We have a running joke in our household concerning rock formations, and how interesting they are to adults, and how massively boring they are for children.

So whenever I’m riding along somewhere new, or different from where I normally ride, and I see some incredible glacial striation, or sedimentary rock layers, I have to think twice before expressing my wonder.

Thankfully most people I’m riding with are older than my children and either join in with my wonder, or at least don’t flat out tell me that I’m a boring old man.

I’ve got no idea where we are!

Me neither, but I think we’re on the right track

Do you think we’re lost?

Sometime the best rides have a moment where they feel like the worst rides.

And getting lost can often be one of those moments.

I’m now 52.

Back in July I was 89.

At my lowest this year I was 26.

If I don’t do anything else by mid-November, I’ll be 37.

Any guesses what I’m talking about?

This is totally crazy …

It was on the third climb of Mont Ventoux that I really started to understand the naming of the club I was trying to join. We were on the ‘easiest’ route up the Giant of Provence from Sault. It was by now approaching the 9th hour since we left Malaucene early that morning. It being June it was also approaching 35 deg Celsius and we’d already ridden 115km and climbed 3,500m.

“Scheisse!”

Another rider goes down right in front of me.

“Alles OK?”

“Ja Ja. Alles Gut. Ein bisschen rutschig”

“Ein bisschen rutschig” is understating the conditions somewhat, especially when you’ve still got your summer gravel tyres on your bike. That was mistake number one.

I recently joined my friend Jim on the last leg of his 3 day trip from across Switzerland. He was riding from the North-East (near to Saint Gallen) right down to the South-West (Geneva).

During his 195km final leg from Solothurn to Geneva we got to talking about loops vs out and back rides vs point to point rides.

I’ve personally always been in favour of doing a loop versus an out and back.  We’re lucky where we live that there are so many different roads we can ride and can easily make a loop, whether we’re riding 20km or 200km.

However I have riding buddies that love the consistency and predictability of doing the same rides, often out and back routes to favourite climbs nearby.

Just one pedal stroke after the other

Don’t look up the road

Keep going you’ll get there

Don’t worry about those people going past you

You got this!

I’m not sure how many times these different thoughts passed through my head duing the hour long ascent of the Passo Giau on the Maratona dles Dolomites sportive in July 2019.

I’d heard stories about how hard the Giau was, but I’d rationalised that I’d done hard climbs before.

Col de la Madeleine; Col de la Colombiere; Col du Galibier were all under my belt.

But the Giau – wow.

“I can’t see a thing” complains my daughter.

“I can just about see their knees going up and down” I reply.

“That guy doesn’t need to have his umbrella so high up, he’s covered by his two friends’ umbrellas – and it isn’t even raining anymore anyway” adds my son.

“Right, I’m off to tell him to lower his umbrella so we can all see the screen”

To embarrassed groans from my two children I walk a few paces forward and politely tell the Belgian gentleman and his friends that their umbrellas are a) blocking everyone’s view of the screen, and b) not even needed as the rain stopped about 5 minutes before.

“This will make a lovely musette”

Jagoda laughs and turns back to the task in hand, helping Rich to try to somehow fix his tubeless tyre.

I put the ‘80s style leatherette purse back where I found it, hanging on the PET recycling bin, and sit back down on the floor next to Loic.  I stare at my dusty shoes.

“Anyone got a boot?” asks Rich.

I’m originally from the north-west of England. It rains there. A lot.

I played sport in all weathers as a kid, normally on very muddy fields.

And I continued this into adulthood, playing rugby, running, mountain biking no matter what the weather.

But road cycling in the rain can be a tough ask. Case in point was this year’s Maratona dles Dolomites sportive, when the rain really came down after the first couple of hours.

Why Borne Cycling? For those of you who don’t speak French, you might think I’m pretty awful at spelling.

But there’s a reason for that “e”. A borne is the French term for a distance marker. A milestone in English.

And these distance markers are everywhere in the alps. Especially when you’re climbing a mountain road.

“There they go again, leaving me behind. Don’t they realise how hard this is for me?”

Geneva is a hilly place.

Pretty mountainous in fact in pretty much any direction outside the city.

So almost all the rides we do as a group involve some sort of climbing. And with climbing comes the knowledge that I will be dropped.

 A lot.

What do you think of when you think of Geneva?

I asked a few friends who don’t live here, and these are a few of the (less than positive) answers I got:

 ·      Secretive bankers

·      Expensive watches

·      Fancy cars

·      Terrible traffic

·      Reserved residents

·      Gray and cold winters

·      Crazy expensive to visit

·      Just a place to pass through on the way to the alps

·      Nothing to do

Now I think pretty much any cyclist who lives here will take issue with some of those. Particularly the last one.

Well, can you? Grab a pen and a plain piece of paper and try.

Below you can see my recent effort from earlier in the summer.

What do you mean it doesn’t look that impressive?

That line truly is a perfect circle – you just have to look at it from another angle.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

My first real experience riding big mountains was on a trip to Bourg d’Oisans back in 2007. Me and a couple of friends drove down there, with tales of 20km climbs and Alpe d’Huez fueling our excitement.

I can assure you that out of the three of us, two weren’t anywhere near fit enough, nor did we have anything like the right gearing for the Telegraph, Galibier and Alpe d’Huez. But what it did give me was an unquenchable thirst to see the world’s mountains from a bike

“Hi! I’ve got a puncture, can you come pick me up asI can’t feel my fingers and I’m not sure I’ll be able to change this tyre?”

Silence on the other end of the phone …

then

“Erm, we’re kind of busy as we’ve got some riders up here shaking involuntarily, and then there’s another group in the café on the top of the Lauteret who need some warm clothes as well, so it might take a while to get to you”

Oh

Shit