Me and my big Mountain
CIARAN LENNON COL DE SPANDELLES
SOME of the most iconic climbs of the Pyrenees have been crossed off the list. We have gone the distance with Tour de France heavyweights
— the Col du Tourmalet, Luz Ardiden, Col du Soulor, Col d’Aubisque — but it’s the ones we don’t see coming that leave us exposed to a punch in the gut.
It may not have the historic stature of the Tour celebrities, but the Col de Spandelles can hold its own. This was our Nate Diaz of the Pyrenees. Tougher and bigger than imagined and thrown into our schedule on a whim. It could put Conor McGregor on the canvas. If we had taken the time to study the tale of the tape, we would have seen that the Spandelles is a doughty 10.2km in length with an average 8.4 per cent gradient reaching up to 1378m.
Within minutes of our arrival at our Pyrenean base in St Savin, our host at the Velo Peloton cycling lodge — Paddy from Cavan, of course — is reeling off numbers and percentages. This is the currency of the climbs; how their difficulty can be assessed. It’s an important guide for calculating how to spread out your effort, but what the numbers don’t reveal are qualities like the road surface, or how the summer heat can hang in a valley, making your brain simmer under your helmet.
The plan for our last day involves climbing the Soulor from the east side, crossing the stunning narrow stretch of road that hangs like a ribbon above the Cirque du Litor valley and up to the Aubisque. We had expected to return to Paddy’s fridge full of beer on the same roads but an impromptu left turn off the summit of the Soulor brings Sean and I off the most commonly ridden paths.
We freewheel into a serene green valley down the D126, until crossing paths with an unassuming sign for the Col de Spandelles. We turn off the downward slope into the unknown.
You get used to climbing by numbers in these mountains. Signs are placed along the roadside of the bigger peaks at 1km intervals detailing the current altitude, distance to the summit and gradients ahead. But the Spandelles has no such guide and the only information we have is a rough distance for the climb and a brief description from Paddy, who has an annoying habit of downplaying even the toughest mountains.
As we ride through the opening hairpins, glimpses of the valley come into view, but we’re soon clear of the scattering of farmhouses and the green hills quickly close in on us. The warm air just hangs motionless around us.
After 30 minutes of climbing, mostly out of the saddle, we’ve no clear guide to the progress we’ve made and the road surface is now about as refined as the pebble dash that we’ve come to expect in the hills of Wicklow. Each turn of the pedals feels like you’re pulling through treacle. The gradient is up and down like the mood of a soccer fan; finding a steady rhythm is almost impossible.
I’m a little distance clear of Sean, but with all these hairpins he can’t see that I’ve almost come to standstill as I try to regather my efforts. All thoughts of a last cycle the following morning before our flight home are put in cold storage. I’m searching around each corner for signs of the summit, each turn proving more disappointing than the last.
The final chapter of our week in the south of France has turned into a sorry saga, and by the time the summit emerges I’m ready to throw my bike and myself on the canvas of grass. It’s almost a knockout. At least from here it’s all downhill to Paddy’s fridge.