L’Etape du tour 2019
I took off to the Alpes with the plan of collecting CANYON//SRAM hitters Alexis Ryan and Alice Barnes in Lyon, fresh from La Course, transporting them to Albertville and riding the queen stage of the Tour de France on little to no training. How bad could it be?
Etape 0 Lara 0
A goodluck kiss at drop off (unless you’re solo in an Uber) are all you can ask for with an early flight. I bowl through Gatwick customs with military efficiency, must be the 11th flight this year. I make it from goodbyes to gate in less than 20 minutes, or I would have if EasyJet wasn’t delayed. Text from JM - turns out he was only in it for the delights of the Golden Arches drive through breakfast bagel. Fair enough.
Etape 0 Lara 1
*Insert your chosen British holidaymaker cliche here* Gatwick has them all. Middle seat. The window is snoring peacefully before we get above the clouds, the aisle is perusing Peloton magazine “Bernal est mon favouri”. Disagree - today is all about the women at La Course. We’re an hour late landing but even with the hour lost it’s makes no difference to me; my package of fellow Etape-rs doesn’t arrive until 18:00.
Etape 0 Lara 2
Nous sommes arrivés... 28 Degrees. Ou est le voiture chercher? Twitter tells me Alexis is in the break! Meanwhile, I’m acclimatising to humping around in the heat by walking 2k to find Sixt. This doesn’t bode well, I’m in a field alongside a main road. ‘Rapha gives me the chance to go off the beaten path, cross is boss, etc’ Like a mirage the orange Sixt banner appears in the distance... on the opposite side of a dual carriageway, ah. This car better have aircon. There’s nothing bigger than a Volvo. This could be a problem, but I can’t do anything about it until the crew arrive. To Lyon.

Lyon is a time killing non-event. I do get a new outfit from Zara and benefit from their lazy pricing strategy of changing the pound sign to euros. WINNING.
Etape 1 Lara 3
Probably time to go back to the airport. I spend 45 minutes perusing other boot options at Sixt. The sales guy questions me a couple of times about my oversize storage obsession and the fact I’m dropping the car back in Geneva, Switzerland, a decision I’ll later come to regret. He definately doesn't believe i'm transporting bikes. I settle, for the sake of cycling sponsor correctness, on a Skoda. By no means is this an indication that your Wiggins adverts are working, Skoda. Despite all the deliberating, there’s no fucking way we’re getting 4 girls, 1 guy, 2 bikes and 5 bags in here.

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Sure enough the crew arrives all smiles and anticipation and we quickly fail at Skoda luggage Tetris. Also, I’ve lost the airport car park ticket while buying everyone food for the journey. We go back to Sixt and add a fiat 500 to the booking. My Amex bill is going to be gross. Crisis averted and road trip on. It’s all to play for as we head for the mountains.
Etape 3 Lara 3
The only time I’ll ever say I love British road tax is when navigating toll gates in Europe; tickets, change, receipts... HOW MUCH?! Ed, Hannah and Alexis in the cardboard Fiat have dropped Alice and I out of every gate so far. But we’re competitive and we’ve learned from our mistakes. We screech to a hault, Driver’s window already open and contactless the shit out of the machine. Flick the receipt, I’ll take this one for the glory. YES, WINNERS. Wait, what!? He’s done it again. If he rides like he toll gates Ed is going to win this sportive. Hold on, Alice points out the fiat we’ve been sitting behind for 10k isn’t Ed at all.... we’ve been racing the wrong Fiat 500 and we’ve no idea where they’ve gone. We needn’t have worried as 40 minutes later, the crew pull into a packed hotel car park 5 minutes behind us. Ed is dallying about where to leave the car, when someone vacates a space. Lady Luck is on our side. Unfortunately fortune does not favour the slow moving and as Ed is manoeuvring into position a battered Peugeot loaded with teenagers gassed into his spot. Without a single désolé, they saunter off as we stand agape. I’m going to bed.
Etape 4 Lara 3
We’ve an early start for the girls to lead the Women’s warm up ride, so we drive down to the event village from the hotel and decide to build/ pick up borrowed bikes there. Turns out having a personal mechanic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; Alice’s bike is missing a battery from the Sram Etap, and even the double British champ isn’t going to be big-ringing around the Alpes. Also, she’s left her shoes at the hotel. I begrudgingly hand over my Canyon, do the round trip to collect shoes and head to the Rapha pop up to wait for their return. All the Rapha crew are awesome and a combination of their excitement for the weekend and Didi the devil immediately turns my frown upside down. I spend the morning playing bouncer into the RCC members only area, throwback to University days man marking the VIP of Qbar Reading (if you know you know).


(Chamois time is training time?)
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The rest of the day is spent in angst. If we cant find a power solution for Alice’s bike, I won’t be riding tomorrow, which I privately think might be a nice excuse not to suffer in 36 degrees for 8 hours. I remember the 2017 Etape with KPP. I’d done way more training that year and it was still a killer day out. I pore over the route maps.


