Further: A lost weekend in the Ariège Pyrénées

“Further”, “Further Journal”, “Further Race”.

Even having raced the 513 kilometres, I am still none the wiser as to the name.

Anyway, as sold, it was most definitely ‘a lost weekend’. The first noticeable difference to the usual ultra-race was the start: gone were the torches and families. Instead, just the racers, a straggling bunch of 11, lying around a meadow by an ancient church. Any lack of quantity was made it up in quality. Camille, being Camille (see my race preview: Wild racing in the Pyrenees), it was different. No brevet cards, no numbered caps. That suits me - I don’t ride for medals or merchandise, just memories. As I waited to start, I just knew for sure I would be getting plenty from my ride around the ripe and craggy Ariège.

I don’t know when the bell tolled on Friday morning (again, see the preview!), I was resting my eyes. When it did though, I was up and off before others had fitted their sunglasses. I was here to race.

I had come with a plan to beat the two ex-professionals. Laurens ten Dam, just retired, was in his first ultra-race, so facing a big learning curve. He’s a particularly good climber with top 10 finishes in plenty of top stage races including the Tour de France in 2014. Ex-Canadian road race champion and top time triallist, Christian Meier, had retired in 2016 but I expected him to be harder to beat. We’d already raced in 2020, at the Atlas Mountain Race in Morocco. He had to stop after 450 km, when leading, with ‘sitting on the saddle’ issues but was now back for more. I knew he had the bug.

I was determined not to be beaten. This was my racing home. Although an outright off-road ultra win had so far eluded me, I felt that ‘home’ advantage would shine on me. As I set off, I did feel good.

Christian and Laurens were just behind and their sheer speed showed itself early when they both caught me as I started to climb. Christian tried to chat and I offered back my best terse responses, in a vain attempt to hide my real effort. I was pushing hard but I not tasting blood from the effort, not yet.

As we entered a town, Laurens and Christian went left, and I went right. What! They must have got a wrong turn, those noobs. Suddenly my nice tarmac road turned to gravel. Ah, it must be Sector 1 and they missed it. I plough on, seeing the tarmac road below me. I twist and turn. Eventually I get off the gravel and back to tarmac. I check the map to see if this was in fact Sector 1, it seemed short. But alas, the ‘veteran’, racing ‘at home,’ had made the routing error. I’d only lost a few minutes, but I cursed myself. I pushed back on the pedals but they were gone. Perhaps best to lose them now, I would have been dropped soon anyway.

The day wore on and we began to hit the sectors. Finally, reprieve from the boredom of tarmac. Oh, how times have changed for me! As I finished Sector 2, I spotted Camille, bent over, leaning into his car for something. I shouted at him: ‘stop scratching your arse’ as I blew past. This was fun!

The proper climbing began at Sector 3. By climbing, I mean bike on your back and scrambling up hiking trails. The right bike would have been no bike. Still, my competitive edge was sharp. At the start of the trail there was a sign to the refuge, where we were heading, it said 2h 30m. I had my target.

The minutes ticked by. I accept the walking elements or so-called ‘hike -a-bike.’ A nice pause from the pedalling that gives me moments to take in where I am, which in this case is a wild and remote mountain country with big views. I filled my bottles in a mountain stream. I paused my stopwatch as I reached the refuge: 2h 20m. Under the 2h 30m and carrying my bike; a victory. I circled around the refuge, again teasing Camille, ‘that was a nice warm-up but I am looking forward to getting to the hard bits’. Camille and I WhatsApp regularly, our relationship consists of winding each other up, talking bikes and motorbikes. It works well. He’d made me carry a bike up a mountain. I was out to get my own back.

The descent from the refuge was Sector 4. It was fast and soon I was blasting onto tarmac and off the mountain. I would soon regret my taunts. As the afternoon wore into the evening, Sectors 5, 6, 7 and 8 came: boom, boom, boom. From beautiful gravel climbs, to brutal bike pushing. They took their toll as I tried to find my way through the darkening woods with fallen trees and gloomy ravines. This was my moment. We were done with the fast climbs and into the grit of the race. Raw speed wouldn’t help. Getting through these sectors at night? Well; experience, route finding and mental fortitude would help. My strengths.

