The Ultimate Etape 6 of the Raid Pyrenees: Ax les Thermes to Port Vendres; 3 climbs; des Descentes Ênormes

The 6th and final day of our epic tour, the Raid, and me with mixed emotions: eagerness to meet the day's challenges, to ride again with my cycling amis, to see the Mediterranean when we reach our last destination. Some apprehension over the climbs and the mileage, 2700m of climbing--the most in any one day this week--and all in the first 65km; then another 100km, losing all of our altitude on our dash to sea level, for a total of 165km. That's just over 100 miles, or what cyclists call a century ride. And I'm grieving already the end of this epic Raid, and that 4 and possibly more of our team have fallen to COVID and won't be riding with us today. 

We know the drill well: rise, pack, breakfast, suit up and lather up, and depart with our guide and domestique, Constantin, leaving behind ailing Tom and Murray smoking their Gauloises and sipping their cafe au laits.

What a hero of a rider-guide! By the end of the day Constantin will have pulled our group on a mad dash ahead of a thunderstorm, and across 100km of flats, detours and traffic to our destination. He's like a sled dog that wants only to run! And not only that: he can be like a herding sheepdog, riding from back to front and back again, keeping us on course, guarding our safety--and all without bark or bite. That also means that he was climbing the ascents at twice the speed we were, doubling back and re-covering the climb, and encouraging us on our way. But I'm rushing ahead-- 

We were blessed with a cooler morning, and with our early-ish start were able to complete all of the climbing before it warmed too much. 

Ax les Thermes was still mostly sleeping when we left--charming little ville. Unfortunately, where most every day prior we had what I've been calling a "rollout" to warm and loosen our legs, today the climb started a few hundred meters from the hotel. Oof! The ride profile says it clearly: 

But the scenery was gorgeous as we climbed, and unusual for me I stayed with Dick-- or "Deke," as we came to call him--and we talked most of the way up the first climb. 

Double significance: first, the warmth and the candor of our conversation engaged me, rather than me sticking to my usual solo effort; and two, being able to converse while climbing through 7, 8, 10+% grades suggests that our legs and lungs have been getting stronger through the week. I noticed by the end of the week that where a few days earlier a grade of 5 or 6% had me gearing down to my lowest ratio, today I was in 2nd, 3rd, 5th gear and still pedaling within my "zone." The adaptability of the human body is remarkable! 

Port de Pailheres was the first summit, topping at 2001m altitude, and with enough breeze to have us all jacketing up to prevent our sweaty bodies from chilling out when we stopped at the top. I put on every layer I had--arm and knee warmers, a skull cap, neck gaiter, jacket and gloves--for the COLD descent. Such contrasts between the sweaty climb, a chilly pause at the top, and the equivalent of a 50 mph windchill on the descent. And immediately on reaching the bottom wanting to peel off the same layers as we hit the warm valley floor. 

But no break today in the form of a level roll, it was right back to an intermediate climb, the Col de Caravel, 507m in 12.2km, then a quick descent before the final climb of the day and the week, the Col de Jau. Once again, you had to be there, but I'll try to give you a picture. The first two climbs wound through heavily forested areas, so the vistas were limited. 

But green, green, green, and quiet. The roads we pedaled most often followed a stream, so in the quiet (and when not talking with a partner), I could hear the trickling of the water, or at times the rush of a small waterfall. It was overcast, with low level clouds that we climbed into, such that it got harder to see any distance, and nearing the top the clouds seemed to fall out in light rain--but just barely. 

And then we climbed ABOVE the cloud layer to look down on the mist.

In wider open areas we often saw cattle, many with cowbells--there really is such a thing apart from sporting events--which made their distinctive clanging racket. 

There were small turnouts where small-scale logging had taken place; the occasional cottage or cabin, some looking very old; cleared pastureland; hayfields carved into the contours of the land; and one or two lakes, 

like this one that reflected the sun as it first cleared the peaks to shine into the valley. As the day progressed the sky behind us got darker and darker, and, as my daughter would say when she was small, "the sky was threatening me!" Threatening to storm, of course. Rain is not the cyclist's friend, not just from the discomfort of wet and cold, but for slippery pavement and decreased visibility.

