower back tightens and my lungs gasp. But something inside drives me on.

For large stretches of this ascent Ive resisted the temptation to do a Wayne Rooney and flirt with the granny. But now, amid the crowning hairpins of this punishing climb, I cave in and pop on to the smallest ring of my triple chainset. I glance down at the big sprocket in a drooling daze. It has thirty-two teeth. The same amount that I feel like dislodging from Rays gaping jaw every time he turns round to gee me up.

Come on, Blazin Saddles! Dont be such a weakling. Were almost there now. His words tumble down the mountain like falling rocks for me to dodge. Weakling? Ive only just taken up this sport and Im clearly out of my depth. Some 1,300 metres out of my depth, to be precise. So give me some slack. I should be sitting in the car, not wedged on this saddle.

The momentary respite that follows my granny gear ignominy is an opportunity to reach round and procure a gel from my back pocket. This should rid me of the taste of bile in my mouth and provide the final juice boost I need to reach the summit.

What in Gods name am I doing here, you ask. Ive fled the chills and ills of England to do a spot of winter riding in the Canary Islands seeking sunnier climes for some challenging climbs. In the name of a good story, I asked my host Ray an evergreen Irish ex-pat with Celtic freckles and an age deficit on Chris Horner to take me on the hardest route Gran Canaria has to offer.

Thatll be the VOTT, he said. Its dangerous, dark and evil the most villainous piece of road-building contrived by man.

Sounds promising. What does VOTT stand for?

The Valley of the Tears and it usually does what it says on the tin.

So you can understand my trepidation as I clawed my way through an undulating 60-kilometre ride along the coast this morning up and over one peak, and along to a rather run-down town called San Nicols: the gateway to the hurt locker Im currently enduring.