We had some minor bike maintenance done on Tuesday. I got new bar tape, Susana got new derailleur cable housing. We had the work done at Liberty Cycles in Bagnéres de Luchon, “specializing in every kind of bicycle.” Gérard, the mechanic and owner seems to be well connected to the local racing scene from his stories and paraphenelia hanging on the walls, such as a signed jersey from Miguel Indurain, and a photo with he and LeBlanc, the outgoing Tour de France president.

He wasn’t a very fast mechanic, often being interrupted by a cutomer with a purchase or stopping to tell us a story as he worked. But he gave us a scrapbook to look at with years of Tour de France memorabilia as it usually passes through the town, and his stories and perfection on the wrench made it well worth the wait.

We talked a lot about doping. He said substances were widely available from the junior level on up. It was sometimes the trainer pushing banned substances on their athletes and sometimes up to the rider if they wanted to indulge. He said it was easy to tell if a rider was using, since it also affects their head, like recreational drugs, and their technique would be affected — not riding as aerodynamically or drafting as much, shifting at the wrong moments, etc, since they’re not using their own power. He also said that the biggest losers are cyclists who dope and don’t win races.

I asked him about our climb for the day, Col du Peyresourde. Whenever we ask someone about a climb, we only get one kind of answer. “It’s hard,” or “tough” or “steep”. But he said, “it’s not too easy, not too hard.” I appreciated his honesty — it was hard, but not the hardest we’ve done.

Wednesday morning had us leaving Arreau for Col d’Aspin and later, Col du Tourmalet, the most notable pass in the Pyrenees. The day started like a winter day in Seattle with fits of drizzle and mostly cloudy and cold. I thought I was riding well on Col d’Aspin (1489 m, 4885’) until I got passed by a nine year old on a miniature racing bike.

The skies opened up and the views were impressive at the top. Not too many long steep sections here. Next was Tourmalet.

Tourmalet literally means “bad route”. At 2119 m (6952’), it climbs more than 1200 m (4000’) from the westbound side. It was first known to be used as a passage in the 11th century. In 1675 it was purchased by the Duke of Maine so he could build a proper road for his entourage to take him to the thermal springs in Bargéres, and his road was completed in 1688. It has also been crossed by Napoleon, and continues to be climbed by thousands of cyclists every year.

Like Col d’Aspin, the mountains around Col du Tourmalet are completely bare — they were clearcut 400 years ago to build ships for France and Spain during years of navel escalation and never replanted. Instead of bears, birds, and other wildlife, the mountains are now just used as grazing land for cows and feral horses, a tragedy for the coming generations. But in 400 years things haven’t really changed that much.

Our climbing of Tourmalet was slow and steady, with the confidence of many other passes now behind us. But it was still hard. It was a relief to see a sign for the upcoming switchback that read only 8%, to give a little rest from those that were steeper. Obviously the paint on the road from past Tours lasts a long time, as we saw a lot of slogans for Tyler Hamilton, the American cyclist banned from the sport for an illegal blood transfusion two years ago.

Unlike most French mountain passes we’ve ridden that start out steep and get a little easier, this one is the steepest at the top. This climb was comparable to Alpe d’Huez, and the experience was probably much like it would have been with our full panniers. We made it to the top and zoomed down the rough road on the other side.

We still had a little more daylight and some energy left in our legs, so we continued past our planned stopping point on to the next climb, Col du Bordéres, to push ourselves to the limit just once.

And we succeeded. Ending the day with 2935 meters (9629’) of ascent and eight hours in the saddle (plus breaks), we scarfed down Morocan food with legs a-blaze, having done as much climbing as the hardest stages in the Tour de France.

Thursday was another famous climb, up the Col d’Aubisque, but from this direction it was just another hill beyond the Col du Solour. There were many antique cars escorted by dozens of police cars and police motorcycles as we rode up, with people out on the road watching everything go by. Soon after one large wave of motorcycles came there was some silence before a lone cyclist emerged and came flying down the road with a team car following. And then a few more cyclists and more team cars. We soon realized it was the Tour de Pyrenees, which we’d seen flyers for previously. There were jerseys for Rabobank, Quickstep, and Codifis, but I assume it was their B-teams. Regardless, nothing like stumbling upon a bike race to break up a climb.

A few more passes today have gotten us to Licq, in the French Basque region of the Pyrenees, not far from the Atlantic Ocean. Some older people here still speak Basque, a language completely unrelated to any other European language, but quickly dying with new generations. Tomorrow we’ll leave the Raid Pyrénéan route and enter Spain with our last French climb, the Port de Larrau. And of course, one person we talked to described it as “steep”.

