The view from my Backroads 'Leader Training' accommodation in Provence is one, not just cyclists, but everyone will appreciate. Mt Ventoux casts its mighty shadow over the whole region, a mountain that stands alone, although geographically  part of the Alps, at 1900 metres. Even its name 'Mt Ventoux' fuels the iconic status; 'Ventoux' meaning 'windy' in French, while the 'mistral' blows winds as high as 320 km/h at the summit. The limestone at this peak accommodates no trees or vegetation of any kind, creating a moonscape that can be seen for miles around.

It should come as no surprise that cyclists flock in droves to this mystical mountain. The world's most watched annual sport, the Tour De France, has crossed Ventoux six times and has been used as a summit finish on ten occasions. The most famous of the three climbs, from the small township of Bedoin, takes pros over an hour and top amateurs 1.5 - 2 hours to ascend.

Scene of so many Tour dramas, Ventoux is carved into so many people's minds. In 1967, British cyclist, Tom Simpson,  approached the summit weaving wildly across the road before crashing to the tarmac. Delirious, he asked spectators to put him back on his bike but just half a mile from the finish he collapsed and died still clipped into his pedals. Claimed by heat exhaustion from a combination of dehydration, amphetamines and alcohol, Tom Simpson was just 29 years old.. A memorial can be found near the summit.

In 2016, due to high winds at the summit the day before the race, organisers shortened the climb by 6 km. Yet, even with the finish line further down the mountain, mayhem was to ensue. At the finale, a motorcycle induced a crash involving Bauke Mollema, Richie Porte and the Yellow Jersey Race Leader and current Champion Chris Froome. While Mollima and Porte were able to remount, Froome's bike was broken and he was forced to jog 100 metres up the mountain before grabbing a neutral service bike. However, being so gangly and tall, the bike didn't fit him and so the scene was set for the best rider of his era to cross the Ventoux finish line looking like an oversized clown.

Such stories seem to emanate from the bald mountain and I felt compelled to ride Ventoux's fabled slopes. I was keen to make three ascents from Bedoin, Malaucene and Sault and to become a member of the Cingles Club. I started from Bedoin, the most famous ascent of 21.5 km and 1610 metres at an average of 7.5%. The first 6 km are a good warm up and open but once in the forest the next 10 km are around 9-10% and very hard, yet very beautiful. The trees start to break and there is a transition to the famous lunar landscape where winds can really start to take a toll. I passed Chalet Reynard and enjoyed the last 6 km, stopping for photos and to pay my respects to Tom Simpson.

I was informed by others that the Malaucene road was covered in ice and too dangerous and so I decided to descend the 26 km to Sault. It had been cold at the summit but for the end of March it was surprisingly mild. In fact, the road to the summit is officially closed until mid May and it is necessary to duck under a barrier close to the top. When I started the climb from Sault, I was soon sweating under the sun. But this climb starts higher on a ridge and involves just 1220 metres of climbing at an average of 5%. My legs were more fatigued than I bargained for and I was now quite content with just finishing the two climbs. Once past Chalet Reynard, the Sault route joins the Bedoin ascent. Unlike the first climb, when the final 6 km seemed a bit of a relief, this time the road up had become steeper and I was far more aware of the gradient. I reached the summit the second time happy but relieved, and looking forward to a breath-taking descent.

Mt Ventoux is everything I hoped it would be and being so close to my Backroads work base, a mountain I am sure to return to several times. Maulacene, a fourth ascent by mountain bike and a tandem attempt with my wife still await. I would recommend this climb to everyone - If the Bedoin ascent is too daunting then Sault is far more manageable. Days after, snow fell on Ventoux and its beauty and majesty was etched into my memory as I bid Ventoux and the stunning countryside of Provence a bientot.

