Tourmalet

We stayed in a little place called Caylus last night so that the boys can ride Tourmalet this morning. All a bit excited and a bit nervous, they set off, with me to follow in the van for support/clothes changes/refreshments at the top.

To get to the Col du Tourmalet (Alt 2115m - HC) we had to cross the Col D'Aspin (Alt 1490m – Cat One) on the way – making it the two highest mountains climbed in the one day. Giving them a pretty good headstart I got rolling, a little nervous about driving the van up a mountain, and especially nervous because I couldn't see the tops of the mountains for the fog. But as George likes to remind me, Monique loves revving in 2^nd :)

Not long into the Col D'Aspin I realised just what the boys were attempting today. This was some serious mountain... After a brief stop at the top to moo at the very friendly cows that hang out in the carpark at the lookout, it was down the other side and over to Tourmalet. Who doesn't love the smell of brakes?

Congratulating every cyclist we passed with a toot of the horn, we'd finally reached the base of Tourmalet. From here you can't even see the top, it's a couple of mountains behind the ones in front of you. I was daunted, and I wasn't even doing the pedalling!

I have to say, some of the cyclists you pass attempting these climbs are either brave, deluded, or just plain crazy. There are people of all shapes and sizes, and bikes of all kinds and ages. I'm happy to know my limits :)

The Tourmalet was just crazy. Every corner we went around presented a steeper section of road, and despite the signs telling you how far there was to go, it never quite seemed possible that you were going to get there. We finally came across our first streak of white and orange in the distance....Ross. We honked and cheered on the way past, and after seeing the look on his face, I realised how much this was testing them. Not too far ahead, we find Graham. As soon as he hears the honks though, he is out of the saddle dancing for the cameras – typical :)

The road itself is quite impressive. There are several towns and ski resorts at various points up the mountain, which seem to come out of nowhere and are gone just as quickly. There are sections of the road covered by a concrete roof, to allow the snow run-off to continue down the mountain, sparing the road. At regular intervals there are avalanche nets, just to remind you that Mother Nature really is boss. We provoke her at every turn, developing areas that just don't seem feasible, and every now and then, she fights back.

We came over the small crest at the top of the mountain to see George already there, stretching his legs. George is a natural sportsman, but I'm pretty sure I've never seen him look so physically spent. Glad to stop the van (the temperature was pretty high on the way up), I jumped out with the camera, and the Aero and Australian flags and set off a bit back down the hill to get pictures of the other boys on their way up. I wasn't waiting long before Graham came around the corner, clearly doing it tough. I had to yell out to get him to lift his head for a photo. Delivering the mail just a little, gritting his teeth a lot, and spurred on by the cheering, he had just enough left for one last burst of energy to get to the summit out of the saddle.

I could see Ross heading up the road below a few switchbacks behind, and a British man started asking me about Team Aero. He was only too happy to hold the flag and help me cheer Ross on. The cloud had rolled in behind him a little, a reminder of how high they had climbed. With enough energy left to dance for the camera, George and I ran along beside him with the Team Aero flags to the top.

With barely enough energy to change their jackets, and pose for a few pictures, it was down the other side again. The scary part... I generally don't like to think of the possibilities, but I do worry whenever the boys are out riding. Descending is one of my least favourite things to try not to think about, and when the side of the road is a 60m drop down rocks and gravel, I don't think my concerns are unjustified. The boys are all (relatively) sensible, but there are things not always in your control.

So when I came around a corner to find George standing on the side of the road with his thumb out and his bike on the ground, I knew something had to have gone awry. There was no way George was riding up Tourmalet, without getting the rush of riding back down. He'd blown the side wall of his back tyre and ended up locking the brakes in a power slide. Luckily on a corner where he could get it under control, or who knows where he could have landed. Not something you want to hear when you know the other two are still descending, and not a sick feeling I want again. I'm not sure I fully breathed out until we found the other two at the bottom.

Such a great effort from all of them, I'm not sure they realised how much they were going to be tested, and it has definitely curbed the trash-talking a little. Nothing like a humble 2115m mountain to settle you down...