Theres a 20k category 1 climb in the first half and the final 35k is an HC Climb to the finish in Val Thorens (at 2300m+ above sea level). “Sometimes you don’t need a plan, you just need big balls.”
The RCC members area is a haven of shade, free coffee and massages in the hot sticky mess of discounted comedy cycling socks and free manhandled nutrition samples. It’s also the centre of shmooze city. Amongst journalists, a loudly dressed pro rider and the man in charge of not supporting women’s cycling at the ASO, I sneak off with the Alice and Alexis to do a lap. Alice manages to use her pro fame to sweet talk the team at Trek into lending her batteries and suddenly tomorrow is back on and I’m buying comedy cycling socks and mainlining sticky nutrition samples.

(Name that sartorially challenged pro)
Etape 7 Lara 5
In memory of the carnage of the 2017 edition feed stops (think Saving Private Ryan in a post-Lycra apocalypse) we hit Lidl for breakfast and ride snack supplies. I take the Canyon for a little spin and realise the brakes are in Euro formatting; hope I remember that when I’m trying to make up time on the switchback-smattered descents tomorrow. Jess, who’s joined our party at ‘Hotel Hotter-than-the-sun’, has organised the second shmooze o’clock of the day; we’ve got dinner with some journos. Points to us though - it’s on the ASO and we’re carb loading, Alice has called creme brûlées before we even have our starters. In a sliding doors moment it turns out one of the gents at dinner followed me off the flight at Lyon, spotting my giant tortoise shell of a Rapha backpack. Wisely he thought better of following me into the undergrowth and instead got the train to Albertville. Alice gives the creme brûlée 5/10, good crack but consistency leaves something to be desired. We’re back at the hotel by 9.40 and food prepping on a bedroom floor.


Etape 7 Lara 7
6am alarm goes off what feels like 5 minutes after I set it and I’m already sweating from the heat. We leave the hotel room key at reception and roll down to the start, Jess is doing Instagram takeovers for Rapha and I sneak off to sit on the floor of my pen to contemplate my fate. WhatsApp morale courtesy of JM. Grateful as aside from 4 gels, 4 Clif bars and 2 mini brioche, morale is pretty much all I’ve got to get round on.
Km 0
Flight of the Valkyries is not the hype music for the start line, ASO. Trains of overzealous lads who clearly believe the event “it’s YOUR Tour de France” hype are smashing through and off along the 20k out of town. I do my best to hop on a train without getting carried away but before I know it, we’re going uphill and the pace slides into single digits. Hello baby gear, we’re going to be best friends.
Km 28
“Is that LARA KAZAKOS?!” Alexis’ American energy brings the biggest smile to my face. They’ve caught me on the first climb from a half an hour handicap. It’s great to spin along with them for 5k giving Alice shit for breaking out the British champs kit, before they’re off up the road. This is looong, but the views of cyclists winding up around the lake and Rapha chalk markings on the road, (kudos to the team for the 4am artwork) bring another grin. It’s not too hot and all the climbing has been in the shade so far. Dreamy.


Km 35
67kph. Now we’re talking. These descents are fucking awesome, and disc brakes are a revelation. I take the racing line down the mountain with a little giggle of excitement, passing a couple of RCC guys that dropped me on the way up. One near miss where I lock my brakes up haring through a turn, ahead of me a guy comes in too hot and promptly does a ‘you’ve been framed’ stunt over the barrier into the trees. £150 if he makes it out alive... I look back and he’s crawling up the bank. He’s in the money, I temper my speed none the less.
Km 65
Half way! That flew. Stop at a little village fountain to refill bottles and the locals have left coke cans floating in the water - incroyable. I spot Juliet Elliott filling bottles and say hi, it’s been a really social day so far and I’ve chatted to a few fellow RCC too everyone is easy to spot in the special edition kit- morale is high. I clean my face in the cold water and soak the back of my jersey, its about to get fucking hot in the valley.
Scores at half time - Etape 8 Lara 10
Km 80
On any given Sunday, a Frenchman gratuitously spraying a British cyclist in the face with a garden hose would be Daily Mail comments fodder for the state of Brexit nationalism; but today, it’s practically a peace offering and I lap it up. This cat 2 climb is only 8k but my back is beginning to hurt and the nausea has returned. I chew down some of the emergency purchases from yesterday and some water and soldier on. The last descent holds less joy than the first, like Sunday night blues, I know what’s coming.
Km 100

