RALEIGH CHOPPER VS PASSO DELLO STELVIO: THE ITALIAN JOB

Proud to be part of the Fireflies Tour - @firefliestour

In 2014 I rode an original 1975 Mk2 Raleigh Chopper right up Mont Ventoux to help beat blood cancer. In 2015 I set the Raleigh Chopper Hour Record on an original 1969 Mk1 Raleigh Chopper. Thanks to extremely generous donations from all over the world these rides raised over £10,000 to help beat blood cancer.

This year, on Monday 8 August 2016, I rode, without stopping, to the top of Passo dello Stelvio from Prato all Stelvio. 

Here's the race report:

This one was at short notice: not like Raleigh Chopper vs Ventoux or The Hour, both of which were planned and prepared months in advance. When John and I booked the Italian trip a couple of months ago, I'd intended to ride my racing bike and tour the area. But Stelvio is too big to ignore. At 2,758m altitude, it’s over 800m higher than Ventoux. The climb is 3km longer and, crucially, it involves another 300m of ascent. It’s an 1,800m climb over 24km through 48 hairpin bends. I’d been feeling in fairly good shape for a few weeks and had ridden the Chopper to work a couple of times. I suggested Raleigh Chopper vs Stelvio to John and he said “Well it would be silly not to."

Having decided I was going to do it, John and I discussed the Chopper ride in detail a few days before leaving and, although it had not been the plan, he agreed to drive up and support. Without his help, it would not have been possible for me to achieve my objective which was to complete the ride without stopping and in under three hours. I thought this might just be possible for me because Ventoux had taken 2 hours and 10 minutes and the numbers felt right. Unfortunately, I hadn’t allowed for two things: heat and altitude.

As we drove down the mountain to the start, it was as spectacular as it was daunting. We’d never seen it before. Although the average gradient is only 0.2% greater than Ventoux, it looked and felt very different: much a more challenging. Whether it was the hairpins or the tumbling cliffs, I don’t know but it looked nothing like the gradient I was expecting. The profile of Stelvio is different. It’s more consistent over all but it ramps up for the entire second half and particularly at the top, where the air is thinnest. This is not the case with Ventoux.

We parked in Prato allo Stelvio, I ate a couple of Biscottone and after a quick picture at the start next to the sign to Stelvio, I was off. I assumed it would feel relatively easy for at least the first 4 or 5km. On a climb of that length, if it doesn’t, it means trouble very early on. After only about 2km, however, I had to resort to Sturmey Archer speed 1. I knew I wouldn’t be changing back in to 2 at any point. There was nowhere to go now. No gears in reserve. This is it. Business time.

The heat is incredible. In less than 40 minutes I’ve already finished a litre and a half of water. John passes me new bottles. I keep drinking at every opportunity, probably more than I need to. I'm terrified of cramp. I know that I will not stop unless the bike breaks or I'm unable to turn the pedals through cramp or collapse. The only one of these three things I can control is cramp, by being hydrated, so I drink. John is fantastic. Always there, every few kilometres, asking if I need anything. We’re both very English about things and so, as I become more and more distressed, I make sure that I say "thank you” and ask for things jolly nicely. It’s a kind of game: a way of letting him know everything is all right.

The gradient is consistently unforgiving and there is no shade. It’s unrelenting and there’s no opportunity to ease off or gather myself. I am overheating horribly and my legs are already working much too hard, hard enough to feel as though they might cramp so I try to stretch my hamstrings while riding by getting out of the saddle. It doesn’t help because I'm too far forward. Sitting back down is painful because I’ve already rubbed the skin off my backside and it’s raw. I am one hour in and haven’t even started the 48 hairpins. I long for the shade that I know will be there. I'm constantly trying to get the right balance between speed and not pushing so hard I'll cramp but the gradient is so steep my cadence is about 30, so I have to push harder than I think is sustainable, all the time. Riding at a cadence of around 30 is like a long series of hard, single leg presses. I brace these against the handlebars and the back of the Chopper’s banana seat. Every press is slow, painful and accompanied by noises from the Chopper, creaking, squeaking and making little snapping noises: talking to me the whole time. I keep telling it to be strong and to hold itself together for me to the top. I can’t even consider bike failure but I'm amazed at the force it can withstand.

The first few hairpins are almost a relief. I am in the shade for some of the time and, initially, I think it will help me because I can count them down from 48. It becomes clear, however that the counting is meaningless. The distance between the hairpins varies wildly. Anyway, I can’t remember what number I’ve seen almost as soon as I’ve seen it and it takes too much energy to try. John is here again. I want another biscuit so I ask him nicely if I might have one at the next bend. He says “Of course!” of course.

