CTC Cambridge

Wednesday 24 July 2019 

Alex writes: Le Raid Pyrénéen Randonneur is a timed long distance cycling challenge established in 1950 by Cyclo Club Béarnais. To succeed, one must ride a set route between the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts, staying close to the Spanish border, in under 100 hours. This means crossing the Pyrénées, and in its current form the route is 735 km (456 miles) long, with 12800 m (42000 ft) of climbing.



As with the more familiar randonnées/audaxes overseen by the Audax Club Parisien or Audax UK, riders on a Raid carry a brevet card (or "carnet" in Raid parlance) and get proofs of presence from participating establishments (contrôles) along the route.



However Raids (the word translates roughly as "adventure") have a more relaxed time limit effectively meaning they can be ridden as a series of hard days with a good supper and full night's sleep between them. This is sensible in any case, since one really wouldn't want to be riding high mountains at night against the clock! There is also a "touriste" variant – as ridden by our own Seb M in 2013 as a CTC-organized event – which is a little longer and with more climbing, and a generous 10 day time limit.

Following the "Flatlands Four" LEJOG of 2018, I was keen for an adventure this year, and the Raid Pyrénéen seemed to fit the bill. Fellow flatlander Glyn was also interested and so we booked with Marmot Tours, who came strongly recommended (with justification as it turned out) by other cyclists I'd spoken to on the road. It is of course perfectly possible to do the ride independently, but the thought of hauling luggage over the Pyrénées against the clock was not appealing.

See also Seb's article about riding the Raid Pyrénéen Touriste in 2013.

Day 0 – Getting there

I wanted to take my own bike and this meant getting a bike box. Being ultra-wary after hearing tales of snapped carbon frames, I picked a hefty aluminium box suitable for a carbon bike with thru-axles from BuxomBox which, as a big black rectangular hexahedron, certainly looked impressively sturdy.

Booking a bike onto the Ryanair flights turned out to be quite easy, as there was a flat fee – and in fact the whole experience of flying the bike there and back proved straightforward, to my relief.

Once installed at our starting hotel in Hendaye it was time to set up.



Glyn was hiring a bike from the organizers and was supplied with a very light titanium model which, unusually, also had titanium (rather than the more usual carbon) forks. It came with SRAM-based "mountain gearing" – a 50×34 compact with an 11-32 tooth cassette, to give a gear range between 29 and 124 gear inches. I also had a 50×34 compact (the smallest front rings my frame can take) but with a 14-40 tooth rear cassette to give a gear range of 23 to 96 gear inches.

Our fellow cyclists in our group of 20 included some very fast London-based cyclists, an audaxer from Ireland, a group from Yorkshire, and a party of 10 from a South African company, all very keen and with one ex-pro among then. They had been planning the event for some time and were sporting smart custom clothing made especially for it.

My 40T "dinner plate" cassette attracted some quizzical comment, as indeed did our footwear, as both Glyn and I were using Shimano SPD sandals (the inestimable SD66). You have to imagine a broad Afrikaans accent asking "You're not going to be wearing those frickin' things are you?"

Day 1: Hendaye to Oleron-Sainte-Marie – 162km / 2175m ascent (100 miles / 7135 ft)

Today, Monday, was a gentle easing-in. The first order of business was a trip to the beach to "dip a toe" in the Atlantic Ocean.



This done we mounted our bikes and set off at 09:00. The clock was now ticking – we would need to reach the finish within 100 hours – i.e. by 13:00 on Friday.

As we made our way along the undulating coast road, the field quickly split with the fastest riders (who tended to ride closer to 30kmh/20mph) off the front and Glyn and me adopting a more CTC-esque pace towards the rear. The South African group were riding as a disciplined through-and-off peloton.

We had decided that with the arduous week ahead, today – being comparatively flat – would be a good chance to conserve resources, and that if we could end the day with legs still fresh that would be a "win". I had set an alarm to sound on my Garmin if I exceeded 200W of power, as a warning to ease off. It was already bleeping quite a lot as the steepish ramps of the coast road and the psychological desire not to fall behind were encouraging too much effort.

Conditions were overcast but warm and dry but there was no rain (unusually for this region, if the experience of many past holidays was anything to go by). As Saint-Jean-de-Luz we swung inland and made our way to the first contrôle at Espelette @ 48km (famous for its peppers), where we had our carnet stamped in a fragrant cheese shop. There was time for a coffee and – of course – some Gâteau Basque, the cycling food of champions.



