Liège–Bastogne–Liège, often called La Doyenne ("the oldest"), is one of the five 'Monuments' of the European professional road cycling calendar. It is run in the Ardennes region of Belgium, from Liège to Bastogne and back. Cycling Weekly says: "In purely physical terms, this is probably the toughest classic: the climbs are long, most of them are pretty steep as well, and they come up with depressing frequency in the final kilometres."
With that in mind I emailed Redhill rider Mike Wingrave that this was the one for us. He didn't reply. I called him but seemed to always get voicemail. I wrote him a letter but it was returned un-opened.
Eventually he acquiesced and we signed up for the long route - 273km - the only route worth doing. Plans were made, time passed and at 05:30 on Friday 24th April we left Reigate to get the 8am ferry to Dunkirk. Blue skies and calm seas meant a pleasant crossing and in no time we were flying through France and then crawling past Belgian roadworks. Arriving in Liège at around 16:00 we headed for the 'village', signed in and, inexplicably, collected our finishers t-shirts and medals. A dearth of hotel availability meant we were staying 20km out of Liège in a picturesque mediaeval town called Tongeren. We knew race day would be long and start early, so we headed to a pub for just ONE beer. A few beers later and we were hatching a plan to start the race, cut to the short route and not tell anybody (we had our finishing medals already), but sense prevailed, we agreed not to do this and went to bed.
A 04:45 alarm had us up and heading to the start line in Liège. We took our time getting ready (I'd planned every detail and brought breakfast in a cool box) but the rain scuppered my idea of a leisurely breakfast and instead I stood in the rain scoffing a bowl of muesli followed by a boiled egg sandwich (it's exactly what Team Sky do). A final bit of faff with the bikes and we were ready to go.
There's no official start, no health and safety briefing, you just get pedalling. We wound our way out of Liège through back streets and wet cobbled roads. The rain was coming down quite hard now and it was difficult to sit too close to anyone due to spray but small groups were formed and the first 30 miles passed quickly.
We arrived at the first feed station to find the reports true - Belgian waffles everywhere. I tried to avoid all the sweet stuff and just had some salty pretzels and we hit the road again, cold and wet. The roads became a little quieter now and rolling hills became longer, pine wood climbs. The rain eased off and we hit the first real descent which seemed to go on forever; 6-7km down sweeping bends. Enjoying the traffic-free road we arrived at a picturesque town called La Roche-en-Ardenne followed by the first categorised climb out the other side. We pressed on, another feed station came and went and before we knew it were at Bastogne. Halfway already?
Bastogne may be the turning point but it is not halfway in distance and far from it in terms of ascent. Still cold and wet and by now sick of sweet, sugary food a Friterie came into view like an oasis in the desert and the decision was made. Squelching into her clean establishment, Madame realised that here were two hard men of the road and swiftly brought us two espressos, a cheeseburger and a plate of chips. In friendly French I apologised for the pool of muddy water that had dripped off me - "Ce n'est pas grave" she shrugged but, unbelievably, insisted on charging us for the food.
In higher spirits we made good progress. Dropping down into Wanne, a sharp right took us straight into the Côte de Wanne - bang, wrong gear, wasn't expecting that; a tough 13% 2.2km climb. 5km later we drop down into another town and again, a sharp turn into the first timed climb of the day, the Côte de Stockeu, a steep, punchy slog through a forest only to turn round and immediately lose that height to head to a food stop.
At this point I heard someone call my name and saw Redhill rider Phil Withers who had punctured and been dropped by his group. The three of us set out from Malmedy, another pretty, fortified town and up Côte de la Haute Levée then Col du Rosier. By this point we were in a group of a dozen with two British guys from the same club taking turns on the front. They'd been working for a while and were looking for some help but none was forthcoming so I headed to the front and drove the pace for a few miles, grimacing as my heart rate went up 20bpm. The gratitude was never formally expressed but I'm confident that they won't forget Redhill CC in a hurry.
After that very unwise effort on the front I was starting to feel a bit empty, so a quick gel and we dropped into Aywaille. The roadside became busy with cars, caravans, and motorhomes meaning only one thing - the infamous Côte de La Redoute. 1.6km, 20% max. the road covered in "Phil" markings; there's no mistaking it. Nobody had written anything for me but I didn't let it affect me (I'm not as mentally weak as Phillipe Gilbert). The view from the top was stunning - the rolling, forest-lined hills of the Ardenne as far as you could see - it started to feel like we were getting there.
The final feed stop at 233km (more waffles), 40km to go. The Côte de la Roche-aux-Faucons at 243km was an energy sapper, only 13% but tough enough at this stage. We then rolled along the top of a hill before dropping down into Liège at around 250km. At this point you are eagerly searching for the finish line but forced to carry on through Liège with its industrial landscape before the final categorised climb of Côte de Saint-Nicolas, another long 13% climb that you can really do without. Dropping down the other side there is still the steady drag up through a busy, traffic light strewn street (the scene of Dan Martin's unfortunate crash last year) before the finish line. You STILL haven't finished of course, because there's another 7km to get back to the actual finish and your car, but mostly downhill, this passes soon enough.
Feeling delighted to have finished – 170 miles, 15600ft ascent in a moving time of 10hr16 - we had a photo taken on the podium and headed to our hotel. A pizza without a lot of conversation and a solid night's sleep and we got up and headed to the square to see the pros depart. Wearing our finishers t-shirts we felt within our rights to hop over the barriers and mingle with the pros; rubbing shoulders with Kwiatkowski, Valverde, Gerrans, Nibali, Schleck etc. Eventually a Belgian policeman asked us to leave - I tried to explain that I'd been a marshall at the Tour of Britain so I knew what I was doing but he wasn't interested. We watched the start and then headed to La Roche-en-Ardenne and then Bastogne to watch them flash by, a whirlwind of carbon fibre and not a single smile.