.........however, the opportunity of riding the infamous Aubisque couldn’t be overlooked, I headed off and cycled to the top of ‘the monster’, all 1709 metres of it.
If you’ve never cycled in France, wow! Every car and lorry gives you enough room to swing several cats tied with a jaunty reef knot, and the roads are super smooth (where I went anyway). The weather was perfect, and passing through Pau and Gan towards the feet of the Pyrenees I was able to fully appreciate the size and potential for intimidation the mountains had. Suffice it to say I felt a little insignificant in comparison!
Anyway, I started the ascent without realising it as I think I may have got lost, as I ended up in a strange sloping piazza, with only the comfort of ‘for sale’ signs hanging off dilapidated spa institutes.
However tomtom in hand (the satnav!) I found the route and pedaled off, passing the 11-km to go board, having unwittingly covered 5 already.
All I can say of the ascent is ‘what a bastard!’. Its completely deceiving as the gradient really isn’t that steep, with only a brief 13% section early on interrupting a steady flow of 8-10% sections. However its the sheer distance and altitude that seems to wear you down, and mentally its very hard to understand what’s happening as your legs begin to struggle, your heart begins to pound, yet the gradient seems so slight!
From 1300 metres up I began to have problems and I couldn’t seem to get enough air in. After riding in Derbyshire all my life up way steeper gradients I wasn’t going to give up! It simply came down to forgetting everything and trying to find a rhythm, which began to reap results as I pulled in a jolly Frenchman on a very nice Look carbon bike, ‘Bonjour’, ‘Au revoir’, a grunt which seemed to say ‘Bastard bastard’ and I was off, eventually reaching the top after an hour of toil, and feeling like I’d been steam rollered repeatedly.
Why oh way don’t the French make decent sandwiches? Fromage and Jambon is no reward after all that work, keep your cheese chaps, and the omnipotent canard, give me fresh salad and chicken!!!!!
After a nice chat with a Spanish lady and the aforementioned Frenchman after he arrived at the top, I set off for the descent which was fabulous, although I was careful not to go crazy as it was wet in places.
At the top I was worried about a lack of energy on the return to Pau, but the Jambon sandwich must have had hitherto unforeseen benefits, as I wobbled along at an average of 22mph for the return trip, passing breathtaking fields complete with continental cowbell percussion.
..........and so to the Tourmalet;
If the Aubisque is a monster, the Tourmalet is a giant, at 2115 metres (6939 ft) the highest col on the route. They don’t come any fiercer than that. The Col du Tourmalet is one of the big five continental climbs - the others are Mont Ventoux in Provence, the Alpe d’Huez and the Galibier in the Alps, and the Stelvio between Italy and Switzerland, and for any cyclist to conquer this col is a real feather in their cap - or so it’s said.
The climb proper (if you’re going west to east) starts from Luz St. Sauveur and is unremitting from the start. Three hours it took me, from 10.30 to 1.30, with a twenty-minute break for coffee at Bareges, which is just before the halfway point.
Someone spotted an eagle soaring round the crags which overshadow this steep little hamlet.It was pedal, pedal, pedal all the way, grinding slowly up a narrow valley and through the inevitable forest - I’ve never seen so many trees as I did in the Pyrenees - and then round a bend and out onto the bare mountain.
You could see the road ahead, twisting its tortuous route over the mountainside, a hideous distance yet to climb, and your heart just sank. It went on and on, bend after bend, hairpin after hairpin.
But the weather was fine - it was a beautifully sunny day, and it was high enough not to get roasting hot. Approaching 7,000 feet you start to feel the thinness of the air, and for the last few hundred yards there’s a very steep uphill pull.
I was shattered enough by then to contemplate getting off and walking it (just to stretch my legs, you understand) but I hung on and, in bottom gear with lungs bursting and heart pumping, made it to the top.“Pass the line!” they shouted to me from the roadside cafe, “You’ve got to pass the line!” Which was a white bar across the road, and I did, and that was it, the Tourmalet gained, a fantastic view on which to look back, and an even more fantastic descent in prospect.
The road down goes through the hideous ski resort of La Mongie, a blot on the otherwise pristine landscape if ever there was one, and then down and down and down. I lost count of the number of sweating cyclists coming up the other way, both racers and tourists, my shoulder aching with the effort of applying the brakes at every bend.
There was little respite at the bottom, just a drink of water and a banana, a right turn and then the slow uphill to the start of the Aspin.
From the west, the Col d’Aspin (1489 m, 4885 ft) is easy-paced, a gentle if unremitting climb through the forest, with a herd of bell-toting cows right at the top. Then a long, flying swoop down to Arreau, locate the hotel and then the bar. A worthwhile day in every respect.
That last bit sounds great doesn't it?
Ian
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