… or: Why You’re Not Allowed to Sleep on New Year’s Eve
Ventoux Brevet of the Ara Breisgau
first my video …
Mounths before …
Registration was already quite something: exactly at midnight, in the very first seconds of the new year. While others were clinking glasses of champagne or laughing at “the same procedure as every year” watching Dinner for One, I was sitting alert in front of my computer. I had actually planned to go to bed early – but apparently all starting places are gone within minutes after midnight. So: Happy New Year – click!
During …
We set off after a generous and delicious breakfast at Augustiner. About 70 adventure-seekers (considering the expected conditions!) are gathered at the start line, 620 km away from the finish in Nyons.
Off we go! I’m in the first starting group, and we roll through Freiburg a bit cautiously, navigating its many tram tracks. I manage to stick with the guys’ group—though at first, not very smoothly. I can’t help but wonder: how long will I manage to hold on?
Something keeps nagging at me. What on earth are “ghost eagles”? Painted in big white letters on the bike path ahead—sometimes upside down, sometimes readable. Is Freiburg especially animal-friendly?
It doesn’t take long before the penny drops. I’d missed the second “R”: GEISTERRADLER!!
Wrong-way cyclists.And right now—I’m one of them. The cycling equivalent of driving the wrong way down a road.Luckily, it’s still almost night.
Once we leave t e shelter of the buildings, the wind—just as the app had hinted (that’s putting it mildly)—hits us full force. Sometimes head-on (drafting would be nice), sometimes in violent side gusts (drafting becomes completely useless).
My legs are already burning from constantly accelerating to keep up and braking to avoid running into the rider ahead. I won’t be able to keep this up for long.
Dawn breaks, and I need to take a photo anyway, so I let the group go. Now I’m fully exposed to the wind. Brilliant plan.
My thoughts drift to weather phenomena. What’s worse—strong headwind or rain? I can’t decide. Not much later, I’ll know…
At breakfast, we’d debated when the rain would start. Based on my calculations (and trust in my app), it should hit me around 100 km in—near Montbéliard.
Shortly before that, I smirk to myself: maybe the weather app isn’t so reliable after all. I shouldn’t have done that.
Exactly 300 meters before hitting the 100 km mark—the first drop. I can’t even get dressed properly before the sky opens up completely. And it stays that way for hours.
Now I can answer the earlier question: What’s worse—headwind or rain? Clearly: headwind AND rain.
I’m well equipped, but my rain mitts and overshoes don’t live up to their promises. Within minutes, they let water in. And it’s cold. Very cold. The elements have me firmly in their grip—and the day isn’t even halfway over. The “storm” keeps battering me. When it hits head-on (which is almost constantly), my speed drops to 12–15 km/h.
At that pace, my calculations say I’d need over 40 hours for the remaining 500 km—even without breaks. That means: not finishing on time—and I can forget about my planned mini sleep stop at the 24h Ibis hotel in Ambérieu.
When I booked it, I imagined arriving before midnight, taking a hot shower, and getting a few hours of sleep… Along the Rhône–Rhine Canal cycle path, the scenery is actually quite beautiful.
But I can hardly enjoy it. Either I’m fighting brutally for every meter forward, or I’m nearly blown off my bike by crosswinds. My rear bags make a perfect sail—unfortunately in the wrong direction.
At times, my motivation fades. So much effort. Who’s even forcing me to do this?
I stop. The sun briefly comes out, and I dig into my nut mix. Stephan, Frank, and the tandem with Christine and Thomas also stop. We keep riding—sometimes together, sometimes alone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the tandem stop at a café. Christine didn’t seem very motivated earlier either; she said they were already two hours behind… oh dear. And me? (Later in Bédoin, she tells me they took the easier option in Ambérieu—the train.)
Eventually, I reach Besançon. I can see the fortress from afar. And shortly after: the bakery I’ve been dreaming of for 195 km.
I take my time choosing, since there’s no seating inside—and outside, leaning on the windowsill as a table, it’s freezing cold. Onward. About 90 km to the next control point—and then another 90 to Ambérieu, where I’ve booked my hotel.
No stress—the reception is open 24 hours. I had calculated arriving before midnight and staying until 4 a.m. The stretch around Lyon should ideally be done before rush hour starts at 5.
So off I go.
The landscape stays the same: flat, along canals. If only it weren’t for the headwind. Even going “upstream” along the canal, there are proper waves.
My average speed doesn’t improve, and after 200 km, my legs are already… let’s say “slightly” tired.
After a brief break in the clouds, it starts raining again. Good thing I never took off my rain pants. Rain? What’s that? My face starts to hurt. Hailstones!
Before I can even process that, a blinding flash and a deafening thunderclap hit at the same moment. Of course this happens to me—with my terrible fear of thunderstorms. I pick up the pace. Just get away from here!
Luckily, it stays at that one lightning strike. The weather feels like April—though it’s not even the end of March. Rain, hail, storm gusts, a bit of sun, racing layered clouds, then heavy gray again.
