27 July 2008

 

The town of Argeles Gazost is the most central place to be when you want to attack the major Tour de France climbs in the Pyrenees. Names such as Col de Tramassel, Pont d’Espagne, Cauterets, Luz Ardiden and of course the most famous of them all, Col du Tourmalet, evoke images of history being made and records broken. So often has the TdF visited this particular Col that to try and list all the athletes who have succeeded in reaching the summit first would simply be superfluous to this single monument perched on the highest track of tarmac in the area.

 

They love their TdF here!

 

Like a neon light attracting moths in the night Col du Tourmalet attracts thousands of cyclists every year from all parts of the globe. My own experience of climbing compared well to the other riders gathered at the summit sucking on air, coke and anything else that was to prepare them for their journey down or, like me, onwards to Col d’Aspin and Col de Peyresourde before the long and consistent descent to Luchon and a haughty meal full of carbs and protein.

 

What a day! I haven’t worked that hard since the four-peaks day in the Alps, but it was all worth it. Being able to share moments at the top of these climbs with fellow cyclists and looking behind to savour the road just travelled is what this hill climbing gig is all about. Looking around at the cars and motorcyclists I wonder if they ‘get it’ from sitting comfortably behind their steering wheel/handlebars and letting a machine do all the work? You don’t have to be the fastest up, but you do need to put in the effort.

 

The next day brought what must surely be the oddest sight this entire journey; a triathlon race in the Pyrenees! 

 

Rounding a bend in the village of St. Beat I happened upon a semi-closed road full of aero bars, deep dish carbon wheels and sleeveless tri-tops complete with black numbers painted on smooth tanned skin. It was easy to slot right in with the hundreds of competitors as we all began to climb the Col de Menthe urged on by the many spectators lining the road, with the occasional car/truck passing us in both directions (well, I did say semi-closed).

 

I hate to think of the water temperature these athletes must have swum in or where they were expected to run, but I can honestly say they were suffering on this climb. Many had chosen the wrong equipment (one guy had a disc on!) and were paying for their choice. Up and over the top saw a hair rising descent which (thankfully) didn’t claim any skin in the steep and tight hairpin corners. I was thinking the competitors were to ride straight up the next climb (Col de Portel d’Aspet) , but their route took a left hand turn and I was on my own again.

 

The Cols just keep on in the Pyrenees. From St. Jean de Luz to Perpignan there was a plethora of choice for the challenging cyclist as can be seen by the numerous bunches training in the area.

 

Riding up to and through Port d’ Envalira I came across Rabobank putting in some serious kilometres. (It looked as though they were doing laps of Andorra as we past each other twice!) This guy and his mates were having a break from their usual activities at the top of Col de Puymorens; which no doubt involves significant climbing looking at those muscles.

 

The ride down was over 30kms of steady speeds and small villages hugging mountain side roads perched atop fresh streams; the perfect place to replenish empty bidons.

 

The Mediterranean end of the Pyrenees can also lay claim as the epicentre of the universe…that is if you’re a follower of Salvador Dali. It was at Perpignan’s train station that this most prolific artist experienced a cathartic moment of truth in identifying the meaning of all which exists in the known consciousness, at a place most use as a means of travel. A short trip into Figueres, Spain to the Salvador Dali museum and you can work on this one yourself…

 

On the eve of a certain Mr. Sastre taking home his first ever Maillot Jaune, it is time to bid adieu to the warm welcome experienced throughout Southern France. But not before one last fling with a French moment.

 

In the district of Canal du Midi came a very suitable send off to what has been an invigorating time in France; a cross-country bike race! There was 40kms of trails snaking in and around vineyards, hills and (briefly) skipping across village squares. The organising club - Velo Club Redorte - provided support throughout the course by placing volunteers and supplies at crucial points along the way. In the end it was the kids who starred on the day as they snaked their way throughout a tough course to finally battle it out on the stretch home. Watch out for a  surprise youngster who goes by the name of Anne Ribbors; she took out top honours in her first effort. This kid has a future! 

 21 July 2008

 

Departing the rolling green hills of the UK for southern France was always going to be dramatic (as it was leaving Italy’s Dolomites) not just for the geography, but also the shift in language and culture of the area.

 

Beginning in Bayonne on the River Adour provides opportunity to immerse oneself in the passionate Basque Country, Euskal Herria in the Basque language. This is a culture steeped in a strong sense of identity that dates back many centuries and one with a very distinct language not shared with any other on the planet. There are about 1 million Basques living in the French/Spanish area who are decidedly different from their governing nations.

 

While Bayonne is the cultural and economic capital of the area I was headed for the seaside vacation town of St. Jean de Luz where sun-worshippers relax on sandy shores of the curved bay. The town itself is best navigated by bicycle or foot as the roads are very narrow, reflecting their horse-drawn carriage design. The dining is truly something to savour as you take on the gastronomical monster born of Basque genes. Tapas and spice became a steady diet.

 

Riding out of St. Jean de Luz takes you straight into the foothills and some of the lower cols of the Pyrenees Mountains. Col de St. Ignace was the first of many to come and provided some rather challenging sections going up, but was eased by a steady diet of tree cover across the road and gentle sea breeze on my back. Riding on was the first indication of the up and down nature that was to come in these colourful and dramatic mountains.

 

There’s a marked difference in country Basque and country France. Villages and farms in Basque are whitewashed with blood red trimming/shutters and terracotta tiled roofs, while in France there’s a more stone feel to the buildings. If I had to pick an area that marked the border it would have to be atop Col Bagargui. From here I could look west to Basque and east to France.

 

The following days were of steady climbing and quick descending, interspersed with relaxed visits through small villages and dodging an array of farm animals taking refuge across the road. Obligatory café stops are always high on the agenda with regular opportunity to meet local and international travellers, themselves enjoying French culture.

 
 

However, being in France in July can mean only one thing to the cyclist: Tour de France.

 

Scattered across roads, on hillsides, in cafes and through villages is evidence of the largest annual sporting event on the planet. From cycling caps lying on the ground, to streamers strung up across village roads, to words of encouragement for the TdF athletes written across the roads and these magnificent examples of passion atop the Col d’ Aubisque, the Tour de France is everywhere. On everyone’s lips is whether Cadel Evans, Australia’s biggest ever chance for capturing the Maillot Jaune, will cross the line first on the Champs Elysees. He seems to have the French backing as everywhere I went people spoke encouraging words for his quest.  
 
 
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