Stage 14 - Another Letdown

I'm in beautiful France on "vacation," doing what I love. Yes, I’ve hit a bump in the road. Yes, this isn’t how I envisioned this epic, and possibly final, attempt at the Tour. But I’ve been pushing on and making the most of it.

This morning, I woke up and my world was spinning. I knew immediately: vertigo. It comes and goes without rhythm or reason, like thunder on a clear day. I’d gone to bed early, drank plenty of water, and had an easy-ish ride yesterday. But I’m still a little sick and very fatigued. It feels like drifting through fog with your eyes open but your mind asleep. Each step lands, but you don’t remember taking it. The world moves around you, but you’re not part of it, more like a shadow cast by someone else.

I got dressed in my cycling kit on autopilot, moving slowly, trying to ignore the voice in my head screaming, “Not now.” I didn’t move my head, only my body, because if I turned too quickly, the room would spin. I told Jen, my roommate, that I thought I had vertigo and hoped it would pass. She just looked at me with quiet sympathy. What could she say?

At breakfast, I ate a lot, preparing for the huge day ahead. Afterward, I dropped off my gear at the vans and checked my bike. I pumped one tire, and that’s when I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I bent over to attach the pump, and when I stood up, the world spun. I was still standing by my bike, trying to center myself, when one of the doctors came over.

“Hey Carmen, how are you feeling this morning?”

I paused too long. I was preparing to lie. I thought if I could just get on my bike, my happy place, everything would be fine. He asked again, more firmly this time, like he could read my mind. I burst into tears. Again.

I told him I had vertigo. Another doctor, Anna, came over. I tried to downplay it: “It’s not that bad. It’ll go away.” But then he asked, “Do I need to make this call?” I nodded. “You’re done — you can't descend with vertigo, and there's a lot of descending today,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. Another missed stage, and not just any stage.

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Stage 14: Pau to Superbagnères — The Queen Stage

Today’s route was one of the most anticipated of the Tour:

• Start: Pau

• Finish: Luchon–Superbagnères

• Distance: 182.6 km (205 km for us LeLoopers)

• Elevation Gain: Nearly 5,000 meters

This was the Queen Stage — a brutal day in the Pyrenees featuring four legendary climbs:

1. Col du Tourmalet (HC) – 19 km at 7.4% - The 89th appearance of this iconic climb.

2. Col d’Aspin (Cat 2) – 5 km at 7.6% - Short but sharp, a quick sting after the Tourmalet descent.

3. Col de Peyresourde (Cat 1) – 7.1 km at 7.8% - A steady grind.

4. Superbagnères (HC) – 12.4 km at 7.3% - The final climb to the ski resort summit, with ramps up to 10% in the last 1.5 km.

It’s the first time the Tour has finished here in 36 years.

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A Change of Plans

Instead of riding, I spent the afternoon in the LeLoop luggage van, heading straight to the hotel — 200 km away. We made one stop at a Decathlon store, where I stocked up on €73 worth of carb bars for the remaining seven stages. I’m still optimistic. What else can I do? I’ll take each day as it comes.

When we arrived, the LeLoop crew unloaded over 100 pieces of luggage into the hotel lobby. My bike came off the truck, and Richard,  a 29-year-old Scottish mechanic (his birthday is tomorrow) immediately noticed it.

He asked to take a photo. My bike is a bright pink Pinarello F12, a commemorative edition gifted to Tao Geoghegan Hart for winning the 2020 Giro d’Italia. Only about 12 more were made, and I have one. 

I bought it used from a Pinarello store owner, he rode it once in Italy, then put it on his showroom floor for two years before selling it to me. It turns heads everywhere. It’s been to France with me three times now, and every time, someone says it’s the “best bike on the Tour.”

One of the riders here is a Pinarello ambassador. In 2022, he lined up a few bikes along a brick wall at a food stop and took a photo. He told me that the image ended up in a few Pinarello ads. I haven’t seen them yet, but I hope he sends them to me.

Richard cleaned my bike like it was brand new, chain, cassette, wheels. Then he stopped. He focused on my rear tire and cringed. “I’m glad you didn’t ride today,” he said. “Especially descending. Your tire was about to blow.” A deep cut in the rubber made it almost inevitable.

Maybe I’m lucky after all.

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Evening Reflections

It’s 5:30 p.m. now. I’m watching the first of the 100 riders pass by our hotel on their way to the final climb. It’s raining. They look exhausted. When they finish, they’ll circle back to the hotel. The first rider should arrive in about two hours, filled with pride after an unforgettable day.

I’m happy for them. And, if I’m honest, a little jealous.

The doctor said the cold, fatigue, and likely dehydration triggered the vertigo. Bad luck — or maybe good after all. Who’s to say?

I got my room key and found out I have the best room in the hotel — a suite with a private elevator. It’s huge. I’m relaxing now. Dinner is soon. And tomorrow, if the stars align, I’ll be riding again.