Six riders were to complete the whole of the long, arduous journey of 861 miles (1400 km) journey from Lands End to John O'Groats, several with little or virtually no cycling experience at all. The Irish tandem of ex-Lion Rob 'Hendo' Henderson and David 'Patsy' Clein and the English machine of Peter 'Wints' Winterbottom and Paul 'The Big Bash' Bashir ground their way the full length of the British mainland. The Scots mainstay of Michael 'Goldie' was accompanied by Chris Gore, Rus Kesley, Craig 'Chick' Chalmers, Declan Goldie and myself, Phil '5 bellies' Welch, and the Welsh started with Rhodrie Mcatee and '5 bellies', were assisted by Declan Goldie and later piloted by Alan 'Walshy' Walsh. The Scots were to claim the most stage victories but considering the fact that it took 6 riders to do it (4 more than the permitted 2) and the Welsh tandem, which mopped up the most King of the Mountain points, was barely Welsh other than in name (and was off the road on stage 5), then overall victory should surely go to the Irish and English tandems. Never was there a more modern tale of the tortoise overcoming the hare, the Irish and English grinding slowly and purposefully to ultimate victory. Moreover, none of us would have made it at all without the tireless work of Ant and Dec who ensured we navigated the right roads, supplied us with regular nourishment and regularly fixed the broken spokes of the 250kg Irish tandem.

Blessed by the Gods of Rugby, the 10 day journey from Lands End to John O'Groats could not have been completed in much better weather. Leaving Cornwall on the 15th September, with an average temperature of 15 degrees, the peloton of four tandems missed the storm that would sweep across the south of England the following day. Admittedly, at the Severn Bridge, the high winds forced us into a one mile trudge into Wales. Beautiful scenery then rolled by until we travelled through the invidious towns of Warrington, Wigan and finally Preston. The wind was now blowing hard and further north the M6 motorway was closed and the trains to Lockerbie, Scotland had stopped running, leaving Wednesday night commuters stranded in the north west. A day earlier and our stage from Preston to Carlisle would have been aborted. The next day we rolled through the beautiful Lake District Hills where we got our first real soaking in the final 50 km of the day. However, the sun was to embrace us as we rolled across the border into Scotland, onward to Edinburgh, traversing the idyllic Cairngorm hills, past the ski runs of Aviemore and into Inverness. Crossing the Forth Bridge, the cool but amicable weather continued as we finally made our way to our final destination of John O'Groats.

Without doubt, this is one experience that will be forever etched on the memory. Nevertheless, meeting the guys in a 1st class carriage on a train from Paddington to Penzance was a slightly disconcerting experience. After all, some of these guys were my heroes in the 80's. I was handed a mojito from a bag containing a mountain of alcoholic beverages as the others drank copious amounts of beer and other cocktails. These were players from an era before rugby became professional after the 1995 World Cup and rugby and drinking were inexplicably linked. Later, in a pub in Penzance, I was introduced to the three basic drinking game rules and I was soon downing my first pint. Frivolities continued into the small hours of the morning but I was able to slip away at around midnight. I feared it would not be the cycling but the drinking that would be my downfall.

Fortunately, the drinking abated once the cycling began, but returned with vengeance on the final day. Some of the boys had really suffered throughout the trip. My original partner, Rhodri finally succumbed on Day 5 to the injured shoulder he had damaged playing rugby the day before we started.  Others such as Hendo, Patsy, Bash, Goldie and, I suspect Wints, although this guy is a rock and never ever complains, had severe aching posteriors, so much so that Hendo would often burst into the words of Johnny Cash 'cycling is a burning thing, and it makes a fiery ring'.

With the cycling finished, we returned to the bus and the beer and whisky flowed freely, as DJ Bash pumped out the music from the 70's. We stopped at another whisky distillery and ample amounts of aged whisky was drunk. The bus was pumping and I was reminded of my days travelling to and from rugby games across the north of England with East Leeds Rugby League (RL) and the whole of the country with Loughborough University RL. We picked up an Australian hitch-hiker and, despite their initial reservations, they joined the drunken party. Walshy was dancing Gangnam Style on the road when the bus stopped at the lights and Hendo was in particularly good voice. At the hotel, Hendo presided over court proceedings and drinking fines were dished out. The American tourists in the bar joined in with the fun and we all stood for a powerful rendition of the star-spangled banner. I arm wrestled big Walshy and lost, he arm-wrestled Bash and lost and then repeated the defeat on the other arm, the hotel cut our access to more drink, Walshy later jumped down a flight of stairs aiming to rugby tackle Dec but missed, putting out his back in the process. I was comatosed by 6pm, later to wake up to the predictable smell of vomit!

