Country roads-don't you love 'em, Bristol to Land's End

It seemed like a good idea at the time. A chance to raise money for a charity that means a lot to our family, I'd be really fit from the Raid Pyreneen and it would only be hills not mountains, and it was my birthday weekend. What else would I rather be doing but cycling 250 miles from Bristol to Land's End?

But at 8AM on the Friday morning, after being stood about in the damp and the mist for nearly an hour, and having already taken family to airport drop-off at 5AM, I was feeling tired, cold and apprehensive about a day in the saddle. Because of the charity involvement we had to do a bit of press don't you know, and listen to the necessary safety briefing, label bikes with numbers (I was number 4) and all that sort of stuff.

Eventually it was all over and we were able to head off from Clifton Down towards the suspension (and best) bridge (in the world). At a junction just before the bridge, I used my well-honed traffic-negotiating skills to get across the road after A, and that was pretty much it for the rest of the morning as we didn't see any other riders till they caught up with us at the water stop in Glasto. We headed out through Long Ashton, Barrow Gurney, Winford, Chew Stoke, Harptree Hill and Old Wells Road, before hitting the levels in Wells.

It was bit drizzly, with a northerly wind, which was behind us until we turned west at Glasto and headed for Taunton. A and I took turns to shield each other from the cross wind and we made such good time that we arrived at the pub for lunch 40 minutes ahead of the schedule.

For many of the 36 participants this was their first big ride, and the field spread out over a long distance. In fact, after just 50 miles the last riders were nearly an hour behind us, on what had been a fairly gentle introduction. The afternoon was a bit tougher, as we slowly headed up a few long drags before hitting some proper hills out of Wiveliscombe (W). I tried to keep up with a couple of youngsters, but they dropped me, before they stopped for some faff and I overtook them. Although I found the long hill out of W, they soon caught me again.

A series of tough undulations followed, averaging 10-15%, on narrow country lanes with sharp bends and lots of gravel. On one I was convinced I would be hitting the hedge on a 120-degree turn, but just scraped round, on the grass verge.

By now I was on my own, following the 2 lads ahead of me, until I overtook them at the 2nd water stop in Dulverton. After filling my bottle with the real thing, full-fat version, it was up onto Exmoor proper via a brutal 20% hill. Once along the top of the ridge I got caught again and the views across the country were stunning. Fortunately our route had been marked out with orange marker arrows, one of which I saw at the last minute, half-way down a very steep descent.

With a couple of small hills to go, it was more or less downhill to Barnstaple, where I managed to get lost before finding the hotel. The ay had been a good one, with about 6000 feet of climbing and 106 miles of riding, which I did in 24 seconds over 7 hours. The disappointing thing had been that I rode over 55 miles on my own, so I resolved to do something about that the next day.

I did the Arudy bed trick at the hotel, although as we stayed in identical rooms each night, MY roomie did get the better bed the next night. Food and comfort were both good, and I managed to be all tucked up in bed by 10.30. Some of the others got swept up by thebroom waggon, and other trailed in nearly 3 hours after me, so I guess they had a tough day. Credit in particular to the couple on the tandem, who made it in reasonable time.

Saturday morning dawned clear and crisp, and promised a beautiful day's riding down to Cornwall. Unfortunately my bike had a mechanical. Overnight the chain and front mech must have been caught in the van where the support crew stored them as one link was deformed and the mech had slipped down. In the absence of spares we decided to take a link out of the chain and keep the fingers crossed. Although my indexing was thrown off a bit I still had most of the gears, but I rode fairly conservatively for the next couple of days-just in case.

The biggest impact was that I left on Saturday morning about 15 minutes after everyone else. So it was catch-up time, and I spent the next couple of hours till Hatherleigh overtaking some of the others. Worryingly some were already pushing up the hills, where the gradients were around 8-10%, which didn't bode well.

I was now on territory from my LEJOG route of last year, as I passed through Okehampton and out towards west Dartmoor. Too literally as I took a wrong turn and ended up on a bridal path halfway to Yes Tor. I re-traced my steps and made it onto the granite way-a cycle path that Bunny and I had rejected because it was unsuitable for road bikes. Some of it still is, and I ended up walking for about a km to avoid puncturing. Others risked it I found out later, and paid the price.

