For the last three seasons I’ve been fortunate enough to work with Markus Neuert from Cyclefilm in the quest to cover some of the most challenging and rewarding cyclosportive courses in Europe. Our first mission, back in '06, was the Road to Loudenville, an insanely hard 200km, 5 climb, Pyrenean monster that the ASO thought would make a good L’Etape du Tour stage. On that trip we ended up a man down even before we’d boarded the plane. It's a long story, but let’s just say even in jest it's best not to joke about bombs in bags during check in at the airport. How Markus managed to drive a car for over 200km with his arm out the window filming I’ll never know. Needless to say, from that point on, I knew there would never be a dull moment during a Cyclefilm recce and to this day I was right. Fast and furious is a term that’s well and truly embedded in Cyclefilm’s DNA. Only when the director says “it’s a wrap” can you finally relax. But how do you get to that point? Here’s how…

October 22nd '08 and finally the day has come that the official route of the Tour de France is announced, and in turn the route for L’Etape du Tour. Rumours had been circulating that the stage would be around 120km finishing at the top of the mighty and much feared Mont Ventoux. Fast and furious DNA kicks in and we decide to take the risk and book flights and hotels in advance of the announcement so we can potentially be out on the road as soon as we know the route. It’s a gamble, but one that added another element of excitement to an already jam-packed two days. The team consisted of Markus, Rory Hitchens (enlisted as photographer and ride support) and myself. A close knit SAS style reconnaissance conquering trio, poised and ready for anything.

Confirmation came through as we landed at Lyon airport that the stage was going to be 172km from Montelimar to Mont Ventoux covering four climbs before the final ascent of the day. Relief took hold as I waited for my baggage, at least we were in the right region of France! On departure the icy wind was a not so welcome surprise. It was already late and a two hour drive to Montelimar lay ahead. The journey provided a good opportunity to talk about the plan for the next couple of days. It’s always good to have some sort of plan, even if it’s rarely adhered to. A plan makes you feel (semi) confident that things are going to work out. Everything always runs like clockwork in the movies right?........right?

The conversation petered out which signaled blood sugar levels were getting low and it was time to try and get something for dinner. Something good and filling was the only prerequisite. Waiting until we got to Montelimar wasn’t an option if we had hopes of finding a restaurant still open. Finally we came across an open service station, all eager to see what’s on the menu. A handful of glazed and plastic looking baguettes were ckeekily winking at us from under the halogen lights. Any thoughts of choice went out the window, it was the end of the day so whatever was left over would have to do. So what’s it to be then boys? “Bonsoir, peut je vous aident?” said the lady behind the counter. “Erm, I’ll have that one, no, actually the one behind, yep that one will do". The one that the posse of flies haven’t been all over, well not since I’d been looking anyway. Bon appétit! Needless to say, dinner wasn’t something to cherish and we were back on the road within a handful of bite, chew, add some drink, chew, hold nose and swallow mouthfuls.

On arrival at the Hotel du Parc, in Montelimar, it was evident that parking was going to be a challenge, especially for our mini bus. Dragging my kit bag and bike box into reception I actually only made it as far as the dining room before admitting defeat that I was never going to get everything up two flights of stairs. We downed bags and promptly turned the lower part of the hotel in to an impromptu bike building area. The owner of the hotel was really accommodating, it was as if this was a regular occurrence for him. Whilst I got my bike together we spoke about the proceeding days, the schedule and what we needed to nail to make the recce a success. The stairs up to the room seemed more difficult than they should have done. I got my kit ready and then started to map the route out ready to load onto my Garmin 705. I knew it would take a while but would be invaluable when on the ride the next day. “Hey Markus, what time did you say we need to be up?” I asked. “6.30am” came the reply. Four hours of sleep would have to do. Finally my head hit the pillow. Rory had passed out a little earlier, suffering from a bad cold and knowing that we had a long day ahead.

Breakfast came all too quick. I felt drunk with tiredness. We set-up everything in the dining room ready to do the introduction to the route. Considering my brain was barely functioning from lack of sleep and glucose it went surprisingly well with just a handful of comedy moments that I’m sure will come back to haunt me on the infamous Cyclefilm out-takes. We decided to do a cultural tour of Montelimar to check out what was available in the way of shops, restaurants and hotels and what a L’Etape rider could expect come race day. Since the city is the nougat capital of the world we also sweet talked (or maybe sweet toothed) our way into having a tour of a local nougat manufacturing facility. A good start to the day although we needed to be away and riding by 10.30am, it was now 12.30pm, so we had some catching up to do, a familiar feeling.

Out on the road and I started to feel more relaxed. All I needed to concentrate on now was riding my bike. The roads were immediately tranquil and I could drift away in my own little world as the kilometers buzzed by. With Markus and Rory in close proximity to capture road conditions and route comments at every step of the way, this is what the heart of a recce is all about, Cyclefilm style.

With the hours ticking away like a time bomb, we needed to cover 110km and the first three mountains (Cote de Citelle, Col d’ Ey and Col de Fontaube) of the route to stand any chance of being able to conquer the Col de Notre Dame and finally the mighty Mt Ventoux the following morning. The pressure was on, but motivation was high as we were blessed with the last few hours of golden sunshine before watching the sun finally dip behind Ventoux itself, knowing that tomorrow we’d be there.

Now, in an ideal world we’d have been staying in Sault where we’d finished day one, but not knowing the route until that morning means that you can only plan so much. This meant that we were on for a two hour drive back to Montelimar, a late dinner and van pack before another early start the following morning, and drive back to Sault to start day two. Fast and furious all the way, the adrenalin comes from the pressure that things may not turn out as planned and we may not be able to cover the full route which would be no less than a disaster. It’s always in the back of your mind, like during the ’08 recce when the Tourmalet was closed due to snowfall, you can never predict the unpredictable.

The weather had closed in overnight and was looking far less inspiring, rain on the Notre Dames and a cold descent wasn’t what I was hoping for, and known as the ‘windy’ mountain we could be on for a beasting on the slopes of Mt Ventoux. On this occasion luck was on our side, although the sun was trapped way above the thick low level cloud, temperatures were respectable and the wind had yet to blow, like the following week when temperatures plummeted with a wind chill of minus 17 degrees centigrade. To make the evening flight from Lyon we needed to have Mt Ventoux in the bag with bike and kit packed and back on the road by 2.30pm. Later than this and we’d struggle. As I said at the start, it’s only a wrap when Markus gives the nod and by the 1,912m summit of Ventoux it was gone 3.30pm. Once again we were up against the one thing you never have control of...time. Having put the hard work in to reach the top of Ventoux I then turned my attention to letting gravity takes its course with a “Bike Vs Mini Van” race to Bedoin. Note to editor, bike won.

Fingers crossed that the traffic would be kind on the way to the airport, heart now beating at the thought of missing the flight. On arrival at Lyon it was all sighs and smiles as it looked like the mission had been accomplished, that’s until Rory’s passport went missing. Pulling everything out of his kit bag led to nothing, as did the phone call to the hotel. 48 hours at full gas and surely we wouldn’t be upended now, would we?

For the final result of the Road to Mt Ventoux recce, out-takes 'n’ all visit Cyclefilm now.