Day 2: Premier Col

After a refreshingly cool night, a rested team demolished a perfectly presented breakfast spread of warm miniature croissants, bread, meats and cheeses and local natural yogurt. The local apricots had been used in every form possible including delicious juice. We offset the refined setting with a moronic debate about a bed pan / banjo hanging on the wall.

The riders faced a morning of short but extremely steep hills, prompting dad to experience a rare moment of doubt over whether we could finish the challenge. A bottle full of cold water and a few sharp slaps to the face administered by Greg soon shook him out of it, and we were again on our way into increasingly mountainous terrain. A dramatically steep sided valley in the distance indicated the direction of our day's ride, and with a sense of impending pain we pressed on.

Meanwhile, with food stocks in the team car critically low (we didn't have any left), Mike was off in search of a supermarket to scavenge for some cereal bars. When the other team members re-joined in the tiny village of Escot, we were treated to an open boot displaying a magnificent buffet of sports-specific energy products that Mike had procured from a sports shop somewhere. It came as no surprise in this cycling and skiing orientated region that a sports shop was easier to come by than a supermarket. On the downside, Mike was forced to give away vital water supplies to an elderly couple who had been trekking in the extreme heat of the day.

Pockets bulging with isotonic carbs, we were now ready for our first major challenge. A 'col' is a point used to pass over the ridge between two mountain peaks. They are typically high, and feature a long and winding road. Having reached the end of the valley, our first col stood before us: Le Col de Marie Blanque, a first category climb first ridden in the Tour de France in 1978 and infamous for its steepness. Dad had set off with a head start but soon all three riders were on the col. The gradient was forgiving for the first few kms (indicated each km with a handy information sign displaying distance to the summit and avereage gradient over the next km) but soon ramped up as we neared the half way point. 

Mike took up increasingly avant-garde camera positions as we ground our way up the hill, capturing our heroics in some stunning photos and film footage. Eventually the younger Raiders hunted down Team Leader, whose legs were spinning at a previously unrecorded cadence due to his very low gears. With the team split on the road, the youth toiled and pushed up the steepest section to the summit and collapsed, while Dad casually took in the surroundings on his leisurely spin to the top. Arriving shortly after Tom and Greg had stopped vomiting and shaking, he infuriatingly proclaimed “that was absolutely fine, it just went on a bit”.

At that point Mike appeared from his sniping post high on the valley wall, brandishing a big smile, words of congratulations, and some stunning shots. We posed while Mike attempted to explain the operation of a DSLR camera to a confused Spanish man, who was eventually relieved of the device by his wife, who snapped the obligatory 'standing next to a col sign' photo for us (here it is).

What goes up must come down, as they say. Our hard slog up the col was rewarded with an exhilirating descent right down to the town of Laruns, where we were staying. Relieved to have managed the days efforts, and in desperate need of somewhere to crash out and a shower, we were dismayed to find the hostel locked up. A swift phone call from the team's translator resulted in the door opening and a grumpy frenchman to let us in, seemingly only so he could complain about how we shouldn't be there so early and he has no time to prepare for the next guests etc. We showered in record time and left to find a local bar before he took out his anger physically.

Our frosty reception in the town continued, as after a long delay the waiter in our newly discovered bar took our order of 'quatres bieres', then promptly finished his shift and went home without telling anyone! Eventually ice cold, hoppy satisfaction was ours, and we even managed to quell rumbling tummies with a sublime platter of local meats and of course some carb loading in the form of that cultural delicacy: French fries. With Mike asleep in his chair, we sensed it was time to move on, and we were now within the the official opening hours of our hostel, so we braved the furnace like heat to stagger 500m back to our shady sanctuary. 

The hours before dinner were spent updating the blog before we took our places at a picnic bench out on the street for a hearty evening meal of quiche, sausages, and potatoes followed by apple crumble (!) and ice cream. We couldn't believe it either. All this enjoyed against a backdrop of sunset-illuminated mountain peaks towering above us. Tom and Mike were oblivious to this display of natural beauty in all its magnificence as they were fiercely contesting a draw-off of their dream trains on the back of the placemats.