Day one done. Lycra off, clean, stretched.
Today was the easy day and the theme was damage limitation. There was certainly
limitation but there was also damage. 6.5 hours in the saddle, 103 miles and
over 2000m of climbing is going to feel like a proper ride however fit you are.
I roomed with Steve last night and a
somewhat sleep-restricted night was bought to a clanging end by Steve’s alarm
which I am convinced is so loud it could precipitate a Zombie apocalypse. Lack of sleep
partly due to trepidation, partly due to an extremely enthusiastic young lady who
was either exaggerating wildly or in the hands of a lavishly talented Latin
lover in a neighbouring room.
We arrived last night just after the bar had closed, so had to console ourselves by emptying the vending machine which, conveniently, sold beer. We had all met at Toulouse airport off the flights from Heathrow and Gatwick and joined up with our hosts for the trip, Rob and Frank who run the very appropriately named Le Domestique Tours. Breakfast and re-assembling bikes following
a reasonably late arrival the night before took until 9ish and then a slightly
confused ride to dip toes in the Atlantic and to have Raid cards distributed
and stamped before getting underway with the great trans-Pyrenean adventure.
Team photos done, we pulled out of Hendaye,
a town just across the border from Spain on the West coast of France at around
10.30 in slightly cloudy but intermittently sunny and warm weather. From St
Jean de Luz and up into the first climb of the day, a nice gentle 3km run up
the first of our 18 cols. St Ignace – just enough of a workout to sort out the
pecking order in the group of 10 without any prizes being handed out. As
predicted, I was nearer the bus than the lead out group, but not right at the
back which was a relief.
The morning flew by, with a quick
breathtaking run up a gradually ascending valley alongside a river swollen with
melt-waters from the mountains above. Roads of a smoothness simply not found in
the UK, a decent following wind and a reasonably tightly knit group, we chewed
through the miles at between 20 and 24mph. Uphill, mind.
Lunch at St Jean Pied de Port was a bowl of
pasta on a leafy terrace outside in a quite charming setting near the river and
it was with a little reluctance that we unhitched our steeds and sallied forth
once more, knowing as we did that the biggest climb of the day was still to
come. When it did come, it was ok. Col d’Osquich is a 500m peak with nothing
more than about 8% with some fabulous views and a descent through wide swinging
bends that was about as much fun as you can have with cycling shorts on.
After that, one more coffee stop and just
ticking off the miles, trying to limit the damage until we reached our
destination for day one, a rustic little hotel on a small hill outside
Lurbe-Saint-Christau. Most of the day’s grime, sweat and pain washed away by a
dip in a pool you might describe as ‘refreshing’. Now I need a beer and some
food that isn’t as sickly sweet as the gels, bars and drinks I have been
guzzling through the day. Then I need to sleep hard, because tomorrow is
another day and it’s the big one. Roughly twice the climbing we did today and I
am trying not to think about it too much. Sorry if there are any spelling
mistakes, but I do need that beer.
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