This one has been bouncing around in my head since I saw the holiday house on the internet back in January. The thought struck me then "The Pyrenees are miles away, but this would be the perfect chance to cycle one of the most iconic mountain climbs from the Tour de France". I checked with the wife and it's been on ever since.
I didn't especially train for this, in fact with work being exceptionally busy, I've only been able to get out on weekends. So as the holiday approached, my nerves and apprehension about my preparedness started to pile up. The ride I did on Sunday certain had some nasty hills in it, but I still managed to climb them all. I knew deep down that the Tourmalet was a different beast altogether though.
As I went to bed last night, I wondered what it was about this climb that had so appealed. Why was I doing it? I read a number of articles on the web of others who had done it and I started to have some very serious reservations. This is a Hors catégorie climb, "beyond classification". As far as I could recall the most difficult climb I'd done before was a Cat 3. It's the highest paved mountain pass in the French Pyrenees. Here I was having done no serious preparation or hill training about to tackle it. On my own. Yeah, I was definitely starting to doubt the whole idea.
The day started with a few hiccups, I managed to remember I'd left my shoes at the house about 20 minutes down the road and then rode off without my water bottles. I hadn't really studied the route, mainly to avoid fuelling the nerves further. I was aware of what lay before me, but I normally like to go over the route in some detail when I haven't ridden it before so that I know how much to keep in reserve. For this, the plan was simply to get to the top in one piece!
So I wasn't prepared for the first climb of the day, well ahead of the mountain itself. Loucrup came seemingly out of nowhere, but it was a big one; long (2km) and steep (7% avg). I found myself (my nerves still not in check) thinking "if I'm struggling on this, it doesn't bode well for the mountain". I took some courage from seeing some of the names of the General Classification riders from the Tour de France that had gone up that hill this year: Bauke Mollema, Pierre Rolland, Peter Sagan. No mention of Froome! Riding on the same roads as these riders was pretty inspiring.
The climb doesn't officially start until you get to Sainte Marie de Campan, but the climbing certainly starts before you get there. I was feeling fairly strong, certainly easing my way past a few other riders. The weather was hot and there wasn't a great deal of a breeze to help. In fact later up the climb, there were a few sections where there was no breeze at all. This only serves to magnify the experience. Getting scorched whilst you are climbing uphill is no fun at all. The small rivulets that follow the road, seem to taunt you - clear cold water only centimetres from you. I found myself fantasising about stopping and throwing handfuls of it over me, quenching my thirst with it - two water bottles was not enough on a hot day like today.
That heat though did mean that the views were stunning throughout the ride and bode well for the summit. I really wanted a clear view out, just as I'd seen on the TV.
There isn't really a lot to say about the climb up itself, apart from the fact that it is relentless and exceptionally tough. Anyone that has done any amount of cycling will know that one of the worst things you can do when climbing a hill is to look up. However when you have 16km of climbing, it's hard not to. After all, you're there to experience the climb itself. I'd certainly not cycled up anything like this, so I was going to take the whole experience in. I wasn't hugely bothered about my time to complete - frankly the challenge was to get up the thing at all! There was a number of moments where that was brought in to question. About half way in, I was seriously struggling. I was tacked on to the back of 3 other riders, just pushing my pedals around. The heat and lack of breeze was playing a big part in making this section exceptionally difficult. Whilst I'd had a good breakfast, with the long journey and hiccups, I was due some lunch. Instead I just had what energy products I brought with me, some gels an energy bar and some energy blocks, plus my drinks. I believe this played a big part in my feeling particularly weak. I've never been good at managing my energy input and today was not a good day to wing it like I was. I just completely ran out of steam. I stopped, my heart rate wasn't coming down nearly as quickly as it normally does. This let me to wonder if it was me dehydrating - I had been sweating buckets in the heat. Was it the altitude affecting the amount of oxygen I was getting in? Who knows! I stood there for a while, eating the energy blocks and using the first stop of the day to take some pictures.