There followed a long flat section on the valley road beside the River Nive. The road surface was beautifully smooth and the traffic light, making for efficient and pleasant progress to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port @ 84km, the recommended lunch stop. Glyn and I felt we were going well, and with our ingrained sense of "stop discipline" instilled by many an audax, we decided to have just a quick break, taking some snacks from a support van.

The vans were an integral part of the cycling experience – there were two of them out on the course to ensure the whole field was covered, and they'd often be parked at convenient lay-bays or at the top of ascents. When a van passed it would sound its Tour de France-style tritone horn, and if you wanted anything it could be flagged down. Inside the vans were all manner of food and tools to keep a cyclist happy. The idea was that there was no need for riders to carry anything on the bike, but one's kit would be kept in the van, and in the event of a mechanical one would simply phone for it to be brought. This however felt wrong to me to I carried at least an essential set of tools. Wouldn't want to get used to riding too light a bike!



The afternoon brought the first col of note: the Col d'Osquich. With 275m (900 ft) of ascent at an average of 6% this is equivalent to some of the "big" Welsh climbs one can find on events like the Bryan Chapman Memorial, but for the Pyrénées it was just an amuse-gueule for the high mountain feast which lay ahead. With our energy conservation strategy in mind Glyn and I clicked down into a low gear and spun away steadily, winching up the climb. 160W average power for a 9.5km/h speed over 27 minutes (my data tells me). Fast enough to winch past one fellow rider; slow enough to have a conversation and arrive at the summit in good shape. As things turned out, this approach set a template for us for the whole trip – and it seemed especially wise in view of the already warm weather: it was by now in the high 20s °C.



Pausing at the top of the col it was interesting to observe the different approaches of our companions, a few of whom had charged up the ascent and were mute from inner turmoil, or lying on the ground panting. Surely this was not sustainable.

Following a lovely descent, we continued working our way steadily through the rolling Basque countryside towards the end of the day.



Not that we were keeping score but, by now, because our stop efficiency we were well ahead of many riders. The South Africans, who by dint of our footwear had nicknamed us "flip and flop" were pressing on to try and catch us and were amazed to round every corner and find us not there – we had become a kind of "sword of Damocles" for the event and our arrival often occasioned the impulse for other cyclists to move on lest they fell behind "the sandals guys".



In the final km before the hotel the South African peloton finally streamed by with a cheery greeting. Still, there were to be no more doubtful comments about sandals for the rest of the event.



On arrival at the hotel our luggage was waiting for us in the room and there was enough time for a dip in the pool and a cold beer before supper. This is the kind of endurance cycling I can live with!

Day 2: Oleron-Sainte-Marie to La Mongie – 132km / 4000m ascent (82 miles / 13125 ft)

Today was to be a day of two big climbs steeped in cycling history: the Col d'Aubisque and the Col du Tourmalet.

First the Aubisque. This is a monster climb, far exceeding anything I'd attempted before with its 1167m (3825 ft) of ascent over 16.8km. After a gentle 5% start the gradient steepens noticeably after the town of Eaux Bonnes to a more typical sapping Pyrenean average of 8% for the final 8½ km (5¼ mile) grind to the summit. We paused half way up in Gourette for coffee and custard-filled croissants before resuming into spectacular scenery and bright sunshine.






Every kilometre there was a marker sign giving the distance to the summit and the average gradient for the next kilometre which, throughout the trip, generally ranged from 4% (yes!) to 7% (dig in) to 10% (argh!). By now we were obviously in the high mountains – over a plunging drop to the side of the road vultures could be seen circling below us (an omen?)



Glyn and I had made no explicit plan to ride together for the trip, but generally did so in a "loose elastic" way. On climbs Glyn tended to power ahead while I, with less power (and easier gearing), would bimble along in his wake. A great advantage of this arrangement from my point of view is that Glyn could then get ahead to stop and photograph my mountain climbing exploits.



It was time for another carnet stamp, a snack from the van, and a pause to admire the cycling sculptures and mountain scenery.



From the Aubisque there is some descent along a spectacular balcony road hugging the side of the mountain, and then a mini ascent to the companion summit of the Col du Soulour.





Then, the first serious descent of the trip, down to Argelès-Gazost. The descents during the trip generally were not super-fast as the number of hazards on the road – sheep, goats, horses, cows, walkers and nervous motorhomes in the middle of the road – necessitated caution. Still, it was fun and with every hairpin confidence grew. At the bottom we had 90km done, only 42km to go for the day – how hard could that be?