Once at Lydford gorge, and lunch, I managed to hook up with my roomie and a few others for a very mixed afternoon. Good in that I now had some great company, encouragement, banter and humour. Tough in that the terrain was now Cornish. It all came flooding back-there are no flat bits of land anywhere in Cornwall at all. I'd looked at the average gradient for the route on a mile by mile basis. Well, a half mile 15% descent down a gravelly hill was followed by the same in the opposite, ie up, direction.

This went on all the way to the outskirts of Bodmin Moor, where we went up a 3-mile 10% hill-very tough. The corresponding descent was great too, and the day finished with a few more dragons teeth, one of which was about 300 yards and maxed out at 27% on Charlie. Riding the Tourmalet was no training for that. The day was slightly shorter at 92 miles, but the speed was a lot slower at only 12.7mph, partly down to the hills and the walking through the mud! I would reassure you that I cycled up every hill without stopping, just in case you were worried. There was more climbing too, about 7000 feet of it.

That said I finished reasonably strongly when some of the others faded a bit, and I think that is just down to better endurance and eating on the bike. Ironic eh? Others in the group fared even less well and a lot of the party of 36 either ended their day in the van, or skipped whole sections of the route. I think the planners are MTB boys and besides not fully appreciating that Road bikes don't like mud and grit, didn't fully explain to everyone just how tough the route would be for novices, and quite frankly there wasn't enough daylight for them.

Another good night (and West Ham had beaten Spurs too, so it was turning into a belter of a weekend) and the final day was again nice and sunny. The five of us who had ridden together n Saturday afternoon agreed to do the same on the last leg-55 miles down to Land's End. But by the time we had descended through St Austell, two of them had got lost and the other had a puncture. I rode with A and N for a while before they both zoomed off ahead of me.

So it was back to solo riding over a fairly undulating course in the early Sunday morning. The roads were still pretty empty as I headed through Probus and Truro, before heading out onto more country lanes. I was feeling a bit queasy, so wasn't really motoring, but after the water stop near Four Lanes, I joined up with N and V (two of yesterday's group) and we motored along pretty well, across terrain Bunny would recognise and down into Penzance.

Being Sunday morning I had to have an argument with a motorist who pulled out in front of me as i was descending at 30 mph (within the limit I may add), and had to overtake her to avoid hitting her. It was my fault apparently because cyclists shouldn't go that fast.

It was soon forgotten as we took in Mount's Bay and St Michael's Mount, and began to sniff the end of the road. I had been out-climbing the other two and they caught me up on the descents, but once i took a gel in Penzance, I was off up the last climb of the trip, and with nothing to hold back for I put the hammer down. The adrenaline was coursing though me, and i thought of the reason I was ding this trip. Next time anyone ever complains about suffering in relation to cycling I would remember what real human suffering is.

So it was these feelings that drove me down through Sennen and across a specially constructed "finish line" cheered home by the organisers. I was a bit emotional, and took a few minutes to compose myself, before joining the two who got there before me, and welcoming all the rest in. I did the 56 miles in an average speed of 15 mph, which was OK, helped no doubt by the lack of major climbing.

It had been a great trip, some wonderful people, and between us we raised about 20K, so A BIG THANKS TO ALL WHO SUPPORTED ME BY SPONSORING ME.

I think now it's time for a bit of a rest. I have done nearly 1000 miles this month, at a daily average of nearly 1500 calories per day (that's all 30 days too). I am worn out and will be doing light riding only, with a few hills, for the next few months. It's too early to think about 2011, so if you have any ideas, keep them to yourself for now!

Here we go again.....

A sense of deja vu tonight as I packed my bag ready for the three moors tour in aid of the Bristol Care appeal (still time to sponsor me, see the attached link on the banner at the side of the page). I realise now why Ryan Air give a weight restriction- to make money obviously, but it also serves a useful purpose in that it restricts people like me from taking everything but the kitchen sink with them on cycling trips.

No such worries this time, my bag is bursting with everything I could possibly need for two and a half days' cycling-and a lot more besides. I'm wearing full ACG regalia tomorrow, as most of the day will be in Somerset after all. Then it'll be RP commemorative jersey on Saturday and maybe KoM top on Sunday-if I feel I merit it after two hilly days, otherwise it'll be the bling top.