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| Panaromic from my first breather |
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| Me pretending I was enjoying myself |
The other aspect to this climb I hadn't anticipated was the sudden all to real sense of vertigo I got on a number of spots along the route. Generally speaking you don't really get a great sense of the height you've climbed, but when the trees parted at this one section - I almost lost my stomach. It was SO steep and SO high up, and only a tiny wall separated you and your bike from a HUGE drop. There are times too, when there isn't even a wall - just a huge expanse/vista/fall and some tarmac and a painted white line is all that separates you from it. This is especially true as I made my way up to the eyesore that is La Mongie, through the avalanche shelters. You feel right on the edge of the mountain. You pass over this pipe which tunnels the water under La Mongie and there is nothing seperating your tired and weary body from dropping off the edge.
La Mongie, besides being a hideous eyesore introduces you to the final few kilometres of the climb and with it a sharpening of the gradient. Long gone is any shade from trees or avalanche shelters, it's just you and some very hot, steep road. Ahead lies what appears to be an impossible task, to keep going through average gradients of 9.5% - it looks much steeper. You can't even see the route you will take, just the last few hairpins and the ski lift station, signifying what must surely be the summit! It was here that I again felt I had nothing left to give. The legs had had enough, I was gasping for a drink and the lack of shade exacerbated both! It was here I considered turning around and joining the dozens of other riders I'd been watching streaming past, going downhill. This seems like a very good idea. The final 3-4km just felt too far, too hard. Frankly impossible. How could I come this far and not finish it though? I told myself that even if I had to do the walk of shame to reach the top - I would. I pressed on...
It was here I encountered my first free-roaming animals that are a part of this climb - huge cows, llamas and goats/rams. I'll be honest, although I'd taken a few breathers on my way up - I was glad of the distraction which allowed me to slow down a little and overtake them all carefully. Up here, I started to reflect on the journey up - the surprise that with each corner there was even more mountains, but just out of sight now was the summit and the famous dip between the mountains, where I'd seen various Tour riders pass over the line. Where in 2010 the stage finished. I was spurred on to reach the top!
At the final bend, an enterprising chap with a camera snapped a load of photos. Determined to ensure I didn't look a the complete wreck that I felt, I put in a final surge of energy and tried to look as hardcore as possible. We'll see if that worked, I have my doubts. [Edit - OK, they're not too shabby]
On the final stretch before the summit, a slightly older, tough-looking french woman who was walking down the hill shouted "Allez!" at me - I smiled weakly at her but pumped my fist to try to convey that I was chuffed I'd even made it. She said something in response, like "trés, trés bon!" but it had a genuine emotional impact on me. To have finally made it, was quite overwhelming. I wished that I'd have had someone else to share the moment with. Instead I got off my bike, as I did my body hinted that it was ready to cramp up. I phoned Hannah to share the good news with, took a bunch of photos had a brief exchange with an old french dude who was admiring my bike/trying to pronounce "Planet X", whipped on my jacket and headed down the west side of the mountain.
It was nothing short of amazing, the road surface was pretty top notch so it gave me the confidence to descend quickly. Cars pulled over to let me past and I flew down, pedalling almost the entire way down. I noted to myself that I chose the right route, climbing it from the west would have been an even bigger psychological challenge - you must just face a wall of granite for the worse part of the climb! I sped on. In my mind I was replaying Rafal Majka's amazing climb from this year's TdF. Watching him steam down the mountain passing the river at incredible speeds. Now it was my turn. I've always enjoyed descending - I've yet to have an off - so my confidence is unscathed. I overtook a number of cars and enjoyed the warm air whipping at the jacket. You understand why the pros tuck on descents - you get to about 60kph and it becomes obvious that its the air that's stopping you going faster. I didn't tuck, just enjoyed the fast, long descent. Through Luz Saint Sauveur. It was awesome to retrace the TdF in real life.
As tempting as it might be to free-wheel the whole thing, I didn't let up, pedalled as much of it as I could. The descent (as you might imagine) is over - comparatively speaking - in a blink of an eye. 26 minutes of descent later and I found myself looking at the remaining distance back to Lourdes - where Hannah and the kids were patiently waiting and wishing it was all over. I was exhausted and thirsty, but now had to muster up the energy for another hour's riding. But I did and looking back it never feels as bad as it does at the time. I was greeted in Lourdes to cheers and whoops from the kids and Hannah. Feeling like a true champion, I grabbed a bottle of water and laid back on the grass and quaffed the lot. Smelly and shattered, I climbed in the car and we drove home.
