Going to be short one tonight, unlike the
ride which was long. Rolled out of Arreau at 8.30ish after the now familiar
morning routine and straight up Peyresourde. Last night I couldn’t get the Wifi
to work and it was a close thing as to whether I had a laptop or whether I had
thrown it out of the window. Not an ideal way to relax after a long day.
So, back in the saddle for day 3 and
another lumpy one. Fortunate again with some glorious sunshine and, despite a
think layer of factor 30 I now have a Texan neckline, red arms and knees. The
few low clouds blew away as we set off up the first col of the day, another
classic well used on the Tour and a reasonably pleasant incline. The only
problem was that it took me an awful long time to resurrect tired and aching limbs
from after two days of, as Francis would say; ‘Smashing it’ Actually Francis
would spice up the sentence with a few choice expletives as well.
From the hotel it was 22km to the top of
Peyresourde but it was not until the 8km to go marker was passed that I began
to feel as if I might get into some sort of rhythm. From there to the 1km
marker, I actually felt ok but the last few hundred metres were horrible.
Except for the view, the view was astonishing. At the top, the usual banter with Frank from Le Domestique Tours and some welcome words of encouragement and then another wonderful descent and the
conversion from ‘why the hell am I doing this’ to trying to think of new ways
to describe the exhilaration of sweeping effortlessly down the mountainside,
with its banked corners and clean dry roads.
Coffee stop near the bottom at a patisserie
and a bottle refill. Some brave folks eating mille feuilles with a decent cup
of coffee. Felt almost like a proper Sunday ride as we sat in the sunshine
watching a colourful set of parasenders/ gliders or whatever those crazy guys
are who throw themselves off mountains towards the nearest powerlines they can
find.
Bit of valley work then up a smaller but
nonetheless reasonably significant climb trying to conserve energy for the Col
de Porte D’Aspet, reputed to be the toughest of the day with gradients up to
27%. Our plan was to ascend passing the memorial to Fabio Cassertelli, a pal of
Lance Armstrong’s, who died in the 1995 Tour descending at pace. I had built
the climb up so much in my head that when it did come, it wasn’t quite as bad.
I also did the whole thing with Colin, and we even had enough left in the tank
for a daft sprint finish at the top. From there, a short descent to a café for
lunch. Being late, and on Sunday and short-staffed, it wasn’t the quickest but
welcome when it did arrive.
After lunch, and maybe partly because it
had taken so long, we set off at an insane pace on a long descent, a long flat
section and then a long, gentle ascent. Average speeds well in the red for mile
after mile most of which I was debating whether I was at the tipping point
where the benefit of hanging on the back of a speeding group was outweighed by
the enormous effort of keeping up. Then, almost as one, the whole group blew up
and had to slow down.
One more climb, Col de Port and then
another long descent. By now, the climbs have all coalesced into one but this
one was particularly memorable for the new affliction I seem to be suffering
from, where my feet overheat. Painful it is too. Anyway, that done, heads down
for the finish in the spa town of Ussat-les-Bains, just in time of dinner.
Almost 11 hours from when we set off with various parts of me now so tender
that I had to cycle doing the rising trot – out for 5 seconds, down for 5.
Tomorrow? Not ready to contemplate that
yet, but I have got this far so I can’t see how I won’t make it now even if
there is another bucket-load of pain tomorrow. I am not really thinking about
much other than riding, I haven’t yet had a decent night’s sleep and most parts
of me hurt. Am I enjoying it though? Hell yes. The relief that my relative
slowness is not a burden, the growing belief that I can finish this thing and
the sheer pleasure of the downhills all make it worthwhile. The best thing
though? Getting to the top of those bloody big mountains propelled only by my
own effort, the satisfaction of ticking them off one after the other. I just
think I could do anything if I really tried. Just let me rest a while first.
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