(Spolier: very hard.)

The heat was beginning to build and by the time we'd finished the long drag up the valley to Luz-Saint-Sauveur it was in the mid 30s. Then a turn to the east, the Garmin bleeped and flashed up "DIG DEEP!", and this was it: The Col du Tourmalet – 19 km (11¾ miles) with 1400m (4600 ft) of ascent.

At the base of the climb my Garmin was reading 38°C. A passing cyclist (a tanned old gent with mahogany legs) commented it was too hot to be climbing in a casque. I could only agree, but I had signed an agreement to wear a helmet at all times during the event on pain of disqualification – no doubt at the behest of an insurance company somewhere in the mix. Dommage!

The beginning of the Tourmalet climb is fairly inauspicious – a wide fairly featureless road with the familiar nagging Pyrenean gradient of 7%. In the heat this was hard work – trying to press on became uncomfortable very quickly and sent my heart rate soaring. So I changed down, sat back and ground on slowly. Shade was at a premium, so when a shady layby came into view Glyn and I pulled in to cool down. Another rider joined us, trembling violently as he dismounted. This was going to be hard work.

Half way up the climb was the town of Barèges. By now I was distinctly discombobulated by the heat, and drastic measures were called for. I thought back to an interesting thread on YACF in which several experienced cyclists had counselled that in extreme heat the problem wasn't so much drinking, as keeping the body cool – so I spent several minutes with my head under a water pump, and then saturated my jersey, buff, chill sleeves and cycling cap in water. This was refreshing and I felt a renewed sense of purpose as I climbed out of Barèges into the great mountain arena that characterizes the upper half of the Tourmalet climb.

This was tougher still, with no shelter from the blazing sun except for the occasional ski-lift generator hut. I paused at a couple of these to cool down and re-wet my clothes. The gradient too was steepening: 8% …. 9% …. There was no longer the option of take it so easy, as quite a lot of effort was required just to keep upright and moving. Glyn has gone ahead of me at Barèges but, rounding a corner, I found him taking a breather: he too was struggling in the heat. We teamed up to ride the final few kms of the climb together.



We now faced a quadruple hazard: the fatigue induced by having expended so much energy, the ever steepening gradient (now 10%), the fierce heat, and a slightly thinned atmosphere. The final interminable moments of the climb brought to mind Zeno's paradox. First there were 4km (so hard), then 2km (harder still), then 1km (can it really still be that far?), and so on: we'd always be halving the distance but never actually arrive. But pedal-stroke by slow pedal stroke we got there. Even on the summit it was 28 °C.






From the summit it was but a short step downhill to the hotel just down the road in the ski resort of La Mongie. We ate and slept well that evening.

Day 3: La Mongie to Saint-Girons – 153km / 2800m ascent (95 miles / 9185 ft)

During the night I woke with a raging thirst. Since the science seems to suggest that taking salt/electrolytes during exercise is a waste of time, I had been carrying nothing but water on the bike. But from the white patterns on my cycling garments it was obvious I was sweating out a lot of salt. Now – strange to tell – I was physically craving an electrolyte drink so I added two Nuun tablets to a litre of water and drained the lot. That hit the spot.

The day started with a descent of the Tourmalet. Although cycling convention has it that one dons a gilet for a mountain descent, there was never a need to over this whole week – indeed the temperature on the Tourmalet was 21°C even at 7 in the morning.

The day's work then began with two more famed Pyrenean cols, the first being the Col d'Aspin. Although by normal standards this is a major climb (650m / 2135 ft of ascent) after the Tourmalet its 5% average gradient made it seem fairly benign. A southerly wind was blowing today, which was seldom a problem and seemed to bring pleasant snow-cooled gusts off the mountains. My saddle, a Gilles Berthoud "Aspin" was obviously excited to be on its namesake climb, and squeaked with every pedal stroke all the way up.



It was a gorgeous morning and the descent of the eastern side of the Aspin brought some superb views. We couldn't grumble about the heat too much – the hot weather at least meant everything was visible. It is not uncommon to cycle in cloud in the Pyrénées and so miss this.



Then immediately following, another big climb, of the Col de Peyresourde with its 530m (1735 ft) of ascent, and famed for its "pillows of green moss". Glyn and I enjoyed omelettes and chips at a café at the summit, then swooped down to Bagnères-de-Luchon. As we descended it was evident this was going to be another very hot afternoon, as approaching the valley floor was like riding straight into a hair drier, with the occasional contrast of a fresh pocket of cool air whenever we passed a mountain stream.

