Spoke 8: Traversée des Pyrénées á Vélo
Bella Molloy on the mindfulness of cycling across a mountain range
A Spoke is a guest writer on a spinning tale of cycle appreciation. There are 8 Spokes in a Season, and 32 spokes in the rims of my Brother Mehteh. That means there are many more spokes still to find their way to you.
For now, sit back, relax, and get lost on a journey through the Pyrénées.
I’ve been taking adventures on my bike since I first learnt how to ride. My household growing up wasn’t a happy one, but through my bike I found a means of escape and I always loved the freedom of being able to just push on the pedals and go. I distinctly remember my first ‘adventure’, I was about 6 years of age, and I snuck out on my hand me down BMX bike. While my adventure may have only been just a few short kms, I explored areas in the neighbourhood which may as well have been a new country. When you’re 6 small distances can feel huge and despite getting a fair hiding when my parents finally found me, that thirst for exploration on a bicycle has really stuck with me ever since.
Last year I started Seek Travel Ride, a podcast where I interview people taking their own bicycle adventures. Whether they are testing their limits in a bikepacking race or strapping on panniers for a multi-year world tour, the spirit of adventure and wanderlust which sharing their experiences brings, is for me a gift of travel. I’ve learnt loads from hearing their stories, many times they share anecdotes which I reflect on, and I guess they trigger me to think deeper on topics.
It was something Max Schnell shared with me during an interview for his Deux Mille challenge – where he cycled each mountain pass above 2000m in the Pyrénées and the Alps – that really stuck with me. Some background to Max, he’s been living a life as a bicycle nomad for years now and I was captivated by the honesty and candour with which he spoke. We connected about the joy of slow travel, stripping life back to its simple basic elements and not sticking to the societal norms. Max is an accomplished athlete – I mean he only took 77 days to complete his Deux Mille challenge – over 10,800km and some 270,000m of climbing over 204 mountain passes over 2000m in elevation no less. So, it’s fair to say someone who averages about 40,000km of cycling a year is no slouch on a bike.
But he told me when he rides up mountains on a loaded bike, he always remembers every single moment. When I heard him say this, I knew I needed to dig deeper and find out why. Max observed that normally he can’t help but try and push himself to his physical limits. On a climb he’ll look to chase the rider in front or try to go for a fast time and set a new personal record. But when he loads his bike up with gear, and starts riding uphill, all those thoughts immediately disappear. He feels a sense of freedom instead and is truly in the moment.
I live in the French Pyrénées and call those mountains home now. I’ve been fortunate enough to ride to many summits and explore the landscapes on my bicycle. But I’d always told myself that doing so on a bike loaded up would be that step too far. Cycling with all that extra weight on the bike would be too close to self-flagellation to be enjoyable. When I heard Max talk about that feeling of being totally in the moment, of remembering every part of the experience of cycling up a mountain on a loaded bike, I guess it sparked something in me.
So, it was I found myself just three weeks later loading my bike up with panniers for my own cycling trip. The plan was to cross the entire Pyrénées Mountain range from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. My husband who also enjoys the thrill of bicycle travels was hooked on the idea and decided to come along too.
We got into the route mapping and planning for the trip ahead. Roughly 800kms give or take and about 23 mountain passes to ride up and over. Our start point would be St Jean de Luz, still inside French borders but also deep within the beautiful Basque Country. Our finishing destination was that of Argelès-sur-Mer, a seaside town located right on the Mediterranean Sea. The Raid Pyrénées route formed a very rough basis of our trip but we weren’t fussed on stamping brevet cards at all. This adventure was purely about the experience.
It was about 11:30pm the night before leaving that everything finally got packed onto the bikes. Gear lists checked over, pictures of packing grids taken, and last-minute decisions made to go with a pannier set up as opposed to bikepacking bags. I’d had half a year of wanderlust, travelling through guest interviews hosting the podcast. It was something else to finally be gearing up for my own adventure this time. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t seem to show the same zest of excitement and we woke up to heavy leaden skies and damp, low cloud. The roll down from our valley to get on our way was both filled with trepidation for what lay ahead, but also a good amount of grit flinging up from the sodden roads.
Living in the Pyrénées themselves we had a transition stage for day one to get from our place to the coast. The plan was to ride as much as possible before taking a train for the remainder of the journey. It only took 20kms for a huge thunderstorm to break out. Thunder booms deep in these valleys. A boulangerie provided a great reason to take shelter and we both contemplated life for a moment as the heavy rain started teeming down. I will admit, in that moment I did have thoughts of cancelling the trip altogether and just heading home. How glad I am now to know I didn’t take that decision.
We waited for the worst of the rain to stop and then set off again, the roads were saturated and within a km or two, so were we. The rain continued and let’s just say the decision to ride as far as Pau and catch a train to the coast from there was an easy one to make. Sat on the train watching the landscape whizz by I wondered what would be ahead of us. We got to Biarritz and from there it was just under two hours of riding to our campground for the night at St Jean de Luz. So, day one done – with just under 90kms ridden. But the real adventure was to begin properly the next day.