Our final descent, after de Jau, was the longest of the week, almost 15 miles, with grades in excess of 15% in spots. Going downhill should be easy, but the tension of steering through the turns, covering the brakes and grabbing them when needed, plus the vibration of the road surface left my upper arms and shoulders sore-- and they still are as I write this 24 hours later. 

I followed Deke and Pat down this last descent, until we braked to a stop in the ville of Catller where we agreed to regroup with the others. We sipped our double espressos while we waited for the rest of the group--and watched the sky nervously as thunder began to rumble. It was hustle, hustle when we took off again, led or chased, I'm not sure which, by Constantin. 

We were told by guide Eric that if we wished to "sag" in the support vehicle for any of the last 50 miles, that we wouldn't be missing much of the ride, and except for being able to say that we rode every one of the 440 miles of the Raid, and he was pretty spot on. We hurtled at 45+ kph around detours, through traffic, dodging vehicles through roundabouts, double-parked cars and work vehicles for the last two hours. No photos available-- I had tucked my phone and hearing aids in plastic, expecting to be drenched at any time, but holy velo, we outran the storm! We did not, however, outrun the Flat Ogre. 

I regress a few days to a dinner conversation during which I asked Constantin and Ewa if they ride on tubeless tires, a relatively new cycle-tech about which riders seem to have strong opinions for or agin'. Our guide couple eschews tubeless in favor of Tubalitos, a new application of material used in audio speaker cones. They swore they've had only two flats in two years and many, many thousands of miles using this new product. Sign me up-- except during the last 15 km of our ride, Constantin and his Tuba's flatted not once, but twice. And the repairs took a l-o-n-g time, when we were all eager to be done and make it to our showers and dinner. I had to dis' him about having had so few flats recently that he'd forgotten how to fix them. 

But he did remember, of course, and we resumed our dash, including about 10 km of BUMPY cycling path. The scenery was many k's of agriculture, primarily vineyards and fruit orchards. France must produce a LOT of wine and fruit, and what we had of each was of excellent quality. 

He told us when to expect the Mediteranean, which soon appeared to our left, and there it was, broad and blue, marking the end of our Raid. 

Pat, Dan, Tom and I were the only ones of the original 12 who made the full distance of the tour, the others sagging for some greater or lesser distances, for health or weather reasons, no shame on any of them. A final few km's of bad city streets and uphill slogs got us to our hotel, and the true end of the tour. My cycle computer read 165.4 km, total time of 10:47, of which 7:47 was moving time, a long day to end a long adventure. I felt more fatigue than elation or celebration, but we did congratulate each other, and continued through our last dinner together once we'd all reached our hotel. 

Our last dinner and breakfast together were bittersweet: 

at a GORGEOUS hotel right on the ocean, but more because we exchanged stories of the day and the week; we talked about whether we would repeat this or another tour; and most because we were saying goodbye to our guides. 

What wonderful people! All three work part-time for Echappee, though they'd like to do more. Ewa and Constantin, the newlyweds, live mostly on Gran Canaria in the Spanish Canary Islands, where Constantin can race and both can guide day trips freelance. When they married early during the COVID pandemic, rather than hosting a large gathering, which at the time was not possible, 

they staged the Tour de Wedding, bicycling and training through Eastern Europe to visit family and friends. 

I would sign up for another tour they would guide in a minute. But will I? I truly don't know. I turn 70 at the end of this week, and right now I feel and function more healthily than anyone my age has a right to expect. Could I do a tour like the Raid in another year? Three years, or five? I can't know, but I do know that I hope I am fit and healthy enough to have the option. And I don't know if a repeat would feel the same as this week. 

So often when I called home and Carrie asked how the trip was going, I was literally speechless, unable to open my mouth to express what a wonderful, wonderful experience this has been. And overcome with gratitude that I had the opportunity and the ability to start AND TO FINISH the tour, every meter of climbing, and every kilometer of distance. 

I've written this blog first for me, so I can express daily what it's been like, and to remember; second for Carrie, so I can tell her fresh, daily, what I'm doing and how I'm feeling; and finally for my fellow cyclists here and at home, and friends and family who asked me in advance, "can you send us pictures?" Thank you for being my audience, and in that way being my support and distant amis. C'est assez; it has been enough! Thank you, thank you, thank you!