Operation Outrageous, 4/7/2014:
I promised you something a bit outrageous today, so here goes. The other day, we took a drive up to the ruined Cathar fortress of Peyrepertuse, which stands at the top of a huge imposing limestone bluff, and was built to be totally inaccessible to religious persecutors during the medieval wars of religion. Someone has since come along and built a totally stunning, winding tourist road up from the village of Duilhac- sous-Peyrepertuse to a car park just at the bottom of the cliff and within a stone's throw of the fortress (if you are Geoff Capes).
Not being one to shirk a challenge, I took one look at all the steep bits and the hairpin bends and decided I just
had to have a go at it on the bike. Yes, I'm 53 years old. Yes, I weigh over 20 stone (280 pounds). Yes, I have an ingrowing toenail in my left big toe, and I injured my right big toe earlier today. That just balances things up. Yes, Mrs Donger did say "You'll
never make it up here!". To be honest, that sealed it. Today was the last day of our second (and probably last) holiday here, so it was probably the last chance I would ever get to try it. So game on, then.
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Photo 1. Duilhac at the bottom, Peyrepertuse at the top.
As I drove to Duilhac to start my ride from there, my finishing point was, as the crow flies, just about the same as my starting point, being almost vertically above it. Nevertheless, it would be a 5.5 mile ride if I managed it.. 2.75 up and 2.75 back down. Easily my shortest, but by far my toughest ride of the year so far. There had been thunder earlier in the day, and it was still very windy at the cottage, but when I drove over the hill to Duilhac, a miraculous weather window opened up, and clear blue skies and strong sunshine took over. The omens were good. Inspired by the thought that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to climb this road, I set off full of determination and made good progress at first.
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Photo 2. The parachute landing ground @ 1.5 miles along the climb (my first stop).
I overdid it a bit at the bottom, and should have stopped for a drink before I actually did. I made it to a small flat spot in he climb at the 1.5 mile mark, where there was a parachute landing ground. The info board showed that there were still 150 more metres of climbing to be done, and by my reckoning, there were about 1.5 km to go, making an average gradient form her onwards of 10%. This was discouraging, to say the least, and it was from this point onwards that my troubles began..
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Photos 3, 4 and 5
After 3 or 4 of the steeply banked hairpin bends, I hit a longish straight. The trouble was, it was heading straight into a strong headwind. I was sweating profusely by this point, and using up my drink at an alarming rate. Several distressingly steep gradient changes (15% or more) left me feeling like I was facing my local nemesis, Haresfield Beacon, and if I hadn't mouthed off about doing this ride today I may well have given up at any one of a number of points. Trying to summon up some of the spirit that once made Britain great, I plugged on. After not stopping at all in the first 1.5 miles, I must have stopped at least 6 or 7 times in the next mile.
As I was at my lowest point, both physically and morale-wise, a car full of Belgians pulled up alongside and took a close-up photo, just as I was gagging to throw in the towel. They then slipped in behind me and followed me for a minute or so.
B@stards! (I now understand exactly why Cadel
Evans sometimes looks like he wants to rip the head off anyone who so much as touches him or looks at him funnily on a big climb). Once they had cleared off, I got off and leaned against a wall, panting, for about 5 minutes, before taking my emergency energy gell from the saddle bag. I went off again too soon, and only managed about 100 yards more before my next palpitation break. With a touch of cruelty, someone had decided to signal the upcoming car park with a couple of striped poles - placed just before what seemed to be the steepest part of the whole climb, and with a further hairpin still to be negotiated. I stopped again. Summoning up every ounce of energy I had left, I just gritted my teeth and went for it - aware that I was no longer puffing like a steam locomotive, but instead now grunting louder than Maria Sharapova on Centre Court. Then I got my first sight of the car park at the top, and I got a new lease of life. There was no stopping me now.
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Photo 6. The car park, at last.
Against all the remaining expectations I had by the half way point, I had actually done it! A friendly Swedish guy kindly took my picture for me, on the skywalk viewpoint or "belvedere". Please excuse my smugness If I look rather too pleased with myself in photo 7.
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Photo 7
From the belvedere i got this great shot, showing the road winding away below me:
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Photo 8.
The way back down was far from straightforward, as some of the hairpins were way too steep (both angle-wise and gradient-wise) for comfort, and my brakes were squeaing alarmingly at every turn. I actually got off an walked a couple of times, as my wheel rims were so hot that I thought my front tyre might be about to explode. When I reached the bottom, everybody was turning to see where that awful squealing noise was coming from. Not sure if that was the brakes or me. Total relief to make it back down, but mostly just felt fantastic. This kind of ride is what I took up cycling for, 6 years ago.
Now I know some of you youngsters might not regard a 2.75 mile climb as that special, but for me, this was my Alpe d'Huez.. Officially the height at the top was 650 metres, and from the map, it looks as though it is about 250 metres. By my calculations, over about 4.4 km, that makes it an average gradient of 9%. Although a bit on the short side, that would put it at borderline cat 1/cat 2 Tour de France rating. I am now going to consider myself a cyclist.
That's it for these hols. Cheers everyone.
Donger.
Good man 
