The morning is cold; dark clouds hang over the Alberes and the ground is wet with rain. The temperature is hanging in the low 40's. Today is my last Sunday ride with the Club du Vallespir in Amelie les Bains, my eleventh ride I think, enough to become a tad nostalgic. Now each spot, village, and landmark is embued with layers of memories from the past months.
The wind is blowing about 10mph out of the northwest, a welcome relief from the 40-50mph gusts of the past week. A new front is moving in and a few drops of rain spatter the bars. The rondpoint at Le Boulou, the meeting place for group rides with Geoff. The first morning in January, fresh from my drive from the north, and I remember the cold pink sunrise on the Canigou, snowless then, but my first view of it.
Geoff rolls up. 'Bonjour. Ca va?' Our ritual greeting and hand grasp. Twenty five times now? We roll on through St. Jean Pla de Corts, passing our Wednesday turn to Vives and the Col de Llauro, David's meeting spot. Ceret comes after a lovely four k's on new tarmac and then a rude reintroduction to broken asphalt. We pass the house where I waited last week for Janet and the kids to bring a replacement seatpost; we pass the turn to the incredible Musee d'Art Moderne with its collection of Picassos and I remember ambling through the hallways with my boys and Janet.
The red-faced drunk, who must live outside, greets just as we turn towards La Cabanasse, Le Pont de Reynes, La Forge, the villages roll past. This climb doesn't feel like much of a climb anymore; 120,000 feet of climbing in the past three months has seen to that, and now the focus is on the place, searing in the sights, smells, sounds, trying to hold on to the memory of it. Geoff and I are talking about cycling in his childhood, his use of the bicycle as both entertainment and escape. We pass the Amelie les Bains sign still three kilometers from the meeting spot in the centre ville.
The ride today is about 70k roundtrip from Amelie with the club, adding in another 60k for me travelling up and down the valley and a few more k's to ride to the Bourne Michelin with Geoff afterwards. Length is one measure of the ride and 140k seems long, but elevation is now more important to me and, outside of the small 6k climb Geoff and I do after the club ride, today is pretty darned flat and the group will stay together for the most part.
David has a couple of friends visiting from Scotland and Bob is out for the ride today. He and I coast down the valley to St. Genis together, passing my village road en route. Bob is on a magnificent Pinarello Dogma, Record-equipped, complete with squiggly carbon forks and dropouts. Later, Geoff will tell me I'm the only one who noticed, but this bike is art and a pleasure to look at. Also later, Bob will shoot out the back when the pace goes from 21 to 25 as we climb back up the valley; there is pressure to perform when you have a 8,000 dollar machine underneath you.
The pace is easy for me and I slot in with Bob and then a French rider for a while as we roll towards the apex of the route at Villaneuve de la Raho. As we approach the town center, confusion reigns for a few minutes as the group completely circles the rondpoint; the front of the group doesn't know the route to Bages. Geoff shoots to the front and guides the point in the right direction.
The rain returns as we cross the small hills of the Aspres, small rises between the vineyards. 'En train,' someone yells as the group negoitiates the potholed tarmac. The brings out the dark brown of the old vines and the crimson of the rocky soil. I move up behind David and Geoff to avoid eating too much of the road spray and we roll on through the edge of Banyuls des Aspres and into St. Jean Lasseille's narrow streets.
The cold rain is starting to soak in now, but my legs feel warm enough. David asks if I'm going all the way up the valley to Amelie; my village is 12k the other direction. This being the last club ride for me, there's no way I'm cutting it short. He shakes his head as if talking to a crazy man. His fellow Scot, Bob, has gone off the back now and he'll wait for him at the rondpoint in Ceret and head home. Of all of the temptations to turn for home, Geoff's was probably the strongest. With the rain pouring down, we passed within a half kilometer of his house. After the ride, I asked him if that was tough and he laughed. It was.
Past Ceret, others turn off and we have maybe eight riders left. Phillipe is leading us now, a good rider with smooth style. Geoff yells for me to grab his wheel and I do. I'm not working too hard yet and if there is a sprint, I feel like I have a good chance today. Geoff is on my wheel and Bernard, a young French rider is on his. We cruise through the villages I rode through a few hours before, faster this time, Phillipe hammering out a tempo. I check, I'm in the right gear, and move just to the left of Phillipe's wheel.
Just inside the town sign, a kilometer from the sprint finish, Phillipe eases off and I have to brake to stay behind him. It's too early to go and I start to wonder if there is going to be a sprint. Phillipe completely eases off and I have two choices. Sprint now and try to open a gap on Geoff, or ease off to and accept there won't be a sprint. There is time for the question to pop into my head, what if I sprint and no one else does? A few weeks earlier, there was no sprint; everyone just eased off. Maybe because of my continued role as a foreigner on the ride, maybe because I'm still lacking confidence, maybe something else causes me to downshift and ease up with Phillipe and in that instant, Geoff reacts and shoots by with Bernard on his wheel. I jump and catch Bernard's wheel, but I'm a long way from Geoff.
I get chastised as we eat our food at the bus stop in Amelie. I know what my problem is: I still want to belong to the group and the risk of not following the group outweighed my need to finish first. I'm frustrated with myself. I also think that I should actually have taken Geoff's wheel and not vice versa. 'Bourne Michelin?' Geoff asks? 'Sure.' The short climb will be a good penance for screwing up the end of a good ride.
78.3, 4:38, 3020ft.
