Earlier this year I remarked to Tony Panting that at 77½ he was probably at his peak for tackling some French cols. It sparked an idea that led to a holiday in the Pyrenees.

Accompanied by our wives, Maureen and Ann, we drove down to the Midi-Pyrenees, south west of Toulouse. The area isn’t too far away from some of the iconic climbs that grace our TV screens each July, and is close to the Petites Pyrenees, which was convenient for a loosening up ride on the day after we arrived.

On day two, while Maureen and Ann were set to walk to our nearest town, Tony and I piled the bikes in a car and drove across to the town of Luz-St-Sauveur – the gateway to the climbs of Luz-Ardiden and our choice for the day: the Col du Tourmalet. On the drive down we could see the mountains ahead shrouded in cloud, with visibility no higher than about four or five hundred metres. As we drove along the valley road towards Luz-St-Sauveur there was no improvement and the prospect of staying dry looked slim.

Nevertheless we unpacked the bikes, had a bit of a warm up and set off up the climb. About halfway up we popped out of the thick cloud into a clear blue sky with lovely views all around.

The first 13km of the Tourmalet doesn’t seem so bad, the gradients are manageable and you don’t need to trouble the lower sprockets too much. This gives you a false sense of confidence which gradually evaporates along with the available oxygen as you start the final 5km push to the summit. Things slowly get harder as the countdown begins, it’s a combination of the altitude and gradient change, and the final two kilometre section is tough going.

Having reached the summit I donned a rain cape, had a drink and a bite to eat. I had planned to freewheel down to meet Tony and accompany him back up. I fully expected to have to descend a good way down to find him. Imagine my surprise when I saw him at the 2km to go sign, teeth firmly gritted and eyes focused on the road immediately ahead of him! By the time I’d turned round, taken off my cape and  clipped back into my pedals he had passed the 1km to go sign and was overtaking a couple of Frenchmen. I managed to get past him and capture the moment as he crossed the line. His time for the climb? One hour 55 minutes. A magnificent performance.

The descent was great until we entered the cloud layer, where it turned cold. We stopped in a ski village for a couple of espressos before carrying on down to the valley and Luz. Mission accomplished.

After a day of R&R we embarked on major col number two: the Port de Bales – scene of Andy Schleck’s chain problem a couple of Tours ago. Temperatures were in the mid 30s as we turned off the road to the Peyresourde onto what I thought was the road up to Port de Bales. As the road narrowed and the gradient increased to around 15% it became apparent that we had climbed about 4km up a dead-end road. All things considered Tony took the news very well, and by now has probably forgiven me. Back down to the main road – very quickly – and next left onto the correct route. The narrow road twists and turns quite steeply for the 15km ascent but the views down into lush meadows and woods are spectacular, a bucolic scene with the sound of cowbells wafting up on the breeze and snow covered peaks in the background. Attention to the road was necessary though as there was just a narrow strip of grass between tarmac and fresh air on one side and a deep rainwater gulley on the other. Yet again, on the steep slopes with the sun beating down on us, Tony played his trump card: sheer dogged determination. Whilst obviously suffering all sorts of agonies he refused any suggestion of calling it a day, muttering instead that he wasn’t going to be beaten by the climb or the heat. And he wasn’t. Battling his way to the summit and beaming as he crossed the line.  

The descent to the valley below was about as exhilarating as it gets. About 18km of hairpin bends that wound their way through meadows and woodland, with those ever-present drop-offs should you happen to miscalculate your line. Couple this with the road repairs ready for this year’s Tour (final mountain stage), that had left patches of gravel on some of the bends, and you had everything needed to ensure you stayed focused on the job in hand.

At the bottom of the climb is the village of Mauleon-Barousse, spruced up and looking very floral ready for its big day in July. An umbrella bedecked café looked inviting and we were straight in for ice-creams. At first sight the owner mistook us for Spaniards (understandable I guess, what with our combined weight of 116kgs). He seemed to warm to us even more when he found out our true roots. He pointed us in the right direction for St-Bertrand, where we had left the car, saying that it was a 30 minute ride all down hill – or 10 minutes if you’re Lance Armstrong! He was right, a gentle descent with hardly any pressure needed on the pedals to round off another good day in the high country.

Two days later we rode out from our gite towards the Col-de-Portet d’ Aspet (the mountain that claimed the life of Lance Armstrong’s teammate, Fabio Casartelli in the 1995 Tour). The approach to the climb was a test in itself and time was running away from us. After a coffee in Aspet we elected to turn for home. Maybe another year?

All in all a very good holiday both on and off the bikes with lots of great memories; of which my abiding one will be the sight of Tony, massively exceeding my expectations for him, fighting his way up the last 2km of the Tourmalet and punching the air with joy as he crossed the line.

Justin Wallace

30 July 2012 

From Tony Panting...

Justin was my mentor and 'mother hen' on these 'mind blowing climbs'and deserves full credit for giving me the encouragement to ride out of my skin. All I did was provide the guts and detemination to get up there. I went with a nasty chesty cold and how he put up with all my incessant phlegmy coughs and blowing of the nose particularly on our 'warm ups' I'll never know.  But boy, was'it worth it?  Absolutely mind blowing. Especially the Port de Bales. Views to take your breath away (when one had time to glance through glazed eyes and sweat!)