Day 7 - Basque Country

It is time to wind down.  We left the High Pyrenees behind on our ride to Chateau Lemothe and we are now among rolling hills, corn fields and old stone farmhouses.   Just to the west is an area referred to as “Basque Country,” in recognition of the Basque farmers that work the tall hills and deep draws.

Our final day, Saturday, dawned damp and cloudy after a heavy early morning thunder storm and we lazed into the day, finally gearing up to ride at 10 AM, destination Basque Country.  Eight of us took off with an improvised itinerary and Nel preceding us to chalk turn arrows on the road.  Our taut quads warned us not to pedal hard as we savored our last day on a bike in France.  We wove around bad road patches, dirt clods and animal dung on steep, twisty back roads, just enjoying being alive and rolling on 2 wheels.  Eventually, Markham stopped to sketch an old barn, Howie and I turned to go to St. Oloron and the others continued onto a new town for a picnic lunch.  By 4 PM we had all found our way back to Chateau Lamothe to pack up our bikes, have a final group dinner and retire early so we could catch morning flights back to the States. 

A farm with its own waterworks

Two-way traffic--get skinny, Howie!

Howie

Vegetable garden

Vegetable meal

Road to another adventure.....

Chateau Lamothe

The final two nights we stayed in a chateau near the small town of Maumaur.  The chateau had been recently purchased and renovated by a Dutch couple tired of the shipping industry and looking for a simpler life in the French countryside.  Larry and Kristina opened their bed and breakfast—“do not say ‘Inn’!”--for business earlier this year.  As of today, they have worked from 6 AM to 12 PM 7 days a week for 6 weeks without interruption.  Larry is the chef, main desk person and host while Kristina oversees the gardens, rooms and easy ambience.  Things are slightly out of control in a comfortable way, so that a large box of custom-imprinted towels remains where it was dropped outside the main office.  Wi-fi for the main house, in the form of an Airport Base Station, has arrived but awaits Larry’s free time for set-up.  Chef Larry often shows up carrying a bag of groceries a couple hours before dinner time.  Through this all, Larry and Kristina remain chill, chatting with guests and minding their many daily tasks.

Chateau Lamothe was the first place in France that welcomed us back for dinner a second night.  Of course, there was no other restaurant open in Maumaur so they were more or less stuck with us.  That’s not to say we were loud, rude Americans prior to arriving at the chateau.  Yes, we have animated cycling discussions and hearty laughs that can fill a room, but we prefer to believe 

This must be a posed photo because Jim is pouring...water???

that 13 people showing up at once overwhelms the cook and wait-staff at the smaller restaurants in smaller towns that we’ve frequented.  Some have turned away customers after we arrived.  Some have told us with typical French frankness, “No.  Do not come back tomorrow!” Larry, though, always seemed happy to feed us, and he provided us with two of the best dinners we had while in France, accompanied with generous amounts of well-chosen red wine.

Oh, and by the way, Maumaur has a church with a belltower.  And much like in St. Lary, the church sees it as a public duty to ring out the hours and half hours all day and all night long.   This is NOT quaint and charming to visitors in the middle of the night!  Could the churches just buy every townperson a digital watch???

Larry chatting with Howie, Rich and others

Braised duck with local veggies

Rich got not only the largest room, but two lovely
(and loving) roommates.  That is not a forced smile!

My roommate, a bookish sort

Peak Performers

Each peak in the Pyrenees has its signature farm animal waiting to greet arriving cyclists.  Or so our experience suggests.  Cows at Col d'Aspin.  Sheep at Col du Soulor.  Donkeys at Tourmalet.  Horses at Col d'Aubisque.  Like college football mascots, they're ready to cheer, instigate, celebrate or just share in the energy and spoils brought by the athletes.  While eating ham steak marinated in champagne at Chateau Lamothe last night, we suddenly realized that we hadn't been greeted atop a mountain by pigs.  That means there must be a major Pyrenean peak that we've missed and a reason to do this whole thing again!

Nel, our tour organizer, says that, in France, mountain peaks above a certain elevation are public land and therefore farmers can simply turn loose their livestock in these areas to graze.  Free range, actually.  This explains the number of animals but not the specificity of farm animal on each peak.  Why not horses, sheep and donkeys altogether on Hautacam, for example?  We don't have the answer, but the following photos help describe the phenomena.

After aggressively confronting Rich in the road on the way up Col d'Aspin,
the cows were unimpressed when Rich reached the top.  Conclusion:
cows are hard to impress.

This happy fellow atop Tourmalet is  offering a victory kiss or
 demanding Steve's banana.  Steve is from Iowa
and seems to have a special way with animals.  

This horse, atop d'Aubisque, recognized Steve's Pinarello Dogma for the
hot buggy it was and tried to run off with it.  He succeeded in grabbing it
by the handlebars with his mouth and knocking it over.

This is me posing for a summit photo on d'Aubisque.  Since
I didn't actually ride up on my bike, the horse in the back-
ground is, um, commenting on my little deceit by "rumping"
the sign.