I also feel a bit like Brian Clough going to Leeds without Peter Taylor-I'll have to be really well-behaved with my roomie, no juvenile humour and, well, you know the kind of thing.

Routes for the three days are below, and if you are exceptionally bored at work tomorrow, and really bored at the weekend, you can follow us on Twitter:

http://twitter.com/aboveandbeyond1

http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-kingdom/bristol/355128025528636883

http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-kingdom/barnstaple/167128026368739732

http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-kingdom/-/904128026663243377

God's existence is finally confirmed by the forecast north-easterly wind, a bit of drizzle which is fine, but if that wind turns up, well I'll be sending one of thanks up to the Big Man and no mistake,

Allons-y!

I was just thinking........Cheddar Cyclosportive 2010

I had ditched my plans to ride the 100 mile course for the annual Cheddar Sportive in favour of riding the 100 km route. After all, it's not like I need to get the miles in, and next weekend could be a long one again with approximately 260 miles planned over three days.

So I signed on, for me and Bunny at Cheddar cycle store, and went back home to look at the route. There are a few hills in it, quite sharp ones too, but they are reasonably short compared to, well others. Last Saturday Bunny and i had cycled from Prades to Cerebere in around 3-17 plus some short stops, and although that was mainly flat and downhill, we had been slowed by seaside traffic and a couple of big hills at the end. So when I saw that a Gold award was there to be had for a time of 3 hours 45 or less, well my nature kind of took over- what else could i do?

That said, it was terrific to all form up in the Square at 8AM, beautifully kitted out in our ACG regalia. The day was little on the chilly side, but not too bad, enough for an extra layer or gilet, but no more, and the wind was from the south-west, again a bit brisk but not like Wednesday when it was a howling gale.

Our team peleton-Skip, Knight of the Realm, the Captain, RPM, The Doc, Bunny (honorary member for the day)and I (we were joined later on the start line by the Communicator)- trundled down to the start, drawing admiring glances from the few cyclists already there. A kind chap took our photograph and we formed up on the start line and off we went just after 8.30AM. After a bit of shilly-shallying Bunny and I emerged at the front of the group and took it up the long straight through Clewer, and into Cocklake.

And it was there that the ACG must have split, because the next thing I know, I'm in Wedmore with just Bunny and some other riders for company. Long-time readers will know that traditionally, in any sportive, when I'm in a group I get dropped on any kind of hill whatsoever. So whilst my performance today was not Contadoresque, or even Schleck-like, I'm pleased to say that I broadly held my own, with just one exception.

So (sorry Bunny, I leave this pointless word in just for you!) it was group-riding most of the way to Glastonbury, Butleigh and out to Somerton, with a few bits where I was soloing. Knowing what a nasty little rise it is into Somerton I got myself firmly in the wheel of a young cyclist with the most amazing pair of pigtails, very distracting to a man of a certain age. Ahem. This group stuck together till we hit the sharp hill up to High Ham, when I fell off the back. It was the last I saw of Bunny, who clearly wanted to get closer to the pigtails. I had a brief chat with Rosa, manning the feed-station there in High Ham, before zooming off on my tod, first down the hill, then across the flat, towards the next hill which took us over to Shapwick. Incidentally, did you spot who was directing cycle traffic across the A39?

Down onto the levels I put my head down and went for it, if I was going to get that gold, I couldn't afford to hang about. I reasoned that there was no point in saving myself for anything, just go at max speed while I could, hope the two bars and two gels, combined with the pasta last night, would be enough to keep the engine burning.

I was fortunate when the lights at some roadworks near Burtle change to green for me, and it was shortly afterwards that I was caught by a group. To be fair, I did about a mile on the front, they seemed content to let me do it for a while. After that I was content to chew the rubber, until they upped their pace and I thought I was dropped again. It proved short-lived as I passed them again just on the outskirts of Burnham, and we stayed together for the rest of the ride. In fact we caught a couple of other groups, until we were about 12 strong by the end.

