C'est ca!

Miraculously, everyone made it to the last day in semi-decent shape (except James’s hands that suffered comical glove sunburn). It was a bit of a shame that we departed a few hours after the Canadians, as it would have been interesting to see what shape they were in after their debauchery of the previous night. The support car hero set out in good spirits, looking forward to the no-nonsense motorway drive ahead of her. She arrived in Banyuls sur Mer at 10:30am. What a glorious day! The riders had a similarly straightforward journey, with most of the way being downhill. The final climb, while not entirely welcome, did pay off with beautiful Med views of the town. Reunited, we headed down to the beach for the concluding chapter of the trip – the bike over the head photo shot in the sea. Andy thought he’d do one better and would ride in the sea, but he was an idiot and that didn’t work. Lunch was a languid affair, with everyone enjoying a well-deserved beer (or two) in a seaside café. To everyone’s surprise, the sun peeked through the clouds and it only felt natural to have a dip in the sea. We joined a topless sunbather and an old couple on an otherwise deserted beach. The French locals looked on with admiration or horror. It was difficult to tell. And thus the trip concluded. The bikes are now safely packed up in the car and no one is itching to get back on them anytime soon.

Distance: 80 km
Moving time: 2h45m
Average speed: 29.1 km/h
Metres climbed: 238m
Calories burnt: 2763kcal




Total trip stats:
Distance: 643.9 km (London to Aberdeen is 649km)
Moving time: 26h34m
Average speed: 24.2 km/h
Metres climbed: 10418m (Everest is 8840m)
Calories burnt: 26942kcal (equivalent to 96 Mars bars!)

Penultimatum

We breakfasted in the very fancy hotel restaurant, the same pastry, bread and strong coffee we have now come accustomed to. Despite our best efforts to leave before 9am, a GPS malfunction held us back. We were expecting a hard day today, almost 200km with three big cols along the way. The cycling started off great and we cruised up and down the first col. We managed to beat Alisa to lunch at Ax les Therms, a ski resort at 700m altitude. This was hardly a surprise, as she took the morning off from being the support car slave and lounged in the beautiful hotel. Mick didn’t back his cassette again, so James and Andy set off alone towards the next col, Col de Puymorens, at 1950m. The climb went smoothly and we managed to avoid the tunnel through the mountain to meet the car at the top, before donning warm gear for the descent. After a very brief visit back to Spain, the next col loomed, much smaller, but after 140km, just as hard. We all got up and started the 40km long descent to Prades. This was down a beautiful valley, cutting back on itself every kilometre or so. Before long we approached our destination, to find the hotel full of Canadian (from Ontario – an eye-roll from Alisa) cyclists on an arranged tour. While these guys had cycled the same distance in the same time as Andy, James and Mick, they clearly knew what they were doing. Their tour guide was clearly appalled at the amount of alcohol consumed on the trip, including the frequent beer breaks on the cycle itself. During our dinner alone, the 15 Canadians showed no mercy to 62 beers and at least 9 bottles of (fine??) French wine. Andy, James and Mick took a more sensible approach and stuck to soft drinks. The same couldn’t be said of Alisa, who continued her one-woman struggle against the 3.5l jug of sangria purchased earlier in the week. Everyone is looking forward to the last day, though probably for different reasons.
Distance: 197 km
Moving time: 7h48m
Average speed: 25.2 km/h
Metres climbed: 3689m
Calories burnt: 8984kcal

The Detour

First sunny day of the cycling adventure, combined with a shortened (FLAT) route, led to an optimistic start of the day. This changed when James snapped his rear mech hanger before we even set off. “Woohoo,” thought Alisa, for now she had an unwilling companion for her drive to St. Gaudens. Two cycles shops later, we were able to locate the part and James and Alisa were now chasing Andy and Mick, who had gone really far on this new and exciting type of terrain. In fact, James only rode with them for an hour before lunch. In Valentine, a town outside of St. Gaudens, we enjoyed our first outdoors meal, all the previous ones having been consumed from within the confines of the car. We feasted on local cured meats, Pyrenees cheeses, cherries and delicious peaches. The day only got better when we arrived at our hotel in St. Girons (at a record 4pm!), which is a regular haunt for Tour de France riders – “Your bikes should be fine here,” the landlady assured us. “The Tour bikes never have any problems, so I presume you shouldn’t either.” She was right. The bikes were intact in the morning, though the boys were secretly praying for their imminent disappearance.
Distance: 102.5 km
Moving time: 3h31m
Average speed: 29.1 km/h
Metres climbed: 650m
Calories burnt: 4094kcal

Pyrenees Col-ing

Again, the weather was not on our side when we started the day. It rained and cooled through the night, so the set-off was that much more difficult. We split from the beginning – Alisa went off to get lunch in the nearby town, while the boys went searching for a cycle shop to ensure that they were properly outfitted for the weather (James and Andy were counting on sunny days, so packed sun cream, rather than waterproof jackets). The first port of call was Col D’Aubesque, a 16km steep ascent culminating at 1709m. While the road weaved in and out of the clouds, there was the comfort of seeing other cyclists and road barriers (a bonus for Alisa). In Aubesque, the conditions called for the local café to fire up its firewood stove, which enveloped the small room with a pleasant smoky aroma. The boys arrived one by one, all worse for wear due to the wind and the unfriendly conditions (4 degrees at the top!) A warm bowl of soup at the café was a welcome respite. With lunch out of the way, it was time for a quick photo at the peak. James and Andy, having recently acquired the most fashionable of construction worker attire, cut quite the fluorescent figure against the foggy backdrop. The descent was almost as slow as the climb due to the awful conditions, with James suffering the first (and, hopefully, only) injury of the trip when he took a spill around a hairpin. And they hadn’t even come to the hardest part of their day – the Col de Tourmalet, the most climbed col of the Tour de France. With an average gradient of 10% for almost 18 kilometres, they had their work cut out for them. The job was only slightly easier for the support car, which again navigated through treacherous (if slightly wider) roads. Having reached the top, Alisa thanked the fog cover for what otherwise would have been MORE cliffs of doom (she saw the photos on the wall at the café at the peak…) Her jubilation at her arrival was shortly interrupted by a phone call from the guys, asking for assistance mid-way up. Mick’s gear ratios were not meant for this col. Andy and James pushed on, with the support car providing bottle refills, bananas and sweets on the go (i.e. Alisa running along Andy and feeding him or chucking a filled-up bottle at him). Although the whole climb was a nightmare of an affair, the last kilometre was almost unbearable, giving our riders new appreciation for the Tour de France racers. The weather conditions have deteriorated, so the boys experienced the descent from the comfort of the heated car to avoid further spills.


