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.
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.
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