I finally lived up to my KoM socks by being second up Brent Knoll, and the same past the Webbington, and first, yes first, up Notting Hill. The up-down bit past the windmill was back into the wind, and by now I thought I was looking close to getting in under the 3 hours 45 needed for gold. Coming down the steep back road into Clewer we arrived just after an accident had happened, apparently a car had forced a cyclist into the hedge by not moving over, and said cyclist and bike then did a cartwheel down the road. I saw him later at the finish, and he was shaken, bruised and cut, but more worried about his bike. Always a good sign of a crashed cyclist's state of health, got to get your priorities right.

I thought I might be deprived of a sprint contest back into Cheddar, but the group must have sensed the fun to be had, and the pace quickened noticeably. I hopped from wheel to wheel until there was just one in front of me, I got my nose in front but then he powered away down the side street towards the finish.

After all that I was delighted to find Bunny enjoying a cup of tea, chatting to one of my work colleagues at the HQ, and also subsequently to coming well inside the gold time, and officially at least being the 13th best finisher, and the 5th in my age category. Unofficially I suspect a lot of the sub 5 hour times in the 100 mile course are actually 100 km, so my position would slip, but I think I'm upper quartile. My time? 3 hours 29 minutes and 48 seconds.

Now if I seem a little too pleased with myself, I would say that I was just capitalising on the form of the Raid Pyrenean while I can. It was one of those days where the answer is "because I can", a kind of marker to myself. As Bunny said, the Gold standard seemed a bit generous, so to my way of thinking, take advantage while I can, those opportunities don't come along that often for cyclists like me!

Those that know me will know that my father in law is still gravely ill, and it brings things to a certain perspective. If you don't want to read a serious and gushy bit, skip to the stats at the end.

In all seriousness, I loved riding in the ACG top today. I took up road cycling only about two years ago, having been a MTB boy previously. I was always a bit of a loner too, so it has surprised me how much I am growing to love this group, the banter, I'd even call it fellowship. So if you are reading this I ask for your help. Make sure that we all remember that the purpose of cycling, the ACG, and who knows, perhaps even life itself, is to be with people and enjoy our cycling and our company. I'm not always great at this, in all spheres of my life, but to paraphrase Jules Winnfield, "I'm trying real hard to be a shepherd".

Stats. include riding to and from the event:

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/49624204

I go, you go, Wiggo

These were the words written on the road at the top of the penultimate rise before the stage finish of the Tour of britain in Glastonbury yesterday.

The ACG, most respendent in their new kit, had formed up for our annual outing to the ToB. Not much to say about the ride, straight forward leg spinner over the levels, but I did feel sorry for the natives, maybe some of them woke up yesterday, surrounded by all the razzamatazz of the Race, only to think, "Man, that was good s**t last night, look at all the lycra out there".

We did see the winner nearly blow it by turning into the "Deviation" where all the team cars are supposed to go, leaving the riders free to enjoy the adulation of the crowd down by the finish line. It was like keystone cops as he stormed round the corner, nly to turn round and storm back again.

Bradley Wiggins was about two feet from my nose and looked his usual nonchalant self. The main bunch (thanks to Sean Kelly) sailed past about nine minutes later, then it was left for a few stragglers to give me the best moment of the day. They looked really tired and fed up. Good to see it happens to the professionals too when they get dropped.

Hopefully we will get a full ACG turn out for the Cheddar cyclosportive on Sunday. I'm still feeling tired so I'm going to use it as a gentle warm up for the Land's End trip. Let others do the sprinting. I believe me.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/49136249

Over all too soon

Do you want a nail-biting suspense of a thriller? Will he make it on time? Or are there last minute mechanical or punctures or accidents that are just going to take it down to that metaphorical wire?

No point really is there? Of course we made it. I was so pumped up on adrenaline by the time I left at 8AM on Saturday morning that I would have carried my bike there if I had to. The road was now out of the mountains, and although there were two nominal cols-St. Pierre (185m)and Ternere (200m)- I'm not sure which of the bumps we went over were them. For the most part it was a long gentle descent to the coast of the Med, before turning south along a busy Saturday cliff-top road, and enjoying the sunshine.

Although Bunny and I started off with a fellow raider, doing through and off, we both wanted to enjoy ourselves, and eschewed the "opportunity" to join the main peleton. It was archetypal French countryside, tree-lined roads, people playing boules, and lots and lots of beret-wearing shruggers with onion strings. Yes I made the last bit up, but you get the gist.

