Day 5: Prades to Cerbere (98km with 620m ascent)

The final morning with us all setting off as one, which soon proved inhospitable to other traffic in the morning rush hour. Small groups formed, and some stopped in cafés, others in supermarchés, and more still visited McDonald’s.
Twisting roads led around roundabout after roundabout, and the van was a welcome sight to let us know there wasn’t far to go.
Don’t go on the motorway, Debbie warned us. And if you do end up on the motorway, don’t go into the 2km long tunnel. You will die, she said.
We all agreed to meet in Banyuls-sur-Mer, 10km from the finish, where we could have a relaxing coffee/beer/ice cream, and roll in together. The leaders arrived, followed by the third and fourth groups, with group two MIA. No answer on anyone’s phone. Debbie arrives with the van. She found group two on the motorway as they were about to enter the tunnel, and put them back on course.
As the 100hr deadline neared, tensions rose, but we held fast. We would finish together, or not al all. The suspense dragged somewhat, but at last the wanderers appeared over the crest of the road into town. We would all finish together!
We shepherded the tired stragglers up the hill, and a final descent into Cerbere, to celebrate with beer and champagne, and some swimming and diving.

Day 4: Massat to Prades (145km with 3400m ascent)

Another morning straight into a climb, this time the Col du Port. I wait for David Maher who is a late starter today. We make our way steadily up the climb, where Valdis is bitten by a dog.
Then the worst part of the journey - 30km along busy national roads, the main route to Andorra. James is suffering with an ab tear, so I mosey along with him for a while.
Elevenses in a bakery, with lunch bought for later.
The Col du Pailheres passes with laughter and banter - Peter’s bosom-filled film, giving riders quick pushes to relieve their legs, or for science. A quick race with Lynda on the run-in to the KOM line, which I lost. The shelter at the top.
Then the most technical and coldest descent of the week, to the warmest but slowest café in France. We eat our food and cake in their heat, but there wasn’t much complaining from the proprietor, who was constantly out the back making tea, coffee, and lukewarm chocolate.. Siobhán broke out a delicious home-made cake, and everyone got the giggles.
Then more descending, which David and Ronan didn’t want to end, so they kept going down, when the rest of us took a right turn. I dove after them, hoping they had noticed the lack of followers and slowed. I caught them within 10km while they had stopped to look for directions, and we turned around and got back on track. The image of Ronan’s windscreen wiper is forever scorched into my mind’s eye.
Valdis and Pat were also AWOL, and during the long trudge home, we worried that they were lost in the French wilderness. Until we hit the final sweeping descent through a gorgeous valley. The two boys were home ahead of us though, so all was well, and that night we celebrated Peter’s stag with champagne and toasts (no toast though).

Day 3: Aste to Massat (170km with 3110m ascent)

The forecast is wet, wet, wet, but the morning is dry. We climb out of Bagneres, back toward the Tourmalet. We pass through a town of mannequins, saying ‘bonjour’ to every one. The Rathlin Bog gets an airing.
We are straight into the first climb of the Col d’Aspin, where we catch a few stragglers and late starters. There’s a Porsche convention at the top, where Alan is carrying out some repairs on John Kehoe’s bike.
In Arreau many stop for coffee, Pat and Peter wait for me again, and we tackle the Peyresourde together, watching paragliders float gently down the valley. After we get up and over and down, we stop for lunch in the sun, and the lotion comes out and gets slapped on. Naturally, it then begins to piss rain, and doesn’t stop all afternoon.
Col d’Ares is climbed to the strains of Patricia the Stripper, amongst other tunes. Some slow motion racing in the big ring, the road wet with streaming rain, the gutters channeling a small deluge down the hillside.
Then probably the steepest climb of the trip - Col de Portet d’Aspet. The latter half measures 5km in length, 375m in ascent, and averages about 9.5%. There is no way to get up this easily. Pity the gent on a fully laden touring bike - panniers front and rear. Chapeau if he made it!
The coffee stop in Saint Girons is quick and perfunctory. Sustenance in, get on the road. I want to wait, but I want to keep moving. I push on alone until I meet Brendan, and we reach the hotel together.
Dinner that night is full and hearty, platters and bowls to fill everyone’s stomachs. The hotel is known as the Dollhouse, though our rooms in the annexe are bare enough.

Day 2: Lurbe St Christau to Aste (140km with 3530m ascent)

We allow the less speedy racers to head off ahead, with myself, Pat, Valdis and Dan Coulcher bringing up the rear. It transpires that Eugene and David Maher were behind us.
We don’t pause for long at the first coffee stop, heading for the top of our first big col, D’Aubisque. We climb steadily at first, but I want more - I leave the others behind in search of the summit, peering through misty clouds for most of the route, with the light brightening just as I find Peter Grealis at the flamme rouge. We break out over the clouds, magnificent mountain peaks peeking up along the skyline, three massive bicycles marking the top of the climb, and a horse, curiously investigating the fruit in the van. He’s for eating, Debbie informs me. We order omelettes instead.
Winter jackets on, long-fingered gloves, we descend to Argeles Gazost, where Lorraine used to live, then push on for the Tourmalet. We stop for coffee to allow those behind to catch up, then myself and Pat ride tempo up much of the climb. It seems endless, and relentless. We pass a couple of early starters. I gaze longingly at Stephen Ryan’s gearing - my lowest option is 39*28, his looks to be 36*32 with a lovely long cage derailleur…
500m to go, and Pat sprints away from me with ease. We pause at the café at the top to greet some of the others, and savour the view.
The descent is fast, and after the initial breath-taking landscape, we are again plunged into cloud. Stuck behind the stinking fumes of a lorry, I follow an overtaking car around him, squeezing between the truck and oncoming traffic. Down, down, down… I group up with a few others, and we TTT along the gradual downhill to the hotel in Bagneres. John Kehoe punctures on the descent, shredding his tyre, but he keeps it together and Alan gets him on his way with a replacement. Some miss the hotel at the bottom of the descent, and pay a swift visit to the local town.
Dinner that night is in a private dining room, where a four course meal warms us up.

Day 1: Hendaye to Lurbe St Christau (160km with 2200m of ascent)

A short spin down to the beach for the official start, dipping our toes in the water. Hanley is the only one not in club kit.
Shouted directions from those with Garmins as we head along the coast, out of Hendaye to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, where we have the first of many indecisive moments about what exactly is meant by the ‘third exit’ on a roundabout.
Do not go to Spain!
A well-timed coffee stop in Esplette means we avoid the first downpour of the day.
Lunch is Saint-Jean-Pied-du-Port.
My first ever col! I race up Col D’Osquich ahead of everyone.
The day is long and tiring, and myself and Colin have a beer at the final stop in Tardets. I roll in with Richard to find the hotel, which has an outdoor pool.
The proprietor looks at me like a crazy person when we ask to use it, though James is already swimming when I arrive.
Gar announces that night the intention to run a fundraiser for Keith Harte.