Pouncing Lessons: Part 2

At the crest of the Col de Banyuls, the smooth pavement of Spain gives way to the rotted and rutted pavement of France and we descend a perilous road the width of one small camion. We were dropping through the ancient vineyards of the Romans and Templars, home of the famous Banyuls appellation of strong and sweet wines, and sharing the tiny road with working vehicles.

The group reconstitutes at the bottom, some had started down already when David's tube gave up its ghost, and we take a leisurely ride down the valley bottom to Banyuls sur Mer and a cafe on the plage. My legs still feel fine. I've done about 55 miles at this point, about normal for a mid-ride coffee. We park the bikes near the chairs by the sand and decide which section is open for business. The cafes across the street each have a grouping of the chairs and tables, in their shop colors, and they send out a waiter to brave the tourist traffic and take our orders. The three English-speaking riders order coffees, as does Veronique, several of the Frenchmen order beers and pull out sandwiches made with half a baguette. The Club du Vallespir generously picks up the tab and we sit in the sun for some time, drinking, eating (jam and cheese for me) and sharing anecdotes.

The road along the sea climbs out of Banyuls and I try to shift down on the front rings on the climb, promptly dropping my chain. 'Attende, attende,' Veronique says and she pulls out her hand cleaning wipes. I'm perfectly willing to wipe the grease on the black of my shorts but accept her gesture. We start the climb and the crew ahead is nowhere in sight, but we soon reconnect at the rondpoint above town.

The pace now picks up and it's again Alain, Geoff and myself riding at tempo up the rest of the climb. Geoff swings out and waves me through. I know we've just shifted back from club comraderie to race training, but misread his arm wave and shoot past both him and Alain, continuing on my merry way ahead of them until I get stopped by a bus trying to negotiate the hairpins on the coastal road. He and Alain catch me there and a furious Geoff asks me what the hell I was doing? And so, the pouncing lessons begin.

My kids were watching Lion King on video last night and there is a scene where the king, Mufasa, is showing his young son how to hunt. The parrot, Mufasa's major domo, is the unsuspecting prey. It occurs to me that this is what Geoff is doing with me, teaching me how to hunt in a race. Identify the prey, wait for weakness and then pounce, and pass, without mercy. I get it, but Geoff is accelerating up the hill before Collioure and I have to push to gain his wheel, dropping Alain in the process. We careen towards the central ville and stop at the public WC at the beach. The other riders reconvene, fill water bottles and make use of something better than a bush on the side of the road. Several are looked a bit peaked. 'He's focked,' Geoff surmises of the fellow on the Trek who had just consumed a beer and a sandwich the size of Pittsburgh. This time Veronique and the rider having the hardest time on the hills don't reappear before we head on; we're officially in competitive mode now.

The road to Argeles is flat or downhill and an easy roll. Once we reach the turn at the feus for Sorede, the pace quickens a bit and we settle in behind another club rider for the climb to Sorede. We're all just keeping warm and I'm preparing mentally for the hill at Villelongue and Montesquieu. I've done this so many times now, but when we hit the Villelongue climb, we're still going at a moderate pace, four of us together, now following Alain. He, like the bird in Lion King, doesn't seem to enjoy being the prey and asks me to pull in front. 'Keep on his wheel,' Geoff barks and I do.

Alain picks up the pace and we drop everyone else as we climb out of my village. We're going fast now, I'm in my big ring for the first time on this climb, following Alain and Geoff following me. Alain tries sprinting away and I close the gap. He pulls off and I accelerate through as we hit the road hits a steep pitch. This is the point where I would normally say 'That was a good ride' and spin the rest of the way up, but Geoff is having none of that and sprints past, 'C'mon, get my wheel.' I accelerate, but give up. Geoff yells, 'Are you a man, c'mon, get my wheel!' And I do. I'm way past my threshold now, having a hard time breathing, let alone holding this guy's wheel. I know Montesquieu is just around the bend, when Geoff sprints. Damn it. I try to follow but get gapped. He slows a bit, but rolls into the village 50 meters ahead of me, Alain is far back.

At the fountain, a flash of a smile from Geoff as the riders roll up. I know I've been pushed to a limit and could have pushed past it, but I will next time. There's an anger there; it lies deep in the gut, This is the difference between being really fit and training well and winning bike races.

90, 5:45, 5000ft