At 07:00 the 1st riders set off.  A few minutes later it was time to swear allegiance to the club and set off for a tour of the wonderful Pyrenean panorama. Nanu set a blistering pace and left the rest of us dumfounded (I later learn that this was part of a plan to stay ahead of the broom wagon).  Pierre was obviously the strongest and set off to locate Nanu. The only rider to see Pierre again was Clive.  I was personally glad to note that past ailments were behind me, and that the knee was not offering complaint. For the next few hours though I would be paying for the lost training outings.  The 1st 25 miles or so were uneventful.  I spoke to a few fellow Mid Oxoners, and noted that Clive was far from well… the fact that the two of us were still together told me that.  I later learn the reason for this loss of form, but will not go into that just yet. We were now heading up our 1st climb. This was not to be a difficult affair but would be a taster for later on. By now I was on my own on the Col d'Ichere. I stayed at my pace.   The "ravitaillement" was at the bottom of the descent, and was the usual Etape frenzy.  I filled my bidons, took on some food and headed to the Marie Blanque.  I'd heard that this was a tough climb but I was totally unprepared for the eerie silence of 100's of riders in total torment.  The only noise being the occasional gear change.  The incline was steep.  The road was narrow... , I passed Nanu on the early slopes, whom seemed to be paying for his early exuberance, and I was then surprised to get a pat on the back from Clive.  His ailment was clearly excised (literally), and form had returned!  We did not speak for too long though, as we were short of breath and short of speed.  This climb started narrow, and got narrower, the heat being intense, causing difficulty with so many riders packed in a tight space.  I had to dismount when there were too many people walking in front.  The bottleneck was caused by an ambulance, and was a cause of much shouting and gesticulation by others trying to force their way through.  I noted that Clive had got fed up with the barging and waited for me to come alongside.  We exchanged expletives on the severity of the climb and the stupidity of our fellow “Etapers”.  We managed to remount, but had to walk just a few metres further up.  There were simply too many of us, and tempers were fraying.  Not only that the incline was getting hellishly steep, making matters worse.  These factors made this the worse climb for me and thus it was a welcome sight to see the summit and the last of the pushing and shouting.  By now Clive was in front of me and was chasing down the slope.  I set off at breakneck speed, and had a short stop at the next feed station.  I noted that both my bottles were empty and that I had to consume a further 500ml whilst there.  You’d think therefore that this 500 and a further 1.3l would be enough to see me to the top of the Aubisque.  How wrong I was!

I had somehow missed the earlier SIS station, and would rue this later.  I started the gradual climb to the foot of the Col d’Aubisque.  Within 10 minutes of this ascent, Clive and DT came past.  We were making good progress and were heading up at 10mph, I continued at my slower pace and watched the two slowly head into the distance.  It was just after this point that “Discovery girl” came past me.  She was talking to a local whom had obviously travelled this same road in the past.  He told her that the closer to the top that you got, the worse the experience.  This, I did not want to hear!

I looked down to my computer.  Heart was in the mid 150’s, and speed was 7mph, the next check showed a meagre 5mph and heart edging 160.  I was still less than half way up, and the HRM was flashing wildly.  It’s worth noting that this is a 17Km climb, that the heat was cause for concern, and that fluids were already low.  I used every opportunity to seek shade, but it was a pointless mission.  There was none. 

Why on earth had I agreed to hand over £650 to go through this?  This seemed so sensible during our winter meeting in Long Hanborough. 

Thankfully, as the climb reared up again, and when all thoughts of completing were dismissed, we approached a resort high on the climb.  I could hear lots of cheering, and more importantly noted a man with a bottle of water.  I shouted to him in my best French “monsieur, monsieur, l'eau!”.  He obliged, and I immediately sank half of what he gave me, then used my last gel pack, and made my weary way on.  I was in my own private hell, with salty sweat in my eyes, and a clicking right knee.  What’s more, there were still 3km’s to the summit, and I could (if I wanted to look up) see it all laid out in front of me. I just wish I hadn't.  By now I was in serious distress, and was close to walking.  Incredibly (and I should have known this) the steepest section was near the top, and progress was slowing.  I found myself looking for crests, and feelings of elation when I got to them, but this was not positive thinking, and made me feel very bad when I could see gradient increases. I had already lost count of the times that I tried to search for a non existent smaller gear.  2km to go.  Discovery girl was stopped by the side of the road and was clearly ailing.  How long could I bear this torture myself?  I am decided, I am not walking, and will be resolute to the summit.  At the 1km to go, I noted that there were switchbacks.  My mind and resolution were waning.  Switchbacks meant gradient increase, and this was proven by the numbers that were pushing their steeds.  I thought to myself that 1km meant 5 minutes, and this was doable.  It had to be.  I pushed on, with heart, resolution, and mental reserves deep in the red zone.  Somehow I got there, I got there slowly, but I got there.  I had a very large smile, but there were no colleagues to witness it.