The wind is blowing about 10mph out of the northwest, a welcome relief from the 40-50mph gusts of the past week. A new front is moving in and a few drops of rain spatter the bars. The rondpoint at Le Boulou, the meeting place for group rides with Geoff. The first morning in January, fresh from my drive from the north, and I remember the cold pink sunrise on the Canigou, snowless then, but my first view of it.
Geoff rolls up. 'Bonjour. Ca va?' Our ritual greeting and hand grasp. Twenty five times now? We roll on through St. Jean Pla de Corts, passing our Wednesday turn to Vives and the Col de Llauro, David's meeting spot. Ceret comes after a lovely four k's on new tarmac and then a rude reintroduction to broken asphalt. We pass the house where I waited last week for Janet and the kids to bring a replacement seatpost; we pass the turn to the incredible Musee d'Art Moderne with its collection of Picassos and I remember ambling through the hallways with my boys and Janet.
The red-faced drunk, who must live outside, greets just as we turn towards La Cabanasse, Le Pont de Reynes, La Forge, the villages roll past. This climb doesn't feel like much of a climb anymore; 120,000 feet of climbing in the past three months has seen to that, and now the focus is on the place, searing in the sights, smells, sounds, trying to hold on to the memory of it. Geoff and I are talking about cycling in his childhood, his use of the bicycle as both entertainment and escape. We pass the Amelie les Bains sign still three kilometers from the meeting spot in the centre ville.
The ride today is about 70k roundtrip from Amelie with the club, adding in another 60k for me travelling up and down the valley and a few more k's to ride to the Bourne Michelin with Geoff afterwards. Length is one measure of the ride and 140k seems long, but elevation is now more important to me and, outside of the small 6k climb Geoff and I do after the club ride, today is pretty darned flat and the group will stay together for the most part.
David has a couple of friends visiting from Scotland and Bob is out for the ride today. He and I coast down the valley to St. Genis together, passing my village road en route. Bob is on a magnificent Pinarello Dogma, Record-equipped, complete with squiggly carbon forks and dropouts. Later, Geoff will tell me I'm the only one who noticed, but this bike is art and a pleasure to look at. Also later, Bob will shoot out the back when the pace goes from 21 to 25 as we climb back up the valley; there is pressure to perform when you have a 8,000 dollar machine underneath you.
The pace is easy for me and I slot in with Bob and then a French rider for a while as we roll towards the apex of the route at Villaneuve de la Raho. As we approach the town center, confusion reigns for a few minutes as the group completely circles the rondpoint; the front of the group doesn't know the route to Bages. Geoff shoots to the front and guides the point in the right direction.
The rain returns as we cross the small hills of the Aspres, small rises between the vineyards. 'En train,' someone yells as the group negoitiates the potholed tarmac. The brings out the dark brown of the old vines and the crimson of the rocky soil. I move up behind David and Geoff to avoid eating too much of the road spray and we roll on through the edge of Banyuls des Aspres and into St. Jean Lasseille's narrow streets.
The cold rain is starting to soak in now, but my legs feel warm enough. David asks if I'm going all the way up the valley to Amelie; my village is 12k the other direction. This being the last club ride for me, there's no way I'm cutting it short. He shakes his head as if talking to a crazy man. His fellow Scot, Bob, has gone off the back now and he'll wait for him at the rondpoint in Ceret and head home. Of all of the temptations to turn for home, Geoff's was probably the strongest. With the rain pouring down, we passed within a half kilometer of his house. After the ride, I asked him if that was tough and he laughed. It was.
Past Ceret, others turn off and we have maybe eight riders left. Phillipe is leading us now, a good rider with smooth style. Geoff yells for me to grab his wheel and I do. I'm not working too hard yet and if there is a sprint, I feel like I have a good chance today. Geoff is on my wheel and Bernard, a young French rider is on his. We cruise through the villages I rode through a few hours before, faster this time, Phillipe hammering out a tempo. I check, I'm in the right gear, and move just to the left of Phillipe's wheel.
Just inside the town sign, a kilometer from the sprint finish, Phillipe eases off and I have to brake to stay behind him. It's too early to go and I start to wonder if there is going to be a sprint. Phillipe completely eases off and I have two choices. Sprint now and try to open a gap on Geoff, or ease off to and accept there won't be a sprint. There is time for the question to pop into my head, what if I sprint and no one else does? A few weeks earlier, there was no sprint; everyone just eased off. Maybe because of my continued role as a foreigner on the ride, maybe because I'm still lacking confidence, maybe something else causes me to downshift and ease up with Phillipe and in that instant, Geoff reacts and shoots by with Bernard on his wheel. I jump and catch Bernard's wheel, but I'm a long way from Geoff.
I get chastised as we eat our food at the bus stop in Amelie. I know what my problem is: I still want to belong to the group and the risk of not following the group outweighed my need to finish first. I'm frustrated with myself. I also think that I should actually have taken Geoff's wheel and not vice versa. 'Bourne Michelin?' Geoff asks? 'Sure.' The short climb will be a good penance for screwing up the end of a good ride.
78.3, 4:38, 3020ft.
Posts
1 comment:
Hey Chris!!
Great writing- Be on the lookout for one of my teammates- She is in Marsal w/ her husband for about 2 weeks. Check out her photo at cowgirlsracing.blogspot.com
Can't wait to hang with you again, hopefully I'm fit enough to hang on to your wheel with the skin of my teeth!
until then,
Katie R
Post a Comment