Nice Flight

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I’m up in the air, not riding for SKY but cruising at the back of the peloton, in economy class.

Having just ridden Le Tour Des Grand Alpes from Genève to Nice. I find myself in a tuck position time trialing my way back to Sydney. I thought cycling days were behind me, at least for 22 hours.

My rider number is 55J. Elbows slotted under my armpits and knees knocking together, I’m squeezed in between a guy with Andre Greipel-like thighs and a Swiss champion with very long climbing legs.

There’s no class in flying economy but there are economies of scale, particularly when it comes to feeding time. Carbo loading reaches new heights on international flights as food trays resemble musettes filled to the brim. Conquering the smorgasboard placed in front of you is the Alp Duez of eating. Getting through everything without your digestive tract bonking is on par with any mountaintop finish. 

KOM (King of the Mountain) is the one who successfully grazes his way through various gradients. It begins at a soft 4% near the cutlery section on the tray’s outer edges. Past the leafy salad bar and towards the catchment of water, the culinary climb rises to 7%. Negotiate the valley-like slither of chocolate cake, salt and pepper stacks and a forest of toothpicks and you find yourself slap bang against the chicken (or beef?) dish with rice. The crowning glory is a crusty bead roll perched precariously on top to complete an alpine foodscape with peaks of 13%. The only thing missing is a can of Coca Cola to get you over the line. But there’s simply no room for it.

Sprint points are up for grabs once everyone has made a meal of their musette. Keen to get the jump on others and be first to cross to the cubicle, passengers are out of the saddle and jostling for pole position.

It's a s-fight up both aisles as the peloton splits and heads for the WC. With the oxygen sucked from under them, it’s a relief to finish first.

The long decent from the clouds is a fitting reward for everyone. Musettes are discarded and we buckle up for the ride. Thankfully, it’s not long before we clear customs and pile into the team bus for the journey home.

As for winning the General Classification, it’s no contest between those seated down the back of the aircraft. The Yellow Jersey belongs up front to my team leader who is oblivious to all the commotion going on behind him.


He did it tough in Business Class, his Platinum status earning him a contract upgrade at check in, which propelled him to the pointy end of the plane. In this race I knew my position – it was purely confined to domestique duties.

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