Before entering the Pyrenees we collected our extra gear and sent our third and final package to Susana’s parents, lightening our load that much more. But it was largely a symbolic gesture, like throwing a deck chair off the Titanic, since our bikes are still tanks.

The Pyrenees are great, much like the Cascades at home, but with granite rather than volcanic rock, so the mountains are much steeper. And even though many of the peaks are at 2000 meters insteead of 3000+ like in the Alps, they’re every bit as steep.

With all the writing on the road cheering on cyclists from this Tour de France as well as years past (Ulrich, Voight, Vino, Beloki, Basso, and “Armstrong on the Moon”), it occurred to me just how great it was to ride these roads. You can’t shoot hoops at Madison Square Garden or play catch at Fenway Park, but you can ride the same roads that you see the professionals riding on TV, with all the painted cheers, too.

And speaking of the pavement, I was face to face with it early on the climb to Portet de Lers. I was waiting for Susana, enjoying the scenery and hardly moving at all, when a barricade caught my handlebars and knocked me over. Fortunately it was an empty road and nothing came of it and we went on, just a stupid mistake that could have been worse.

While Susana gets nervous the day before big climbs, I remind her that the pros do too. In Hell on Wheels, a documentary that followed Team Telekom in the 2003 Tour de France, each night Erik Zabel, a veteran sprinter, would confess to the camera how nervous he was about finishing the climbs in the allowed time.

But Susana had no problem today, as we crushed our record and climbed 2155 meters (7070’) over three Cols that took us into Spain for 18 km before returning to France atop the Col du Portillion, which was also part of this year’s Tour. We celebrated by purchasing the most expensive wine in the grocery store (Ok, it was €7.50, and a small store).

On the Col de Menté, we rode by the memorial for Fabio Casartelli, the Italian Olympic cycling champion who crashed and plunged to his death near that spot in the 1995 Tour. He was a teammate of Lance Armstrong at the time and years later Lance won the stage and dedicated the victory to Fabio. I’m usually not one for memorials, but this one was quite nice, a statue of a winged bicycle wheel.

With our focus purely on cycling these last few weeks, we’re in much better shape than when we reached the Alps, even better than when we started the Pyrenees. At this point, climbing is all I want to do. It’s part Zen, part intoxication, and the agony is all but gone.

Susana says she likes listening to the cowbells clanging around from the cows as they chew on grass on the way up. In fact today she reached the top and exclaimed, “I have a disease, and the only cure is more cowbell!” (with apologies to Christopher Walken).

Today marks another milestone for me: reaching 3629 km (2255 miles), this trip becomes my longest bike trip, surpassing my 1995 Nebraska-Canadian Rockies trip.

Tomorrow we have an easier day (I call them rest days) with only the Col de Peyresourde before we reach the pinnacle of the Pyrenees on Wednesday, the Col du Tourmalet.

It’s been over two weeks since we first set foot in France and we’ve had that much time of extremely pleasant cycling. French roads are in very good condition, French people are very friendly and courteous to cyclists and there is a French bakery on every corner. Even the kids are polite as I’ve never seen before — always willing to offer a “bonjour” first thing in the morning in the coed bathroom when I am still trying to fix my âbat-jour shaped hair from the night before.

French people are also more talkative and ask a lot of questions about our trip when we stop to fill our water bottles at a public fountain. When we say goodbye, they always wish us “bon courage”, whereas in Italy people used to tell us “buona fortuna”. I find that interesting, since the first translates as “good courage” and the latter “good luck”. Languages often give away cultural differences, as if French believe our destiny is within oneself and Italians attribute it more to outside factors. I tend to agree more with the former.

It’s been almost one month since we last stayed at a hotel (Viterbo, Italy was the last time) and it’s with some surprise that I have to admit I do not miss it a bit. Campgrounds are so much more biker-friendly. However, this is also to say that other than occasionally eating at a restaurant (we cook the majority of our meals) we haven’t spent any time indoors in a long time. On the other hand, I suspect it will be weird to come back to our house and have that much space again after living in our small MSR tent for such a long time.

Our time in France has been so enjoyable that we haven’t taken one day off the bikes in 17 days, making a concession today by taking the afternoon off, after a climb to Col de la Core at 1395 meters, a 900 m gain from where we started this morning. We’re now in our second day in the Pyrenees, relaxing at our nice campspot by the river and eating some fresh fruit. The Pyrenees have made for some hard days of climbing although the scenary is well worth it, with long valleys, cows going on with their business, and green, lots of green.