Overall, this was an experience that I would never have missed. While I didn't suffer from aching legs and the discomfort of saddle sores from the long days in the saddle, I did have to take pain killers for the first 5 days for an infected root canal from where I lost my tooth a few weeks previously, eventually seeing an emergency dentist in Carlisle for antibiotics; I also tore my bicep off my shoulder from the arm-wrestling, resulting in a trip to A & E when I returned to London, and forcing me to carefully nurse my arm for at least 6 weeks. Regardless, cycling the length of the British Isles on tandems with a fantastic bunch of guys was an absolute pleasure both on and off the bike. Despite their heady status as top rugby players, they are a great bunch of intelligent, fun-loving guys with massive hearts, doing their utmost to help their good friend Doddie Weir, raise money for MND. Please feel free to help me raise money for this wonderful cause, to assist those suffering with this terrible disease and hopefully to find a potential cure.

The Doddie’5 Ride LeJog* was conceived by Rob Henderson, ex Irish and British and Irish Lion, in the early hours of the morning in a pub in London.  It seemed like a good idea at the time as an event to support Doddie Weir in his fight against Motor Neurone Disease but with the 10 day, 900 mile cycle looming ever closer Hendo wishes that he hadn’t been quite so ambitious. The challenge will be attempted by 4 tandems each representing the four home union rugby teams. Hendo leading the Irish challenge, Craig Chalmers the Scottish, Peter Rogers the Welsh and Peter Winterbottom the English. It is not a race but I’m sure there will be plenty of competition over the 10 days, especially in the bar area trying to keep up with Hendo.

*The LEJOG cycle ride is the grand daddy of all cycling challenges in the UK, starting at Land's End in Cornwall (the extreme southwest point in mainland Britain) and ending at John o'Groats in northern Scotland - very close to the most northerly point of mainland Britain.

Motor neurone disease (MND) is a rare condition that progressively damages the brain and nervous system. It's caused by a problem with cells in the brain and nerves called motor neurones, which gradually stop working over time. This leads to muscle weakness, often with visible wasting. It's always fatal and can significantly shorten life expectancy, but some people live with it for many years. There’s no cure, but there are treatments to help reduce the impact it has on your daily life. It mainly affects people in their 60s and 70s, but it can affect adults of all ages.

George "Doddie" Weir, one of rugby’s most recognisable personalities, is a Scottish former rugby union player who played as a lock, making 61 international appearances for the Scotland national team. An excellent lineout specialist he was selected as part of the British and Irish Lions tour of South Africa in 1997. Weir was famously described by legendary commentator Bill McLaren as being "On the charge like a mad giraffe".

In June 2017, the Scot revealed he was suffering from Motor Neurone Disease. From the outset, Doddie has been driven to help fellow sufferers and seek ways to further research into this, as yet, incurable disease. In November 2017, Doddie and his Trustees launched the registered charity My Name’5 Doddie Foundation:

• To raise funds to aid research into the causes of Motor Neurone Disease and investigate potential cures.
• To make grants to individuals suffering from MND, to enable them to live as fulfilled a life as possible.

Doddie says: It is frustrating that there has been so little progress over the last two decades. I want to push the need for research into MND further up the agenda. We may be too late in finding something that can help me, but I am committed to doing everything I can to help find a cure.

With your support, you will help Doddie and the Trustees make a difference to the lives of those coping and battling with Motor Neurone Disease.

Craig now lives in Esher which must mean he is a stockbroker so will have ridden the Surrey Hills andtamed Box Hill in training for this Doddie’5 Ride LeJog event. Craig has 166 points for Scotland but is perhaps most famous for his 3 penalties against England in Scotland’s 1990 Grand Slam success. We expect Craig in his lycra kilt, to be leading from the front of his peloton and to be refuelling on McEwan’s super strength lager whilst munching on a deep fried Mars Bar at the designated feed stations. That’s enough stereotypes hit there me thinks.

Come and join the Peloton for a day and give your support to the My Name’5 Doddie Foundation.
Pledge £150 to the charity and spend the day in the Peloton.

