After lunch—salad Italienne for Mick and a crepe for me—and a siesta—thirty minutes with one eye shut, we tog up and assault Superbagnères. It’s not a mountain so much as a ski-field. But at 1800 metres it’s a major ascent.
No easy climbs in France, and Superbangers as I christen it, is no exception. It’s warm and I ride sans casquette, wrapping my helmet straps round the handlebars. In no time sweat drips of the peak of my cap, streams down the lenses of my glasses, and makes a shimmering lake of the face of my computer.
It’s an 18-kilometre ascent, the last three into cloud so heavy I can see only five metres ahead. Cows with bells clanging fade into tiers above the road. The bike wants to keel over; it seems as tired of this heavy haulage as I am. It’s twelve degrees at the summit.
Unfortunately the cloud lowers itself into the valley of the Lys and the descent is as cool as the climb was the opposite. The final ten kays snakes back into Luchon: it’s high-speed exhilaration all the way.
[73.81kms @ 18.8kph. Montage 1757m, Max alt 1800m, max climb 16%]
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