Day 2 : 53.13 miles, 5:15 hours, Tarascon-sur-Ariège
[ MAP ]

I dropped off dead to the world early last night and ended up waking quite a few times before morning. It was good to have a proper breakfast of rice porridge, flavoured with a scoop of Nutella and peanut butter. I definitely don't do these bike trips for the food, that's for sure.

I dropped the few miles back into town and then began the climb to my first Col of this trip. One of the bigger ones as well, Port de Pailhères, standing tall at 2001 metres. If this is what the rest of the trip was going to be like I should probably give up now. I struggled up a small road painted with the names of past Tour de France heroes. "Allez Allez" screamed out at me from the road in big white letters. It's the first and last time I'll probably use sunscreen on this trip, the sweat just dripped it painfully into my eyes.

At the windy summit I was greeted by a round of applause from a group of old folk. They invited me to shelter with them behind the only small building and bombarded me with questions in Spanish and French. Then one of the blokes tried to lift my bike and stepped back in shock when he felt the weight. I was invited to lift his bike, which I could have probably done with a finger. There were laughs all around. The rider of the bike was seventy years of age and asked me to feel his pulse. His pulse was slow as if he'd been sitting on his arse relaxed all day rather than having just climbed a mountain several minutes earlier. My pulse was still hammering away as if I was still riding. I give him a small respectful bow, half in jest, half in awe. I hope I'm still riding my bike at that age. Geese, I hope I'm still alive at that age.

They offered me food and then they were off; the five of them in the car following the seventy year old on the bike who'd just taken off down the hill.

I took off in the other direction towards Ascou. It instantly reminded me of why I was doing this trip. It was for the downhills. And the steep, hairpinned descent was over all too quickly. The ski resort towns lining the road on the way down were a blur. Before long I was already slowing down and starting another climb. This one not so big, the Col de Chioula at 1431 metres. Still, I was wishing for it to be over at ever pedal stroke.

From the summit I could see the tips of other Pyrenean mountains along the Spanish border. The downhill was again, f***ing awesome. The road wound down through tree-studded hills and past small streams. It was small rolling hills the rest of the way into Tarascon.

Piece of piss.

[The hills:
    1.   Col de Pailhères: altitude = 2001m; dénivelé = 1216m; distance = 15km; grade = 8.1% average, 10% max.
    2.   Col du Chioula: altitude = 1450m; dénivelé = 495m; distance = 5.71km; grade = 5.6% average, 8.5% max.]