My third Sunday on the road, and I now expected that it would be a very quiet day with few people out and about. The village boulangerie opened at 9:30, so Helen and I walked up and I bought my croissant and pain au chocolat to be eaten with any coffee I might find on the way, although I was not optimistic.
For some reason I felt somewhat more anxious than normal as I set off in the cool morning air to drop down into the misty valley. Suddenly, as I picked up speed on the descent the bike started to shimmy, a weird cycling phenomenon where the bicycle and rider hit a resonant frequency and the handlebars start to vibrate quite violently. It is a scary thing to happen, but once you know what is happening you can ease it by standing on the pedals. I pulled to a halt, checked everything on the bicycle, making sure that the wheels were not out of alignment, that all was well and I set off again. The shimmy started again. So I went down the hillside very slowly, feeling relieved when I got to the bottom and puzzled as to why it had happened this morning and not on any previous descents. All I could think was that I was shivering slightly in the cold air, and that this contributed to the resonance.
Back through the tunnel, this time with my front lights on, across the bridge and then started a gentle climb up a river valley on the D902. It was a lovely, calm morning and it was slowly getting warmer, when suddenly the second problem of the day came. I stopped to pick up a car tyre lying in the middle-of-the-road, and when I started again my chain jammed and and, to my horror, a link broke. I pulled off to the side of the road to see what was going on, but knew that I had everything I needed to fix the problem, always carrying a spare chain. Within a few moments a car pulled up beside me and a young chap jumped out, asking if he could help in any way. Fortunately he spoke very good English and seemed to understand about bicycle chains, so we discussed how I would repair it, and he went on his way. I took the broken chain off and put the replacement on, and all seemed well. I pedalled on for perhaps half a mile and then as the road levelled out try to shift into a higher range on the chainring, but it would not shift. I stopped to have a look, and realised that the whole front shift mechanism had slid down the tube by 2 or 3 mm. This must have been connected with the chain jamming, but how it had happened I had no idea. At first I wondered if I needed to abandon and call Helen, but realise that I could try to loosen the shift mechanism and move it up the tube. So I did that, tested it out and realised that everything was working okay, if not as smoothly as before.
So I packed up all of my tools, trying to clean off my now very greasy hands as much as possible, and set off again, feeling somewhat anxious about the reliability of the chain and the shifter.
It was now getting hot, and would eventually reach about 30°. At the top of the valley I pulled off into an aire to think about what had happened and to think about the day ahead. The countryside ahead now looked very different. I was going into the Grands Causses and the Mountains of Lacaune which would, at about 1100 m, be the highest point of the ride. I could see that the hilltops were now arid and bare, and pointed in places, not covered in lush forest. Still feeling a little anxious about the reliability of my chain and shifter, I set off towards the mountains.
For several miles the road dropped gently, then there was a long, fast, steep descent into Belmont sur Rance, an old town with narrow streets. As it was about midday the cafés were open and people sat on the streets drinking their cold beers. I noticed one group looking at me as I waited at a traffic light, and in my paranoia was convinced that they were laughing at me and what I was about to try to do. This would be the longest climb of the whole enterprise. It varied between 5 and 8%, but with a few short, slightly steeper sections and wound up and up and up for about 8 miles. Slowly I moved out of the forest and into dry, rock lined valleys, concentrating on just keeping the pedals turning, and every now and then trying to cheer myself up by thinking that the views were stupendous. After nearly 2 hours I was at the (almost) top, stopped to congratulate myself, pedalled on for a half-mile or so and then found a final stretch of hairpin bends to climb up so that I could then look down on the town of Lacaune, in the valley miles below. I would have to drop down into this and then climb out the other side. Such is cycling in the mountains.
The descent into Lacaune was relatively shallow, but I felt that every foot of descending meant more climbing to come. It was now mid-afternoon and everything was shut. I had hoped to find a café where I could have a cold drink to prepare myself for the final climb, but ended up taking sanctuary in the shady arch of a local church, where I sat and ate some fruitcake and enjoyed my final apple.
The climb out of Lacaune seemed to average about 8% and went on for something over 2 miles, but then I reached the Col de Piquotalen at 1004 m, and I thought that that was probably the hardest part of the day done. I could not really tell from the Michelin map exactly what lay ahead, but after the col the road turned slightly downhill and I then started on a wonderful 8 mile steady, gentle descent, moving from the dry, rocky hilltop down into forest and eventually turning me out into the resort town of La Salvetat sur Agout. Its tourist business is based around a large mountain lake, and we were camped for the night in a site overlooking the lake.
It had been the shortest day of the ride so far, at just over 47 miles, but had included over 8000 feet of ascending. I had now completed 788 miles. Tomorrow I would climb to the top of the Monts de l’Espinouse and then drop down onto the Mediterranean plain.
No comments:
Post a Comment