10 years ago, as a young man, I finished La Marmotte. This year, I return as a MAMIL to see if new tech and old legs can beat my younger self.
About La Marmotte
There are many great gran fondos and ultra fondos, but La Marmotte Alpes is the GOAT simply because of its history, its scale, and its inclusion of four of the most famous mountain passes in cycling. La Marmotte starts at the foot of the famous Alpe d’Huez, in Bourg d’Oisans, and passes over Col du Glandon, Col du Télégraphe, Col du Galibier, and finishes on Alpe d’Huez. The route is 177 kilometers long, with 5,000 meters of elevation gain. In football terms, this is like visiting Camp Nou, Santiago Bernabéu, San Siro and finishing at the Maracanã. Since its inception in 1982, the race has gradually increased in popularity, and now attracts around 5-6,000 participants from around the world.
The fastest women typically finish around the 6:30 mark, while the fastest men finish in under 5:30. Around 90% of those who roll out of Bourg d’Oisans make it to the end, the lanterne rouge spends 13 to 14 hours en route to Alpe d’Huez.
I’ve attempted La Marmotte twice: In my debut in 2015, the heat was unbearable and I blew up with a DNF just 10 kilometers from the finish, at La Garde. The following year, I prepared for extreme heat, but fortunately the weather was more comfortable, and I finished in 7:24 and took 794th place.
Back in 2016, when I last rode the Marmotte, bikes had a spaghetti of external cables and were equipped with rim brakes with dubious braking quality. 11-speed groupsets were the standard and only those with cash to burn had electronic shifting. 1x existed only in cyclocross and in the nascent gravel world, and 25 mm tires with butyl tubes were the established norm. Grown ups would hide from their spouses in their garages while spending hours gluing tubulars onto their rims. Real cyclists rode 39x23 and frowned upon those with 30-tooth pizza cassettes. Power meters were for the geeks. We would ride 150 kilometers on a bottle of water and a banana, and when coming home, we’d hope to sleep through dinner so as to fast track weight loss.
Today, 10 years on, our bikes can confidently stop even in the rain, cables are neatly integrated in the cockpit and frame, we shift precisely through our electronic 12-speed groupsets, and we’re riding with TPU tubes or even tubeless up to 32 mm tires. Most cyclists define their self-worth through their FTP. And we literally give ourselves gut problems while trying to consume 100 grams of carbohydrates per hour, because that’s what (bro) science and pros tell us to do.
So, returning to the Alpe after a decade, I am keen to see whether the adage “age and treachery will beat youth and skill” actually holds true as my 44-year-old MAMIL version hopes to beat my 34-year-old self: Can the improvements in tech, nutrition and training offset aging? Or will I suffer and look fondly back at the past, when everything was better?
Preparations and game plan
To paraphrase Boromir from “Lord of the Rings”, one does not simply walk into La Marmotte. Ideally, I’d have done more training, but with a family and a job I’d like to keep, training time is a negotiated settlement. And since I live in Norway, outdoor riding is not an all year activity. Thus, TrainerRoad with Zwift has been my best friend through the winter, and since spring, I’ve done a dozen outdoor rides well over 100 km long, many of which contain a good chunk of climbing. I enter the race with a foundation similar to that of 2016, slightly less volume, but more quality.
Subject to the weather gods’ mercy, my goal is to perform better than in 2016. I plan to start sensibly on Glandon and save some matches for the end of the race. Getting into a couple of good trains through the Maurienne valley and down from Lautaret to Bourg d’Oisans is also critical. Knowing that I’ll most likely burn around 5,000 calories, and blowing up is a real risk, I aim to take one to two gels and one bottle of sports drink per hour. I’ll be carrying extra sachets of drink mix for the water refills along the way, to postpone reliance on unfamiliar sports nutrition as long as possible.
If there ever was a race where a lightweight bike should shine, then La Marmotte Alpes is it: I bring my S-Works Aethos, equipped with Roval Alpinist wheels and cockpit, Shimano Dura Ace Di2 groupset with 52-36 x 11-30 gearing and pedals, S-Works Turbo Cotton 26mm tires with Pirelli TPU tubes, and two Silca titanium bottle cages. This bad boy weighs in at 6,400 grams including a Garmin Edge 130.