This sheep was ho-hum about our arrival at the top of Soulor
but became more than willing to party with us.  She offered
to carry the food and, in fact, insisted on carrying the food
when Nel turned her back.

Day 6-Last of the Pyrenees

We awoke Thursday morning in Argeles prepared for a long final trek over Pyrenean peaks.  My throat was sore and knee ached so it seemed the right time for an off day, given the unplanned riding I’d done at Gavarnie the day before.  (47 mi., 4,000 ft. vert)  The itinerary called for 57 mi. and 8,000 ft. of climbing—not huge by past years’ standards but big enough to keep a tired body tired.  And 5,000 feet were in the first 20 miles. 

View while climbing Col de L'Aubisque

The guys were very kind as I helped Nel load up the van.  No manhood questions, no offers to pull me in a Burley.  I decided to ride with Nel to the top of Col d’Aubisque and play it by ear from there.

It was a winning choice.  Col du Soulor was a beast; it’s profile, showing 8 km of 8.5% slope,  doesn’t do justice to its wicked 12% ramps.  Aubisque was long (30 km) but with many easy 3 - 5% slopes and panoramic vistas as one climbed. 

Lunch atop Col d'Aubisque

Peewee Herman riding a bike atop
Col d'Aubisque.  It also looks a
little like Charles trying to find a bike
that fits him.

 At  noon, atop Aubisque, I took my bike off the van roof and joined the guys for the last 44 miles to Chateau de La mothe.  By then, my throat and knee were feeling much better with long descents to look forward to and only 3,000 ft. of climbing left.  My final tally was 45 miles, 3,000 ft. vert, while others had a long day of approximately 64 miles and 8,000 ft. vert.

We see lots of other cyclists atop the mountains.
This group is from Oregon, and cycled through
the Pyrenees from Girona to Pau over 2 weeks.
When one guy felt a little sick and decided to
ride in the support vehicle for a day, their tour
leader growled, "This is a BIKE ride.  Get on
your bike!"

My one significant climb of the day.

Lost at last!  After years of being lost in the Alps
we finally lost our way in the Pyrenees.
We weren't really lost though because
we knew where we were--we just couldn't figure out
how to get to the Chateau.

While awaiting directions in Oloron, some prefer beer....

and some prefer patisseries

International Incident

A wood post, about 6' tall, braced upright by a pile of rocks, marks what we take to be the French-Spain border at Port de Boucharo.  A sign is attached to the top of it, pointing in different directions.  

Arriving at the border post, Markham decided to lock up his bike and take a hike up a rocky knoll.  Thin air,  a gnarly cable and the unsteady post all went to work, causing Markham to lose his grip on the padlock, which promptly disappeared into the rocks that held the border post upright.  Markham searched futilely for five minutes as we photographed ourselves and offered helpful tips.  

Jim, for example, seeing Markham with his head half-submerged into the rock pile, came over to ask, "What are you looking for?  Are you still looking for the border?  Isn't the post good enough for you?  What do you expect to find--a line on the ground?!!"

Eventually, an unnamed cyclist (unnamed for obvious evidentiary reasons) pulled the post out of the rock pile so that Markham had a 12" diameter hole from which to search for the padlock.  This, too, proved futile, so we placed the post back in roughly the same spot and began moving rocks to brace it upright.  That's when Markham uncovered the missing padlock, a foot away from the search site.

 Padlock found, post re-ballasted, Markham successfully cabled his bike to the post.  But we're pretty sure we moved the border a couple inches.  To which side, north or south, we're not willing to discuss without our lawyer.

Port de Boucharo

Markham called for a wheelchair

Markham was moving stiffly the next morning after his explosion up Tourmalet, opting for the elevator rather than the stairs, and wishing for a wheelchair. We did what we could to revive him with coffee and carbs, and loaded bikes on an Andiamo van to drive 40 km up a scenic valley to Gavarnie.  A throng of older European tourists had preceded us and the little town and main hiking path were bustling.  The air was cool, the sun benignly smiling,  and we unloaded our bikes and geared up to explore the town and gentle path leading further up the valley.  I could handle that, even on an off day! 

We dodged hikers and horses on the paved portion of the path, and soon the paving ended and we turned back toward Gavarnie and went in search of the road to Port de Boucharo and the Spanish border.  It  was easy to find.  One bend, two bends, and then up it went.  We climbed, pedaling doggedly away on the steady 9% slopes, surrounded by ripped mountain peaks and vast mountain meadows filled with the music of sheep-bells.

Seven miles later we reached a high parking lot, where we picnic-ed on French bread, cheese and Orangina.  Then we remounted our bikes and pedaled up a paved path another km through scattered rockfall until we arrived at our goal:  Spain!

Little did we expect to create an international incident...  

Hikers and horses start up the path

A young horseman

Slow going up 9% slopes to Port Bochero

Why we climb--part of Cirque de Gavarnie

In Spain at 7,300 ft.

Jim and his bike mustache--don't ask!