Just email Wints@rideofthelegends.co.uk for further details.

Please kindly donate to the My Name’5 Doddie Foundation, raising funds to aid research into Motor Neurone Disease

Can there be a better place to ride a bike than Majorca? This is my second visit to the Balearic Island, situated 200 miles east of Valencia on the Spanish mainland. From my personal experience, I would think the answer is probably not. A variety of riding from road to mountain bike (they even have a velodrome!), extremely well maintained road surfaces, quiet roads, respectful drivers, lung-busting mountain climbs, breath-taking descents, coastal rollercoasters and a climate that begs you to ‘get amongst it’. I’ve only ridden in the winter months of November and December and this time offers daytime temperatures of between 15 and 25 degrees and quiet roads with virtually no tourist traffic. To be fair, I’ve only had a taste of what is on offer but I can­­ truly say that the biggest danger is riding too much, so is the lure of the potent elixir of this riding utopia.

Day 1 – Misty Mountain and Coastal Ride – 101 km - 2,000 m
My first major ride on the island took me from my base in Santa Ponsa, in the south west, to the pretty towns of Calvia and es Capdella to the north and up the switchbacks to the Galilea lookout and down into the Puigpunyent valley before a second climb to Esporles. By this time, I was submerged in cloud, mist and rain and the descent was chilly but it wasn’t long before another climb warmed the bones and I was quickly reaching for the zip of the spray jacket. The northern coast came into view and, despite the low cloud, the views were priceless. I turned south west towards the town of Banyalbufar and followed a wide road that hugged the coastline and seemed to offer significantly more downhill than ascending. I glided round the sweeping corners and, as I progressed, the cliffs encroached on the road and, just as it seemed as if this towering rock would swallow the road ahead, I disappeared into several tunnels, emerging the other side unscathed. The landscape had changed and was now far more rough and rugged. A couple of switchbacks later and I was again descending at break-neck speed along slightly narrower, but incredibly exhilarating tarmac. Before long, I was sailing through Andratx and the subsequent port before making my way back to Santa Ponsa.

Day 2 – Palma to Mount Soller – 129 km – 1,800 m
I took the coastal road from Santa Ponsa, past the party town (or winter ghost town) of Magalluf to Genova on the outskirts of Palma. I find it amazing that I can be on the fringes of a major city and feel like I’m still in the countryside. Here in Genova, I met my Airbnb host Peter. A mad Celtic fan (aren’t they all?), an ex golf pro, golf coach and the organiser of the Glasgow to Lisbon Charity bike ride in May 2017 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Celtic's European Cup success in 1967. Peter guided me across the motorway and towards the road to Soller and the mountains that make Majorca the cycling paradise that draws in pro riders and teams from all over the world for their winter mountain training camps. I took the climb up Mt Soller, now a quiet road with motorised traffic travelling through the tunnel below. Like the majority of climbs on the island, Mt Soller offers a comfortable 6% average gradient for 7.3 km and 417 metres and is a pleasure to ride - the reward is an exciting descent down the other side to the old town of Soller and its adjacent port below.

Day 3 – Valldemossa – Deia – Port de Valldemossa - Banyalbufar – es capdella – 163 km – 3,100 m
This day was the first of three rides I would do with other riders and turned out to be a sensational day of riding. I rode through the lower mountains to Puigpunyment to meet Heather and Andy, members from my workplace at Cadence Performance Cycling in Crystal Palace. The early morning chill was already abating with temperatures rising to around 17 degrees, as was to be the case every day. We quickly set off for the climb out of the town, the Coll des Grau (3 km, 214 m, 6%), turning right through the beautiful town of Esporles and then on to the climb to the scenic town of Valldemossa. We all decided it would carry on along the coast to Deia, again being rewarded with splendid views over the north coast of the island. A few quick selfies and we backtracked up the climb and were soon descending again to the port of Valldemossa. After coffee and cakes, we returned up this most stunning road, passing sports climbers belaying in the sun-baked road - maybe next time I will climb here, another of my outdoor passions. I left Heather and Andy so I could return home along the coast road I had ridden on Day 1. In the sunshine, it was even more stunning. At Andratx, I turned back inland, climbed back to es Capdella and down to Calvia and Santa Ponsa. The best day so far!