To complement the bike, I pack lightweight and well-ventilated clothes, shoes and helmet. I’ll be wearing Bioracer cargo bib shorts with four pockets - perfect for gels - and a Bioracer Epic jersey with mesh fabric to ensure as much airflow as possible.
The days before
I arrive late on Thursday evening during a thunder storm, but I wake up on Friday morning to soak up magnificent sun, and by all accounts, we are in for a sunshine ride.
The weather forecasts in the days leading up to La Marmotte seem schizophrenic, though the temperature predictions seem stable and on the high end of the scale, i.e. above 30 degrees in the valley floors. A heat wave has hit Europe, including the Alps, and I fear a repeat of 2015, when we were all totally fried en route to the finish line. The weather gods are a clearly merciless bunch.
Appetizer: Grimpée Alpe d’Huez, for the weight weenie in me
I’ve signed up for Grimpée Alpe d’Huez, the mass start competition on the famous climb, which is held on Friday afternoon, 36 hours prior to the main event.
According to BestBikeSplit, I can shave 30 to 60 seconds off my finish time by dropping all spare parts, donning the lightest possible shoes, helmet and clothes, and using a light weight computer. This slashes nearly a kilo compared to my La Marmotte outfit. To literally cut off the last 27 grams, I also shave my head a few hours before start. Hair is not completely weightless, and going skinhead is the proverbial icing on the (diet) cake.
Shaving off time.
27 grams. It all adds up.
I arrive at the start by the roundabouts between Bourg d’Oisans and the start of the Alpe d’Huez to find dozens of other participants laying in the grass under trees in the ditches, simply avoiding the heat. Compared to La Marmotte, this is a niche event, and just over 200 participants will be enduring what really is an hour of pain, give or take. It’s well above 40 degrees as we line up for the start.
The fastest guys chase out of the starting block as we exceed 40 km/h racing into the famous first left turn. As is always the case on steep hills, the road naturally splits the large bunch into groups. I have Sunday in mind, so I deliberately don’t go ballistic. The 21 hairpins pass incredibly fast, and it really feels more like a one hour tempo than a mass start. As I finish the route in 58:48, I can only speculate how much time my industrious weight reduction initiatives saved me, but it contributed to getting me under the hour mark. Moreover, I did it without really going into the red, and that is a great confidence boost as La Marmotte is next in line.
The winning lady, Sarah Lahti from Sweden, finished in 54:17, while the fastest gentleman won with 42:48.
On another note, I think Zwift have done a fine job of recreating the Alpe d’Huez. Several times I genuinely felt that I recognized the route from all my indoor attempts. However, compared to Alpe d’Zwift, the real thing feels harder and steeper. I suppose the heat largely explains why, and real life elements like wind, choice of path on the road, surface and traffic probably play in too.
Up the Alpe with the lightest possible equipment. (Photo: Photo Breton.)
Getting ready for race day
After the Grimpée, focus shifts to carbo loading, double-checking equipment and clothing, and recon of the route between Galibier and Bourg d’Oisans. A simple way to remove potential surprises when speeding down some of the most spectacular descents of the Alps is to do some homework.
My brother and I take the car and zip over to Valloire - the village that joins Télégraphe and Galibier - and then we drive back up to Col du Galibier. I get on my bike and ride from the top all the way down to Bourg d’Oisans, a lovely one hour ride with minimal effort and maximal impressions. The temperature is crazy, though: Even when exceeding 60 kilometers per hour, the heat feels like walking into a sauna
Homework: Down Galibier the day before the day.
The rest of the day and evening is spent stuffing myself with pasta, bread, bananas, Haribos and apple juice before I hit the sack around 9 pm.
Fine-tuning brakes at Mavic’s service station (photo taken before the haircut).
Race day!
Waking up from a poor night’s sleep - typical of pre-race nerves - I consume a solid breakfast consisting of oatmeal porridge, a banana, and a double espresso. Forcing down ridiculous amounts of calories at 5 am is an absurd necessity.
Ready to roll, 5:30 am, one hour before the official start.