A strip of forest offers some shelter. I ride a few kilometers with Stephan and Frank.
We complain to each other and exchange stories of who has already abandoned the “sinking ship.”
Later I’ll hear that quite a few riders with e-bikes headed south by train.
Then it happens: just as I leave the last trees, a gust hits me full force and pushes me across the entire road into the opposite ditch. Shaking, I get off and walk for a few hundred meters. If a car had come… I don’t even want to think about it. A group of cows watches me like I’ve lost my mind. They might be right.
Four hours for just under 90 km—and I need to take another proof photo for the digital brevet card. Inside the pizzeria, people sit comfortably behind the windows. Lucky them. Stephan says there’s a nice kebab place nearby. So we end up at Devran.
A cheerful group is already there. Christoph orders my meal in Turkish—complete with special treatment. Delicious ayran—my body craves it.
And my very first döner kebab ever. Absolutely fantastic. After a day of sweets, a real highlight.
With the two of them—later my housemates in Bédoin—we head back out into the cold.
It’s long since dark. A hill ahead “warms us up” (how kind), and three and a half hours later—another 90 km, some climbing, and bouts of fatigue—we roll into the parking lot in Ambérieu-en-Bugey.
Half past midnight. Not quite the “well before midnight” I had planned.By 2 a.m., freshly showered, I’m in bed at the Ibis. Alarm set for 3:45.
Sleep doesn’t come. I’m sharing the room, and my neighbor’s unfamiliar breathing noises are not exactly sleep-friendly.
So I doze… and soon it’s time to get up again.
When I open the hotel door—pushing against a strong gust—I can’t believe my eyes:
It’s snowing.
Of course it is. Why not.
Large trucks and speeding cars make me uneasy. At this time of year—and in the dark—do they even expect cyclists?
With no distractions, my remaining brain cells—after yesterday’s brutal 370 km effort—turn to the day ahead.
“Only” about 250 km today, but the mountains are already looming on my paper elevation chart.
How am I supposed to manage that? I need to be in Nyons by 9 p.m. at the latest. I keep calculating. With yesterday’s pace, it won’t work. Should I have pushed on to Crémieu this morning?
But sleeping in the cold, open historic market hall? Not really appealing. As I pass by, it seems all the randonneurs who stayed there have already left. Not a good sign?Doubt creeps in. Am I the last one still hanging on?
Quitting because of the weather? Thankfully, that thought doesn’t seriously cross my mind. It would have been a logistical nightmare anyway. So: keep going, powered by my own legs. I’m distracted by huge clouds of steam and eerily lit towers staring into the darkness.
Goosebumps.I must be passing the Bugey nuclear power plant.
For a few kilometers, the route takes me onto a gravel section alongside the road. Despite my delicate road bike tires, I’m relieved to escape the traffic and carefully roll over the uneven surface. It slowly gets light.
Sudden stop. Slightly hidden, I spot a bakery on the other side of the road. Breakfast is long overdue—and more than welcome. I feast my way through the selection in the warm café.
A language mix-up earns me two kinds of coffee: a café au lait and a cappuccino. Don’t ask me the difference—I was just happy to have both. A few other riders trickle in. So: I’m not the last after all.
Eventually, I tear myself away and head back out into the cold. Surprisingly, the wind is still strong—but I can hardly believe it: Today, it’s finally coming from the right direction. Tailwind! That must be why, despite countless climbs, I might still ma ke it on time.I even dare to take off my rain pants.
That experiment doesn’t last long—soon another downpour hits. The weather continues its wild mood swings—this time even including snow showers.
Especially on the higher sections (which are only about 600 m!), the storm blows the flakes across the road.
After the Col de la Croix, it’s a long descent—at least in theory. Because every small incline makes my thighs burn. Such an extreme effort so early in the year—my body is making itself heard.
Again and again, Matthias overtakes me—or I overtake him. Without a word.
At one of my many stops to put on or take off layers or dig through my bags, I briefly wonder whether Matthias thinks I’m constantly waiting for him…
Maybe trying to flirt? 😄
I’m relieved when, at kilometer 550, I can finally turn right.
I can’t imagine having to ride through the Vercors Natural Park as originally planned, with Léoncel above 900 m.
I can see the snow-covered heights in the distance. No thanks. We skip that one big climb, but overall it doesn’t get any easier. Constant ups and downs. Some seriously nasty ramps.
Then suddenly, the track leaves the road and leads onto a hiking path. Oh? I push my bike. There must be a reason. Matthias ahead of me does the same. Push uphill, roll down over rocks, climb over a fallen tree—and I’m back next to the road. Relief! …which lasts exactly two seconds.
The route doesn’t continue on the road. It goes back onto that path.Others are smarter and just stay on the road. Not me. I don’t want to risk disqualification. So back into the bushes—through brambles and raspberry thorns.