I always get quieter and quieter with apprehension the night before a big climb, not knowing if the steepness ahead is within my cycling abilities. Scott, on the contrary, gets talkative and excited as if he can’t wait to go. It turns out that i’ve been living up to it so far. No pain, no gain.

Yesterday morning when we arrived at the bottom of the mountains in Tarascon sur Ariége (just north from AndorraU, we joined a route named the Raid Pyrénéen, which crosses the length of the Pyrenees mountain range. It was created in 1912 by the Cyclo Club Béarnais, but not ridden until 1950. The route starts in the Mediterranean village of Cerbére and travels west 817 km over 28 cols, or passes, with 16,000 meters (52,500’) of climbing, ending in the Atlantic town of Hendaye, and is intended to be done in 10 days. We joined it at the beginning of its fourth day, the first serious day of climbing, going over three cols.

Yesterday had about 1705 meters (5600’) of vertical gain in a total of 70 km. I was proud of myself for not having to walk my bike for any length, although I struggled in the 10% stretches. Luckily, there were only a couple of those. I came to realize that I am confortable up to 8%, not so good at 9%, having a hard time at 10% and pushing my bike up at 12%. I always get words of encouragements from Scott — who manages to stay positive the whole way — and that helps a great deal.

Tomorrow’s ride should be hors categorie once again — three cols in a 76 km stride from our base town Castillon en Couserans through Spain for 18 km and back into France.

As always, in the eve of a big climb, I get antsy and little nervous. Scott, on the flip side, is so excited that if he was a dog his tail would be wagging right now.

This dish has evolved over the course of our trip and ends up being more of a pasta salad since the sauce is intentionally spread thin. That’s ok because the leftovers go in a tupperware container and become our lunch the next day.

250g (half a box) pasta, such as fusili or penne
1 small jar tomato pasta sauce
Any of the following:
garlic
onion
bell peppers
grilled eggplant
artichokes
white beans or chickpeas
green olives
can of sweet corn
mozzarella balls
fresh tomatoes
peas
squid, shrimp, mussels or clams
ants, gnats, and other incidentals

The main thing is getting enough complex carbs for the next day’s ride, with simple carbs (sugar), from juice, granola bars, snacks, before and during the ride.

In France, we’ve moved a little away from pasta and into couscous, potatoes and vegetables with ratatouille sauce, sides of fish with French sauces and of course cheese. We’ve had roquefort for the last seven or eight days straight, in addition to harder cheeses for sandwiches. Sometimes we eat out for lunch but it’s usually a mistake to eat out for dinner because we’ll never get a well balanced meal and the pedals will be heavy the next day.

Nearly all of the campgrounds in France will take a bread order for the next morning. Our standing order consists of two plain crossaints, two chocolate rolls, and a baguette. As good as the bread is in France, which is my favorite of our trip so far, it must be fresh. In addition, we split four yogurts with granola, bananas or other fruit, and we’re ready to conquer the road. We must remember not to eat as much on rest days.

Italy had so much fine sparkling water that we became very fond of. It has the fizz of soda or beer without the empty calories, helps digestion, and is just more interesting to drink with dinner than the plain water we drink all day. There were so many brands that we’d develop a favorite and then never find it again. They listed their mineral content as well as such details as the temperature at the spring and electrical conductivity.

We’re currently in Carcassone, a city with a popular medieval, fortified center. It’s a popular tourist attraction but it looks best from afar — aside from the old walls it’s just full of souvenir shops and tourist traps, and says nothing about the area.

These past few days have taken us through vineyards, arid plains, deserts, river gorges, pine forests, fields of wheat, caves, and plenty of charming villages. One highlight was camping on the rocks above a river when we couldn’t find a campground, near St. Guilhem a le Desert. It’s hot in the lowlands, 40 degrees (104F) or more some days, a little cooler in the hills. It’s still an enormous treat to find a village with a public fountain and cool off with fresh water for a few minutes. Tomorrow we point our bikes towards the Pyrenees and hopefully out of the heat for a few more days.

We found more yellow roads on the Michelin map that were practically bike paths, with so few cars and splendid views for dozens of miles on end. We call them Hors Categorie, or beyond classification for their bikable perfection.

Getting around in France is the easiest of any country we’ve traveled this summer. You get at least the same respect from motorists, with periodic signs that remind them to pass cyclists no closer than 1.5m, and the road signs are crystal clear — the roads even have numbers that correspond with the numbers on the map — what a novelty! And arriving in small towns without motorscooters buzzing about, there is just less chaos in France, and we like that for the time being since we’re constantly out of breath from the mountain we just climbed.

