- Distance: 131,84 km
- Vertical Ascent: 2.013 m
- No. of Named Cols: <TBC>
- Start Date & Time: 2019-10-13, 12:02
- Start Location: Puivert
- End Date & Time: 2019-10-14, 00:47:30
- End Location: Castillon-en-Couserans
- Time Moving: 7:42:07
- Moving Average: 17,1 km/h
- No. of Stops >3 Minutes: 8
Data: strava.com/activities/2787146246
My B&B host Pete had prepared an enormous breakfast table with everything I could wish for and more. When I — unlike a few guests in similar guise but about a week earlier — didn’t scramble to leave in a hurry he suggested boiled eggs on top of everything else. Several other bikepackers and TPR racers had recently stayed at the hostel and Pete attributed this to most other establishments already being closed for vacation. Pete and I had an interesting conversation, so packing up and organizing myself wasn’t the delaying factor — not after practicing this ritual over the previous eight* mornings.
*= I don’t count the night before race start, as that was still a combination of well planned but poorly executed steps, lack of practice and lots of improvisation — far from routine.
At the corner where the rural road from my B&B meets the D117 in Puivert, and just moments after leaving there, I changed from Merino into summer climbing kit. I had completely misjudged the outside climate of the day. And now that day started with me losing time to myself. Great.
But compensation followed suit. The first few kilometres of the day offered scenic views to the south and led up the Col de la Babourade, and further on the descent over the Col de Teil.
I felt tired but good.
Reaching Bélesta, at the bridge over L’Hers, me asking for a bar or café resulted in a conversation with an old lady who insisted I try the restaurant around the next corner. I passed. Although i really longed for a coffee break plus maybe a sandwich, I decided I wanted only a quick stop. So, I turned right towards Lavelanet.
Now I believe it was my weariness rather than hunger, but it felt almost as if something was itching and I couldn’t scratch at it. In need of a break, again, after not that much of a distance travelled post-breakfast, and along the D117 there were no open bars or boulangeries to stop!
Apparently there was no place to properly have lunch, so I stayed for an extended break under a few trees, in front of the cemetery of Saint-Jean-d’Aigues-Vives: In the half-shade, snacked from my provisions and took to the punctured tubes to ensure that I have some spares again after using up the last one the night before.
Fixed an orange Tubolito in no time, but couldn’t find the leak in the one punctured on the Carretera de Tor climb. And the tube flatted on the descent into Andorra has so many holes, that with air still leaking out, albeit slower, after four patches — I resigned (for now).
Speaking about slow: With the sun high up in the sky, I dozed off a few times, from the warmth and the comfortable quietness on a Sunday in the french Pyrenees. It became clear how tired I was after the long day and night before, when I looked a the time on my iPhone and discovered I had just spent over two hours resting and patching tubes. I knew that I had to start slow, find my rhythm over the coming hours and then likely ride long into the night again. But not this slow.
Moments later, found myself back on the bike, and off again, only a few hundred meters further down the D117: Just behind the next bend, right off the road the “Arcens Monique” bar stood open and inviting. Don’t remember now, but think I had two double espresso and a literal bucket of water to my Croque Monsieur, some charcuterie and probably a small salad.
The next hours of the ride are mostly a blur of images in my mind. While seemingly coming to my senses in terms of focus on the route and riding it, I still took a wrong exit out of one roundabout. Two extra trips around this junction, a look of disbelief at the sorry state of some of the businesses and houses around, and I continued mostly non-stop. Actually, I found a very good flow for the rest of the day and through the night. Drawback: Very few photographs for you to enjoy.
Shortly after passing the busy town of Tarascon-sur-Ariège, the route started climbing in earnest, and I remember intentionally pausing at Surba for two things:
(1) The panoramic view of the face of the Roc de Sédour (or Soudour).
(2) Find a place to stay for the night, somewhere between 80 and 120 kms from here, so I could hopefully sleep earlier and longer than the night before. Not skimping on shuteye had proven essential for my return to good form after the disastrous pre-race days and weeks.
Switching between browsing the available B&Bs on the Internet and my planned route in RideWithGPS, I noticed daylight was already fading, but as I had learned throughout this journey, climbing was nicest after dark. And that night I was up for a memorable combination of cols.