As I roll down the 14 kilometers from Alpe d’Huez to Bourg d’Oisans, I find myself surrounded by hundreds of other serious looking MAMILs; this must be the largest collection of gravity-defying stick insects on carbon on the planet. I imagine Sir David Attenborough commenting on this pre-race ritual:
“Here, in the golden light of dawn, we witness a curious migration. Hundreds of the species cyclisticus lycra descend the twenty-one hairpins of Alpe d’Huez, not fleeing predators, but seeking one: La Marmotte, a 177-kilometre gauntlet through the Alps.
Notice the ritualistic behaviour: Nervous checking of tyre pressure, the compulsive adjustment of the saddle, the pretence of calm masking genuine terror. They travel in loose pelotons for warmth and reassurance, though each secretly hopes to outlast his neighbour.
What drives a creature to climb nearly 5,000 metres of vertical ascent, including the fearsome Col du Galibier, entirely by choice? Science offers no answer. Only the human male and the rare female, it seems, will pay handsomely for the privilege of such suffering, then call it a holiday.”
As the minutes tick down to the start at 6:30 am, the atmosphere in Bourg d’Oisans is a mix of nerves and calmness. It is going to be a very warm day, with no clouds to be seen and a sun that’s waiting to bake us all. The temperature is already 21 degrees, and the sun has not appeared…
I consume my first Maurten of the day, the announcer goes bananas in French - «dix, neuf, huit sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un… PAAAAAARTEEEEEEZ!!!» - and off we go.
Just minutes before the ride off to be baked alive!
Bourg d’Oisans to the foot of Glandon: The fun begins
15 kilometers, 100 climbing metres.
We hold a high pace out of Bourg d’Oisans. I find myself being passed by people who clearly mean business, but there is no feeling of nerves or aggressive cycling. Apart from a couple of poor souls who puncture early on, the transport to the foot of Glandon feels more like a bureaucratic formality than anything else. And before we know it, we’re into the small ring as we hit the first of today’s four beasts.
Climbing Col du Glandon: Controlled, but laboured
22 kilometers, 1,300 climbing metres.
Glandon is the race’s most uneven climb, with sections that are really steep, some that are false flats, and a couple of downhill sections that break up any monotony. My legs feel fresh, and it requires a deliberate effort to let people pass without latching on. Any excess expenditure now will obviously be repaid with interest later today, and I reluctantly stick to my power targets as planned.
Silence prevails among the riders, except for two talkative British guys who yap nonstop as if they are reciting an episode from «Gilmore Girls», all the while pushing north of 4 watts per kilo and passing through. If they keep it going till the finish, they’ll have set the record for number of words uttered during a gran fondo (and kudos for your fitness level, guys)!
The sunshine hits us as we pass the dam half way up, and some cheer the sight, oblivious to the fact that the same sun will be toasting us in a few hours. The final kilometers to the top are passed at a blistering pace as there’s a flat section leading to the summit. Even though I’ve stayed within my power targets and consumed Maurtens as planned, the first climb has felt harder than I expected. Timing wise, I am roughly on par with 2016.
The temperature has risen from 20 to 29 degrees, and the downhill comes at the perfect time.
Organized chaos at Glandon.
Timeless, spectacular descend from Col du Glandon
20 kilometers downhill.
Under ordinary circumstances I’d put on a gilet, but it is already very warm, so I click into the pedals and embrace gravity. The temperature drops markedly, down to 25 degrees, and most of the route is on the shadow side of Glandon, giving us a welcome relief from the hot sun. This section is neutralized for good reasons; the roads are ridiculously narrow and fast, and admiring the view might be the last thing you ever do if you lose your concentration. I cannot believe that we raced down these hairpins with cork brake pads on carbon wheels a decade ago! Medical staff are standing by with regular intervals, and on two occasions I spot them tending to riders who’ve met with some misfortune.
Riders pass by the timing mat at a frantic pace, and getting into a group feels like slotting in a piece in the final phase of Tetris. Ready or not, here we go!
Through the Maurienne valley: Lumpy logistics
23 kilometers, 300 climbing metres.