The feed station was a mess.  Plastic bottles everywhere made this one of the noisiest locations I’d ever been to.  There were literally thousands being trampled underfoot, and I needed a further 5, plus a heap of food.  I wanted to press on though, did not take in the vista and moved on quickly.  My progress was halted by a friendly voice.  DT was at the summit, and this hiatus gave me the sense to open my big bottle and to put some electrolyte in it.  This probably saved my ride.  I’d already experienced minor cramp, and had got it badly when dismounting at the summit.  I wanted to push on, and noting that DT was the crazier descender I set off straight away so that he could catch up and that we could finish together.  The roads were poor, and this was exemplified by the rider that literally rode off the edge within 300m of the top.  I got there as he was getting up, a good 50+ metres down the bank.  Thankfully for him it was grassy verge.  I had to ride on though, I was beginning to realise that silver was a real possibility.  This hardly seemed possible after the low point during the Anthony Nolan ride just two weeks previously.  After a few minutes there was a bump.  This bump was called the Col du Soulor.  I was again grabbing the gear change and was pushing the granny, but this was a different climb, the granny was too small, in fact I could change up to the middle of the derailleur and still be comfortable.  The peak of this was incredible.  There were so many spectators, that the road had narrowed to a bike width only.  This was the closest I’d ever get to that full tour feeling, and was very welcome.  From here on the pace would pick up significantly.  Again the surface was poor, and two people punctured in front of me, but I was not going to hold back.  I needed that silver, and it drove me on.  As the road levelled out I noted that I could no longer hold the wheel of the riders in front of me, the long push down had left me spent.  For a few miles then I would work on my own at 21mph.  Just when I needed it, a fast train surrounded me.  I gradually picked up my pace, and got into the group.  DT was in it, and told me to latch in quick, as I was already nearing the back.  This drove me on and I was soon able to easily stay with the pace, as long as I stayed out of the wind.  A few miles later, DT was clearly recovered and started forging to the front.  I watched in awe as DT led, whilst I was still fighting for the wheel in front.  We were flying, and DT was at the head.  In fact he’d ridden us off his wheel.  I was impressed.  However, none of us were impressed by the sight that met us next.  I now know it as “bastard1”.  I was feeling stronger now, and had moved to the front myself.  As soon as the climb bit, I set off and led the peleton to cover the break, DT uttered an expletive and was lost behind me.  I know I should of held off and stayed with my team mate but I was in “argent” territory.  This small and insignificant beast was sheer hell, it was however less of a worry than “bastard2” which was all too soon in my horizon.  Bastard2 was short but was a very sharp 6%.   I additionally found that of greater concern was that it has a false summit.  As soon as we reached the summit, we were pushed up a steadily rising side road.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so low.  My silver was slipping through my grasp, and cramp was now an ever present co-rider.  I thus like to thank the locals at Gan, for telling me that the hill was actually very short, and for their determination to give me a well needed shower.

You can understandably recognise that my train was gone, it was split asunder, and what remnants were still with me were spent, what’s more, although we were at the top of the final climb there was no Pau cityscape to be seen.  I pushed on with those around me and set off with the lead of our small group.  We dropped those behind, and myself and a Frenchman rode two up for the last 5 k’s.  I would like to be able to say that we were breaking all speed records, but our paltry 22 on a gentle downhill only showed how spent we were.  My heart was gladdened by a 4km to go sign, then a 3km.  Our speed very gradually picked up, and we were soon into an urban sprawl, but where was the river, which I knew marked the final section of this Etape hell?  The bridge was now in my view, but this was not my focus, this is not what drew my eye line!  I could see the finishing crowd, but also that the route was going to have one final exclamation, one final climb.  I was not going to be swayed by this, and went up a gear to pick up speed.  I did not even give thanks to my now erstwhile TTer, I had to make this climb, and in front of this crowd it had to look good.  All too soon all my speed was scrubbed off, and I rose out of the saddle,.  I had dropped to the small ring, but was still in a high gear.  I must have passed 20 riders on this 50m section.  I may have only passed 3 or 4, but the elation and cheer that I got when I hit the top of the rise made it feel like many more.  I sped on to the line, knowing that time was tight.  I went over the timing device and had forgotten to look at the elapsed time.  My 1^st concern was recovery.  I was covered in salty sweat, was completely unable to move, and could not even bend to recover my transponder.  I looked down at the HRM.  A good 30 seconds had passed and it was still showing 163.  Both I and the Etape were completely done!

Clive and Powerful had come in together.  I was 10 minutes behind, with DT close on my tail. 

I am glad to report that all 11 of the Mid Oxon team made it to the finish.  All with their own tales of derring do.  All unerringly glad to have this year's event behind them.

It should be noted that the crowds on the course were great.  We had a lot of support from the locals (including a number of Brits), that had taken the time to stand on the side lines for hours and give us the constant boost that we needed.

Stats

CT

DT

Deputy Dawg & MF

SA

Another SA

 Ted

Warby

Monsieur Martan (Sans chien)