The sound of heavy rain lashed our tent for the entire night. Was this whole trip going to be a soggy one? Thankfully by the morning there had been a gap in the rain. With the coastal wind our tent was air dried and so we were spared having to pack it up all wet. We made our way to our official ‘start’ and with the sound of the waves breaking on the sand we began our traverse of the Pyrénées in earnest. The next huge body of water we would see would be that of the Mediterranean Sea.
The first two days of the trip saw us go through the beautiful Basque country. Road signs written in Basque were a feature, as were flags, slogans and graffiti of Basque nationalism. The vistas of typical white Basque houses with terracotta rooves and red shutters were so quintessential in the area and dotted the landscape which was so lush and green. The huge mountains which lay ahead of us were so prominent but for now it felt like we were in rollercoaster country. There was a rhythm to the riding, go up for a few kms and then down for a few kms, rinse and repeat.
Staring at the larger mountains ahead, I realised our challenge of crossing this range was a very real one. The Basque country rollers served as a good way to get used to the physical challenge of uphill riding without it being exhausting and I was really enjoying the experience. The first two cols of the trip weren’t overly taxing but my goodness those views felt truly incredible. Then we got to the base of the Col de Marie-Blanque.
While not particularly long at just 10kms, the last 4kms are real proper leg breakers. We’d also managed to totally overlook the need to refuel for lunch which meant I was staring at the warning signs at the base of the climb with more than a small dose of trepidation and an empty stomach. A couple of Spanish cyclists who’d just descended the mountain on their road bikes, looked at my heavy-laden load and gave me some extra warnings too. Be careful – it is very steep!
Ok, something you should know about me is that I love climbing. Without wanting to sound too braggy, when the road points uphill, I generally do better than most. But this climb totally kicked my ass. The first few kms did a great job of lulling me into a false sense of security, but every single metre of those final 4kms, delivered an almost outer body experience of pure suffering.
The average gradient signs which are found at every kilometre marker on the climb made for cruel reading. 11%, 10%, 13%, 12%. Doesn’t sound so bad in writing, I can assure you on a bike that weighs over 33kgs, this was a pure beast. It took everything for me to keep the pedals turning, I was going about 4kms per hour and at times thought I was going to lose my balance and fall into the roadside ditch. Had that happened I am certain I would still be there now.
Somehow, we reached the summit and it felt like pure purgatory to get to the top. But there was also a sense of confidence taken from gritting through that climb. While another 20 mountain passes still lay ahead of us on our route, nothing was going to be that steep for that long. If I could get to the top of the Marie Blanque, then the rest while not being easy, would be doable. You could say the Marie Blanque was the grittiest part of the trip, and the next day was my personal highlight.
The infamous Col d’Aubisque via the Laruns approach was the first hors catégorie climb of the trip. I’d ridden to the summit of the Aubisque many times before, but never from this approach. 16.8kms long with an average gradient of over 7%. Clear blue sky greeted us that day and the impressive mountain vistas didn’t disappoint. I lapped up every moment on that climb, from the shaded forest at the start, to being in awe at the huge cascading waterfalls near the Cirque du Gourette. I truly didn’t want that climb to end. As I rounded the last bend and saw the statues of the three giant bicycles at the summit, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I was inexplicably crying happy tears.
This was that feeling I was after. What Max had spoken about during his interview. I climbed with so much awareness of what was around me. So much mindfulness. Being purely in the moment. I was cycling so slowly but I was happy. A few hours of pure bliss, despite the physical effort. I finally got it. Touring with a loaded bike came with so much extra satisfaction than I had ever experienced before. Sometimes you do truly need to slow down to take it all in.
After the climb of the Aubisque we crossed over to the Hautes Pyrénées. You could almost say we were on home terrain now. Having lived in this area I knew what would be ahead of us and it was a section of the route which I’d had a lot of experience with. In fact, it would be my tenth time cycling up the Col du Tourmalet – probably the most famous climb in France. The Tourmalet also served as the highest point of our Pyrénées traverse and all but the final kilometre of the climb was ridden in a cloud of heavy fog. It was truly something else to get to the summit and stare back down at the sea of clouds below. Another huge sense of achievement, it may have been the slowest I’d ever ridden the climb, but reflecting back on it now, it was certainly my most memorable experience.
The climbs of the Col d’Aspin and the Col de Peyresourde were also ridden in thick fog. Every now and then some wind would shift the clouds, and they’d dance on the landscape to reveal the majestic view which lay behind them. Even though it was only momentary, I was savouring every part of it. We were cycling these mountains in truly unpredictable mountain weather, and it didn’t disappoint.