I am nearing two hours of this torture and I still can’t see the summit. I become very angry with myself. Not only the usual “what am I doing here?” stuff but also “why did I say three hours?”. “WHY?!” It now seems beyond possible. I don’t want to think about it not being possible at all, so I concentrate on it not being possible in three hours; and then argue with myself that it is. I don’t want to think about my dad. I know that if he knew how how much pain I was in he would be saying “Just take it easy, it doesn’t matter if you do it in three hours – or even at all: you have nothing to prove.” The road keeps kicking up so hard between the hairpins and even around the right hand bends that I have to steel myself and grind close to maximum power just to get around them. I know this is stupid but I have no option.

I can see the top. On Ventoux, when I came out of the trees and saw the top it was a huge relief. The gradient became more shallow and I really started to move. Not here. It towers above me and I have to crane my neck to see it. Between me and the summit there seem to be countless and horribly steep hairpins. It looks impossible. It can’t be possible for me to finish in less than an hour: and I’ve been riding for over two hours. John passes me another bottle and I find a moment to drink on a left hand hairpin. Decision time. Do I try somehow to back off and so I’m more certain of completing the ride or do I risk everything and try to get to the top in under three hours? Stupid question. Do what you said you’d do. It has to be under three hours.

In order to try to get more speed I start to try to push the pedals using my shoulders more, bending my back more. I don’t care what it feels or looks like, there has to be something I’m not using to its full potential. It's all screaming, more than at any time on Ventoux. I wonder whether this is harder than The Hour and conclude it is. I wonder how long it’s possible to maintain this before things start to fail. I wonder what will fail and how it will happen. My joints feel as though they’re moving all right. All the pain is muscular but it’s everywhere. 45 minutes. If I can do this for 45 minutes I’ll have finished. But finished what? I might not be at the top.

John is here. He says “Only 10 hairpins, Matthew. That’s nothing.” I look up. I wish it was nothing. Time is slipping away. I look at the road. I keep pressing the pedals, breaking the job down into individual pedal strokes. That’s all I can manage now. One at a time. Some people cycle past saying “Bravo!”, “Super!”, “Amazing!”. On Ventoux I had overtaken many cyclists. Not this time. Firstly, there weren’t as many and secondly, a high proportion of the cyclists I see are skinny bronzed Italian men in team kit who seem to be going for a personal best time to the top. I’ve overtaken 6 cyclists on the way up. They are in their own worlds of pain or they’re touring with heavy bags on their bikes. A German man cycles next to me and starts to speak to me about what I am doing. I manage to say a few words but after about a kilometre he understands that I am not really up to having a conversation.

3km. It’s painted on the road. I look at my watch. There is still a long snake of hairpins above me but surely I can ride the last 3km in 15 minutes, can’t I? If I can, I’ll do it in 3 hours. I start to try to push harder. I think I am but I don’t know. The Chopper starts complaining more. That’s a good sign. Another cyclist shouts "2km to go!” at me and I look at my watch again. How can that be another 5 minutes gone already? I’m desperate. I can’t fail by seconds. In a funny way, failing by 20 minutes or something would be OK. It would mean I’d just got the numbers all wrong. But missing the target of three hours by a minute or a few seconds is the worst possible outcome. “Oh, shame you didn’t quite do it, Matt.” No. No, I’m not having that. I dig even deeper into somewhere and start using some muscles somewhere in my core to sort of twist the bike harder. There’s a massive wall of pain everywhere but although I can’t feel that I have individual arms and legs, I know they’re still doing what they’ve been doing for nearly three hours.

Another cyclist shouts “1 point 5 K to go! Go, go, GO!” Does he know whats at stake here? If so, how? I really don’t know how to make this finish. I can’t do it but I can’t bear to fail now. Not now.

1km. It’s in white paint on the floor. I think I have slightly more than 5 minutes. I must keep this going.

It’s a long stretch of road to the finish: may be 500m?; but I’ve done the last hairpin. I can see all the cars and motorbikes parked near the top. Head down. Use anything, everything, finish this. I’m looking down and I can see the road moving underneath me slowly and the bike groans more than ever. It’s difficult to describe how long this is taking. My handlebar misses a parked car by a whisker. I’m swerving and twisting and scrambling like a mad man for the bit of road where it starts to go downhill again. I can’t control my limbs, I can’t see anything, can no longer balance and fall from the bike. I spend about 10 minutes on the floor trying to assess the damage and do a bit of sobbing. It’s all over.

John is here. It’s nice to hear a familiar voice.

#raleighchoppervsstelvio