This is not the comprehensive trip report of a successful and complete off-road traverse of the Pyrenees that I'd hoped to be writing but nevertheless here is a little write-up of my (shortened) Pyrenean adventure.
It was a tired and apprehensive Gairy that set-off on the first Eurostar train to Paris last Monday. Luckily both me and the bike arrived successfully (though annoyingly separately) at the Gare Du Nord. A short (but interesting) ride across Paris got me to the Gare Du Lyon in plenty of time to get my ongoing train down to Avignon. Another short wait and I was on the final leg of the journey down, through Perpignon, to Port Bou just over the border in Spain.
There wouldn't be any need for such a long convoluted route through France if they hadn't recently changed the rules about bikes on the Duplex TGV trains. Basically you can't travel with any bike over 80cm in length when dismantled and bagged up. This effectively means that the rules are now that you can't travel with a bike at all as most frames alone are longer than that and so unless you've got a silly little folding bike (useless for any actual real riding) it's a non-starter.
I then rode down the coast for 16km to Llanca where I met up with Kevin (who I'd ridden with before), Duncan and Nick (strangers!) who'd arrived the day before.
We spent the night on a thoroughly uninspiring campsite before packing up and setting off early the next morning.
Day 01:
Llanca to Montagut - 101.3km - 3001m of alt. gain - 9 hours 15 minutes riding time - 5887 calories burned.
Below you see the Mediterranean behind the bike at Llanca and the hope was that there'd be another shot in front of the Atlantic at the other end:
The early part of the ride was innocent enough with some small rolling hills and easy climbs.
There was a few interesting little descents and the views were improving as the day went on.
Kevin getting a head-start on one nice little downhill:
We rolled on through a few nice quiet little villages all the time ticking off more miles and enjoying better and better weather as the day wore on.
But.....there was a sting in the tail of the day with a 10km/800m alt. gain climb after over 60km of riding had already tired our legs.
It wasn't challenging technically but the length and gradient were letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that my lack of recent bike-miles was going to be a problem.
I'm never a fast climber but my back and then elbow had successfully conspired to keep me off the bike to the extent that I was painfully slow on the ascents and this meant that the others were patiently (at least while I was within earshot) waiting for me periodically during the 4 hour climb.
Here's a nice little shot of the view during a particularly visually pleasing wee stop:
Eventually we summited and dropped down in another valley where we eventually found Montagut and our planned campsite for the night.
Here's everyone set-up and ready for sleep:
We fell into bed around 22:30 on the first night and I was already getting a little worried as my back was beginning to feel the effects of 12 hours in the saddle without sufficient training.
A nice warm and dry night meant that I slept pretty well (as well as I ever sleep in a tent) but I was in for a bit of a rude-awakening in the morning.....
Ok, day two.....
I woke up nice and early feeling rested, refreshed and with an aching painful back - bugger!
Despite being the slowest on day 01 my legs weren't feeling overly tired and I was generally feeling pretty damn good but there was the (now all too common) beginnings of my back problem resurfacing and I was worried.
I decided that for day two I'd take an alternative road route. The plan was that I would cut out some of the nastier gradients of the days planned route and also be able to ride at my own pace (upping the pace seems to put additional strain on my back). I was hoping this would give my back a rest and not cause any further trouble.
Day two:
Montagut to Planoles - 73.5km - 2122m of alt. gain - 6 hours 26 minutes ride time - 4436 calories burned.
I dropped down onto the route I'd mapped out (well, scribbled down on a piece of paper) only to find that the road I had planned on following was actually a motorway and that I'd have to take a side road which sort of followed the main highway though in a much more windy and hilly way.
Here you can see a nice little town I passed by/though which is built on some volcanic bedrock:
Not long after the above shot I encountered more trouble in the form of a long road tunnel which bikes aren't allowed to use and so was forced to take another detour up and over a decent sized Col and had the pleasure of being passed my many many roadies as I laboured to climb on my heavily laden bike.
Here's a shot from part-way up the mammoth road climb:
Once up and over the summit things levelled out and the ride became nice and gentle with great views.
I could see up into the higher mountains where a decent amount of snow lingered and I was wondering how the others were coping but it turned out that they too had cut some climbing out of the days route and had managed to avoid going above the snow line.
The day finished with another big climb up to the campsite and after some food and some stretches for my back I went to bed feeling pretty good.
The plan was that every third day would be shorter and easier than the previous two to give us a rest and so Day 03 was, on paper, a half-day with time to rest and recover after two big days in the saddle - HA!
Day o3:
Plaoles to Baga - 57km - 1813m alt. gain - 5 hours 5 minutes ride time - 3117 calories burned.
The day started well enough with me struggling to keep up the pace at first but then (Finally!) finding a sniff of form/speed in my legs (as well as the others being a little fatigued) and as hard as this might be to believe I wasn't even last on the first big climb of the day!!!
Here's the view out towards Andorra from the summit of the mornings big climb:
We then headed down a little forest road and had our first accident of the trip.
Duncan's front wheel went hub deep into a very well disguised muddy hole (looked like an innocent little puddle from every angle but was actually a mean little trap!) and he lost a fair bit of facial skin but he was soon cleaned and back in the saddle.
I got the SLR out for a few shots as the weather was nice and so below are a few nice shots of the fellas I took.
Duncan:
Kevin:
All three:
We stopped at a little ski-lift cafe for a drink and a bite to eat while Duncan washed his face properly in the toilets and assessed the damage (nothing severe luckily) before setting off again towards what we thought would be a nice little climb up to a Col at a sniff over 2000m before descending to Baga the end point for the days ride.
But.....we'd naively assumed that the route would be free of snow - it was not!