As my legs began to protest, I offered them a deal. Non-negotiable. We stop for a 20-minute power nap then go again. I hadn’t brought any sleeping kit. I lay down, no need to wrap up, I was warm from the effort. My phone alarm buzzed and I was back on the bike. I checked the tracker briefly on some tarmac, Christian and Laurens had both stopped. They had been in front but were now behind. My lead was only due to not sleeping and I would pay a price because they would both be re-energised so would ride faster. I was on a schedule, following a plan that could see me win.

As darkness gave way to morning my mind gave way to boredom. I was on the only long flat of the race in gentle rain. My pre-race plea for adversarial weather had been granted. The old railway line played tricks with my mind, I seemed to be going nowhere, at warp speed. Eventually, it ended and up next was Sector 10, a beautiful climb to an abandoned historic mine. In part, it was Camille’s image of this mine that had sold me to do the race.

Sector 10 was the first sector with a night curfew, from 20:45 to 07:00, deemed too dangerous to ride at night. No bother, I was there in the mid-morning. Around 5 km from the top, I met the danger. These were ragged grubby versions of the famous Pyrenean Mountain Dog. Three big ugly white sheep dogs charged with guarding the flocks from wolves and bears (true). I was no fan of mountain sheep dogs, having met a few in the middle of the night racing Italy Divide. I had raw memories of a terrifying race against a pack of dogs that really seemed to hate me. It wasn’t much fun walking the 5km to the pass as these three encircled me. One in front, one behind and one on the hill above me. I tried to ride but they went mad, so I walked, into the hazy mist. Eventually I made it to the top. I took a moment to wrap up, and went on my way, still on foot, escorted by the great slobber drooling dogs. Clearly, I was disturbing their brunch, as the one in front would stop now and then to gorge on a leg of raw meat it was carrying. I wondered, whose leg? I had the time to think as I walked down. A sheep? No, he was to guard them. Another dog? A human?! I pushed the thoughts away as I finally got out of their territory and back onto my bike. Only a few hairpins later I spotted Christian behind me, my first sighting since I took the wrong turn. I made him about an hour behind me. Given he’d likely slept four hours, he was fast!

As I slogged and suffered up the 10% slopes of Col d’Agnes I was thankful for my mountain bike. Not because I was off road but because the 30:51 gearing was needed! I managed to get some phone signal. My average total speed so far was 12.3 kph.

I rode into the afternoon with no time to waste. I was on that schedule. What was it? Well, my plan was to get across Sector 12, with its night curfew, before 20:45. I figured, if I could do it, and the others didn’t, the win could, should, would be mine. That was the plan. My excel spreadsheet said I needed 12 kph average. Unless things went south, I would deliver, with time to spare.

I knew Laurens was falling back. Perhaps he was on holiday after all, or just suffering, I didn’t know. I just knew he wouldn’t make the cut-off. I needed, I wanted, to see where Christian was and I found him. He was riding fast, with real purpose, just behind me, perhaps by an hour. I put his speed at around 12 kph. Maybe he’d make it, maybe not. I wouldn’t waste more time thinking about it. I turned my attention to just getting over the pass and I summited at about 19:00.

I was on a mission. I had ridden this sector before the race and I knew the descent started with a short walk then a wicked drop down to the valley. I was on a top end hardtail mountain bike (see my report on the bike specifications) and I blasted down, eventually off the rocks and onto gravel. Trees flashed pass me, I knew I would make it before the cut-off, but I could still enjoy the descent. I saw Camille at the exit, camera in hand. I threw a skid, grinning ear to ear. I was having fun.

No sooner than I had gassed the sector than I was pulling into the only hotel I could see on the map.

