Today was Stage 7 of the Tour de France, and we rode from Saint-Maloto Mûr-de-Bretagne, covering just over 210 km with relentless hills and a brutal double ascent of the infamous Mûr-de-Bretagne — a 2.2 km wall with gradients pushing 15%. But before I even got on the bike, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to ride at all.
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A Rough Start Before the Start
When I got out of bed this morning, I couldn’t bend my knee. The
day before, while climbing the Côte de
Saint-Michel-de-Montjole, a car passed me too closely on a narrow
turn and then abruptly stopped to turn into a tourist parking lot. I had no
time to unclip and went down hard — knee first.
At the time, I was more worried about my bike. My handlebar stem had twisted, and I couldn’t straighten it. Thankfully, a couple of riders behind me had the tools and the kindness to get me rolling again. But overnight, my knee swelled and stiffened. I couldn’t bend it at all.
Jessica’s first words this morning were, “Motion is
lotion.” She was right. I spent nearly an hour gently coaxing my knee
into movement, slowly regaining mobility. I was still in that fragile window of
recovery — not fully confident in my leg — when we rolled out of the hotel and
into a chaotic village.
Our route took us the wrong way down a one-way street. Cars were
coming straight at us, and there was barely a margin for error between moving
traffic and parked cars. I was so focused on avoiding the oncoming vehicles
that I clipped a curb and went down again — this time on my right side. I
hadn’t even fully warmed up, and now I was on the ground for the second time in
24 hours. Thankfully, no serious damage — just more bruises, more adrenaline,
and a growing sense that today was going to be a battle.
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The Body Keeps the Score
Once we escaped the chaos, I settled into the ride and chatted
with a few cyclists. Everyone I spoke with was either a general
physician or a surgeon — not a bad group to have around when you’re riding wounded.
Bug bites from open hotel windows
A persistent heat rash
Mystery bruises all over my legs
Cyclist tan lines that are becoming
permanent
Bags under my eyes from fatigue
By food stop 4 at 127 km, I was exhausted. There were
still 40 km to go, and all the hardest climbing was ahead. I read the food stop
board and saw an option to cut the ride short. My cough was worsening, and I
was genuinely concerned. I told myself I’d see how I felt at the shortcut sign.
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Another Fall, Another Test
Jessica and I descended a steep hill and had to make a sharp turn
into rush hour traffic. The pros will have this road closed, but we had to stop
and wait for a break in the cars. When I saw an opening, I pushed off — but I
was in a hard gear and hadn’t clipped in yet. My foot slipped, and I went down
again. This time, in a live traffic lane.
I panicked, scrambled up, and moved off the road. My butt broke
the fall. Twice in one day. I was rattled.
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The Wall That Waited
I was more convinced than ever to take the shortcut, ending the
ride 19 km short of the full route. My mood was dark, distracted, and
disappointed. But we kept climbing. At the end of the shortcut route, we found
ourselves at the base of Mûr-de-Bretagne Guerlédan —
a 2.2 km climb with long stretches over 10–15%. It looked ominous.
I looked at Jessica and burst out laughing. “How the hell is this
the easy route?” We were at 197 km, and this wall stood in front of us.
We climbed it. Slowly. Painfully. But we made it to the top.
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The Decision Point
At the summit, we had a choice:
Turn back and descend to pizza...
...or continue into the valley, descend a stunning tree-lined road, and
climb back up the same wall again — just like the pros.
I told myself I’d just enjoy the descent and skip the final climb.
But when I reached the bottom and looked up at the wall again, it didn’t seem
as bad. I yelled to Jessica, “I’m going for it! Want to come?” She waved me
off.
I felt bad abandoning our plan. But plans change. Focus shifts in
a split second, apparently.
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The Final Push
I started the climb again. I stared at my Garmin and kept my watts
under 165. It was slow, but manageable. I reached the top — again — and felt elated. I
didn’t listen to the voice in my head telling me to quit. I’m getting better at
that. Our bodies can do so much more than we think they can.
I turned around, descended the hill I’d now climbed twice, and
went for pizza.
⸻
The Bird Room
We took an hour-long bus ride to our hotel. When we arrived, we
were given a pretty big room — a luxury after a week of tiny
one-star motels. Except… a bird had clearly been in the room. There was poop on
the bed, in the bathroom, and on the towels.
I was too exhausted to care. I didn’t call management. I wiped up
what I saw, showered, cleaned my cycling clothes, hung them to dry, and flopped
into bed.
I went to sleep still hungry. My last thought before drifting off:
I’m going to have to find a way to eat more.
Notes on the Stage 7 ride: The Final 19 Kilometers
The last 19 km of the stage formed a loop around the town of Mûr-de-Bretagne, and it was anything but easy. First, we tackled the Côte du village de Mûr-de-Bretagne — a 1.6 km climb at 4.1% — which served as a warm-up for the main event.
Then came the first ascent of the Mûr-de-Bretagne Guerlédan:
• 2.2 km long
• Average gradient: 6.9%
• First kilometer: nearly 10%
• Max gradient: 15% in places
After cresting the summit, the route plunged into a valley lined with trees, winding through the picturesque countryside near Guerlédan Lake, one of Brittany’s largest reservoirs. The descent was fast, shaded, and stunning — a rare moment of flow and beauty in a day full of grind.
xx
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