<singing> 3 Cols in the Mountains (107+km)

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(really in Oust)

Based on the research I had done before we left Ottawa, today was the day I thought would be our toughest (our organizer has given this coming Tuesday's ride that distinction, but I disagree; I guess in 48 hours we'll find out who was right). When I made that assessment I hadn't realized I would end up adding to what I anticipated doing, but that's what happened.

Given last night's late meal, it must have seemed odd to have been awakened at 5:30 by crowd noise and music blaring over a PA system, but that's what happened to most people (I was given a reprieve until 7AM or so because I had earplugs in). It turned out there was a running race that started right outside our hotel, and as the day wore on it became evident why they commenced so early: today was a scorcher, so much so that I decided to wear a bandana under my helmet to try and keep the sweat out of my eyes. I also ended my long-term streak of riding over cols carrying the extra weight of a second water bottle, which up to this point had never been sipped from.

The day started off with an unfortunately light (e.g. no yogurt or fruits, and only slices of bread pre-topped with ham, salmon, and cheese rather than the baguettes and plates of goodies we have been accustomed to) breakfast, which was included in our admittedly low room rates. I didn't mind that much since i already had my own sandwich fixings and figured I would just stop by a bakery later in the day, do some assembly, and voila – lunch! Still, it would have been nice to have had a more nutritious start to the day.



Our ride started pleasantly enough, with the continuation of yesterday's riverside ramble. Of course that meant giving up more elevation which would obviously have to be reclaimed in ascending to the col. The morning was so pleasant, in fact, that we actually overshot the turnoff to the climb and had to backtack a few hundred metres to take it, duly noting that there was a detour in place due to construction. Because of my research I knew that we were in for a long grunt of 10km at 10% (officially 9.9% if you're fussy), so I was wary of what extra we might have to endure, but the detour lay ahead of the climb, and in any case added only perhaps 100 metres to the distance. I do regret not having taken a photo of the sign showing the overall distance and grade at the start, though. Curiously (or perhaps not) there is no other indication of where you are in the scheme of things until there is only 3 km left – perhaps because it might be too disheartening to know?

At that point the nature of the climb changes, and there are more frequent switchbacks, but this time flatter than the ones lower down, so as to offer a brief respite (if I can call it that) from the otherwise-constant climbing. Finally, after a final push there is nothing to see looking up the road ahead and you're at the top, to find..nothing.

The descent that follows is quite technical. At one point I pulled over to let a motorcycle pass, and was paying so much attention to it that I didn't notice the upcoming switchback until the last second, and barely made it around. Then after stopping to take a photo I found my brakes had become noisy (presumably after getting something on my rim) and it was embarrassing to brake, even though at times it was hard to distinguish in the shadows exactly which way the road went.

At one point the road pitched up sharply and I (incorrectly) assumed the ascent to the Col de Portet d'Aspet had begun, so I pulled over to eat an energy bar. I quickly discovered that brief uphill was an aberration, and that there was still lots more altitude to give up so as to fully enjoy the subsequent climb to the max (not!). This time I made sure to get a picture of the sign describing the ascent, which (only in comparison to what I had just done) didn't seem so bad (9.7% vs 9.9%, and only 4 km long). Of course I hadn't accounted for the flaw of averages, which in this case involved sections at 18% and 14%. Apart from that the two climbs were similar in the sense that each had a marker only with 3 km left to go.

Once on top I met the requisite Brit (from Surrey) and chatted with a local for some time before realizing that this sort of interaction (coupled with a similar talk with someone from Toulouse at the previous col) put my plan of getting a baguette from which to fashion lunch into serious jeopardy, and indeed I passed the bakery 7 minutes too late to avoid its lunchtime closing. Daunted, I continued the descent – which was quite pleasant save for the coarseness of the chip-and-seal roadway- to Castillon where to my surprise I found a Casino that was open. My elation was short-lived, however, when I discovered it was already sold out of bread for the day (save for those that had been reserved. Yes, they do that here).

But all was not lost – miraculously there was a bakery across the street that was not only open but still had a few loaves left, and I was able to enjoy a wonderful lunch sitting in the shade before heading off to the final col of the day.

The climb's profile (and description from the local I had talked to) belied its rigor, as the midday heat and coarse road surface conspired to make forward/upward travel difficult. Indeed, this became the first day in which I had to dip into (and drain) my second water bottle, which was perhaps better than hauling its weight over every col as I had been doing. And for some reason, the kilometre markers in this climb noted how far we had come, not how many kilometres were left, so it was hard to gauge where I was, especially given the view that was rather like looking up from the drain in a sink: there just seemed to be walls in every direction. Mercifully, though, eventually the col was reached, photos were taken, and the final descent of the day began.

The pinging of gravel as I picked up speed on the chip and seal surface inspired little confidence, but when whole patches of gravel started covering the roadway, terror replaced relief at finally being able to go downhill. Worse yet, upon finally reaching the bottom unscathed I reached to consult my map and discovered it was no longer in my jersey pocket but presumably adorning the roadway somewhere above me. So I turned around and started climbing through the gravel in the heat to look for it. After climbing for 7 km or so and not seeing it (but encountering several of our riders descending who no doubt were wondering what the hell had gotten into me) I eventually abandoned my quest and set out to tempt the gravel gods one more time. But I wasn't quite ready to give up entirely, reasoning that my map might've fallen out at one of the places where I had stopped to take photos, so I descended slowly and sure enough, rather quickly spied what I was looking for in the grass.

Now armed with a bit of knowledge gleaned from having traversed the gravel bits twice, I raced ahead and got myself in position to warn others of the gnarliest corner before completing my descent and heading to the wonderful (somewhat upscale) hotel where we are spending the night. I even had a bit of wine with our fine al fresco meal to celebrate having made it through a rather trying day.

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