On Turkey’s south coast is a climb that is new to the pro peloton but may be destined to become the most feared of them all. Cyclist feels the force of Babadağ
Words NICK CHRISTIAN Photography JUAN TRUJILLO ANDRADES
Type the words ‘world’s greatest cycling climbs’ into a search engine and you will be presented with numerous articles, all of them listing the same collection of classics from the big races. There’s Mont Ventoux and Alpe d’Huez from the Tour de France; the Giro d’Italia throws up the Stelvio Pass and Monte Grappa; while the Vuelta a España comes in with its viciously steep Alto de l’Angliru.
These are climbs famed for their difficulty, made legendary by the exploits of pro racers and visited each year by hordes of amateur cyclists looking to test their mettle on the same slopes as their heroes. But if the Presidential Tour of Turkey has anything to say about it, there might just be a new name to add to that list. On 10th October this year, Stage 3 of the race introduced the pro peloton to a climb so steep, so unrelenting, that it may just blow all the others out of the water. That climb goes by the name of Babadağ. And Cyclist got there first.
Screen burn
Erman, the editor of Cyclist Turkey, is the man responsible for planning today’s 84km route. Foolishly, when he tells me the distance, I scoff, ‘Where’s the rest of it?’
Erman’s response is to guide my gaze towards the total elevation of the ride. It’s an improbably large number on his screen, and at first my brain fails to comprehend it. How can you get that much elevation into such a short distance? But once I realise that it isn’t a mistake, I feel a strange tension grip my insides.
To calm myself, I indicate to Erman that I’m sure it will all be fine with him leading the way, and he responds that has no intention of doing the ride himself. Instead, he has delegated responsibility for accompanying me to a local guide, Tarek, who looks too tall to be much of a climber, and is as aerodynamic as a shed, yet defies the laws of physics when the gradients bite.
As I soon find out, Tarek climbs like a goat and descends like a bird of prey. What he can do on the flat I have no idea, because there’s barely a metre of it on the whole route. In order to cram more than 3,500 vertical metres into 84 horizontal kilometres, we have to be heading uphill as soon as we’ve clipped in.
From our start point in the beach town of Kargi, we launch straight onto the first climb of the day, Süleyman Demirel. O
