Cassè

Sunday’s club ride was a lesson in the frailty of the human body and the cycling machine. The morning dawned cold, about 28 degrees. A cold front had settled in the past few days, dropping temperatures down about 20 degrees or so. I bundled up was focused on keeping warm as I descended the village road to the valley. It even occurred to me that maybe I should invert my bottles, ala crosscountry skiers, to prevent the tops from freezing closed. Nearing the bottom of the hill, a large patch of water had frozen in front of a business. Lots of brakes and nearly a full stop, I skirt the ice rink and clip in for the rest of the drop down.

This time the ice was dark and had frozen smooth across the entire road. I was only going about 10mph when the reptilian part of my brain signalled the threat. Never use brakes on ice, and I didn’t, but even so both wheels slid to the left and I was instantly transformed from sleek downhill bike racer to gangly bloke sliding on my kiester sans bicycle.

The jersey and shorts made it though relatively unscathed but I could see some blood leaking through the spandex shorts where my hip ached. The cold quickly numbed the area and on I went for the ride out of Amelie les Bains with Geoff.

Today was to be a flat ride back down the valley and then over to Palau del Vidre and then back to Amelie via the mountainside villages of Sorede, Villelongue and Montesquieu. This was fine with me as my crank was making increasingly loud creaking sounds, the bearings were giving up the ghost, but spinning seemed to be OK. La Poste still hadn’t come through with my new stuff from Italy.

Geoff and I met the club and we had a leisurely ride/coast down through the very familiar villes of Ceret and Le Boulou before turning off towards Banyuls del Apres and Brouilla. The road from Ortaffa to Palau was new to me. It starts as a narrow tarmac thread and quickly deteriorates into a chipped but not sealed road with piles of chips lining the tire lanes and then into concrete ‘submersible’ road, crossing the river Tech. From here we headed back towards the Alberes and Laroque des Alberes, the village with the incredible baguettes.

I’m riding midgroup and Geoff slides up on my left, “Time to move up to the front.” We pass groups of riders and snuggle up towards the front. The pace quickens as the climb intensifies and the club splinters. It’s nice not having to close gaps; leapfrogging from group to group takes a lot of energy on a climb, but we’re able to keep a nice tempo pace. On the way to Villelongue, occasionally a rider will get a hair somewhere and jump off the front, but I knew and the better riders knew the harder climb comes on the way to Montesquieu, then there’s a brief rest and then the long, fast slog up river to Amelie. Conserve energy, look for chances to recuperate and save it for the sprint to the rondpoint sign south of Amelie les Bains.

There’s about seven or eight of us after Villelongue. A rider asks me about my wheels. At first I think he’s just asking what kind they are (not many folks have seen Nimbles here) but after some broken French, I understand he’s asking if I’ve a rayon casse. A quick look and the both wheels are true.

The real climb starts and again there’s pressure on the group. Geoff is just in front of me, a good wheel to follow, I know he feels the hills like I do and I can set my pace to his. He’s also thinking of the final sprint at Amelie as well and lets a wild one go without changing his pace.

The bicycle is composed in such a way as to avoid friction. Every part that moves on a bike is sleeved in fine grease and high tolerance bearings, adjusted so that there is no energy wasted in sloppy play. Sound from these surfaces means that there is friction. Friction means that the part is going to wear and fail soon and a rider tunes his ears to listen for the beginning of the entropy. I could have been wearing ear muffs and a turban and heard the last scream of my bottom bracket on that climb. I slowed to a stop, gave it a spin and tried to pedal again. The sound of nails on a chalkboard. One of the female riders, Veronique, coasted up to me. Le boitier de pedalier est casse, I tell her. Dit Geoff, je vais a Villelongue.

Day over, and now I can feel the road rash on the hip.

2:47, 43.2, 1560ft.