Despite our attempt at a dawdle, it was always my intention to get there reasonably quickly, so after a little over three and a quarter hours (Ave speed 17.6mph for the 58 miles), we were being given a glass of champagne, having photos in the sea, buying the commemorative cycling top, and most importantly, getting that carnet stamped.

Here is Charlie for the last day and a half:

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/48735018

What a trip. Very hard, much harder than I thought it would be, and funnily enough it was the descents that I found hardest. Something to practice on going down Dundry Hill this winter perhaps!

If you are wondering whether to do it, don't hesitate, life is too short not to have a go. Marmot were great, delivered excellent support in all the right places, and made sure we were OK without mothering us to death.

Now, what about 2011........

The most beautifu cycling experience ever

Friday morning in Massat dawned misty and a bit chilly. We were reasonably high up already but were about to get even higher with the Col de Port (1245m) rising straight up from the town (with the intermediate col Caugnous (940m)). I opted for a huge mug of hot chocolate and some plain bread for breakfast, hoping this would help with the early morning queasiness. Which it did which was nice.

Not only that but bunny and I were first away, the town was still in its slumbers and we started what is the most gorgeous climb (no that is quite definitely not an oxymoron) in the world. It makes my spine tingle to think about it now, nearly a week later. In the 12km of the climb I saw a maximum of three cars, and the gentle average 5% gradient, never got above 6%, with a lot in the 3% range. The road swung back and forth through wooded glades, with the mist falling away, collected in the hollow below us. Bunny went up the road, and I revelled in the solitude, the occasional tinkling of cow bells only serving to reinforce the beauty of this magical place.

Occasionally a break in the trees would offer glimpses of far-away jagged peaks of rock, some still bearing the remnants of snow and ice, or perhaps the first falls of an early onset of Autumn. Do you believe in God? It's a thought that goes through my head at times like these, such peace and grace couldn't just have happened by accident could it?

I was also on form, partly as a result of the setting, partly, and increasingly towards the top, propelled onwards by another call of nature as the huge bowl of hot chocolate worked its magic. Alas the climb was over all too soon, and because some of the others had passed me on the way up, there was reception party admiring the stunning views at the top.

If there is a cycling heaven, for me it will be to do that climb, at that time of day, with that weather, that stillness and beauty, for ever and ever, Amen.

Another descent beckoned, all the way to the outskirts of Tarascon, before an up and down bit of main road along a the Ariege valley floor to Ax-les-Thermes. It was now mid-morning and starting to get seriously hot, so we all stripped off any heavy stuff and loaded up with food and drink in preparation for the longest climb of the whole trip.

If the Tourmalet is a hammer on your head, then the col du Puymorens (1920m) is the steady drip, drip drip of water falling on your head. For over two hours and 27km. For the most part it has a shallow 3% gradient, and while this sometimes rises to 4-6%, it's mostly a case of plugging away at a steady speed. The scenery is still pretty wild and rugged, but the road is quite busy with the cars and lorries taking the road on their way to Andorra. Near the top they turn off in a different direction which made for a quieter time of it over the last few kms.

We all got out our ham baguettes (no really, that's not a euphemism) and had an impromtu picnic at the top, a bit blowy but again, good views. We also cheered the riders on their touring bikes, all laden with trailers or panniers, who had made it up from the other direction. We'd seen a few of those on the trip, hats off to them, I can't imagine doing the same.

I made the mistake of too many layers on the way down. Despite the long fall down to Bourg Madame, it was a baking hot day, so I decided to press on and hope to meet the support van soon. Mistake. There were three further cols to be climbed (Col de Llous-1345m, Col du Riget-1488m, Col de la Perche -1570m) with a corresponding dip between each. It was like cycling over a hot parched plain, and by now I had my own private sail, consisting of all my layers i had taken off. Which would have been great in a tailwind but unfortunately it was from in front that the wind was blowing.

Eventually got to the top of the last col and from there it was a breeze, over 25km down to Prades and our last hotel stop of the trip. Bunny and I had spotted the MacDonalds over the road, and much to Skip's text-delivered disgust, we couldn't resist and went to fill our faces.

I was a bit faster today at 12.6mph, over the 106 miles of another very long day. we made sure we got an early night, because for the first time on the trip, tomorrow there was time pressure. To qualify for our official Raid Pyrenean medal, we had to get our last carnet stamp in Cerebere by 1PM, and it was 90km away. No pressure then.