Something which was unexpected for me wasthe lack of services to purchase food from in the Ariege and Aude regions. This section of the Pyrénées is dotted with history and ruins of old Cathar castles are prominent on mountain tops. There is a wild, ruggedness in a landscape which is so sparsely populated. I’d left on this trip with the assumption I’d have numerous opportunities to stop in at French Boulangeries and get a fix of baguettes and pastries. Not here. So, take my advice if you are travelling in this area yourself - pack extra food and never pass up an opportunity to replenish your water supplies.
The toughest full day of the trip lay on day 7. That day featured three climbs, the final being the Col de Pailhères at 2001m. Everyone has those days on cycle tours – where you just feel empty. Well, that was me on that day. I’d also woken with a stinking headache and was very aware it was going to be tough. Coupled with the fact we struggled to find anywhere to resupply properly, it just meant things all felt that bit harder.
While the Col de Pailhères may not be a climb many know of in the Pyrénées, I can attest it is tough. The final 6kms have average gradients which stay firmly between 9-10%. But it was the weather which we faced on that day which made the climb more memorable. I’ve been told it’s incredibly scenic, there are many hairpin bends to make your way through and to look back on. I can’t tell you about any of that though as the thick fog which beset us that day reduced visibility to just a few metres. I even wondered if I’d know when I reached the summit as I couldn’t see a thing. I could hear the roadside cowbells but was only eyeballing them when they were literally a metre or two away.
The whole experience was a surreal one and the descent was extremely slow given the thick fog. To top it all off a thunderstorm opened up on us a few kilometres from the campground. We would set up our tent in the soggy rain that night, completely depleted of any energy. The most basic of camp pastas was cooked for dinner and we’d sleep soundly to the sound of heavy rain lashing outside.
The wet weather stuck around for most of the following day, as we made our way through the rugged landscape. No places to refuel, I was once again thankful for the extra food in our panniers. We had another three climbs to tackle that day and once crossing over the summit of the Col de Jau we saw the landscape visibly change. It was as though we had arrived at a different world. The lush green landscapes of the Pyrénées we had cycled through were replaced with a more arid one, rocky red soil and a drier and open landscape. It also served us up with the first views of the Mediterranean in the distance. The 26km descent that followed was truly incredible. Flowing, smooth and we even had a tailwind. Even better I finally saw our first boulangerie in days. Winning on all fronts.
The final day saw us set off from camp bright and early, knowing the closer we got to the coast the busier the roads would be. We’d also swapped the rain and fog for searing heat and wanted to limit our time riding through the hottest part of the day. While we could have taken a shorter route that day, we instead decided on the arguably more scenic and rugged mountainous one. An easy decision to make to skip out on all the traffic and the main climb of the day, the Col de Palomère whilst long at over 20kms, was one which allowed us to maintain a steady rhythm.
From the summit we again were afforded amazing views of the Mediterranean in the distance. In my mind I couldn’t compute we were almost at the end of our trip. I’d spend the rest of the ride reflecting on what I’d done to get me to that point. There was also the mix of emotions, on one hand I was looking forward to taking a dip in the sea and bringing the trip to a close, but on the other I didn’t want the experience to end. This paradox is something I know is shared with many of my podcast guests, indeed anyone who comes to the completion of a goal.
But it was pure joy when we finally took those final pedal turns up to the sandy beach at Argelès-sur-Mer. The area was crowded with people enjoying a day out in the sun. But now it was our turn to savour the moment and take in the achievement of crossing the entire mountain range by pedal power. We turned to each other, hugged and high fived and then to finish off the trip in the most perfect of ways, a French couple walking by stopped and asked us “aves-vous traversée les Pyrénées á vélo?’ Yes. Yes, we did.
Max, you were right, I can recall every single moment riding my loaded bike up the mountains. Cycling across the Pyrénées mountain range was complete., 802kms, 23 mountain passes and memories to sustain me for a lifetime – or at least until the next adventure.
Written by Bella Molloy
Creator and Podcaster @seektravelride on Instagram
You can listen to my interview on Bella’s podcast right here.
Guest writers Season 1
A series of richly detailed two-wheel tales concerning love, identity, health, history and joy.
Spoke 1: The stuff we’re made of by Zael Ligertwood
Spoke 2: Ultraviolet Summer by Jack McKeever
Spoke 3: Back to life, back to reality by Alison Blofeld
Spoke 4: Revisiting the Past, Finding the Present, Looking Towards the Future by Glen Goodnough
Spoke 5: Retracing my great-grandfather's final flight on two wheels by James Forsey
Spoke 6: Understanding and loving your cycle by Maud Jansen
Previous guest writer
A call for writers
If you’d like to guest write on 10,000km Arriba, you’d be most welcome.
You can write about any bike experience, whether a short or long trip, a chronic cycling addiction, or simply a moment on two wheels that you deeply cherish.
Let me know in the comments.