A Cold Day in St. Marsal

Today on weather.com it was 57 degrees in Colesburg, Iowa. Here in sunny southern France, on the Cote Vermeil, it was 43 degrees when I left the house and a balmy 47 when we stopped for a cafe at 11am in St. Marsal. With winds gusting past 50 miles per hour.

The winds started on Monday and now, on Wednesday, it's hard to imagine a ride without them. The Tramontane commonly blows out of the northwest this time of the year and so I rely on Geoff's expertise at route selection to keep us on the south east side of things and in the trees as much as possible. I bundled in my winter riding kit and took a very easy ride to Le Boulou into the wind, spinning and remembering the summer breezes of a week earlier. Geoff popped up to the rondpoint right on time, ten to nine, and we collected David a few miles down the road at the rondpoint in St. Jean Pla de Corts, turning our attention then to the Col de Llauro and the blessed sanctuary of the cork trees on it's easterly slopes.

Conversation today turned to the upcoming Milan-San Remo race on Saturday and whether it was possible to get close enough to see it, my creaking seatpost and my weight, the proliferation of watt meters and other devices among riders not dedicated to riding their bikes, and my pedalling style.

The last topic waited for our stop at the crossroads just beneath Llauro, as I begged an Allen wrench off of Geoff and David stripped his windbreaker off and packed it away. 'You pedal like you're chopping wood,' Geoff said. I thought about this. 'Don't take it personally and you can tell me to shut up, but you need to get more relaxed on the bike.' On one level, criticism of anything one does, stings a bit, but on another level, I was pleased that Geoff cared enough to risk sharing it with me. A good teacher is one that is still learning or as Socrates said, you fall off the path of philosophy when you think you've found the truth.

The basis of Geoff's critique were two things: my high cadence climbing style, and my body position. I'm not going to change my pedaling style on climbs as it's what gets me over. Pushing 100 kilograms of mass up a col wreaks havoc on my knees and keeping less pressure on them with a high cadence and shifting to keep it high, means no knee pain after the ride is done. The real underlying issue, as it is with my creaking seatpost, is my weight. 100 kilos is a lot of weight and dropping it down is a struggle. I am way to stiff on the bike and have to constantly remind myself to relax, especially shoulders and hands. These things come with miles on the bike, fatique and more miles on the bike, and pointed criticism from friends.

We roll on towards the Col de Xatard. 'Don't work so hard,' Geoff yells through the wind. But I'm not working hard, my heart rate just on the edge of zone 2, 135bpm, pretty good for climbing an 8% grade. I tell him so, and he mumbles something about turning the monitor off. There's snow on the ground now, in the shadowed areas. It's strange seeing snow, the first time it's been this low since my arrival January 2nd.

The Col de Xatard sits at about 2100 feet. We stop and David puts his windbreaker back on, snap a few pics and we're off towards St. Marsal and what is looking to be a very cold descent to Ceret.

By the time we spot the chairs outside the cafe in St. Marsal, my toes are numb, fingers following suit and the idea of a hot cafe creme is appealing. Inside the cafe, the word rustic falls short. There's a boar's head over a fireplace, leaded glass windows framed in dark oak line the walls, and rectangular wood tables and angular chairs welcome us. We're alone inside and the smiling innkeeper takes our order for three cafe au laits. Life is good. We pull out jam sandwiches and David checks his messages. I stretch out and wonder how they got the boar's tongue to twist in that way.