The Megavalanche story started when I was working for the bike shop a few years ago and one of the guys there decided to do it. I remember the comments when he came back about the madness of it all, with snow, hundreds of guys all together and terrain from massive boulder fields to flowing forest singletrack all in one race. That set the seed in my head.
This year I was on the phone to a good friend from university, Nick, who mentioned it. Of course the conversation escalated to the point where Nick was on the website, gesticulating his credit card at the screen whilst negotiating the plethora of lift pass options and dates in the Frenglish that resulted when clicking on the Union Jack at the top of the page. So we had entered and I was fairly blasé about taking my bike at first, but a couple of weeks after the entry was placed Nick turned up at my flat with a 7" Commencial freeride bike with downhill wheels and suspension upgrades. I think it was the sight of his bike and the building excitement of the looming date that had me looking on Ebay for a full suspension bike. I was after an Orange Patriot 6" freeride bike because I had owned one a few years ago, but Ebay fever gripped me and I ended up buying a peach of an Orange 223 9" world cup level downhill sled. I thought I has gone a bit over the top following conversations online with Megavalanche vets online, due to the lack of gearing for the climbs.
Fast forward a month or so and Nick is picking me up at Grenoble airport following his drive up from my our friend's party at my ex-girlfriend's castle in the south of France. Within 5 minutes we are in a bike shop looking for the perfect setup, the owner nods knowingly 'you're here for the Mega?' he says through a wry smile. I'm sure he sees a few nervous foreigners.
After a relaxed bite in a Cafe and a look at a supercool graffiti clothes shop, with which Nick was (rightfully) very excited, we were encountering a few of the Tour de France fans who take it upon themselves to ride up to Alpe D'Huez. Being from such a mountainous area, I'm sure you would be immune to the scale of these climbs but I was damn glad that I was feeling the thrust of Nick's V6 Audi rather than the burn of those riders' legs. That is one BIG mountain. Maybe the Tour fans want to take a slow, long look at all the encouragement daubed all over the tarmac on the road up that relaxing ride. The numerous switchbacks lead to Alpe D'Huez village and our little rented apartment overlooking the most precarious runway I have ever seen.
A nervously excited night of bike fettling was followed by the genuine nervousness of suiting up for the first runs in the morning, punctuated by amusing the attempts of a learner pilot on the runway. The novelty of wearing full body armour wore off on the push up to the main lift at the top of the town where registration was being held. The organiser is, very refreshingly, a really hot french chick who's dad started the event nearly a decade ago. She took it upon herself to invite some of her similarly hot friends to sign in all the sweaty mountainbikers. You know it is serious when they ask you for your international race licence and medical airlift insurance but we were soon grinning like Bill and Ted when were were asked our jersey size. Our keenness to enter had paid off in the form of a Megavalanche race jersey, given to the first 400 competitors to enter. The figure 'first 400' gives you an idea of the scale of the race, in 2006 there were around 1300 riders entered. To make sure the best riders get a chance to make it down the mountain in the best position possible there is a qualifying race on the Saturday where around 300 riders are set off at 20 minute intervals. Before that, however, is practice where the fun began.
First run down was a pathfinding shakedown of loose fireroads and fast blasts past lift stations. My bike had dust on the tyres and I was ready for the couple of minute long mini bikepark run, which we blasted a few times before having a first go at the middle part of the 45 minute qualifying course. Exiting the lift station at 2700 meters we left a gap then followed in the dust of a group of riders. The trail was loose, technical, sharp and rocky and after a couple of steep turns on head sized rolling rocks we passed a photographer in a chute of switchbacks. That is the point where I first felt something wrong; my brake levers felt a fraction high and before there was time to stop I yelped that 'oh my god something is wrong' yelp and I was flying bikeless at head height. At first I thought the main problem was my face but my helmet had saved that. It was when I moved my off my chest I felt the searing pain in my left hand that had me lying in the alpine grass for quite a while. Having not been an experienced bike-falloffer I needed at least the time it took Nick to go down to the lift station, back up then back down to my position until I was prepared to move. On that ride back down some of the more extreme singletrack of the course I was passed by Elite mountain bike family Atherton, two brothers and thier sister, the downhill darlings of the UK scene. When I say 'ride back down' I'm sure a six year old could have passed me on a Barbie bike; every pebble felt like someone was cranking up the vice my hand was in. On reaching the fireroad, after taking a shortcut, I saw Nick standing with the Athertons. Kindly Nick very publicly enquired about the pain, which hopefully explained my rookie pace to the brits.
The doctor near our apartment was fully equipped for broken bones and was quick to diagnose mine. He confirmed that I had crushed the knuckle on my left hand and that the comic 'inflated rubber glove' look was normal. I have never felt such elation like when he said it was okay to ride. He said it would hurt like hell, but wouldn't do any permanent damage. In retrospect I think he was just ensuring future business. I left with a club for a hand, covered in bandage, which made taking a leak really hard (try it with one hand you'll see what I mean).
The next day found Nick and I on the undulating route to the top of the qualifying course; a ride up a ridge then down to a big lift with a massive que. It took a good hour and a half to get to the start which we timed pretty well as our 'wave' was being assembled when we got there. No sooner had the instructions been given than the manic start music was playing, the tapes rose and we were off down the most manic experiences of my life. At the start I hung back, fearing I couldn't hold onto my bike, then cocktail of drugs had played havoc with my head. So much so that I was growling through the pain of every bash and yelling ALLEZ! to anyone in front of me. Rocks, sweet singletrack, oxygen-less climbs and the most intense roller-coaster switchbacks you can imagine preceded the forest trails where I felt most at home. Maybe that is why I smashed my shoulder into the ground so hard that it pulled the bony anchor of my tendons out of my humorous. It was a really easy bit of trail and I must have lost it for a microsecond. I managed to recover my bike from the loamy leaf covered soil and finished qualifying but was unable to make the spectacular main event the next day.
Nick finished very respectably (considering that we were not in the first few rows of qualifying) whilst I was being bought lunch by bike Journo friends in a cafe. No doubt due to those guys the '07 brit entry will increase and so will, no doubt, the quaffers of the Alpe D'Huez quacks.
Enough of that, my next goal is to ride my bike in a weeks time following my osteopath appointment.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/flamejob/sets/72157594219780659/
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8859360759367731054&q=megavalanche