Thanks to some Thomas Voeckler-style chasing, I hang onto a group that holds an uncomfortably high pace, and this section of the route is more lumpy than I remember. After what could be compared to a stressful 23 kilometer commute to work, we reach the next water station. With two filled bidons, we embark on the second beast.
Ascending Col du Télégraphe to Valloire: Long stretches of shade
12 kilometers, 850 climbing metres.
The Télégraphe’s unassuming appearance hides its hors categorie heritage. It hardly offers any impressive views and the forest almost makes you forget that you’re riding a Tour de France legend. Thankfully the trees offer lots of shade, which is highly appreciated. I make sure to sip generously from my bidons at every tur. Right now, I’m thinking that riding in this heat takes a very special kind of stupid, and we are clearly over 5,000 suffering from severe stupidity.
Danes are the most gregarious of the Scandinavians, and I soon find myself chatting with a friendly specimen from the land of Lego. We indulge in some pleasant humblebragging; he does 100 mile runs for fun and I’ve everested Alpe d’Huez. We agree that La Marmotte is not for everyone, and that even showing up at the starting line is an achievement. At least the conversation takes the attention away from the suffering, and before long, we’ve done half of today’s climbing.
As we crest the top, I am 10 minutes behind 2016, and the power data supports this: I am struggling to maintain my planned output, and average power is down on Télégraphe versus Glandon. Still two mountains to go, I remind myself. The Dane continues on, but I stop briefly to fill my bidons for the third time today and roll down to Valloire.
Scaling Col du Galibier from Valloire: The struggle is real
8 kilometers lumpy transport leading to 15 kilometers, 1,050 climbing metres.
A long, gentle climb leads us out of Valloire before the real climbing starts. We are above the tree line, thus no trees left to offer shade, there are few clouds in the sky, and there is not even a hint of a breeze to cool us down. The weather gods are having a field day with cyclists; they’ve now cranked the oven up to 35 degrees.
Once we get out of the village, we are in the vast openness of Galibier. Compared to the previous climb, Galibier offers spectacular views and feels like a rough mountain, not a scene from “Little Red Riding Hood”. In the first half, you can see dauntingly far up the road, and while it appears to be false flats, we’re actually crawling up 8% inclines with lush, green mountain backdrops. Up in the second half of Galibier, we navigate hairpins and quickly see how far it is down where we were just a few moments ago. Had it not been for the fact that I’m deep in a hole, I’d appreciate the overwhelming beauty of the surroundings. Alas, all I can think of is that once I get to the next corner, I will award myself another sip of water.
The friendly Dane is nowhere to be seen, but a Swedish guy, coincidentally also named Erik, jumps past me. We exchange pleasantries and speculate how the Danes became so good at cycling steep hills.
I spot a young man sitting in the ditch with a tormented look on his face; I ask what his predicament is and get told that he is in cramps and needs water. All I can offer is my half-filled water bottle, so I toss it to him and hope for some positive karma.
In 2016, we went through the tunnel before the very top, but this year we got the bonus 1.5 kilometers to the famous summit, and obviously they’re as steep as the preceding 13 kilometers. Miraculously, in spite of riding up in what felt like slow motion, I have made up three minutes against my 2016 time!
Loitering around at 2,642 meters is no way to claim a good time at La Marmotte, so I ride off down towards the Lautaret.
Galibier: Probably the world’s most spectacular sporting venue. (Photo: Photo Breton.)
Down past Lautaret to Bourg d’Oisans: Cycling into a hair dryer
48 kilometers downhill.
Yesterday’s recon pays off as I confidently hammer my way down from the top, but I quickly realize that I’ve greased half my gel on my handlebars… Yuck. Timing through La Grave is neutralized, affording me a stop to refill my bottle and clean my bike of Maurten adhesives.
The burden of getting to Bourg d’Oisans as soon as possible is shared with a dozen other riders, and we take turns in the front as we roll through the terrain and a handful of tunnels. Bourg d’Oisans is absolutely scorching. Are we in the Alps or Canary Islands..?
