Wednesday morning just after eight. In a gray backyard of Alpe d'Huez, the racing bike is leaning against the back wall of the hotel. It's cool, sunny and dry: perfect weather. The small electric pump slowly increases the tire pressure on the rear wheel to 8.5 bar. I dissolved salts and minerals in the bottle of water that was stuck on the seat tube. Sealing milk and hand pump in the back pocket on the left. ID, health card, credit card, a note with the blood type and a bank note on the right. Two flat bags made of aluminum foil with a gel made from sugar and amino acids in the middle pocket. We only drive 15 kilometers. I'm in the Haute Route Alps, the Tour de France for amateurs, and I'm late.
As on Tuesday, I had to leave my breakfast here today. I've been taking antibiotics since Saturday because of a tick bite. In addition, I have a slight cold, no wonder after what we experienced the day before. But that's not the problem. The problem is the clock. While I'm pumping to 8 bar on the front wheel, my eyes fall on the handlebars. I forgot my cycling computer. I have to go up to the room again and I'll be late for the start. I'm on the Haute Route and for the first time in Alpe d'Huez, at the famous 21 hairpin bends, St. Peter's Basilica of cycling. You can have a cold and exhaustion, you can drive badly, but being badly organized is disrespectful.
I prefer the second of the two rules that I gave myself for this tour: You can make one mistake, it will happen anyway, but then don't make a second one. Forgive yourself the first mistake, but not the one after that, that you make while trying to cover up the first one. So I roll around the house, get the computer out of the room, without which I couldn't manage my performance in the time trial, and drive to the start without rushing. I'm late, no problem for the race management. You prefer three other drivers. Then I'm already in there myself, and the little that I've set out to do, I can't implement. The pulse sometimes falls below 130.
Even without a tick or a cold, it was a lot to ask to start the Haute Route. When I received the invitation, I hadn't been on a mountain in more than a year. There were no more training groups, only eight thousand lonely kilometers on country roads in Brandenburg and as a journeyman the wind. From a sporting point of view, only a cancellation was possible. After all, it was over seven days, from Megève near Montblanc over almost 900 kilometers to Nice, high-alpine kilometers. Because this year it was the 10-year anniversary tour, they wanted to top the usual superlative a bit: The third stage was the longest and highest altitude in the history of this race, the 6th stage 2800 meters high in the Parc National du Mercantour. Try,Establishing similar routes in the Ötztal as professional races failed several times: too long too steep, the air too thin. On top of that, climbing is my weak discipline. But it is one thing with reason and another with exaggeration. So get rid of the exaggeration with a reduction?