cycling Col Du Tourmalet, Pyrenees.

In 2010, I drove a car half-way up Col du Tourmalet, in the French Pyrenees. It was a terribly misty and rainy day, with the wind blowing a gale. I parked by the side of the road and opened the car door. The wind nearly blew it from its hinges. I scrambled out and took photos of myself, the fool in the mist. I got back in the car, where my travelling companions all agreed we should head back down the mountain. As I reversed out of the car park, four cyclists rode past us, up the hill, into the tumult. What I was scared to attempt in a car, they were doing on bicycles. I looked up towards the summit, shrouded in cloud and wanted to follow this strange band of hardy lycra-wearing crazies.

Today, in Sainte-Marie-de-Campan, I have my chance. I�m about to climb one of the most revered and feared climbs of the Tour de France. Not from the side I�d driven up in 2010, because it�s still closed due to recent flooding. I�m climbing the  equally-difficult east side. It was from this side in 1913, where Eugene Christophe broke his fork on Tourmalet and repaired it himself in Sainte-Marie, after carrying the bike for hours. He was subsequently disqualified because he�d allowed a young man to work the bellows as he repaired the fork. This counted as �outside� assistance. 

I could use some of that myself as I begin the journey out from Sainte-Marie-de-Campan. I�m tremendously excited to be climbing Tourmalet  because, if I reach the summit, it will complete my ascent of the big four of the Tour de France - Alpe d�Huez; Col de Galibier and Mont Ventoux being the others. On each of these climbs, I�ve been fortunate to have clear skies and mild temperatures. Today is no exception. there�s even a wind at my back. And a group of British and American cyclists. A few overtake me in the first kilometre, setting a cracking pace. I dawdle along at my usual relaxed doddle, checking my heart rate on the Garmin. Below 150, which I try to maintain as the gradient cranks up a few percentage points.

I�m surprised by the relative ease of the first few kilometres as it meanders through a stretch of rural houses, each with a garden. The gradient increases as I enter a forest section, with storming waterfalls flowing from above and under the road at strategic bridges. At every kilometre, there�s a sign that let�s me know how far to the summit and, painfully, the average gradient for the next kilometre. And here, ten kilometres from the peak, I am facing a stiff 8.5% climb. Ouch, what was that about an easy start. 

For the rest of the climb, the average doesn�t drop much at all. After a rather downtrodden caravan park, the road opens up and provides me with lovely views to the distant mountains, many covered in cloud, despite the sparkling day down here.  I cycle through a number of long galleries, designed to prevent snow from covering the road. The road surface is very patchy and I hope the authorities will be repairing it before the Tour peloton comes through in two weeks. Somehow, I doubt it.

Four kilometres from the summit, when I�m feeling excited and entranced by the spectacular views, La Mongie hoves into sight. A ski resort by name, a monstrosity by nature. The first building is seven storeys high, the first three levels are enclosed concrete, which I imagine is for a car park. Its Le Corbusier ugliness is writ large in front of majestic snow-capped mountains. Further on up the village, which is a steep 8% gradient, is another resort, marginally less ugly, but still in need of a crate of dynamite. As if to symbolise this horror, the road which has only been open a few weeks, is caked in dried cow dung that has been washed across the path in the recent floods. La Mongie stinks. Appropriately.

Once free of this nastiness, the last four kilometres are absolutely devine. The gradient doesn�t drop below an average of 8%, but the view of snow drifts, mountains, cows (with cow bells!) and craggy peaks is mind-boggling. At one point, I pass a tractor still clearing the road of snow and grit. He turns and slowly chases me up the hill. It�s all I can do to keep ahead of him before he reaches the tip-truck to dump his load. Now, that�s one incentive to climb faster!

I reach the top, the sun shining, the view spectacular and the cyclists crowding together shaking hands in congratulations. One cyclist lifts his bike above his head in exaltion as his photo is taken in front of the altitude sign. I couldn�t lift Murray if I tried, so I wheel him into frame and smile. The summit of Tourmalet is very small. The road reaches the peak and then drops immediately to the other side, which is still closed. I gaze down the valley to where I�d driven last year. Ha!

The descent is extremely chilly and I stop at La Mongie for the only good thing in town. A donkey. Standing in the middle of the road is a small, very hairy donkey. He looks at me and I look at him, neither moving for a minute. Then he walks casually towards me and accepts my pat and rub on the neck. What a lovely chap. I�d vote him Mayor of La Mongie. He�s got to be better than the ass who allowed this landscape to be so disfigured. After a soft drink and a farewell pat, it�s downhill all the way, imagining how much faster the Tour will do this in a few weeks time.

No matter. I have made a new friend. 


Col du Tourmalet is a hors category climb of 17.2 kilometres with an average gradient of 7.4% and an elevation gain of 1268 metres. elevation at the summit is 2115 metres.

This is an edited extract from my latest ebook, titled 'bordeaux and bicycles' about my cycling adventures in France. It's available for US$2.99 here if you live in the USA, here for the UK and here for Australia.