After one or two failed attempts to contact other places, I had a joy of a phone call with the owner of La Maison de Natasha. Explaining the nature of my journey, that I’d be arriving rather late, and by bike, I was completely blown away when Natasha stated, “you must be starving by the time you get here”, asked if I would need something to eat, and suggested for her to get me a pizza or a salad. To which I said yes, yes, and yes. We agreed on a salad with some meat, duck if still available. And a big one.
The first significant ascent of the day was up the Col de Port from Tarascon. It starts out as a beautiful somewhat sinuous road, passing through a few villages, reaching Saurat and then curving its way up to the Portet. I had the most beautiful ride, with the full moon in the sky behind me illuminating the tarmac and mountain ahead. I would have loved to take a better picture than the one I post here, but didn’t bring a descent camera and tripod.
On Strava the Col de Port is classified as a Cat. 1 climb with more than 15 km at an average 5% gradient. Combine it with the Mur de Péguère immediately afterwards, and you have an HC stretching for almost 30 kms and with the steepest Péguère section alone confronting you with gradients well above 15% and an average of around 12% over 3,5 kilometres.
Though I remember cussing and shouting aloud in the dark while enduring those final K’s up the Péguère, I also still get a grin on my face thinking back at the conversation between brain and quads and calves and feet — #ShutUpLegs! Good that I had not developed any knee issues. None. Because here I could not maintain my cadence above 90 or at least 80 rpm.
And then there were graffiti on the tarmac: At first countless “NON OURS” or more correctly “Non à l’ours!”* painted in huge white letters on the tarmac and on supporting walls and crash barriers, but the more difficult the sections, the more prevalent became cycling-specific slogans, mostly names, meant to encourage riders of the Tour de France.
*= In some very remote places in the Pyrenees, the brown bear is being reintroduced; and this creates quite the controversy.
Relieved and satisfied with myself I eventually reached the summit of the Péguère. But to my surprise the climb was not over yet: another roughly 3 kms, and one final summit for the day, the wide, almost false flat-like road up the Col de Portel added negligible less than 100 meters of vertical ascent to this night ride — but it annoyed the hell out of me …
During the night, and especially up high in the mountains, temperatures had dropped significantly, or maybe the air just felt like it. Whatever, on the following descent it was cold, really cold. And after an initial short, rather shallow stretch, for the remaining 10 kms, the descent turned into a continuous sequence of sharp turns and hairpins, with a mid section of 3 kms of gradients constantly between -8 and -15%. At night. With cold fingers. Brutal! I was so happy to find an open bar in Biert, just at the end of the descent.
The girl behind thebar was serving a last group of guests, likely the owner and his friends. She watched me burst into the bar with a somewhat bewildered look. In the valley, it was rather warm, and me, all kitted out, shivering, asking for a hot tea — I definitely looked out of place. She asked where I had come from (“Les 3 cols, Portet, Péguère, Col de Port”) and where I intended to get at his time of night (“Audressein, ou autour” — another 40 kms at least). Her reply: “tu es fou” — You are crazy. Bien sur.
Sipping tea and warming up, I messaged Natasha, my host for the night, signalling the approximate hour of arrival and set out on a fantastically smooth, fast descent of around 25 kms, along the Salat river. I had to deviate from the official route once, when at the confluence of Arac and Salat the old road was barred. But at Lacourt I managed to rejoin the “Raid Pyrénéen” and continued on the D3 into downtown Saint-Girons.
What I had known, and feared though, was the ensuing 15 kilometres climb right until my B&B. It was only a very modest gradient, rather a false flat than a true climb, but by now, I was already weary and tired, and I knew I my speed would drop to an awfully slow crawl.
I made it though, even managed to enjoy the final hour or so. Again, I really loved my night ride. While searching for Natasha’s place, I took one wrong turn, resulting in an additional steep climb, but then found her house in an idyllic side street in Castillon-en-Couserans. A friendly welcome by my host, even this late, a brief tour of the B&B, discovering my floor was appropriately Tig(g)er-themed, an extended stay under a very hot shower, before eating my salad, in parallel to the usual, by now well rehearsed ritual of washing some kit, organizing everything for the morning, recharging electronics, and finally crawling under the sheets to sleep. All is good.