Every cycling experience you can imagine in one day

On day 1 we had all been full of excitement, nerves and anticipation. On day 2 we had been fresh and enthusiastic enough to be tackle two mighty climbs and nearly 80 miles of cycling.

Today, Day 3, there was going to be as much ascent as Day 2, albeit split into more climbs, and almost as many miles as Day 1. (In case you are wondering what happened to Charlie's stats, well so am I. At the beginning of the trip I had downloaded the whole route onto him, and this worked a treat, I was able to plot my way through almost every day without needing to consult paper maps or directions. But at the end of the journey only half the data seems to have downloaded properly-half of day 4 and all of day 5 in full, and then various stats of all the days. So if you want to look at the routes on a map, my advice is to go to the links that posted before I went, around the beginning of September)

I was anything but fresh, having been awoken at 4AM by the nasty grumbling of my tummy. A visit to the proverbial confirmed it, and I had my suspicions about the duck we had been served at dinner the night before, and a couple of others later reported similar experiences. I tried to balance the need for food at breakfast with my digestive systems loud protests, and my mood was not helped when Alan had another go at fixing my stem/headset issues on the bike I had hired. For the technically-minded, there was no screw to attach the headset bits to the fork gubbins, so it rattled around a bit, which didn't help on the descents. But I'm still alive so it must have been OK.

We first re-traced our revs to St Marie de Campan, passing the site of the forge where a TdF leader of yore fixed his own forks after they snapped on the Tourmalet. From there we were straight onto the Col d'Aspin (1489m) in a damp, misty drizzle, which again was quite nice. The Aspin is a fairly gentle climb from the west at least for the first 19km, with only the final 5km hitting 7-8%. By the time we approached the top it was belting down and howling a gale, so we took shelter under a tarpaulin perched between two vans, and put on every article of clothing we had for the descent.

By the time I got to Arreau I was freezing, shaking from the cold and my hands were numb. I resisted the temptation to stop in favour of pushing on to the Peyresourde (1569m), a chance to warm up. I should have stopped for something to eat, because within a few km I got to see my breakfast all over again, and now I felt totally drained. I was the back marker too, and as I hit the last 6-7km of the 18km climb, and the gradient on Charlie started reading 9s and 8s, I wondered if I could reach the top.

The beautiful scenery helped, the peace and quiet too, and the knowledge that there is a cafe at the top selling the best crepes in the Pyrenees. Eventually I was there, warming and layering up, and preparing to hurtle down a dry road with wonderful switchbacks and forests all round, down to Luchon. Once there a slice of pizza was had and retained, full-fat coke slugged, and a peloton of four of us formed for a flat/downhill section to the base of the Col d'Arras (797m).

This was a great climb of about 8-9km, only 5% all the way up, and it was now delightfully sunny, with the added bonus of shade from the woods on the ascent. From the top it was down passing over a minor col-de Burat (602m)- which was just as well as next up was the Col de Portet d'Aspet. Everyone had been fearing this, but the initial 5km are very gentle, and the final 4km of between 9-14% are very similar to an English climb. We passed the monument to Fabio Cassertelli, the Italian cyclist killed on the descent in the 1995 Tour. A team-mate of the Texan, we speculated on whether Lance pays for the fresh flowers that are always there.

We then had a long descent down to St Girons, and after the steep bit, I seemed to come into my own. Having been the back-marker for most of the day, I had a new lease of life, and overtook half a dozen or so. Once into rush-hour St G, we formed up into a group, and I got drafting a nice big People carrier (old habits die hard). Quite quickly I seemed to be all on my own, so I though, OK, time for a lone breakaway.

Eventually I was caught, but not before I had enjoyed myself, and after a drag up a gentle incline for around 20km, we arrived at Massat, a hotel and a welcome warm bath. 108 miles at just over 12mph, it had been a long old day!

"We are cycling the Aubisque!!!"

About an hour after we left Arudy on the Wednesday morning, and about ten minutes after our wheels pointed seriously upwards, Bunny turned to me and uttered the immortal words above. After a long day yesterday, and a nice evening in a beautiful French town, followed by a bit of flattish riding up to the base of it, we were finally doing what we had come to do. We were cycling up an iconic mountain.