From Bagnères-de-Luchon we turned north and rode up the valley of the Pique river. With a tailwind and a slight downhill this ate through the kms handily, before the time came to turn east and climb up and over the Col des Ares, which by now seemed a mere tiddler (342m / 1120 ft of ascent @ 5%) – though it is a measure of adjusted expectations that this "tiddler" was taller and steeper than the biggest climb on the Bryan Chapman Memorial, which until this trip had been my benchmark for what climbing meant.

What was most certainly not a tiddler, was the final col of the day: the Col de Portet-d'Aspet, with its 432m (1415 ft) of ascent @ 9.8% average. With some testing ramps of 14% this was an unremitting grind, and although it was pleasant that the road was entirely shaded in woodland this also meant that it was climbed in a dense personal cloud of insects – luckily none of which seemed interested in stinging or biting.



By now my 40T rear sprocket had stopped being an object of derision for other riders, and had become an object of desire. Asked to name a price for a swap I pointed out that me and my sprocket had a very close relationship – and I was certainly married to it for the whole of this testing climb.



At the top – a welcome treat: the tour guides had produced a mobile jet wash and greeted arriving riders with a cold dousing. And then, the cooling luxury of a dunk in a farm water trough.



After this: relax. It was all downhill (30 km) to the hotel in Saint-Girons. And then the usual drill: pool, beer and a great French meal (al fresco tonight).

Day 4: Saint-Girons to Prades – 190km / 3750m ascent (118 miles / 12300 ft)

With the heatwave in France now getting up to temperature and the French Ministry of Health warning people to stay inside and not exert themselves, us randonneurs set out again for another day of col bagging.

Glyn and I were conscious this day was "the big one", with a lot of ground to cover and a lot of climbing to climb. Fortunately we had both slept well, and so felt refreshed, if apprehensive, as we got on the road at around 07:00.

The day started with a 25km drag up the valley into a headwind, and with the temperature dropping to 10°C it felt distinctly chilly. Then, the first col of the day, the lovely Col de Port with its 595m (1950 ft) @ 5%. It's almost as if with this climb the Pyrénées was apologizing for the brutality of yesterday's final col as this climb was, in comparison, like being given a bouquet rather than a punch to the gut. It was all flowers, splashing streams, woodland scents and super-smooth evenly-graded road. As Simon Warren writes, this is "something I never thought I'd find: a gentle Pyrenean climb".




Next, a descent to Tarascon for coffee, and a sharp climb up to the Route des Corniches. We had passed deep into the Ariège and once again the character of the landscape had changed to become more arid and craggy with limestone formations.

As we toiled up the climb the temperature rose to 40°C and it was a relief to find another water trough at the summit. By now it was clear what to do: total immersion of the head, total saturation of all clothing and top the bidons off before setting off again.




The entire group took lunch at a picnic spot with superb mountain views (and another water trough – yay!) before it was time to tackle the next climb, of the Col de Marmare with its 520m (1700 ft) of ascent @ 4%. This was another kindly climb, gentle and shaded – which was just as well, as in the extreme heat there was no option but to take things steadily. I took the opportunity to treat Glyn to a couple of my extended jokes and before we knew it 85 minutes had passed delightfully and we were at the summit, where a support van was waiting from which we could replenish our bidons.

From here there followed effectively a shallow 40km descent in extreme heat. Over the course of the event I had been experimenting with kit and techniques and now knew what worked for me.

I had tried a string vest as some riders recommend them for cooling, but for me they did the opposite – a more nuanced (and it seems correct) opinion from fellow riders here was that they only worked if you were very lean, but if you were carrying any significant body fat (as I do), you'll cook. So for me, the garment of choice was an aerosuit (the Castelli San Remo one, which has a fairly relaxed fit unlike a full on competition garment) with no base layer. This is tight enough that it hugs the skin and so, when wet, acts as a radiator for cooling the body. Another useful garment was a mesh peaked cap – it was so nice to flip the peak down in the middle of the day to stop the sun blazing on my face – it made wearing a helmet bearable. I wore chill sleeves every day – these are like thin white arm warmers but their purpose is to hug the skin and cool it down by evaporation as they absorb sweat – they work even better if soaked in water.