My Garmin confirms that I have made up some time versus 2016, but I am going to need functioning legs up the Alpe d’Huez, lest I fall behind my goal. If I can finish this climb in less than 70 minutes, then I’m good. I refill my bottle yet again and prepare mentally for the ride up Mordor.
Up, up and away to Alpe d’Huez: The inevitable implosion
13 kilometers, 1,100 climbing metres.
As it turns out, I definitely don’t have functioning legs - I am suffering like a dog in the heat. I can almost hear the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld shout “NO MARMOTTE FOR YOU!” to me as I navigate through the first corner and feel the 35 degree heat slap my face.
Alpe d’Huez has broad roads and the side is often covered by concrete walls, both which effectively reflect the sun. No wind makes it even worse. Participants are clipping out of their bikes en masse to catch a breather in the shadows, and I am so tempted to follow suit, but that was the undoing of my hapless 2015 effort - so I decide to pedal on, no matter how slowly I move. As Winston Churchill apparently said, if you’re going through hell, keep going.
The heat’s making me delusional; I try to count the corners, and am positively surprised when I realize that I have advanced to corner 16 rather than just 18. Some lovely people have set up water hoses at La Garde, and the cold water shocks the body into temporarily believing that things will be alright, and I power on for 250 meters before I regress to granny speed. This is probably as slow as an Aethos has been ridden without toppling over.
The temperature peaks at 38 degrees, and up at Dutch corner some youngsters shoot me with water guns. The short respite offered by the cold water is amazing, and I wish their parents had bought them even bigger water guns than those flimsy pistols. Thankfully only a few more corners remain.
With three corners to go, I’ve spent 70 minutes and accept the fact that I won’t be beating 2016. At least I’m not blowing up like in 2015. When the professionals blaze up Alpe d’Huez, they move so graciously that you’d wonder if they’re from the same planet as cyclisticus lycra. In stark contrast, spectators with sharp ears would probably hear passing riders wheezing their final death rattles as we make our way over the finish line atop the Alpe d’Huez.
Finish!
In 2016, I was filled with energy and blew over the finish line with the same enthusiasm as Floyd Landis’ infamous whisky ride to Morzine in 2006. This time, though, I have come completely undone. Finally, there is peace to be found, lying down in the nearest shadows, along with dozens of other broken souls. I check my official time; 7:36:39 net, which I later learned places me 708 out of 5,007 finishers (and 5,699 participants).
Incredibly, this year’s La Marmotte gave us a new course record; Baptiste Lombardi from France finished in 5:07:10. The fastest lady, Victoria Stansfield from the UK, finished in 5:51:31. These achievements are hard to fathom - well played!
Finish!
Conclusion
The highlights of La Marmotte are that you get to ride an insanely beautiful route covering some legendary climbs. This really is second to none. The organizers do a great job from start to end, and all you really need to do is turn up with a decent level of fitness, and enjoy and suffer in equal measures - because, when we’re being honest, there is no way to enjoy La Marmotte fully if you don’t also give it your all. 5,000 climbing meters over 177 kilometers is not your average Sunday ride.
Youth-Erik beat MAMIL-Erik by 12 minutes, but I feel that due to the temperature differences, the two editions of La Marmotte are like comparing apples to oranges. We can only speculate how much the extra 15 to 25 degrees taxed me and my fellow participants, but in absolute placings, I was 708 now compared to 794 back then. Assuming that the quality of riders in the pointy end is comparable, I really can’t tell whether my 2026 performance was materially better than that of 2016.
Sure, on paper, my body was closer to its peak potential 10 years ago than now, but I think age actually played to my advantage because of all the years of experience and suffering on the bike. No matter how crap I felt today, I knew with confidence from past experiences that I’ll endure this. I might also have trained more intelligently now, thanks to all the training resources available, so that’s likely compensated for any physical deterioration (also called aging). Tech definitely played a small role, primarily because more forgiving gearing ratios afforded me a higher cadence (I consistently held 10 rpm higher cadence on the first three climbs now compared to 2016). I am not sure how much to attribute to nutrition; I stayed away from bonking both then and now.
So to conclude, age and treachery probably beats youth and skill. Perhaps I should return in yet another 10 years and see if it still holds true when I’m in my 50s!?
