Hitting The High Point "74.6 km"

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NOTE: Seeing how it seems unlikely my cyclecomputer will resuscitate itself, from this point forward daily distances will be reported as declared on our cue sheets. I can't vouch for their accuracy (especially if I indulge in some creative navigation).

The morning started off cool and sunny, with the promise of glorious conditions to come as 4 of us headed off on our way to the high point (both literally and figuratively) of our tour. As the terrain gradually became hillier, my roommate Don and I broke away. It's his 1st trip of this sort and I have been educating him on various aspects of European life (e.g. needing to insert the room key into a reader in some hotel rooms in order to get the lights to work - a typical example of European thought: that way guests don't go out and leave the lights on wasting electricity).

Today I had to tell Don not to brake when I pulled out my camera as we rode as I wanted to have him in the photo, since with a cyclist in the frame it comes alive whereas otherwise it's mostly just a photo of a road. Between that and my fumbling to get the camera out in the first place to capture a composition before it disappeared, not much of the gorgeous morning scenery was captured. Suffice it to say it was pretty – in some spots reminiscent of Provence or Tuscany (not that I've been to the latter but you know, I've seen pictures) with pleasant views of fields backdropped by snow-capped peaks in the distance. We spent a good part of the morning climbing next to a beautifully blue-hued rushing river, only to give back all the elevation we had gained before reaching the base of the climb to the famous col du Tourmalet.

In Luz-St-Sauveur Don and I got separated as he stopped to remove a layer and I went ahead in search of a toilet. I found one behind the Tourist Information Office which itself was set back from the roadway, so it's easy to see how Don couldn't find me. When I emerged I returned to the road and waited a while to see if Don would appear, then assumed he had headed off alone (probably thinking I was an asshole for having abandoned him) and started the climb towards the col on my own. Just past Bareges I caught him up and learned that after removing his jacket he had simply gone on ahead reasoning that since I was a faster climber I would eventually find him. To prove his point, after exchanging a few pleasantries I breezed by him and continued on at my own pace.

A little past the midpoint of the 19km climb I stopped to eat 1/2 of the food I had brought with me and then waited for Don to catch up. When he arrived I took advantage of our situation to take a photo of him but foolishly forgot to ask for him to return the favour and had to settle for a selfie.

Then it was back to the long grind upward (sounds like a movie title), knowing that the final km is the toughest at an average of 10%. At that point, though, the wind was blasting in our faces and as I passed two guys near the summit I mentioned that it was probably the equivalent of an extra 2%. There was the requisite photographer at the final corner, who put his card in my jersey pocket as I rounded that bend and the road tilted even more skyward, until it took one last formidable effort to make it over the top and join the ranks of those who had conquered the Tourmalet. Indeed that's one of the treats about riding the classic cols: it's a veritable united nations at the top with cyclists from many countries all sharing in their common love of riding in the mountains. Of course there are also the motorcyclists and car drivers, for whom the souvenir shops at the top (selling for 65centimes postcards that cost 30centimes back in the valley) do a brisk trade.

But it was freaking windy and cold up there, and in very short order my previously sweat- soaked jersey was bone dry. After getting the proof-I-made-it photos taken I was joined by Don about 15 minutes later and we took more photos and hung around for a further 45 minutes as the weather started deteriorating. We thus decided to descend instead of waiting for anyone else from our group to arrive, and in deference to conditions I put on not only my arm warmers and vest, but even (at Don's urging) my leg warmers; it was that chilly. Then we were off, and it was a fast ride indeed.

I very quickly came up on a car who had the decency/good sense (well,I did shout at him but I have no idea if he heard me as I was shouting into the wind) to squeeze over to let me by, and then I only had to brake for the large bovine that blocked the road for a spell as it lumbered across. There was an ascending truck that suddenly loomed around a switchback taking up all the road but fortunately managed to pull back in enough to let me just sneak around it on the outside, and a motorhome whose grill I almost met as it gave a wide berth to an ascending cyclist before noticing me bearing down on it and quickly pulling back into its lane, and also a cyclist who probably thought he was going fast having pulled away from his companion and whom I blew by on the inside of a switchback while exhorting him not to cross my line. At one point we were sailing on fresh (as in just being rolled) pavement and then off into the perils of gravillon again, and all the while the wind noise was so loud it was deafening.

Even after coming off the mountain and following the river towards the town we are staying in (Bagneres de Bigorre) we continued to fly along in excess of 40kph, duly noting that the peaks were now couched in clouds. We rolled into town, still clad in our arm and leg warmers as the temperature hadn't really risen that much, and easily found our hotel (a minor navigational miracle that is unlikely to be repeated). We could not believe our good fortune in discovering there was even a laundromat virtually next door to the hotel – exactly the convenience one hopes for, never imagining it could one day actually be realized.

Having been the first of our group to arrive, we quickly settled into our room and took advantage of it, not only thus freeing up more time on tomorrow's rest day, but more importantly ensuring we didn't have to wait for a machine to come free, as you can imagine what it's like when 18 people converge on a small town laundromat. We soon found ourselves with our laundry done, and the better part of the afternoon still left to enjoy.

Unfortunately, although others (aside from those in the upper rooms, who had to descend to the lobby) didn't seem to have any issues connecting to the hotel's wifi network, neither Don's nor my electronic devices could see, let alone connect to it, and after trying several locations (which, since my borrowed laptop has no battery, necessarily involves shutting down and then rebooting, which is quite time-consuming) I eventually resorted to creating an offline text file I could copy to this blog once I found a connection.

The only other relative downside to the day came when some of us chose to dine at a recommended Vietnamese restaurant around the corner. Not only was our quest for vegetables frustrated (my promised vegetable-laden chop suey had a few thin slices of pepper, one length of celery, and a baby ear of corn), I found the food quite disappointing (although others seemed to like it), especially after the meal had begun with the best shrimp chips I have ever tasted.

And thus ended the first half of our tour.

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