Col Xatard

The Sunday morning roll up to Amelie les Bains was interrupted by a rifle shot, and then tinkling sound of bolts hitting the pavement. 'What the hell was that?' Geoff thought that maybe a sniper had taken me out. No, just the seat bolt on my FSA carbon seatpost had sheared off, leaving me seatless in Ceret.

'I'll call Janet and have her bring her bike and I'll swap the seatpost out.' Geoff would meet the club 8k up the road in Amelie and come straight back and we'd ride back to St Jean Pla de Corts and meet them on the road. We had a big ride planned today: 3 cols, albeit small ones, in the beautiful Aspres foothills of the Canigou. Now I was sitting in front of a curious woman's house, staring at my shoes and trying to look inconspicuous in my bright orange and red kit.

Janet came along in twenty minutes, kids in the back seat worried about daddy's crash. No crash, just a few too many kilos on the seat yet. A large brocante, or garage sale, was taking place in Villelongue and Janet wasn't sure she'd be able to get the car back to the house.

In a few minutes, the seat was on, post in and Geoff had returned to continue our ride. Once in St Jean, we quickly found the club, having to weave through a classic auto show that was taking place (what happened to people going to church on Sunday morning?) and dodge an imbecilic woman on a cellphone intent on causing a pileup of expensive cars. The club had picked up their pace to 22mph on the flat road to Ceret and our first climb, making our catch a little harder than expected.

For the first time this year, there were more English speakers in the bunch then French. A club from England was visiting for a week-long training camp and eight of their riders had joined the ride. Four quickly dropped off the back on the way up to the Col de Llauro and weren't seen again. This time my big idea was to follow wheels to the top. My legs were still a bit sore from Wednesday's effort in Spain and Friday's three hour ride in the wind. A day off hadn't fixed things and I wasn't sure what they would do for me on the climbs. Moving up wheels till I was third wheel, behind Geoff and Bernard was fine. We were rolling along at about 12mph or so, not bad for the grade and most of the talking in the group behind had stopped. Bernard pulled off on a corner and Geoff led us for a couple of kilometers, churning out a comfortable gear. By the time he wiggled his elbow for me to come through, I was actually feeling rested and picked up the pace a bit. Not going into the red and fully aware of the fact he would expect me to contest a sprint at the top.

Thinking about this I wiggled my elbow and let one of the new English guys through, who promptly pushed the pace again. The game was on and I took his wheel and Geoff, mine. I don't know who else was behind, everything was focused on the road in front. After a bend, Geoff shouts 'A gauche' and I sprint hard to the left dropping the Brit, but not hard enough; Geoff had caught my wheel.

'You didn't give it 100 percent, did you?' True, because I didn't know where the top was exactly (it was a few hundred meters ahead). 'Nope.'

Our smaller group reconvenes at the top and we roll on to the village of Llauro, now following Jean Marie who sets a comfortable pace. We pass through Oms and turn right at the crossroads for the Col de Fourtou. No heroics, just a nice rolling pace. I feel my legs recovering from the sprint earlier and get to know one of the young Brits. I share that I'm training my weakness at this point, hill-climbing. He notes that I must be a pretty good sprinter, but nods when I tell him I had just lost the last one to a 61 year old man. We reconvene again at the col. A hunting party has gathered there, getting ready to call their dogs up from the valley, driving game at them to be shot. After a few minutes the rest of the group arrived and we decided we should leave before the shooting started. Jean Marie heads back down the mountain, leaving the climb to the Col Xatard to us.

The pace heats up quickly and soon it's five or six of us rolling up the slope again. According to the Michelin map, there's actually two more cols on the way to the Xatard, the Col del Rang and the Col del Ram. As these don't actually have road signs and I really can't remember where they would be, I won't count them in my col tally today. Before we reached the Xatard, it was Geoff, me, David, the Brit I beat on the Llauro col and Bernard. I had Geoff's wheel but wasn't sure what the sprint was or if there was one. I would just wait until he let her rip. When he shifted to his big ring, I did too and jumped when he did, passing him before the village. Did I win a sprint from Geoff? I'm still not sure and didn't have time to think about it as we turned the corner and carried on to St. Marsal.

The road dipped and our speed reached 40mph. The Brit was in front, but I moved past him when I had the chance, not knowing how he descended, prefering to crash on my own terms. Geoff, David and Bernard were tight behind and we reached the first of several long false flats that were as hard as the actual cols. Pulling off after two, Bernard offers, 'Vous travaillez.' and we continue down.

With about 5k to go before Amelie, Geoff dives around a corner and I follow behind, finally having an advantage, my weight. We stay together to the bottom and have a cold beer with our new friends from England, after they get arrive a while later.