Preamble

Friday
After dropping the children with my parents, we headed south from Cheshire, 250 miles to Ashford in Kent. When we drove down last year, we were so tired en route that we had to sleep in the car for a few hours in a dodgy car park. Wanting to avoid that this time around, I booked us into the Holiday Inn in Ashford, who were offering a Eurostar package - B&B, free parking & taxi to and from the Airport for £90. This worked really well for us - recommended!

Saturday morning and we were up around 6am. We squeezed ourselves, luggage and two enormous hard shell bike boxes into a taxi and away we went to the train station. I had been a little apprehensive about getting the bike boxes onto the train as the wording on the Eurostar website seemed to contradict what I had been told on the telephone: namely that bikes in bags were fine on the train. Although the lady did say, "I wish "they" wouldn't tell customers that", she allowed us through and we joined many others with equally large bags. At customs we were asked to open the boxes up - worst nightmare - until they noticed the cable ties which sealed them shut, then they let us off. The boxes attracted quite a bit of attention - they say, "BIKE BOX ALAN" on the side but many were asking what was in them :-)

As I walked down the train, I noticed James Cracknell tucking into breakfast, licking the lid of a yoghurt pot. With his blond curls and huge shoulders, he stands out from the crowd. I knew that he was doing the Etape so tapped him on his massive muscular arm and said a quick hello. He must have thought I was a right doughnut - he is very handsome and I got a bit flustered.
Travelling by train was a fantastically relaxing way to get to Avignon - we just sat back, read our books and watched the beautiful French countryside flying by.
All this time, I had a feeling of unreality. I couldn't quite believe that it was all happening; that after all those months of planning & training and waiting, I was finally travelling to actually have a crack at L'etape du tour.

Car hire was a disaster. We arrived in Avignon Central and needed to collect the car from Avignon TGV. No problem, I got the bus, leaving Colin to mind the bulky luggage. After a short trip and a long queue, I was told that I couldn't take the car without a credit card - I have a debit card. I offered to surrender my passport, to leave a cash deposit, called Colin so he could give his credit card details over the telephone, but it was no good. A lovely couple standing next to me overhead the exchange and very generously offered to take me back to the station to Colin. To the Greens of London - thank you for your kindness. Three hours later, we were finally in the car and on our way to Montelimar.

As we left Avignon, I caught my first sight of Ventoux. I wasn't expecting to see it so at first, I wasn't sure if it actually was Ventoux, but with it's white peak, the faint outline of the communication tower and it's complete domination over the landscape, we were both convinced that it could only be Ventoux. Profuse swearing gave way to nervous and silent contemplation of the task before me - just how the hell was I going to get up there?

The next issue came with our accommodation. I booked a studio on a campsite and fully expected it to be basic - bed and bathroom was all I hoped for. In fact, it had all that plus a kitchen and a surround shower. Unfortunately, the room must have been closed for weeks and the smell was terrible. As the owner showed us in, it hit us like a wall. We cracked the windows to try to freshen it up while we went to the start village to pick up our numbers & grab a bite to eat, but when we returned, it was just as bad. I lay in bed crying, my senses attacked with each breath. In the end, I generously applied my lavender night time balm directly to my nose and was able to block out the stink and eventually I nodded off.