SAINT LARY-SOULAN, FRANCE
From my hotel in Toulouse, I had about 500 meters to walk to our meeting place, the Novotel Hotel. Inside the lobby were some of our riders about to embark on a week-long Trek Travel trip in the Pyrenees. It was also the last week of the Tour de France.
It was a beautiful morning and I had just my one suitcase to wheel to the hotel. Trek Travel would supply the bikes. I saw a couple of our group from Northern Virginia as well as some strange faces. We boarded a motorcoach for a two-hour ride to Arreau in the Pyrenees.
My first introduction on the bus was to Derek and Aimee from Redding, California. When I told them they probably knew a friend of mine I could see them scoffing. But they did know my friend, Tamy.
Then I met Ed and Nancy. Nancy was studying museum science and told me about a person she wanted to meet, Nina Simon. I told her I was good friends with Nina. (True). It’s truly a small world – even on our bus.
I could overhear some introductions. Name. Location. Occupation. Someone asked Nancy what she did and she seemed taken aback. And then she said, “go on bike trips.”
Around noon we arrived in the French village of Arreau. We had two of our Trek Tavel guides on the bus and two were in Arreau. Dave and Marquette had unloaded all our bikes for the week plus set up a beautiful-looking lunch for us in a small park. It was perfect – except there seemed to be dog poop everywhere. For all the Euro-loving in the U.S. there is one thing we do better in the U.S. than they do in France – pick up after our pets.
Our bikes were all on racks with our names affixed to labels on each bike. Many of us brought our own pedals and saddle and the guides were willing to install them but most, including me, did our own installation. And fitting. We got a brief overview of the week and did a group introduction. I could never remember all the names.
After lunch, we rolled out of Arreau and stayed together for eight miles as the road followed the valley. I looked over to the mountainside and saw a wonderful road cutting through the mountainside and said I hoped we would ride up that hill.
And then we did. I thought we were headed to the hotel in St. Lary and may have not heard the full plan for the day. We rolled past the hotel where we would stay for three days and exited St. Lary.
We turned to find the base to the climb up Pla d’Adet. It was a steep one. It averaged more than 8% with a mile section of more than 12%. It was 6.6 miles (11km) to the summit.
And it was HOT. It was 96° (or 35° C). This was the most I ever sweated on a bike. I was drenched when I reached the summit. BTW, this is where George Hincapie won Stage 15 in 2005. Lance Armstrong also won here, in 2001. Until today I had never heard of, or remembered, Pla d’Adet. But I won’t forget.
I hadn’t read up on the climb and thought I was near the summit (I wasn’t looking up — that’s an old climber trick) when I saw the sign to the summit — 7km (4 miles) to go. Average grade 9%. Well. it was in French but I knew what it said – “you’re going to die.”*
That was enough to make you want to stop and drink the mountain water coming out of the side of the hills (it’s OK unless it’s marked NON). But I kept going and dragged my butt up the mountain.
After 30-45 minutes on the summit, we got to ride back down the mountain on the same road we just climbed. I gained a great appreciation for the professional cyclists. I always admired how fast they could climb but going down these roads — wow! — they descend almost twice as fast as me. The ride down was scary. I was very technical (lots of hairpin curves that one had to slow down for) and could be very dangerous. My average speed down was only 20 mph. That was a lot of slowing in sharp curves.
Today would offer me a life lesson. I always knew that I could never climb like the pros but always thought that when I got to France I could descend like them. It wasn’t even close. And while they have the advantage of racing on a closed road and I had to stay to the right of the yellow center line, it was much more than that. They take death-defying risks for their glory and our entertainment. We brake. They lean. I gained a new appreciation for their bike-handling skills today.
After a shower, we went to La Grange, a pretty neat restaurant which took the rest of the evening. And it was non-smoking although I wonder if it was that way just for us. Doesn’t matter. Thank you, France!
Actually, I would discover later that all of France is non-smoking in restaurants. However, many restaurants have expansive open areas in the front, sidewalk cafes, and the smoke will find its way back into the restaurant.
Tomorrow: Col d’Aspin (twice) and the Col du Tourmalet. Our private viewing will be in LaMongie, a ski village just before the summit of the Tourmalet. Trek Travel has a private restaurant reserved and may be out on the roof (so I’ve been told) to see them come by. And to yell bad things at Alberto Contador.
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*In the Pyrenees the signs are marked for the next kilometer. So the sign I saw that indicated 9% average gradient was for the next kilometer and not to the summit.
