We drove to France, we found our way to our digs at RamonJuan 5km out of Beaudean. Our rooms are lovely and so quiet. The stream of the Lesponne gurgles continually from the clouded hils to our south.
Click in time is somewhere after a marvellous spread of croissant, preserves, fresh bread, fruit, cafe, jus, lait. We fuel with the knowledge of the climb to come.
And what a climb! Tourmalet is shrouded in history of professional cycling. A place I first wanted to visit as a spectator for the 2008 Boucle, we couldnt make it and so it is satisfying to come here ten years later and ride the slope in anger/misery for the first time. I have seen this on my TV screen on multiple occasions as Le Tour comes here frequently but where are the screaming fans? The crazy dickheads in costumes or baring their arses at us?
Cows, llamas (yes llamas) and diesel spewing vehicles are all that guide these Aussies up the hill. Occasionally the stream splashes or an eagle can be heard screeing, but as we climb this monster the only noise I hear is my own breath, my own groans of effort, the gentle roll of the tyres on asphalt and the whirr of the chain throught the chainrings and cassette.
Its alpine country, above these galleries are thousands of feet of near vertical rock, threatening to drop several thousand tonnes of stone, ice snow water across the roadway.
Such an eerie sound as vehicles pass, and there are many.
Five kilometres and still five hundred more vertical metres to ascend. Its both comforting and galling simultaneously. The average gradient is the mind killer.
Entering La Mongie we are accosted by roaming gangs of quadrupedo llamas that are not living in big rivers like the Amazon. I think they are the source of the poo splats I have been studiously avoiding while turning pedals.
As we ascend the signs are comforting us, here I am looking comforted, and strangely wearing a helmet for this bastard of a climb, totally sweated through even though the temperature isnt too high, and entering the cloud zone, any perspiration rapidly condenses.
The pass arrives and there is no more road to climb. I climb off my bike and have a little sob.
A hot cup of Earl Grey tea and a nutella crepe (first nutella in over 25 years. Its hideous but fuel for what is to come.
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| Supermodel |
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| OberGruppenFuhrer |
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| Buble Boy |
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| Le Membre |
OGF is looking happy because he has decided not to climb the Hautacam, LM is out of shot to the right. We are getting a bit cross because we have run out of water and need it.
Somehow BB has decided to climb this peak, I didnt know he was going to do it with me, SM has buggered off with OGF and LM, and for the first half hour or so its mysef and BB tapping out a rhythm on the pedals as we ascend.
The trees thin out into grazing country, and the wind picks up but as we are climbing it helps cool us down. Beautiful country, a few cars pass, cows bells tinkle, birds call and scree, the environment is getting wilder.
Then an interruption, SM arrives with a blaze of branding, with BB just a short distance behind. We shadow each other to the top. He has done a magnificent effort to catch us with a ten minute head start.
The top. There is a view to the valley below, but I was more interested in buying a coke from the shop as I have totally missed lunch after the nutella incident. A marvellous descent beckons, dry roads, calm and slow moving cows, and the opportunity to overtake cars as they inch downhill.
LM and OGF have consumed fine fare and need to work off the calories, so we attempt to travel north and east to get back to Bagnerres di Bigorre. GPS wayfinding is generally taking us back but some turns dont make sense and yes an impasse was located. Retrace and more descending and we are moving back to our digs at a fine clip
But the final five kilometres are uphill 200m and I just want the pain to stop.
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