Corner
after corner, the tyres received no respite, my Metzelers rolling from edge to edge
escarpments, the roads twist and turn through tiny picturesque and often medieval settlements with fortified churches. Every Col (or high pass) is markedly
different, due to age of construction, local topography and the nature of the rock that the engineers had to bypass or tunnel through. The only constant is the bicycle traffic as everyone aims to emulate their ‘Tour’ heroes from what is perhaps the most popular sport in the area.
Some of the climbs and descents consist of constant radius perfection with heavenly surfaces. Others are incredibly formidable, narrow, barrier-free, constantly changing, off camber, blind challenges, like the Col d’Aubisque, which, at only 1709m will stay with me for many reasons. The weather and visibility was perfect, the free-range livestock at the summit were horses and not the usual cattle and there was an assemblage of Aprilia Caponords, possibly the largest single gathering of these rare 1000cc adventure bikes anywhere since they left the factory. Like many Cols in the Pyrenees, the contrast either side of the pass is marked. Prevailing weather conditions and cultural differences generate nuances in architecture, agriculture, vegetation and road construction. Often a climb that has been fully ensconced in foliage opens up to reveal windswept barren vistas of many miles. The advantage the heavily vegetated climbs offer any rider desperate to enjoy the ride and yet still experience the view, is that when the trees obscure the view, the ride becomes everything and concentration need not be lost. Corner after corner, the tyres received no respite, my Metzelers rolling from edge to edge and only momentarily losing traction
when the Bandit’s undercarriage had been so forcefully driven into the tarmac that the front end had no option but to leave the surface. (Clearly not following Mutch’s Gently Bentley maxim). The great news for my laundry, pillion and I, is that traction was always regained, wet or dry, and confidence remained. The Col du Tourmalet is the highest motorable pass in the French Pyrenees, unless you’ve got knobblies of course. At 2115m the name literally means ‘the bad detour’ and its reputation for extreme weather didn’t disappoint. The climb delivered rain as heavy as anything I’ve ever ridden through, with plenty of minor landslides coating sections of the route in mud and rocks. The rain continued to near the summit even through the increasing fog, but eased temporarily to let me see the statue to honour those who have been battling for honours in the Tour de France since the climb was first used back in 1910.
Perhaps if the famous wind had been in evidence on the descent, the thick and frankly terrifying fog wouldn’t have clung so tenaciously, ensuring visibility was reduced to just inches beyond the front mudguard. Negotiating the twisting route, with little in the way of barriers for guidance, is not something I’ll happily repeat, but wasn’t I after adventure?
Even when rain stops play in the Pyrenees, it only curtails what might be described as the more anti-social elements of motorcycling. The joy continues because the vistas are dramatically transformed from broadleaf and pine forest, to something almost equatorial. The heat in the valleys, the proximity of the parched Spanish plains and the precipitation
itself, changes the whole scene into one of peaks rising amid layered clouds, some of which is steam from below, reminiscent of jungle in SE Asia. Change is good. The waterproofing of motorcycle clothing however is often poor, which in itself simply offers more opportunities. We stopped in the village of Oust to dry out and discovered one of those wonderful French gems; a tiny family-run restaurant that looked suitably dishevelled on the outside but served exquisite homemade paté as the first of a three course lunch for ten Euros. The main lamb dish was sublime. With the sun back out and the tarmac gently steaming, corner again led to corner as the road snaked its way over minor passes, beneath towering Pyrenees and beside the natural channels cut by countless rivers. What is delightful is that passes of only 1000m are a fantastical challenge and simply don’t carry the weight of traffic that the more famous Alpine Passes do. This doesn’t diminish the riding experience, but heightens it, as mile after mile is unaffected by others and you very rapidly discover that whatever bike you are on, it could really do with a little more ground clearance as footpegs fold beneath feet and fairings are ground away. (Hmmmmm, Ed) A brief hike to see just one of the incredible limestone caves in the Tarascon area containing 12,000 year old cave art, puts human regional activity in some perspective. The mountains, valleys and much of the vegetation on the less accessible slopes can be witnessed as thousands of generations have before, but I am singularly grateful that I can witness them from the seat of a 1250 Bandit.
The ROAD 33
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