Nothing in England is like this. For a start the climbing lasts for about 16 km, that's about 9 miles I think. The gradient starts fairly easily in the 3-5% range, before tilting unremittingly upwards. The only way to cope with these types of climbs as an amateur is to find your own pace and stick to it. Get in a mental zone and spin away at a cadence you are comfortable with in a gear that does not tire your muscles. In my case this gear was always the bottom one, at least on the first few big climbs.

The weather was fairly damp and misty, which was actually ideal and the cooling effect made it quite nice, despite the ever increasing pitch of the road. There were constant switch backs, waterfalls, steep drops off the road into ravines, and it seemed that my hypnotherapy had worked as these drops failed to scare me. I'm also pleased to say we followed the one-way system in Eaux-Bonnes, thus ensuring we completed all the route, unlike some people who cut the corner. Perhaps they should be DNCs?

Soon after that Bunny got tired of my pace and decided he needed his own, which was fine by me. One of the things I really enjoyed about the trip was the chance to be on my own in such beautiful, uplifting places. I love mountains, walking them or climbing, and the Pyrenees are no exception. The lush and verdant landscape of the lower slopes soon gave way to more exposed moorland as I passed the ski village of Gourette, which was undergoing summer renovation. In honour of the first big climb, and at 1709m it's a high pass, I was wearing my King of the Mountains socks for the first time.

After about 90 minutes I was at the top, into the cafe and getting my carnet stamped. I quickly gulped down some hot chocolate, took a few photos and prepared myself for the descent. You can see it on Google street view, it is spectacular, with the road clinging to the edge of the rocky mountain, winding through a tunnel, before snaking upwards for 2km to the top of the Col du Souleur. We were warned about the exploits of Wim van Elst, who went over the edge in 1951, being fortunate not to plunge all the way to the bottom, and was rescued by his team-mates. With no ACG to support me I decided caution was the order of the day, and took it easy going down.

The other warning was to put on clothes. The mountains are so high, and the descents so long, that it takes a long time to get to the bottom, especially if you don't pedal much. Pedalling makes you go faster, obviously, but it can also make you colder as it increases the wind-chill. So after climbing up with just shirt and base layer, it was practically full winter gear for the descent. You needed it too, as it was quite cold.

I hardly noticed the Souleur before the descent began in earnest, about 13km down to Argeles Gazost, where most of the party were already lunching at a small cafe. By now, following the pattern of yesterday, the sun was coming out and the day was heating up so I divested myself of all the layers in preparation for the big one- the Tourmalet.

It's tempting to say absolutely noting about it at all, after all you can find so much out there about it. But what would that serve? So here are the facts: 18 km of climbing from Luz St Sauveur, average gradient is 7-8%, up until Bareges it's a fairly straightish road, beyond there it is stunning in its beauty, wild and mountainous. The highest navigable road in the Pyrenees at 2115m, and the most famous mountain of the Tour de France.

I found it the hardest climb i have ever done. It just never, ever relents. On almost every other climb, there is a flat or shallow gradient for a bit, to give you a chance to take stock, gather yourself and move on. The Tourmalet is like a hammer striking you every 60 seconds with amazing precision as it makes you suffer. There are longer, there are steeper cols on this trip, but none are as unforgiving as the Tourmalet. It took me two hours.

Another quick change, cafe stop, glance round the cycling memorabilia, get the carnet stamped and down I went. Again I took my cautious approach, stopping for some photos and absorbing the disdain of a suicidal maniac local cyclist, in full racing tuck, zooming past me at a tremendous rate. Good job for my caution, as my slowish 25-30 mph, enabled me to stop before i collided with a sheep that decided to emerge from the roadside.

Before long I was down in St Marie de Campan, before another few miles took me to our stop for the night at Campan, where they were having a scarecrow festival. Dozens of them everywhere, including a wedding party, cyclists all over our hotel even.

After yesterday's average speed of around 15.5 mph, today we were down to around 11mph, reflecting the slowness of going up and down such huge mountains. 78 miles too, but they were hard ones, believe me yes.

Be careful out there

This time last Monday I was just finishing my last evening meal, having met all my fellow riders on the Raid Pyreneen. It was warm, a bit cloudy and there was a sense of nervous expectation in the air.