Dodging rockfall on paved path to Spain

More Cirque de Gavarnie

(Pictures Added to Race Day)

After wasting time wrestling with Google's formatting anomalies yesterday, I was finally able to upload more pictures to the Race Day post today.

Off-Itinerary: A World Heritage Site

It started with an idle minute, browsing a souvenir shop while waiting to eat dinner in Argeles-Gazoste centre the night of Race Day.  A plastic-laminated place mat caught Rich’s eye.  

The Placemat

Further study led Rich to exclaim, “Look at that picture!! This place is a World Heritage Site!  It’s the Yosemite of the Pyrenees!  We should go there tomorrow!”  

The store’s map section was nearby, which confirmed that “Yosemite” was within cycling range of Arzeles, and thus was born a plan to bag the Hautacam climb and seek adventure in an unknown part of the Pyrenees (unkown only to us, of course). The destination town was Gavarnie, 4,900 ft. elevation, near the Spanish border, from which a small road went up 8 km and 3,500 vert. ft.to Port de Boucharo and Cirque de Gavarnie (an amphitheatre of mountains).

By the time we finished our pasta, 5 of us were convinced.  It was a pre-determined rest day for me but it seemed like a good diversion, riding the SAG wagon and chasing my friends through majestic scenery.

Race Day: Up Tourmalet

We assembled in St. Marie-de-Campan, re-dressed for our optimum race experience, and prepared for a rolling start up Tourmalet.  Charles, as usual, was prostrate on the pavement, though on his stomach this time and in some sort of active TaeBo mode.  Nel hit her stopwatch and we cranked it up, slowly at first, then with increasing speed.  I had no expectations this year due to my ongoing recovery from knee problems but wanted to put in a good effort nonetheless.  Markham and Charles remained the best hopes for Team Atlanta and the Easties.  Rick and Howie looked to be strong contenders for the Westies.  The first 2 clicks out of St. Marie were easy and we chatted cheerily, but by km 3 the pace had ramped up and guys were rapidly coming off the back, with only Rick, Markham, Charles and myself in the front group.  At km 4, I made a tiny attack, totally false bravado, so I could say I lead the race, then wished my friends good luck and disppeared from their rear view mirror.

We hit the 8-10% slopes and I chugged upward, but before long Bill came to my wheel, then passed me, and I had all I could do to hang on.  After a couple km though, Bill blew and once again I was riding alone.  A km later, Howie reached me, riding his usual measured pace, then Rich, and the three of us yo-yo-ed for a short time before Rich attacked and opened a 20 m gap.  Howie kept to his steady scientific approach, using his heart meter as a metronome, and slowly I slipped back allowing a 20 m gap of my own.  That was the race for me, as the unrelenting 9 and 10% slopes simply pummeled me into a slogging cadence--and I already was in my lowest gear!

Rich and Howie increased the gap as we approached La Mongie and soon I was in no man's land, barely able to see Howie ahead with no one visible behind.  That allowed me to appreciate how utterly ugly La Mongie is and ultimately I decided to stop and share this realization through a photo.  It also sucked that the road never took a break--you depend on a certain flattening of the roadway in a town so, for example, people can get into a garage or turn onto a side street, but, no, no mercy in Mongie.  I suffered badly enough to deserve a result but, alas, only an attaboy awaited me.  It was slo-mo up the last 4 tortuous km and I was never more aware of my lack of training.  The rest of the story is provided by the participants.

Rick set the pace the first 10 km until, 2 km before La Mongie, he faded, leaving Markham and Charles to ride on, mano a mano, see-sawing the lead. Near Mongie, with 5 km, Markham stood up and slowly put down the hammer as Charles began to fade.  Encouraged, Markham gutted out the final 4 km to the finish line, winning by 5 min. over Charles.  Howie, meanwhile, turned up his metronome and began reeling in the flagging Rich, then Rick, and cruised to the summit for the last podium position.

Rich came in fourth, then Rick, Jack, Todd, and others.  So, Race Day 2011 is in the books, and we're once again dealing with the reality that we're not yet Tour-ready, at least not if Tourmalet is on Le Tour again next year.  Tourmalet is a beast!!!

We hung out at the top, a cycling mecca, and enjoyed lunch and the constant stream of other cyclists, for an hour and a half.  After re-fueling, a couple of us talked Jason into driving the van back down to La Mongie to buy some Tourmalet jerseys--nobody was going to ride a bike back up from Mongie!  The others headed down the east side of Tourmalet toward Luz-de-Sauvoire.  The jersey group followed a half hour later and, after 20 miles, we all reached our hotel in Argeles-Gazoste.  The day's talley:  57 mi., 7,155 vert. ft., 1 race, and 22 tired legs.

At the top: Todd, Chris, Markham, Jack

An ass about to get into a fight with a cyclist

Lots of Tour messages still on the road

La Mongie seen from the top

The road down--into the clouds!

The road to our hotel in Argeles was downhill.....

End of the day:  Charles in shavasana?