Bike touring combines travel, endurance, and adventure, making it a passion for riders such as Andrew Schry, a member of the Lawrence County Cycling Club. Cycling often pushes participants beyond their comfort zones, exposing them to unfamiliar terrain and unpredictable conditions. Occasionally, however, what begins as a scenic ride can escalate into something far more serious. That was the case in a 2014 Western Living article by Curtis Gillespie, who recounted a harrowing experience while climbing and descending France’s legendary Alpe d’Huez.
Alpe d’Huez is one of the Tour de France’s most iconic and demanding climbs, famous for its 21 numbered hairpin bends and relentless gradient. Gillespie and his riding partner, Rich, began their day by parking in Rochetaillée, a village near Grenoble, and using the roughly 20-kilometer approach ride as a warm-up before tackling the ascent.
Once the climb began in earnest, the difficulty became immediately apparent. The steep gradient quickly reduced their speed from fast cruising pace to a grinding cadence. Within a short distance, their velocity dropped dramatically as they settled into the long, sustained effort required to reach the summit. The 21 switchbacks loomed ahead.
Rich, the more experienced cyclist, waited at the top of the first hairpin and offered encouragement: “One down, 20 to go.” By the seventh bend, about 40 minutes into the climb, Gillespie had found a rhythm. While the elevation of Alpe d’Huez—approximately 1,860 meters—does not produce true altitude sickness for most riders, the sustained gradient creates intense cardiovascular strain. Each turn revealed wider views across the valley below, providing brief mental relief from the physical demand.
At the summit, which houses a ski village, the pair paused for lunch at a café before beginning their descent.
The ride down proved even more eventful than the climb. Alpine descents reward focus and punish lapses in concentration. Speeds quickly climbed past 35 mph, and on straight sections likely approached 45 mph. As they navigated the final bends, Gillespie attempted to close the gap on Rich. Drifting slightly toward the center of the narrow road while modulating his brakes, he struck loose rock fragments that had fallen from the cliff face.
The debris caused the rear wheel to lose traction momentarily. In reacting to the slide and applying further braking input, control deteriorated. The bike destabilized, and within seconds he lost balance. The rear wheel caught near a roadside gutter, abruptly redirecting the bike toward the cliff wall. Still clipped into the pedals, Gillespie was thrown sideways into the rock face. The force of impact triggered the pedals to release from his shoes as the bicycle tumbled.
In the chaos, he instinctively turned his head just before striking a boulder, allowing his helmet—not his face—to absorb the blow. When he came to rest in the road beside his shattered carbon-frame Cervelo R5, he conducted a quick physical inventory. Fingers moved. Arms responded. Legs functioned. Despite extensive abrasions and a severely injured right leg, he was conscious and mobile.
Remarkably, he was able to leave the scene under his own power. Cervelo, which had supplied bicycles for the sponsored excursion, replaced the destroyed bike. Even more remarkable was his mindset. Though battered and shaken, Gillespie found himself contemplating future climbs almost immediately.
For Andrew Schry and other road cyclists, the lesson is clear. At speed, even a minor lapse in judgment can escalate into a dangerous situation within seconds. Alpine descents demand complete focus, smooth braking, and disciplined line choice. Yet the paradox of endurance sport remains: the same challenge that introduces risk is often what draws riders back.
Gillespie concluded his account with a reflection that captures the psychology of cyclists everywhere: the experience had been harrowing, exhausting, and physically punishing—and yet he was already eager to return.
