I've found the ideal cycling adventure ahead of the Tour de France

'Get through the forest. Get through the f***ing forest.' These are the words looping in my head as my stomach churns in perfect rhythm with my pedalling. Slowly. The fatal mistake? An Orangina at Pista Cycling Café, lured in by French nostalgia at its best. In the moment it seemed like the right thing to do; an ode to childhood summers, those glass bottles sweating in the sun. But while riding up Mont Ventoux in France — one of Europe's toughest cycle climbs with a summit at 1,910m (6,270ft) — it's sitting about as well as a flan in a spin cycle.
The words haunting me belong to Simon Mottram, the founder of Rapha, the upmarket cycling brand. He is here in Provence leading a Rapha Summit — a fully supported, four-day group ride that is part pilgrimage, part test of endurance and Rapha's annual invitation to ride in a cycling mecca. We're covering serious distances — up to 188km on the longest day — and he is offering the kind of no-nonsense encouragement that cuts through gradient and fatigue alike.
This trip marks a decade of the Rapha Cycling Club (RCC), a global community of members who connect online and in person via regular rides, events and perks at Rapha's network of 'clubhouses' around the world.
As a keen rider who has done everything from local cyclocross races to mountainous sportives, I own more than a fair bit of Rapha kit but have never embraced it quite like this. Now in my fifth decade I had the chance to tackle one of cycling's most famous climbs with them, and it felt like a fitting way to test the legs — and the look.
Among the 125 riders from 22 countries gathered, the crowd is much more mixed than I expected. The RCC might have a reputation for being elite, but in reality it's a collective of people who simply love cycling — and the finer things in life. Because let's face it, these trips aren't cheap. Neither are the bikes people have brought with them. The total value of bikes in the group is likely well over £1 million, a parade of Pinarellos, S-Works, boutique Italian brands such as Passoni and a few custom builds with bespoke paint jobs.
Then there's Rob Gitelis, chief executive of Factor Bikes, rolling up on a Factor Ostro covered in a Louis Vuitton print — possibly the most Mamil (middle-aged man in Lycra) thing I saw all weekend. I can't say much, though, because I'm riding one of his bikes as well, a RCC club version in fluoro pink. Because if you're going to spend a weekend in full Rapha mode, you may as well commit completely.
I do my best to fit in but I don't have to try hard. I shave my legs, partly because it's tradition, partly for the aesthetics, but mostly because I like the feeling of crisp bed sheets after a long ride. We are even provided with a chamois cream so that the high-end suffering of a rider's undercarriage is scented appropriately (lavender and pine needle, since you ask).
We start from Capelongue in Bonnieux, a five-star Provençal retreat among cypress trees, dry stone walls and lavender fields. It's an almost-too-perfect setting but history lurks beneath the luxury. The hotel is built on the remains of a Roman amphitheater, which feels fitting. In a few days, the arena of Mont Ventoux will claim its own casualties.
The first ride is a gentle 32km roll-out to Apt, a chance to shake off the travel stiffness and settle into the rhythm of Provence. We pass over Pont Julien, a 2,000-year-old Roman bridge, before an essential stop at Pierrot Blanc for lavender ice cream (£2.40; patisserie-pierrotblanc-apt.fr). A cluster of fluoro-pink-clad riders gathers on a quiet backstreet, bikes resting against shop windows. It's all going well — until the owner of the adjacent wool shop storms out, huffing as she moves bikes away from her display, grumbling about Lycra-clad hooligans.
The next day our group of a dozen riders includes Nina Kessler, a Dutch pro for EF Pro Cycling, and the Spaniard Felix Alonso Rodriguez, who has joined from Rapha's HQ in London. The 110km route rolls through Roussillon, where the landscape shifts between rolling farmland and jagged rock. One moment it's lavender fields stretching to the horizon, the next it's sun-bleached stone and rugged hills.
Three riders, three different reasons to ride. Nina, the full-time professional, paid to suffer and push limits. Felix, fortunate enough to ride as part of his job working for Rapha. And me, grateful for any ride I can get, just happy to be here.
This group doesn't do subtle. The RCC's motto is Ex duris gloria — glory through suffering. Everyone here has their own interpretation of what that means. Some want speed, some want stories, some of us just want to make it to the café stop without empty, albeit very smooth, legs.
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At Le Chapeau Rouge in Simiane-la-Rotonde we eat trays of quiche and swig bottles of Perrier (restaurantlechapeaurouge.fr). Back in the day Tour de France riders would raid cafés mid-stage, grabbing whatever they could: beer, wine, champagne. Today we settle for mineral water, but the ritual remains.