The French care more about aesthetics, too, with the roadsides tidy and even the fields mowed in an aesthetically-pleasing way. We rolled our eyes on one empty mountain road that had no more than one vehicle every 15 minutes where even the hedges were trimmed, one kilometer after the next.

The landscapes have gone from high alpine meadows and forests to drier scrub as we’ve descended to the Rhone River valley. We averaged well over 1,000 meters of climbing our first eight days in France, but today had only 80. Yesterday we saw our first vineyard; today we spent the entire day among the grapes. And we have the heat to go with it — this year’s harvest should be very sweet.

There have also been enormous fields of lavander, and when they’re harvesting the flowers the smell is so overwhelmingly pleasant, like riding through a bubble bath (since we’re already soaking wet anyway).

Today we stopped in Orange to see the best-preserved Roman theater in Europe, with a stage wall 36m high. Louis #14 called it the finest wall in his kingdom. I enjoyed some Roquefort pizza and Susana some Creme Brulee before we split for Avignon. We’re now settled in a four-star campground (only the finest dirt patch for my wife and I), have sampled the local wine (Côtes du Rhone is one of my favorites), had more Roquefort to drown out the smell of sweaty cycling clothes, and just heard the good news that Floyd Landis completed his comeback and is poised to win the Tour de France.

We saw the riders off from Bourg-d’Osians — from the signing-in ceremony to the starting gun. Floyd led the group through town wearing yellow. George was still eating a sandwich. And we caught a glimpse of Lance in the Team Discovery car.

In years past, whenever I went for bike rides when the Tour was on, it gave me extra energy thinking about the riders and what was happening with the last days’ stages. After seeing the Tour live, that effect has been compounded for us. We found some quiet yellow roads on the Michelin map and blazed up the climb to Col Orlon and back down down great narrow river gorges. The road to Mens where we camped for the night was exceptional, with a gorge so deep to advertise bungy jumping from the bridge, and quiet enough for Susana and I to ride side-by-side for long periods of time.

Some final thoughts on Alpe d’Huez: Floyd Landis was the fastest on the final 13.8km climb at 38:34, with Andreas Kloden a second more — this at the end of an already difficult 187km stage. Marco Pantani set the record in 1995 with a time of 36:50. After climbing it the second time, I verified that the the steepest portion is at the bottom, for the first kilometer or two, which is psychologically tricky and explains why the devil guy hangs out there. After not being a part of the tour for decades, it was reintroduced in 1976, and was climbed twice on consecutive days in 1979. Since then it has been a part of the Tour for nearly every year since.

I actually wore a green sweater; it cooled down. After securing our spots by the barricades near turn #2 (from the top), we made friends with our German, Dutch, and American neighbors, listened to the band play, until finally the sponsors’ motorcade arrived to wake us up after spending the afternoon in the sun by getting us excited about catching a free packet of gummy bicycles from a moving vehicle.

Meanwhile, we had no information about who was leading the stage as it reached the final climb. There was a long moment of silence as anticipation built around 4:30, and the helicopters moved closer, up the mountain. More strange silence from the crowd that had been noisy all day. Finally, way down the mountainside, we saw some slow movements with motorcycles going at about the pace of bicycles. We’d have to wait another few minutes for them to enter the series of switchbacks closer to us, and finally, in the mess of vehicles, two riders emerged. They seemed to be going at a good pace, and as they rounded the turns and neared us, I understood from other fans that it was Frank Schleck of CSC and Damiano Cunego from Lampre. And after a couple glimpses, riding right in front of us, they were gone.

Our position was on the inside of a slight curve which meant the riders passed so close to us we could touch them, and I had to put my arms down so I wouldn’t hit them.

Then came another group, and I yelled to Landis, and then Hincapie a bit later. I recognized other riders, and consulted my newspaper for the numbers of others.

Beyond the first few groups, the domestiques and sprinters looked like they dropped their game faces long ago, such as Robbie McEwan who was clearly struggling. Others seemed to be enjoying the crowds. Susana cheered for José Azevedo of Discovery, the only Portuguese rider in the Tour, and we later saw a plaque on one of the lower turns that the Sporting Club of Portugal had erected earlier in the day for Joaquim Agostinho, a Portuguese Tour rider of a previous generation.

You only see the riders for such a brief moment before they pass you by, that if you don’t recognize a rider immediately, they’ll pass by before you know who it was. This makes watching the actual race pretty sparse with so much build-up.

