Cycling around Pau and the Pyrénées

After riding through the long, dark, and cold winter, the small band of Parisian road cyclists known as the Bandidos, Légion Etrangère decided to start the new cycling season with a long weekend of riding in the Pyrénées. Pau is right on the doorstep of the Pyrénées, just five hours by TGV from Paris, and has an international airport. What could go wrong?

Only the weather.

Pau itself is an excellent base for a serious, tourist, or leisure cycling holiday, a beautiful old French city with a well preserved château and a an old town that is attractive to tourists.  For the serious cyclist who dreams of riding the cols of the Tour de France, the cols of Maire Blanque and the Aubisque are easily within a day’s ride, whereas cols such as the Tourmalet, d’Aspin, and Luz-Ardiden can be ridden in a day from the famous town of Lourdes or from Tarbes.

The weather had been excellent in the region over the preceding week, but the forecast predicted a change in conditions. Nevertheless,our short spin on the evening of our arrival in shorts, short sleeve tops, and arm warmers raised hopes of a fine weekend.

The morning of what was to be the big ride, taking in at least one col from the forthcoming Etape du Tour (the chance for the amateur rider to ride the same route of a mountain stage from the Tour de France), began with bright sunshine, but some ominous looking clouds all around. The lower slopes and valleys that precede the Pyrénéan mountains are delightful cycling terrain, green fields, vineyards, farms, short climbs, and speedy descents. The only thing spoiling the ride today was the occasional need to shelter from the cloudbursts of heavy rain and hail. Fortunately, each time the skies cleared the sun returned, and the ride continued to today’s goal. The climb of the col de Marie Blanque, a 9km ascent to 1036m, is notable for the last 4km where the gradient averages 12%.

A brief lunch in the shadow of the mountains in the small town of Oloron-Ste-Maire in bright sunshine raised spirits, but by the time the group reached the bottom of the climb, all the mountains were hidden under mist and rain was pouring down all sides of the valley. We questioned whether we should continue or not. The advice always is if it is raining at the bottom of a col it is probably snowing on the top, but we had come this far; so no one wanted to turn back now.

The bottom of the climb is quite gentle, slowly increasing to 8% over the first 5kms, and I took it very easy, happily riding up in 39×23. At the 4km-to-go mark, the signpost read 12% (there are signs at each kilometre mark indicating the distance to the top and the average gradient for the next kilometre), so I changed down to 39×26. I felt good and found that manageable for the rest of the climb–not that I had any choice, as it was my lowest gear. I pushed on as the kilometres ticked down: 12%, 9%, 11%, and finally 13% for the last kilometre! Lost in the climbing world of pushing the gears, I didn’t really notice the rain had changed to sleet and finally to light snow as I neared the summit. I reached the top and suddenly realised how bitterly cold it was.

Only a few minutes were spent at the top waiting for everyone to reach the summit. Brief congratulations followed.  We reminded ourselves to be very careful on the way down, and then began what was to be the descent into hell.

Driving hail, sleet, and snow flying horizontally into our faces greeted us as we began the descent. Visibility was down to 100 metres or so and we could rarely see the riders in front, with the pot-holed road itself hidden by the rivers of water that were gushing down it. The surface improved after a couple of kilometres of the descent, but by now, my hands and fingers were frozen numb, so much so that it was becoming increasingly difficulty to pull on the brakes. I could not feel my fingers; only my eyes told me that I had the brakes more or less full on, but still the bike wasn’t slowing as it should. Several times on the way down before hairpins, I had to literally pull on the brakes as hard as I could until the bike completely stopped, just to to reassure myself I could stop the bike.

It was so desperately cold and wet out there. We had to get off that mountain as soon as we safely could. Had we really climbed up so far? I was beginning to think I wouldn’t make it to the bottom. The descent seemed never-ending as I desperately tried to keep the bike under 40km/h. Finally I saw the flat valley floor, and somehow, one by one, we all got down there without mishapm to be greeted by a passing French farmer shouting “fou!” at us, meaning “you are mad”. He was right:  we had been very stupid, and there were experienced riders with us who should have known better. We all looked at each other and felt a collective relief that we were all at the bottom in one piece. It was stupid, but it was epic and unforgettable. The rain continued to deluge us on our ride back to Pau, but we got back to the hotel together and safely.

After that experience, we heeded the weather when choosing where to ride. For example, Lourdes is a pleasant and flat 35km ride alongside the river, while riding anywhere in the region to the backdrop of the snow capped mountains is enjoyable and rewarding. If you do ever find yourself at the bottom of a major climb with poor weather setting in, even in the summer months, please don’t be as stupid as we were and save yourself for another day.