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!