After the autobus made its way through, perhaps a half hour after the leaders, along with the team cars with a few abandoned and sleeping riders inside, the race was over.

We slowly made our way to the finish line through the crowds where the jersey ceremony was long over, but did see a few team trucks with their mechanics cleaning up bikes and a peek inside the trucks where dozens of nice bikes and hundreds of wheels, rows of cogsets and all kinds of tools were stored. The mechanics for Illes Baléars were changing the handlebar tape on several bikes which made me wonder if they get new tape every day or just on particularly sweaty days.

We still didn’t know who won the stage. For as much organization that goes into the race, there isn’t much for the benefit of the spectators, who of course line up for free (no porta-potties for hundreds of thousands of fans?) And so I waited until John sent me the report by email from Seattle to our phone (where I’m writing this) that I found out that Frank Schleck wound up attacking Cunego on the turn beyond us to win the stage and Floyd Landis beat Oscar Pereiro by enough time to win back the yellow jersey.

So would we do it again? If I was passing through France at the right time, yes. But if I was going to make a special trip to France to watch the Tour, I’d make sure I had a camper with a satellite link (like most do) to watch the action up to the point that you see the riders and follow the rest of the stage, be able to drive to several stages, and I would of course bring my bike again to do more famous routes.

Now we may get a chance to see the riders off from Bourg-d’Osians as they head toward Col du Galibier as we head south.

Susana and I found our positions at 11:00 a.m. near the top of the climb, inside the 3km mark, around the hairpin turn, and immediately across from the sign for the town of Alpe d’Huez. We’re not in a photogenic spot as the barricades start 5km from the finish, but we’ll be able to see the race for almost 2km below. For those following on TV, I’m wearing a dark blue shirt, red hat, Susana a yellow jersey and blue hat. Now we just need to wait 5 hours for some action, beyond the shopping cart races, marching bands, and other spontaneous parades.

Go Floyd!

After Col Agnel, we continued down to Briançon, and west to the gentle pass, Col du Lautaret. I unloaded my panniers and took the spur up to Col du Galibier while Susana was smarter and ate lunch. The climb up to Galibier was great on a lighter bike. From 2058m up to 2646m in 8.5km, the ride took me 58 minutes.

After rejoining Susana we descended down a fantastic river valley to Bourg-d’Oisans, our base for a few days, and the town at the base of Alpe d’Huez. The Tour fever is everywhere and building with each day. Campers and tents are set up on every available patch of land. It’s a mixture of Mardi Gras and Critical Mass — I’ve never seen so many bikes in one place before. Everyone is out riding the routes that the pros will ride in a few days.

Today we climbed Alpe d’Huez, the climb on the famous Tour stage, 13km at 8.5%, and 21 notorious switchbacks. The climb is often a turning point in the Tour, and thus it attracts large crowds. It’s as if the rest of the tour doesn’t matter to a lot of people here.

The climb was tougher than expected for me after my strong day yesterday. There was no warm-up — the climb goes straight up immediately, which didn’t quite agree with me in the heat of the afternoon and cold legs. On the first switchback I told Susana she could pass me and after doing so I didn’t see her for another two hours. But there was a steady stream of every kind of cyclist imaginable — young and old, in all kinds of physical condition, some with dogs in tow. Everyone wants to get a taste of the climb.

Aside from being tough, the ride was amusing — constantly lined with RVs with flags, posters of riders on display, lots of funny hats, DJ’s with booming sound systems, elaborate costumes, karoake, and lots of messages painted on the road with riders’ names, teams or countries, or in one case, “Basso? Ulrich?” with syringes pointing to their names (two of the Tour favorites suspected of doping and suspended from the race).

While I stayed in the granny gear and took over two hours, Susana made it to the top in 1:40, passing many others along the way (some who evidently didn’t like being passed by a woman). We had a great picnic at the top, with glacier-topped peaks in every direction. The television broadcasts don’t focus on the beauty in this area — it’s really wonderful. And I am continuously amazed that a bicycle race takes place here.

I think I spotted a pair of Cervelo-mounted CSC riders doing the climb on the Tour’s day off. We looked in vain for the OLN truck, so my photo with Bob Roll was not to be, but on the way down, we passed “the Devil Guy” and I took Susana’s photo with him. (The Devil guy runs beside riders and has been a fixture on the Alpe d’Huez stage for as long as I can remember).

Tomorrow the Tour resumes and we’ll ride up again in the morning to secure our viewing spots before the road closes, and watch the spectacle with as many as 800,000 other cycling fans.