I hear you! A hotel? Stopping? Surely, it’s a race? I know, a weird situation. Me being me, I’d have just knocked it out and hit the finish line at 03:00. However, Sector 15, 55 km away, also had a curfew. So, I stopped early so I could get dinner and a bed.

Soon I was showered and halfway through a good dinner. Christian turned up. He’d been around town looking for somewhere, eventually ending up where I was. It was a nice moment, he sat down and we broke bread. While racing. The demands of ultra-racing break down the barriers between competitors, only respect remains. I said I would leave around 02:00 and did he want to join me? He said he was in no rush and would leave at 05:00. I bid him good night. If true, he’d never catch me. While Sector 15 did not open until 07:00, five hours to ride 55 km might seem mad but there were Sectors 13 and 14 along the way. Who knows what pitfalls Camille had prepared for us.

06:30. The drizzle continued. I had 60 km to the finish but nowhere to go. I was waiting at the bottom of Sector 15. The two other sectors had been softer and I’d made good time. Better early than late. Camille appeared. We talked nonsense. I told him he could be in bed right now if he’d let me ride through the night. He took photos, it’s what he does. I put my foot on the pedal, the clock was 06:59:59. I pushed down and pedalled away.

Darkness once again gave way to light as the switchbacks ticked away. Sector 15 was a pleasant rocky climb. I toiled up and then Christian blew past me. He was racing, it’s in his blood. I checked my Ride with GPS. I still had half the climb to go. Down but not out. I knew it was unlikely I would see him again but as I know (better than most), these races are not over until they’re over. I pushed on the pedals.

Getting from Sector 15 to 16 was interesting. If you looked at the map briefly, you’d think you need to descend a little, then climb back up, going around. If you looked more carefully, you’d see that you could also hit out on a straight path. The gridlines were forgiving and the terrain looked passable. This was my moment. I hoped Christian would go around, and perhaps it would take him longer. However, an aspirant no more, he was already on it. The same idea, to smash across the dead ground. Before beginning the hike, I stopped to put on my Endura fleece and waterproofs. They make them good in Scotland. Thermal regulation is critical for me. I never let myself get too warm or cold. I set off. Visibility was bad but I stuck like glue to the line I’d plotted on my GPS.

Eventually I hit the top, the summit. From here it was all downhill. As I got to the track, through the mist, emerged the figure of Christian. The wind was blowing a gale and he looked cold as he tried to put on his flapping rain jacket. I shouted hello as I threw my leg over my bike. The terrain looked barely ridable but I had no choice. I’d ride it. I dragged my bike through some thickets. This must be Sector 16, poetically named by Camille as ‘Lost’. I was once lost, but now I am found. I have found the thing I do. I push pedals.

The twisting descent ended abruptly into a carpark. And a roaring tarmac descent opened up. We were coming down from 2000 m to the finish. I was on a mountain bike, throwing it around as best you can. I knew Christian would be right on me. Eventually the road flattened, with 16 km to go. 10 Miles. A Time Trial. I’ve spent years going up and down busy roads, crouched on a weird bike, wearing long socks, chasing times. Here I was again but being chased. Hold on, isn’t Christian a really strong time triallist? Well, I’ve done 10 miles in 18 minutes 46 seconds! I’m OK too!

I stuck it in the biggest gear I had, 30-10 and pushed the pedals. I tore into the finish, I was first. I collapsed onto the grass, out of it. There I lay for a while; the race was done. As I came to, Christian arrived. Just 7 minutes behind.

We’d just done 523 km in 48 hours, half the distance on the off-road sectors, with 14,000m of climbing. Fun!

Laurens rolled in third later in the day. He’s a tough guy. My congratulations to all that started.

Special respect to India Landy, who, missing the time cut-off, scratched to be at the finish ‘party.’ Once done, she got back on her bike to complete the full route.

Thanks to Camille for putting on his unique version of a bike packing race.

The Ariège is a beautiful place. If you want to ‘lose a weekend’, I can’t think of a better way.

The photo below was taken by Hunter, Camille’s son - capturing the moment Camille rang the church bell at the finishers party to mark the end of Further 2020.