That night I share dinner with Erik and Sandra, a Dutch couple from the Hague. Erik casually mentions he has climbed Ventoux ten times over the years. Sandra isn't riding but is taking in the weekend with a quiet air of amusement, watching as the rest of us talk tactics and try not to think too hard about tomorrow. At Capelongue's La Bergerie restaurant the chef Mathieu Guivarch serves wood‑fired lamb and seasonal Provençal vegetables, and as plates are cleared, wine glasses emptied and the conversation turns to tomorrow's challenge, Aleda Fitzpatrick, the leader of the RCC, leans in with a simple, ominous truth: 'Ambition is not a dirty word.'
There will be no easing into this one — 140km, 2,900m of vertical ascent and at the heart of it, the Giant of Provence: 21km long, with an average gradient of 7.5 per cent, gaining a lung-crushing 1,590m. Tomorrow the only way is up.
It's easy to assume the RCC is all premium kit and curated suffering — and to be fair there's some of that. But since this trip I've dropped into RCC rides in New York City, Palma in Mallorca and Sydney. Each time I showed up solo. Each time I rode away with new friends and the same post-ride buzz. For all the slick branding the thing that lingers is the people — welcoming, obsessive and always up for a chat over coffee and cadence. The kit might match, but the vibe is far from uniform.
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We roll out at 7am through Gordes, officially one of France's most beautiful villages. I'm feeling good and as we enter Bédoin, something quintessentially French unfolds before us — a Citroën 2CV rally, a parade of charming, sputtering relics from another era. We roll past, grinning at the contrast — classic horsepower on one side, modern carbon fibre and electronic shifting on the other.
All groups stopped at Pista Cycling Café at the foot of Mont Ventoux and, in a moment of blind nostalgia, order that Orangina (pista.cc). It tastes amazing but turns out to be a mistake.
The first 6km of Ventoux are fine. Then … the forest. Ten unrelenting kilometres at a gradient of 10 per cent, with nowhere to hide. It's a switchback purgatory, every turn revealing another stretch of tarmac carved into the trees, every shadow offering false hope of respite. The chalked names of past Tour riders are still faintly visible on the road, ghostly reminders of who came before.
Not far from the summit, the Tom Simpson memorial comes into view. The British rider died here in 1967, collapsing just 1.5km from the top, his body wrecked by exhaustion and a deadly mix of amphetamines and alcohol.
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To the French, Simpson was a showman and there's no doubt he would have approved of the Rapha aesthetic that now rolls past his monument today — not least because the team he once rode for later inspired Mottram to take the name for his cycling brand. This summer the Tour de France returns to Ventoux once again and a reminder that this mountain remains one of the sport's most important proving grounds.
A quick pause, another deep breath, a moment of reflection. Then the final push.
The top of Mont Ventoux is a barren, windswept moonscape with bleached rock, brutal wind and nowhere to hide. The final stretch is agony, but then, suddenly, it's over. A quick photo, a jacket zipped tight and I roll into the descent towards Sault, where a slice of pizza and a hit of salt taste glorious after a day of nothing but energy bars and gels.
Then, after a 10km drag, the road tips downwards into the Gorges de la Nesque — suffering behind us, pure joy ahead.
The tarmac snakes through sheer limestone cliffs, suspended high above the valley. We form a fast-moving group, each turn flowing into the next, tunnels flashing by, the wind rushing past. No brakes, no effort, just speed, momentum and one of the best roads I've ever ridden.
As the burn in my legs and the Orangina in my stomach finally settle, we roll into Villes-sur-Auzon and the ride is done. I upload my ride to Strava, the numbers confirming what I already suspected: 15 minutes slower than my last ascent, a decade ago.
Mont Ventoux is a hors catégorie mountain. So difficult it's considered beyond classification, a climb so brutal that, according to legend, even a Citroën 2CV wouldn't have the gears to make it up.
The legend, it turns out, is just that. Because towards the final stretch of one of the hardest climbs in cycling, one of the 2CVs we passed earlier overtook me, puttering steadily toward the summit, unfazed by the gradient, the wind or my suffering.
I wonder if the driver glanced in the mirror and thought the same as me — that time catches up with us all.Luke Sikkema was a guest of the Rapha Cycling Club, which has annual membership from £70 and bike hire from £55 a day (rapha.cc); and the Capelongue, which has B&B doubles from £306 (beaumier.com). Fly to Marseilles

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