That’s just how I am. Like a flag in the wind—I follow instructions to the letter. After another 20% climb, my motivation drops noticeably.
Then Horst and Karl catch up. I latch onto them. Chatting helps surprisingly well against suffering and overthinking. Together we reach the control point at the town hall of La Baume-Cornillane. Suddenly, there’s a whole group of randonneurs. Where did they all come from?
And I finally solve another mystery: “Mairie” = town hall. Learn something new.
I continue with Horst and Karl. A fast descent into Crest. Maybe a bit too fast.
In a sharp right-hand turn, I see Horst slip on the wet road.His rear wheel goes, his unclipped foot tries to save it—in vain. He flips several times and crashes down the embankment. He lands on all fours in the field below. Karl and I help him back up.
Bike: okay.
Horst: surprisingly okay, apart from a scratch.
My knees: shaking.
In Crest, I need a break. Coffee and a pain au chocolat. It’s almost 3 p.m. Two climbs left. Will I make the time limit?
About those last climbs: They alone make all the suffering worthwhile.
I set off. Matthias passes me again—exactly as I’m taking off my rain pants because of a patch of blue sky. The wind pushes me up the Col du Lauzon.
I can’t stop being amazed: towering rock faces, an impressive gorge. The storm catches the water below and hurls it upward.
You can just make out a rainbow—faint but there. At the summit: of course, another snowstorm. So: quickly descend—and rain pants back on.
Down in the valley: the first lavender field, set against dramatic cliffs. We’re in Provence. One last long climb to the Col de la Sausse.
With tailwind, it goes surprisingly well—until the last meters. Then the direction changes. And suddenly, cycling becomes almost impossible.
For a moment, I’m afraid I’ll be blown off my bike.Still, I absolutely want my photo at the pass sign. Getting off the bike is a challenge. Standing on one leg? Difficult. Letting go of the bike? Risky. But it works.
The descent afterward is… memorable. Such strong crosswinds—I rarely experience anything like it. How I made it down is a mix of skill, luck, and probably a guardian angel.
Then, as dusk falls, I roll into Nyons. I can hardly believe it.
What I experienced over these 620 kilometers doesn’t really fit on a single page—let alone in a Word document.
Now comes the pleasant part:
A warm welcome from Margriet and Eric, a relaxed ride to Bédoin with Daniel, a wonderful holiday house with lovely fellow cyclists.
Mont Ventoux: only up to Chalet Reynard because of the storm (yes, I admit it—I’m a bit of a wimp 😄). But in return: a dream descent through the Gorges de la Nesque.And finally, the journey home by train from Avignon. Even the TGV ride with the bike turns into one last little adventure.
It was amazing!!!
Before …
The event takes place in the last week of March. In our part of the world, that’s still more “winter jacket and gloves” than spring vibes. A little over 600 kilometers lead from Freiburg im Breisgau to Nyons – with a time limit of 40 hours. Sounds sporty. Probably is.
Former participants have nothing but praise: stunning landscapes, great organization, lots of cycle paths. I don’t know the region yet, which makes it even more exciting.
My enthusiasm dipped slightly when I started looking more closely at the logistics. First: getting to Freiburg by train. Me + bike + train = mild anxiety. Will the elevator work? Is the bike space really reserved? Will everything fit? An adventure before the actual adventure.
Then come the two brevet days, during which I hopefully reach Nyons in time. The following day, whoever wants can continue to Bédoin on the southern side of the Ventoux – because in March the northern ascent is usually still closed. Small detail: Bédoin was fully booked. A running event is taking place at the same time. Of course.
So I started playing through scenarios: Should I drive to Bédoin a day earlier and leave the car there? Then take the train (another “bike-on-train day”) back to Freiburg for the start? Logistically, it began to resemble a doctoral thesis.
And after storming Ventoux? Back by train. TGV + bike means: bike bag. The steel steed has to travel disguised as regular luggage. So for two days of brevet riding, I need to plan an entire week. Efficiency looks different.
At least the accommodation issue in Bédoin has been solved in a rather charming way. I’ll be sharing an apartment with seven other randonneurs – which might turn out to be almost as memorable as the Ventoux itself.
I even sewed a little “dress” for my racing bike out of parachute silk. Very light, very elegant. I still need to practice packing it, though – at the moment the individual parts wobble around far too much inside the bundle. First I conquer the packing technique, then I conquer the mountain.
By now I was fully excited again: trains booked, accommodation arranged, everything organized.
If I hadn’t read two adventure reports from 2018 over breakfast this morning. Miserable weather. Freezing winds. Dramatic descriptions.
I’ll share the links here – you probably won’t envy me afterwards 😉
But let’s be honest: a bit of drama is part of the charm. Otherwise it would just be cycling.
reports in german …
Mont Ventoux 2018 – Schön wird es erst, wenn alles vorbei ist (Andreas Herrmann) | Das Leben macht keine Geschenke (viavelo)  |