This is it, from here it’s a 35k climb to the finish. I’m pretty fucked, I’ve already been riding 5.5 hours and half the climbing is still to come. Im wavering. I grab a bottle of water and some bananas and go sit in the shade to have a chat with myself. At my current pace, with the fatigue and the temperature now at 38, I estimate the final climb is going to take 3hours, minimum. It’s at this point right on the cusp of fear that the real test happens. Rule no1 is no one cares as much as you, but if you care, dare greatly. I recount a favourite quote;
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
I get to my feet and roll my bike to the exit. A woman volunteer is standing next to me as I clip in. She claps her hands “Allez Madame, pour les filles” my eyes fill with tears behind my sunglasses, but i'm too dehydrated to waste water, deep breath in, lets go.
Km 110
I’ve never ridden this slow in my life. My usual strategy to suffering is to attack it and get it done, but that’s not an option here. Mind you, I’m not stopping and grass banks on the side of the road are littered with the bodies of those who thought themselves pros on the first climb, trying to cool down from the heat. Caffeine gel, this stuff is like NOS. My body goes slightly numb to the effort and I trudge the next 7k to the final feed.
(Paul Bettany in A Knights Tale- niche.)
Km 117
Final feedstop. My back is killing me and my stomach is churning from the sugar and water. Still I’m going to need to eat. I timidly ask for coke and take two bananas, eating one and a half as I stretch a little and nervously approach the portaloos. Have I mentioned that it’s fucking hot?! There’s a tent full of people being attended to by the medics and overhead a medical helicopter loudly chops the air, nosediving down the mountain. An hour and a half Lara, that’s it and you’re home. I clip in, but there’s something wrong with my cleat and two meters out of the feed I fumble and promptly stack it. For some reason I laugh, and three kind men help me to my feet and one checks my bike. (I’m a feminist but when I completely stack it and have a mechanical, I sit on the floor and look for male assistance)
Km 125
10k to go. The longest of my life. I can’t remember anything but the view of the buildings of Val Thorens hotels appearing in the distance. Riders who had finished fly past in the opposite direction like F1 cars, the humm of deep rims sings jealousy to my mind.
Km 130
It’s Alexis’ screams of encouragement that lift my head up from my bars. She’s with Alice and they’re descending the 60k back to the hotel, because “A loop looks better than a point to point on strava” -sure. Everything hurts, I’ve got pins and needles in my hand. I pull over and clamber into a snow run off to fill a bottle. I can see the road snake up above me, at least three more switchbacks. My phone vibrates in my pocket “Keep going, you’re doing so great” “We’ve got cold coke in 5k” “Stay strong you epic epic human” My heart. I get going and get out of the saddle to speed up. I’m going to make it.
Km 133
Downhill - oh my god the joy.
Km 134
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS HELL. The last 1 km kicks up-to 10% with two switchbacks. I grind up it out of the saddle, people line the funnel, their cheers are deafening “Courage!”
Km 135The tears, I roll to a standstill barely over the line. Ten hours with stops. 4880m of ascent. Max temp 38. An elderly man places a medal over my head and holds my hand steady as I swing off my bike. Julia calls my name and I’ve never been so happy to see a friendly face, she hands me the cold coke as promised. I send a summit selfie to no1 supporter.

She put up a good fight, but I’m taking the medal home.
Rapha crew hold me up as I have a little cry. Their support at the finish is epic, with food and seats and music and eager ears to regale your tales of the day to. I can’t do anything but gratefully sit amongst friends and fellow riders.
Lesson no 1. Always train for an event.
Lesson no 2. Plan how to get home.
We’ve got to pack this party into three vans before we get off the mountain. I have a nap in the passenger seat as the sun sets, before jumping out to help collapse marquees and bin bunting. It’s 9.30 by the time we’re descending back down the hill.10.30, Back at the hotel, they key we strategically left in reception at 6am, isn’t there, and neither are the staff. We’ve got a 6.30am call time to get to Geneva to make flights out of here. Surprise sting in the tail of a very long day.
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We search around, Alexis and Alice are still awake and come down to help raid reception. I’m so done and cursing myself. While I’m calling the out of hours number and getting nothing but French voicemail, Alice has found a key in a drawer and has broken into the office. She’s only found our fucking room key. Marry me.
Etape 17 Lara 17
Final pre 7am game of car boot Tetris. Alexis is sitting on a collapsed seat and there’s a good chance if I break too sharply I’ll knock her out with a douchebag. (If you know you know).
Lake Annecy looks resplendent in the morning light and we redirect into a bakery for 5 croissants each. 1hour to Geneva. Alexis breaks the news that when packing up her bike she found a spare Etap battery. Alice and I nearly choke on our baked goods from laughing.
Etape 17 Lara 18
Geneva border crossing. Please don’t stop us. Alexis hasn’t sat so upright in her non existent seat since preschool gold stars were on offer. None of us breathe as the traffic creeps towards the gendarme. We slide through holding our breath. We needn’t have worried, it’s Monday morning in Switzerland and TDGAF. I leave the girls at drop off, and proceed to spend an hour doing laps of the Swiss airport trying to find “the French side” for car drop off, where is it?! By the time I make it to the back of a hefty EasyJet bag drop queue I’ve got 40minutes until my plane leaves. This weekend just won’t stop. I lie to the desk staff in order to jump the line and rush to customs. Another queue, this one is full of people wearing Rapha Etape T-shirt’s and socks. We’re all looking at one another with the knowing smiles of shared experience. I’m pretty much the last person to board the plane. Window seat, that’s a final point to me.
Etape 17 Lara 19.
With thanks to all the Rapha Etape du Tour crew, especially Fran, Amy, Vincent and Dan. Alice and Alexis for stepping into the sportive madness and all the laughs. JM. All the French people roadside for their cowbell coralling us up those climbs, A tout - bisous.