Distance: 100 km
Moving time: 5h49m
Average speed: 17.3 km/h
Metres climbed: 3594m
Calories burnt: 3487kcal

The Impossible Title

The morning started off with some jagged conversation in Spanish. It was too early to order a pain au chocolat in a foreign language. Having packed the car up, we made our way to Hendaye, where the boys assembled their bikes against the backdrop of a stormy Atlantic ocean (and what looked like a fancy retirement home on the other side). To keep with the spirit of the coast-to-coast journey, the bike wheels were ceremoniously dipped in ocean water. And hence the great cycling journey began. As did Alisa’s great journey…trying to catch up with the boys (and failing on more than one occasion). The first 70 kilometres were a joyous sprint due to good road conditions on flat and smooth terrain. This changed drastically when the boys hit the first col of the day. The road climbed to over a thousand metres in around 12 kilometres. Many an obstacle stood in their way – cows, sheep, cow pies (which, on a bike, are much worse than one would imagine), endless fog, and, a cherry on the cake, torrential rain. The journey to the top of the col was all the less satisfactory when the support vehicle failed to materialise with its potential shelter and lunch. In fact, Alisa was an hour behind, having missed the cyclists at a crucial turn off. Instead of sheltering in the car, the boys made do with a deserted shepherd’s shelter (those sheep finally came through!), while Alisa navigated her way through her personal nightmare, which included one snaky road, multiple cow herds, endless chasms of doom, and zero road barriers. Crying and cow-pushing took place. She finally arrived to find the boys cowering under an awning of a closed supermarket, shivering but stoic, eagerly awaiting a change of clothes and some sustenance. After two hours in a supermarket car park, we finally decided to push off for the remaining 50 km. Following an inspired change of route (i.e. not a deathly ascent), we all managed to arrive safely at our destination – Bielle. The family room at the hotel was quite luxurious for a foursome, while the adjoining restaurant proved to be just what we all needed, spoiling us with local gastronomic delights. Having crawled up the backstairs to our room, it’s an early night for all.
Distance: 164.4 km
Moving time: 6h41m
Average speed: 24.6 km/h
Metres climbed: 2277m
Calories burnt: 7614kcal

The Easy Bit

Most of yesterday was spent driving, with James and Andy alternating behind the wheel. The most exciting detail to report is James’s inability to control the cruise control – he always ends up honking the horn, to the chagrin of the nearby French drivers. Arriving at our first hotel, some (Alisa) expressed concern that we were in fact staying in a storage unit. Our hotel was enchanting in its juxtaposing bubble gum pink paint and grape vines doing their best to hide this abominable colour. The pool – the only one on this trip – was a busy social hangout for leathery French tourists. Our best bet was to go into town – La Rochelle.
Against the backdrops of the weathered, but immaculate, train station, the still operating lighthouse (right in the middle of town), and an ominous fortress, tourists and locals alike cycled on the La Rochelle version of the Boris bike (called Yelo! – they were yellow, yes) and the new square extended smoothly to the turquoise sea water of the marina. We were all pretty hungry, so Alisa’s attempts to take photos left her far behind the rest and she constantly had to catch up, albeit allowing for the distractions of the street vendors and the aromas emanating from the innumerable restaurants hugging the marina.
We eventually settled on an assuming tavern, where we were treated to a delicious plate of cured meats and cheeses and oysters. The French really do enjoy the tradition of taking their meals over the whole evening and it was entertaining watching the boys squirm in their seats for the upcoming courses. We never made it to dessert because the clouds that have been hanging over the town finally raptured and James and Mick, unfortunate enough to be sitting under the gap in the awning, were treated to some unwelcome weather. The distance between the car and the restaurant wasn’t that great, but in the five minutes that it took us to cover it – leaping over puddles (but mostly landing in them) – we were soaked to the bone.
The next day we set out for Irun, a Spanish town 10 kilometres away from the starting point – Hendaye. This was a massively boring drive. If you dozed off for two hours, you would wake up to identical scenery – sparse forest, interspersed with rolling vineyards. Irun’s sole purpose appears to be a source of cheap petrol for the border-hopping French. Everyone here smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish and smells the mixture of the two. The culinary delights were also a bit of a let down. A mixed tapas plate (de casa) was not a variety of cured meats and cheeses, as one would expect, but a bunch of leftovers on bread. The stale eggroll was the piece de la resistance of the mixed platter. But the paella was quite tasty. So was the 11% proof undiluted sangria.

The preparation

Today was mainly spent at work madly printing off route guides and driving directions. We realised we didn't have maps covering the whole trip, so a trip off to Waterstones at lunch was necessary...