The next day, I teamed up with Dean, my son-in-law, and we set off early on a bright, crisp morning to meet the mad Celtic supporter in Palma. Peter was keen to clock up the miles for the Rapha Festive 500 and had planned a full day in the flatlands of Majorca. After a brisk 20 km ride (enough time for Dean to inform me he hadn't ridden a bike in 2 years!), we arrived to find Peter fixing a puncture. We were soon riding south east after slowly negotiating Palma's coastal one way system. After a comfort stop, Dean and I set off to climb a steady but long gradient, unaware that Peter had taken time to clip in and had already been dropped. Peter had earlier told us not to wait and to meet him at the second coffee shop down the road. At the point we were meant to rendevous, we mistakenly took a wrong turn and ended up in Cala Pi with no coffee shop in sight. We turned back but on reaching the first coffee shop, Peter was long gone. We pushed on, but somehow missed the second coffee shop. A quick call and we found out that Peter was just 3 km away from the town of Campos. Dean and I mistakenly took a longer route via Llucmajor and eventually met Peter in Campos. We refuelled devouring a fantastic burger and chips while Peter circled the area, trying to clock up more kilometres for Strava's Rapha 500 challenge and make up for lost time. Feeling a bit guilty, I jumped on the front and drove us up to Felanitx and on to Manacor along some extremely straight road and making up for some of the lost time. At Manacor, we decided to return to Palma via the service road that follows the motorway. These roads are really quiet, and as a result, the ride became much more social and our pace leisurely. After drinks and chocolate cake at Algaida, we made it back to Palma, with the sun setting in the surrounding hills. The final stretch from Palma to Santa Ponsa was a bit worrying as Dean and I needed to share my lights. After passing a police car we decided the best way to finish the ride was on the bike paths. Despite his lack of riding, Dean finished the day strongly, 215 km obviously not a problem for someone who is a natural athlete. Furthermore, mention must go to Wheels, who delivered Dean a Merckx Sallanches 105 carbon fibre road bike from the other side of the island at Can Picafort for a price that would make it hard for most people to justify bringing their own bike.

This was my Queen stage - a trip to the infamous Sa Calobra hairpin bends. I took the same route to Soller as I did on Day 2 except this time I took the turn up the biggest mountain in Majorca, the Puig Major. The climb was long (14.2 km and 821 m of vertical) with gradients averaging 8%. I eventually reached the tunnel, before descending to the Gorg Blau lake and then climbing the Coll de Cal Reis to the top of Sa Calobra. Before me was a single winding road, designed by Italian engineer Antonio Parietti, the road following the contours of the mountain and featuring 26 hairpin bends and a spiral bridge. The descent was truly sensational and after a short stop at the bottom I turned and made my way back up the Cat 1, 9.5 km climb with an average gradient of 7%. This time I made a few stops for photos but no photo seems to do the beauty of this place any justice. On the way back to the Puig Major tunnel, I picked up a couple of passengers, who pulled off at the top of the climb, leaving me to a 700 metre descent that seemed to continue forever. After ascending Mt Soller once more and clocking up 3500 metres of climbing, I finally arrived back in Santa Ponsa.

For this day, I teamed up again with Dean, keen to show him the north west coastal road which is one of the jewels on the island. We climbed to Galilea through Puigpunyent and on to Banyalbufar before hitting the coastal descents. Once again, the riding was sensational and we felt impelled to take photos at a couple of the lookouts. At Andratx, we climbed back to the town of es Capdella and then on to Calvia and Santa Ponsa, Dean again showing amazing strength and endurance for someone who rarely rides nowadays.

Keen to get one more ride in before packing the bike for the flight back to London, I explored a road from Palma that Peter had pointed out a few days earlier. The road was surrounded by a military base but was completely devoid of any traffic. Like many of the roads in Majorca, the road zig-zagged up the mountain before snaking down the other side. I eventually descended into Calvia and back home. In total, I had covered 1000 km and 15,000 metres of climbing, a far cry from the numbers I would have achieved if I had stayed in London over the Christmas period. It is also true, that I could have easily ridden more, so is the joy and pleasure derived from riding around an island that offers extremely varied cycling terrain and incredible sunshine all year-round. I will certainly be returning again some day very soon! Look no further than Majorca for your next Winter Training Camp.

