St Jean de Alberes

18 January 2007

Sixty-three degrees and sunny. It’s amazing how fast I’ve adapted to days without snow and ice and concern about windchill. In the normal course of my Iowa winter life, I would be getting ready for the Noquemenon ski marathon in Marquette, Michigan, scanning snow reports and searching for the closest skiable snow in my area. That would have been hard this year with the warm temperatures and limited snow. Instead I’m debating whether I need to use the arm warmers this afternoon.

Today will be a climbing day. In cycling parlance, at least in the states, I’ll be ‘training my weakness’. I turn left at the base of my village road and head toward Montesquieu des Alberes, our neighbour to the west on the mountain. A warm-up climb through the cork trees on mountain switchbacks and I’m wondering if my legs have it for what I’ve planned, a run up to St Jean des Alberes, the tiny village and 11th century church tucked in the Alberes above our valley.
Things get better when I make the downhill run back to the D618 and my legs are warmed up. The short leg to Le Boulou seems short now, after two weeks of cycling it every other day but it feels a bit strange to take the Le Perthu exit towards the Spanish border instead of continuing on to my rondpoint rendezvous with Geoff.

There is limited room for the bike between Les Thermes du Boulou and Les Cluses, two kilometres of dodging bits of broken bottles and roadside junk dropped carelessly by tourista drivers. I see more than one pulled over to urinate on the side of the road, and wonder what the locals think. The road is climbing at about a 7 percent grade, not too bad for me, and I’m able to keep a decent tempo. My heart rate seems to be a little low, likely a holdover from yesterday’s harder ride with Geoff. Heart rate is just additional information for me; I don’t limit my effort because of it, but it’s good to know how my body is responding to the work.

After Les Cluses, the traffic thins out and I’m able to use more of my lane. The 6 kilometers to Le Perthu goes quick and I turn onto the D71, a tiny mountain road snaking up past the Col del Perthu towards the Col de L’Ouillat. The one lane road gets steeper and stays that way, passing an occasional bench (do people walk this?) and a spigot piping spring water from the rock. The valley opens up below and a middle range is slowly sinking below me, exposing the outer peaks seen from my village. In just over an hour into my ride, I’m at the crossroads, eating a banana, and considering the vast differences in the landscape I’ve pedalled through. I haven’t seen any cars on this road, there is total silence. I push on the pedal and begin my way back.

2:03, 29.8, 2320ft