What should have been a simple tootle up and over a hill became a few hours of pushing/pulling/carrying our bikes through and over some stubborn snow coverage.
Below you see what we had to deal with:
and...
We finally beat the mountain and cleared the Col:
Group moral was at an all time low (except me as I was feeling great and really enjoyed the daft adventure of the snowy climb) and there was talk of maybe having to abandon the trip all together if all of the high passes were as slow and snow-bound as that one.
Then the others promptly buggered off descending as fast as possible on the road seemingly unaware of the phenomenal views of the very mountains we were there to experience. I got a telling off for taking too long but frankly I was glad my brakes were over-heating as each time I had to stop to cool them with water I got a chance to take a few seconds to enjoy the placed I'd travelled so far to visit.
See for yourself the breathtaking views:
and.....
We arrived knackered, filthy and late instead of rested, clean and early as planned but it was still the best day of the trip by far for me.
But.....all was not well.
My back wasn't feeling happy at all from another hard day in the saddle and that wasn't all.
The route planning had been left to Duncan as he was keen to do it and had the time, energy and local knowledge. Maybe that was a mistake on my part as I was really struggling with the idea of a mountain biking trip that was entirely devoid of singletrack, could possibly descend 1200m on road (in the midst of so much potential trail heaven) and that ended each day at a fully-equipped campsite (ideally with WiFi) instead of wild-camping as/when we decided we'd had enough for the day.
I went to bed feeling worried about my back, missing Nikki and Amelie and also feeling that my desire to ride the trails (roads) ahead was waning a little.
Right, we're nearly done.
Day 04.....dawned early if not bright as I'd decided that I was going to get up at 05:00 and set off at 06:30 - a couple of hours before the others.
This would allow me to ride the first big climb of the day at my own pace and give my back the best chance of remaining fully functioning.
So.....after a hearty breakfast, some stretches and the packing up of some very wet camping gear, I set off into the dawn gloom.
The road went straight up from the campsite before turning into a forest road and continuing up for about 1000m of overall alt. gain which wasn't particularly enticing that early in the morning!
Here's the sunrise as seen on the trail:
...and here's a nice silhouetted set of mountains in the distance:
Luckily I didn't have to ride long at all as it turned out as an hour into the days riding I got a (now all too familiar) shooting pain running down a nerve through my bum and into the top of my leg.
This is a something I've come to dread as it is a certain and absolute sign that my L3 disc is bulging and that if I don't rest and take extreme care I'll soon be laid up in bed for two months of inactivity and boredom (not to mention the unreasonable demands I'd be laying at Nikki's feet of having to run things at the house, look after Amelie and grow a baby in her belly - not really fair!) with a herniated disc.
It was only a few minutes after first noticing the pain (and it failing to go after some more stretching) that I made the decision to return to the campsite to inform the others that my trip was over and that I'd not be continuing with them any further.
Here's the view I had when I made the (infinitely more sensible than usual) decision to quit:
The others were just finishing up packing up their kit when I rode back into camp and told them my news.
We said our goodbyes and I wished them good luck for their ongoing adventure and before 09:00 I was on my way into town to see about my next move.
It was certainly sad to have failed at the challenge I'd set myself but I was also weirdly ok as I began to plan what to do next.
Before the trip I knew that my recent injuries had meant that I was in terrible shape for the trip and that this increased the likelihood that I'd encounter problems along the way but the trip had been so long in the planning that I at least wanted to give it a go (better to try and fail than not try at all and all that...).
I've also come to accept that as a father and husband I can no longer just bugger off for weeks at a time without really REALLY missing my ladies and having that impact my happiness doing whatever it is that's separating me form them.
Finally, the trails and accommodation on this trip were nothing like I'd had in my mind when dreaming about this trip which helped lessen the blow of being unable to carry on.
It was a confused and both disappointed and yet relieved Gairy that sat in a random little internet cafe trying to figure out what to do next!
I thought about travelling to a later point in the route and hoping that my back eased enough to rejoin the group but in the end (rightly it turned out at my back is only now feeling better) I read that Nikki had had a nasty ear infection and that settled matters and I set about getting back to the UK as soon as possible.
The next 48 hours saw me take a bus up and over the Pyrenees to the French border, ride to a nearby(ish) train station, take a train to Toulouse, spend the night in a crappy hotel, get the TGV to Paris, navigate my way across Paris using only a compass (the Gare du Nord is in the North of Paris after all!), take an insanely expensive Eurostar train to London, get VERY annoyed that my bike didn't arrive with me (I eventually picked it up three days later) and finally arrive in West Sussex at a little cottage Nikki and some friends had rented for the weekend where I showered and sat myself down with a beer or three!
Below is a photo taken which shows my weird biking tan line, lack of suitable sun hat (and taste) and contentment with a nice bottle of real ale:
So.....all's well that ends well!
The others have continued and should (with a little luck and a lot of blood, sweat and gears) be finishing the route at the Atlantic sometime tomorrow.
It's a hell of an achievement and one I'd like to go back and complete at some point but with baby number II on it's way later this year I'm thinking that it might be a while before I have a spare two weeks again (like a decade or two!!!).
But keep an eye out for more two wheel tom-foolery as it'll not be the last daft bikepacking adventure I undertake.
My back will heal and I will return!
Cheers, Gairy.
P.S. I'd like to thank Duncan/Pistonbroke and Kevin/Blackhound (and Nick but he's not a forum member) for not only helping to make this trip happen but also for their company and patience waiting for the 'fat lad' on those climbs and I hope that the remainder of your trip was as much of an adventure as those first few days were for me - nice work chaps!
