Part 2

My previous post left me a little past the halfway mark on the top of the Col de Mente.

I'm pretty sure the vast majority of Etapists had done their homework , and knew we now faced the true test of the day... the hors categorie (ie. the worst sort !) climb Port de Bales. This is about 12 to 13 miles of ascent at a gradient of a little over 6%. 6% ain't much... a piffle.. but unfortunately for the complacent, the French quote averages. We had quite a few miles of flattish riding in a valley following a river into a surprisingly strong headwind before we started to ascend. Like Tom Boonen, I let everyone around me do all the work and made sure I was fully hydrated and refuelled.
One of the great features of the day was the roadside support from local people. This included small impromptu bands, lots of cheering, 'the girl in the red bikini', unfeasibly old people, the inevitable stray dog causing havoc, and the traditional painted slogans on the blacktop.It was really great to hear the cries of 'allez' and 'courage'. In many small villages, people had rigged up hosepipes to cool us down, or were offering to pour water over our heads. I had accepted a good dowsing from someone, but unfortunately most of the water ran into the padding of my synthetic chamois and formed a big soggy mess between my backside and the saddle. Now I know why babies cry when they have soaked their nappies because I immediately started to chafe. It was really giving me grief and I cursed my inexperience for letting this happen. I was also burning in the sun. What sunblock I had applied had evaporated by now and my upper arms were visibly red. Oh well... nothing I could do about it now.

The beginning of the Bales was gentle and I was feeling strong. Another factor of the day which made you feel like a real pro was the constant stream of support and paramedic motorcycles zipping along, overtaking on our left. There was a sudden flurry of activity and as I came around a corner I found out why. A large tree had literally just toppled over across the road and we were having to duck under the trunk. Bizarre. Anyway, the road began to narrow and deteriorate in quality, and after 7 or 8 easy climbing kms the gradient ramped up steeply...... from here on the point I was trying to make about the average gradient becomes relevant. This second half of Bales almost certainly will be remembered as most Etapists' time of suffering. The heat was by now at its worse, and we all hugged the edge of the road searching for tiny nuggets of shade which might have given us a few nanoseconds of heat relief. Hard to believe in retrospect but it's true! This section was very narrow and the road surface had recently been repaired by Bodgit and Scarper because huge sections of tar were melting really badly. The bike seemed to bog down as the friction coefficient peaked. Why waste money on top tyres with low rolling resistance if you have to ride through sticky soup like this? It all added to the misery as we all slowed to our minimum, bottom gear, grinding, weaving and groaning. Regular signs indicated the distance to the top but only increased the torture when a quick bit of maths made it obvious that I had at least another 90 minutes of this hell before I would reach the top. The temptation to join the ever increasing numbers of people getting off for a rest or a lie down was palpable, but I decided that to stop may be terminal and I just tried to keep making small circles with my feet. I also set small targets... the next corner, the next signpost, the next man in tears, the next person receiving medical attention.... that sort of thing.
A steady stream of walkers were clunking up the right hand side of the road in their cleats. One guy lost it and chucked his carbon machine against the rocky side of the road, yelling, 'I can't even walk up the f**^er , let alone pedal'. This actually spurred me on.

I expected my heart rate to be at my known max in the high 160's but for some strange reason I was way down in the low 150's. I can only guess that this was a sign of the virus load in my body that would be giving me the runs 24 hours later. I also experienced a couple of disconcerting sudden shivery sensations that seemed to zip through my body and down my arms making my hairs tremble. I wondered if this heralded the onset of the hunger bonk, so sucked down another caffeine-gel as soon as possible. I was parched too, so stopped in a tiny patch of shade for a 5 minute lie-down and took the chance to drink a good half bidon of water/electrolyte.
Eventually, the trees cleared and the mountain top opened out to more switchback corners and great scenery. I could sense the top of the Col, and sure enough, the sound of cheering and more delightful amateur music started to drift down from the ridges ahead. I dared to succeed. I stopped and looked back down the valley at the slow snake of riders who were still on their way up. A youngish woman passed me on her bike and drew huge cheers of roadside support...' incroyable, une fille!' they were yelling. She grinned as she passed, clearly enjoying herself. I took a couple of photos. Near the top it was much cooler, overcast, and windy. I watched a huge bird of prey soaring on the thermals and made a mental note of the moment. You can't buy this sort of stuff, you know.
There was slight relief from the gradient, and eventually after two hours or so of special suffering I pushed over the top of the Bales. Bliss. I now felt assured of success barring a crash or mechanicals, and it felt good. A moment to relish.

I had a small lie down. Jacko did the same apparently and found himself in someone's own personal toilet area. Nice. I don't think he cared at this point, and nor would you.

More in my next post.