The briefing had been done, detailed and exhaustive too, and we all had our blue and orange Marmot tops to wear (not my colour, still free kit is free kit...), and everyone was at pains to stress it was a holiday, relax, chill, etc. Yeah right.

Including Bunny and me, there were 18 paying riders, plus one rep who was going to ride too. The Yorkshire Lad (YL) had been a racer in his younger days, although at 39 he probably still could be, as well as two other support crew from Marmot Tours. So, with our bikes ready, pedals fixed, kit laid out, drinks mixed, we settled down for a restless night's sleep, waiting for the off the next day.

Hendaye, the town the route started in, is not somewhere you would choose to stay, but it is where the cyclo club de Bearn had decided the Raid Pyrenean should start, so who were we to argue. The Hotel Campanile was pretty good, plenty of food at least, and our room even had air-conditioning!

Tuesday morning dawned, well struggled into life more like. It was overcast and the rain alternated between drizzle and rain, but there wasn't much wind so that was something. We mounted our steeds and formed a loose peleton for the three mile ride down to the beach, the Atlantic Ocean at last. But the nerves and the rain had clearly got to a few people, and we had one spill before we got down there. This was to be a feature of the morning and i suspect it was a mixture of bad luck, a lack of experience of group riding, nerves and maybe just a touch of recklessness in the very wet conditions.

Not content with last weeks "chaingate" my hire bike, lovely in all respects to the naked eye, decided to punish me by dumping the chain off after about three miles. By the time I'd fixed it I was way back, but fortunately Charlie had the route downloaded upon him, so I was able to catch up before the start of the first col.

If you can call it a col, Col St Ignace is 169m high and very lovely it was, with wooded slopes, fine views, and even a bit less rain. The descent was similarly gentle and it wasn't long before we were in Espelette, getting our carnet stamped as evidence we were on our way. At 176m the Col Pinodietta was a bit higher, but blink and you'd have missed it and yes it had stopped raining. There then followed a long gentle drag upwards, which we rode in small groups, up to the town of St Jean Pied de Port. By now we'd done about 50 miles (you'll get used to the juxtaposition of miles and km, I did it all week long in my head "divide by 5, multiply by 8...)so it was a very amiable time for lunch.

Bunny and I decided that this should be introduced to all sportives, as the lovely town and its lovely cafe served up fresh soup with chips for a reasonable price. And by now it was actually sunny, so we divested ourselves of wet gear which went onto the van, and headed off up the first proper col-the Col d'Osquich (500 metres, and about 5km long from memory.

A blast downhill across rolling farmland, well on the road, but you know what i mean, and along to our second control point at Tardets-hot chocolate for me this time. With 80 miles done, the day had seemed fairly easy, but we then entered the last 30 miles to Arudy, up into a forest with a road like treacle, and despite a few dons, it was hard going. Then it rained again.

But all in all it was a great day to kick off with as we arrived in the town, with 112 miles under the tyres and a stiffer, steeper test ahead of us on Wednesday. A few riders had bumps and scratches but we were all in good spirits, and enjoyed a great dinner in the hotel restaurant, full of character and quirkiness.

The support and directions from the Marmot guys was great, attentive but relaxed, and Bunny and I had a great room overlooking the town square. He bagged the prize of the day though-a double bed, and I declined his offer of a Morecambe and Wise impression.

Not really the time for blogging

I'll tell you now, this post is a displacement activity. For reasons that I can not really go into at the moment I'm finding it quite hard to think straight, so I was hoping that a bit of typing would at least get my cognitive bits in gear. But I realise now I haven't the heart for it.

I'm not packed either, mainly because I don't know yet what I will have to pack for. It is possible that my trip could be postponed for 12 or so months, I will let you know more in due course. My thoughts, if you can call them that, are with others at the moment, my wife and her family, gathered around the hospital bedside of my father in law, who sadly, is slipping from us.

So I'll merely give you a slimmed down version of my last two rides. Very slimmed down. On Thursday I rode to work and back. I did and Andy Schleck when my chain fell off as I accelerated onto the A38. But I was fine. Today I went to Glastonbury and had a coffee with Skip. She has or will describe it far better than I'm capable of on her website "The Cycling Mayor". Have a look.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/47293441

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/47528042