"So you are finally going on holiday. About time. Where too?"  "Oh, my wife's booked six days in Majorca." A short pause ensued...then mouths snapped open, a crackle of noise and a crash rather than a pop as words were coupled with torrents of enthusiastic tales of past endeavours. I was drowning in an ocean of advice and nostalgia quite breathless from this sudden wave of memories. Unbeknown to me, Majorca was a cycling paradise. But was this for real and how could I possibly convince my lovely wife, Greer, that a day on the bike was a necessary requisite of our first real vacation together since returning from a distant continent half way around the world. 

A few days before our departure, I began the first few days of a softening up process that would allow me some time to explore the island on two wheels. "Majorcas quite mountainous in the north. I'm sure there are some roads to the higher peaks. Perhaps we could drive up there. It's quite steep and precipitous though. I hear that it's good for cycling. Shall we hire a tandem. Those descents into dark tunnels might be a bit hairy." Greer considered this and announced that I should explore the island on a bike, alone, for a day.

I had my bike pass. Now to see if Majorca was all it was cracked up to be. I hired a Merckx road bike and left my base in Can Picafort after a rider's breakfast. I headed north to the mountains that led to the Formentor lighthouse. The initial roads were flat and fast. The locals were terribly polite and even when I was safely ensconced in the cycle lane they would move out giving me far more than a metre of passing room. Spaniards respect cyclists. Perhaps this is due to the tourism that is the life blood of this particular island. Perhaps they are just more easy going and respectful than car drivers from the more populated cities I hail from.                     

I started the climb into the mountains and even though the road snaked up through a number of switchbacks the gradient was fairly gentle never really going above ten percent. I passed people representing the full gamut of generations and several representatives of Spain, Germany and the UK. I was passed at the first high point, seven kilometres from the lighthouse, by a lone rider and watched as he quickly disappeared on a fast descent round several hairpin bends as we were both swallowed whole by the surrounding cliffs, only to re-emerge briefly before being sucked into an long, unlit tunnel and spewed out safely at the other end. The roads here were exhilarating - more suited to a bike than a car which tended to lumber around the cliffs bends. Shortly after, I was to arrive at the majestic Cap de Formentor, with its working lighthouse located on the high cliffs 210 metres above sea level.

The return trip was just as spectacular and a bonus was a visit to the tower at the Mirador del Colomer viewing point, reputedly one of the most photographed places in Majorca, which provided stunning views over cliffs and nearby port of Pollenca.

After returning to my starting point at Can Picafort 80 km later and taking on more water, I set out on phase two of my journey. The roads to Arta, to the south, were as bike friendly as before, their surfaces are smooth and have seemingly been designed with bike riders in mind. Even at the end of October, the climate was warm and provided perfect conditions. I rolled to the top of a long but gentle climb and, as I rounded the corner, the kingdom of Arta swept into view like it had been ushered off the end of a mighty paintbrush. It was quite stunning. 

The meandering road to the hilltop monastery of Ermita de Betlam was also a rare treat. Bells sang as goats wandered carefree in the surrounding fields and birds issued forth their indefatigable poetry. I was a million miles from the reality of a world I had left behind if only for one day. I climbed, descended and, after a short sojourn at the church, I made my return to the real world, a journey totalling over 150 km and nearly 2000 m of climbing.  

Majorca is an incredible place to cycle. I tasted just a sample of its vast offerings but I will back for more in just six weeks. Amongst the rides to experience is a 137 km ride that encompasses the whole mountain range from Andratx, in the west, to Can Picafort, to the east. If you need to hire a bike then I would strongly recommend Wheels whose staff were incredibly accommodating and helpful. Based in both Can Picafort and Alcudia, Manager Sebastian promises to deliver a bike anywhere in Majorca 365 days a year at an extremely reasonable price.   

See you at Christmas Majorca. I'll be back.