So as I wafted down this 40km descent in infernal heat every few minutes I'd follow the water ritual: squirt down the back, squirt across the chest, squirt on the top of the head, and squirt along each arm. Then in the moving air the water would evaporate slowly and cool me – I felt, in every sense of the word, chilled. This perhaps this was my favourite part of the whole course, passing as it did through rugged cuttings in the rock, past streams and through scented woodland … downhill.

At the base of the descent was the village of Axat, and it had a café. I had a chilled Orangina and an iced lolly, then got my bidons filled with ice and water. I rendezvoused with Glyn and we set off for the final significant climb of the Raid, the Col de Jau. With its 1034m (3400 ft) of ascent @ 6%, this was billed as the "sting in the tail" not just of this day, but of the entire Raid.

The approach to the climb was via the imposing Gorges de Saint-Georges cut by the river Aude. Then a turn to the left and the road ramped up. It was 40°C . "Summit in 19km" said the sign.



The climb was gentle at first but soon ramped up to 10% which was extremely uncomfortable in the heat. Glyn spotted a bucket full of water and stopped to dunk a foot, but this set off barking what sounded like the fiercest hounds in France, so we beat a hasty retreat (well, ground on upwards at 7 km/h). But then we spotted an alcove in the mountainside with water streaming down. We wheeled our bikes inside and just stood in this natural shower cooling down. It was a great moment, the shine of which was only taken off slightly by Glyn observing "there's probably a dead sheep up there you know". We wouldn't have cared.

Then through a tunnel, over a bridge, and the character of the climb changed entirely to become much more gentle, past high meadows and through cool woodland all the way to the summit, reached 2 hours 20 minutes after starting the ascent.



From here it was a stonking 30km descent all the way to the hotel. With no cars around, my new-found descending confidence found me braking a bit later, leaning the bike a bit more, using more of the road to take a good line, and enjoying the thrill – all of which nearly had me coming to grief when I rounded a corner to find a car coming the other way. A quick jab of the brakes and jink to the side averted mishap, but this would be a bad way to end the Raid. I slowed back to a more sensible pace and coasted to the hotel in the increasingly Catalan-flavoured scene, with white walls mixed with bright colours much in evidence through the villages.

At supper there was a mood of elation in the air: we knew with all the major cols behind us the Raid was "in the bag" as tomorrow was only 95km and comparatively flat. I celebrated with a large plate full of local cheeses. Yumsk!

Day 5: Prades to Cerbère – 95km / 800m of ascent (59 miles / 2625 ft)

The cheese was a mistake, giving rise to a vivid and disturbing dream. The N116 at the start of today's ride was a bit of a nightmare too. Very busy and, since we were into a low sun, it was difficult to see the Garmin for navigation – which device, in any case, had decided to have one of its days and kept bleeping near every junction which it displayed as a series of criss-crossing lines which bore no discernible relation to observable reality "on the ground".

After a while cars were sounding their horns in a way which suggested they didn't think we should be here. A closer inspection of our Garmins suggested we'd missed a turn and we had strayed onto a forbidden road. We dismounted and pushed our bikes back along the hard shoulder. An emergency vehicle with flashing lights pulled off the road and we were  encouraged to continue pushing. Around half an hour wasted in total. Wisely, we'd left early to allow contingency time in case of such misadventure …



Back on course we made our way towards the coast. This was very much a "getting it done" route with busy traffic and tedious navigation, but it was good to reach the coast and savour the sights, noises and smells of the resort towns we were passing through.

This was the apex of the French heatwave, and just up the coast in Montpellier France endured its highest ever recorded temperature of 45.9°C . For us, it was a notch cooler at a mere 44°C in the shade. We stopped in Banyuls for cold drinks and then set out for the final push over the lumpy headland. And then, there it was – a nice sweeping descent to the arrivée, waving flags, rounds of applause, handshakes and glasses of sparkling wine.




We had done it, in 99 hours.



All that remained was to pack the bike up, enjoy a celebratory swim, and attend the closing ceremony to collect the finishing certificate and medal. Of the 20 starters in our group, 16 had finished.



It had been a fabulous adventure – probably the best thing I have done on a bike. What would in any circumstances have been quite a tough challenge, was made extra challenging by the extremely hot weather. Without support (especially having water on call) it would probably not have been possible.

A Raid is a great format for cycling, with something of the challenge of a conventional long audax/brevet, but without the sleep deprivation. There are Raids for the Alps, The Massif Central, Corsica, Sardinia and the Dolomites (the Randonnée Alpine Léman-Adriatique), and more!. What next I wonder?