Day 2 of Raid Pyrenees: Mauleon to St. Sauvin, with the Vuelta a Espagne

After such an exhilerating first day of our Raid, I wondered, "how can we top that?" Answer: with two incredibly challenging climbs, and the Tour d'Espagne, Spain's equivalent of the Tour de France. Their riders were scheduled to make the same climb we were today, the Col d'Abisque, at about the same time we were. At our group meeting the night before we considered different options, for taking a different route--ruled out in part because it would add 50 miles (80 km) to our day; for leaving early enough to hope to precede the tour through the Col; or to leave late enough to miss the entourage, at risk of stretching our day to 10-12 hours. We chose the middle way: leave early enough to try to begin the col before the road was closed down to cyclists and vehicles. With the hotel kitchen's cooperation we breakfasted early, and were wheels up--or rather, wheels down at 8a, an hour earlier than the usual plan. 

This allowed us to leave shortly after sunrise, at the morning's golden hour of glowing light, and in cool air, such a refreshing break from the torrid temps we weathered the first day. More props for our tour guide-hosts, for calling an audible and pulling off the logistics, including the early getaway. Their service is exemplified in the fact that we don't know what all they had to do to adjust, but it was seamless from the riders' perspective. Eric, Constantine and Eva, you rock! 

We rolled out in the cool air from Mouleon, traversing the the ville on our way to more countryside

--and the two planned climbs of the day, the Marie Blanque, at 1043m of climbing over 9.1km, an average 8% grade; and the Col d'Abisque, 1699m/16.8km/7%. 

The Marie Blanque, by the way, isn't named for some variety of pale-faced sainted Mother, rather for an Egyptian vulture with white plumes, which may or may not be the vulture seen in the Pyrenees. 

The Abisque has frequently been included in the route of the Vuelta, including, of course, this year. For you non-cyclists and non-metricians, 1043m is about 2/3 of a mile. Look up and imagine a point 3500 feet above you, and then imagine getting up there by pedal power. Even a long session on a stairclimber at the health club won't quite get you there. Now think 9.1km, or about 5 and a half miles, and imagine a ramp taking you up to, let's say, a low-hanging cloud cover. Now think that you'll be pedaling a grade steeper than the ADA will allow on ANY public walkway, nearly as steep as the Edgewood hill in Madison, only you'll not be done with it for this 5+ miles. And the 8% is an average; the first 5-6 km are steep-ish, mostly 4-6% grade, but the last 4 km's are significantly steeper, up to double-digits, and come after your legs have been worn down a bit by the prior 5. Ugh! 

Every member of our cycling group, all 12 of us, plus Constantine, who seems to be all curly hair and sinews, made the climb. When I reached the top, I sent a photo and text home in which I declared "Ho-ly shit!" 

This from a rarely swearing dad and husband. But the exhileration of having completed that climb beat the exhaustion. What a rush! I was so pleased for myself and each of my companions as they completed the climb, and probably each of us had our own verion of my exclamation. 

But little time for gloating and glowing after the summit if we were to make the Col d'Abisque and not get waylayed by the Vuelta. Now look higher in the sky, imagine a much longer ramp, barely steeper, but almost twice the length of that for the Marie Blanque. A long descent preceded a beautiful cruise through a valley, a nice break and something of a recovery from the exertion of the climb. But the faster we descended and cruised, the quicker the Abisque loomed. 

This one had only a few stretches of a few hundred meters each of steepness at +/- 10%, but a long, long grind upward. 

We were fortunate to arrive at the base of the climb before the Vuelta, and they were still allowing cyclists and vehicles to pass, so we started our long effort upwards, and were met at about the halfway point by Ewa in our support vehicle--that's the one with all of our cycling gear, tools, tables, benches, bike racks, food and water. 

We set up camp at a nice bend in the road and monitored the progress of the Vuelta, learning that they were likely to pass our rest stop within the hour-- so we made it our official, and unusually long lunch break. And a break to describe our lunches: in addition to energy bars, electrolyte tabs, sweetened sodas, fizzy and still water, Eric arranged pickup of wonderful midday meals, salads of veggies, fruits, rice, greens, and to-die-for cookies and brownies, easily more food than I'm used to eating during a ride. But all chowed down and I didn't hear any complaints, just thanks. 

The tour riders themselves were preceded by a long, LONG procession of support vehicles: police in cars and on motorcycles; 

team cars with and without bikes on them; vans hawking cycling-related products, some throwing goodies to the spectators (ask Pat about his stylin' red fedora), more gendarmes (French) or Polizia (Spanish), more cars, etc, etc. It wasn't until we saw vehicles with flashing lights moving slowly, like cycling speed, that we knew the riders were coming. We all took up positions with our cameras ready, but all were behaved and respectful enough--or just plain too tired--to not run out into the peloton waving flags or generally getting in the face of the riders. 

And, of course, the hour of waiting culminated in a few seconds, or at most a minute, of actual riders and their camera followers flashing by. But truly an exciting moment, and a bigger bonus for us not having planned to coincide with and witness the Vuelta. 

 It took us about the amount of time to get the all-clear to reenter the road for us to pack up, suit up, water up, and gumption-back-up to get back on our bicycles and continue our climb, as we were barely past the halfway point. 

It was head down, hands on the drops, or moving positions to stave off numbness, low gear, and crank, crank, crank up the remainder of the climb. By the time I reached the summit, after perhaps 90 minutes of total climb time, I was ready to say, "Ho-ly shit HOLY SHIT!" 

Either of the two climbs today may have been the hardest physical challenge I've ever completed, and both in a day-- 

Again, I am so proud of each of the cyclists in our group for completing the climbs, 

AND for our excellent support crew for feeding, watering, and encouraging us throughout. 

Eric met us at the top in his cycling gear, and gave us general instructions for our descent, including putting on a wind layer, a bit hard to think about after the long, hot climb to the top, and to have a light and to be prepared to take off our shades for a tunnel that would come up within the first 5km down. He called it right on. 

But the rush of the descents: our bikes all have excellent hydraulic disc brakes, new-looking tires, and could be relied on to run steady and stable on fast straights and curves. Some were bolder than others in speeding downslope, but I didn't notice anyone being reckless, all skiing within their abilities. But the dilemma: burn off the accummulated potential kinetic energy we amassed during the climb, as quickly as possible? Or stop and smell the photo-ops along the way? 

I opted for some of both-- as both were breathtaking in their own way. 

We regrouped at the bottom, as is the habit of the ride-along guides, confirming that all were safely arrived, then cruised on for the final 10's of km's to our hotel. 

Those miles were gorgeous, too, as we rode narrow paved roads through villages, ag fields, over hill and dale, mostly rolling, many curves, mostly downhill. It was a fitting end to our riding day, and we were welcomed at our hotel with gracious hospitality, a delicious gourmet-quality meal, and, most important, laundry service for two days' worth of sweaty cycling kit. Tomorrow: HOLY SHIT cubed: the Tourmelet.