La Forca Real

I felt a little sorry for him. "Are you knackered, or what?" "I guess I'm just too tired." He shifted on his cleats, eyes on the pavement. "Too tired? Are you a racer or a poser?" He didn't look up, "Poser, I guess." "Right, we have no room for posers." Geoff turns his back on the fellow and pedals away. Steve laughs at the interchange and follows. I give a 'See you later" and head off, regretting not having another riding mate to work with on what I was sure was going to be a hard effort.

Chris, the fellow all kitted up with eyes on the pavement, was in town for ten days and wanted to get the miles in and race this weekend in the big Elite 2 Les Boucles Catalanes. He has plans to cat up to Elite 1 this year and made a show of being on a strict diet; no cheese or breads. But here, with the riders that are never passed for long on the road, who plan to figure in each race they're in, what matters is the miles and being on the bike. It's cruel, but Chris would have been better to try and fail, then to not try at all. Doing that betrayed a lack of heart and dedication to his declared goals and that is the only real sin a bike racer can make. Geoff really wanted him to ride and make the committment, but he couldn't.

Ah well, our threesome headed north. I wasn't going to mention that I flatted on the way to Le Boulou and was running an unglued tire and had no spare. Carpe diem and beware being perceived as making excuses (but I was going to take it easy on the hairpins today). Our meeting place was on the road from St. Colombe de Comanderie to Thuir and we now turned back to catch the road to Le Soler. The Rousillon plain is south of Perpignan and we now were riding on the edge of the Salanque plain north of the city. The road was smooth and flat as crossed the Tet river.

"What's that," I point out a small peak with tower and a hermitage. La Forca Real was going to be figuring big in our immediate future, but first we needed to cross a small col. The Col de la Dona was only 200 meters high, but the long drag on the rough road made it seem much taller. Steve wasn't working too hard, he was racing Saturday and Sunday and just wanted to turn over the cranks slow and easy, but Geoff and I were breathing hard.

Estagel came and we turned south to Montner and started climbing again, this time to the Col de la Bataille. My legs felt great after a day off and a recovery ride on Monday. The downhill run in to Millas and our coffee stop was more problematic, no letting it loose with an unglued tire, and I let a gap grow between us until the road straightened out a bit. We pulled into the Cafe du Midi and ordered three cafe cremes, set up a table and chairs and talked about the day's ride, the coming race and the bloke who crapped out back in Thuir.

The climb to Castelnou from Thuir is a lovely 6k or so, with the last 2k being switchbacks. My first time up a few weeks ago had been hard, this time the road has somehow flattened and I crested fresh. "You're getting fitter," Geoff offered as we descended through the scrub oak and rocky outcrops. Another rider had the timidity to pass us on a slight rise before Corbiere and I watched Steve get the go ahead from Geoff, the catch and the brief absorption of the rider into our group before he was dropped. Our pace on these long rides is 'tranquil' but when someone makes a motion to upstage the Alpha rider, the response is quick and decisive. Catch, draft, pass, drop. In so many ways the cycling culture seems complex and subtle, but the base reality is harsh and unbending. Either you can ride with us or you can't. If you can't, don't pretend you can. If you can't, but want to and are willing to work, you'll get help, but all respect is earned.

Respect on a bike can't be bought in the boutique bike shop.