The Rider
‘OK, roll’em out fellas’
No matter what was said before it, these were always the last words from old man Stokes when he started a race for the Penrith Cycling Club. What might have come before it – typically a warning;
‘It’s a big bunch today so take it easy’,
or
‘There’s a few newbies in the bunch today so take care of them, and keep the swearing down’,
All of them followed by,
‘OK, roll’em out fellas’
And it didn’t really matter how many woman were in the bunch, it was always ‘fella’s’.
It could’ve been a D grade crit on a hot blustery Monday night, or it could have been the Club Championships, they were all started the same: having raced both, a fact I can confirm.
I am reminded of the manner races were started as I roll downhill from our Gite to Meyrueis, because once at Meyrueis, we turn onto D986 and start following the route made famous by The Rider.
The Rider describes a bike race over a challenging course through a remote part of France. Today we are not racing, well, not outwardly, we have no numbers pinned to our hips. But our times will be recorded (Strava!), and if the times of at least two participants are recorded and at least one of them was trying to beat the other, than it’s a race. I suspect that someone else has ridden this course, and has recorded their time, so it’s a race, whether I like it or not.
We do not track the course exactly as described. The Rider course is essentially a figure of eight with Meyrueis at the junction of both loops, with the top loop done first, clockwise, and then the bottom loop done second, anti-clockwise. We will ride the same direction but in a different order, so the bottom loop first, but still anti-clockwise. This loop contains the biggest climb, Mt Aigoual.
Reaching Meyrueis we turn left into the main street and ride past the now empty cafes and restaurants and then quickly out of town. We are climbing, as one would expect on a bike ride in France. It’s just a double Lappo to start, but unlike Lappo we are not on a 4 lane freeway with trucks brushing past, instead we are on a narrow road that twists and turns up through a pretty forest. The gradient is a very persistent 6%, with a short section of 7% that bites into the legs that have still not recovered from the rides earlier in the week.
We top out onto and ride across an open plateau where the farmland has a windswept almost barren feel to it, compared to the Correze region around Argentat that always had a gentler feel. Through here the road rises and falls gently and we ride with some pace for one of the few times on this trip. It is easy to imagine a bunch racing through here, belting along after completing the first climb.
Drop down a 5km long descent that would be hair raising in a pack due to the poorly announced corners, the bumps and dips in the surface and the lack of any fences or guard rails protecting the big steep fall into the valley. The bunch would be shouting and calling constantly through this section, with no chance to enjoy the view. On our right a gorge had opened up, rimmed with cliffs in places, impressive to look at but a bit freaky to ride for the reasons already given plus poor sight lines around corners and the occasional delivery van in a hurry …fear moderated our pace.
Riding down the rim of one gorge the route touches the edge of Treves before heading up, from the bottom, another gorge with a pretty stream cascading down next to us, the tinkling and splashing of water a companion for many kilometres. Without apparent justification, the legs start to feel heavy – to the eye, the road ahead looks flat, but Garmin is telling me it is 5%.
Being at the base of a narrow gorge we are surrounded by trees. What is always surprising when coming to Europe is the extent to which the countryside is forested, compared to parts of Australia, however when in many of those forests you don’t fully feel that you are immersed in nature, but here it feels immediately like you are deep into a large forest. In some places in France the lack of variety in the types of trees can sometimes make forests look a bit drab, especially when the forest is in small scattered patches like on the edge of towns, but here, where whole hillsides are covered in a single type of tree, the effect is incredible, the repetition creating a feeling of symmetry and serenity.
I’m surprised by two mountain bikes whizzing past me … but they were firmly affixed to the roof of a white Mini. It reminds me that one of the motivating factors in buying our mountain bikes was they would provide a way to complete the bushwalks I’d not done, more and more our road rides feel like extended bushwalks – today a good example.
The gradient continues to be sensible, rarely going over 6%, regularly hovering around 5% and often 3%-4%. Not so hard huh! Except that we are on this climb for 27km!!! After a cool start, with heavy clouds blanketing the mountain when we first saw it, it has now warmed up with the clouds breaking up. The beech forest, damp and dark, continues to delight.
Having climbed to the top of the gorge we surprisingly, disappointingly, come into a town, not a village, a town. It provides a brief respite from climbing and then we re-enter the forest, now with only 12km to go to Mont Aigoual. At this point the gradient settles down to a very amenable 3%-4%: a gradient that is possible to take the fight to the climb, rather than the climb dictating terms. This I do, settling into a cadence of 95rpm and tapping out a nice rhythm for several kilometres.
Rounding a bend the forest opens up and I am treated to a view north of the Cevennes, and a sign marking the watershed: if two raindrops were to fall onto me now, one would roll to the Mediterranean, the other to the Atlantic. Thrilled at the thought that I am crossing a place of geographic significance I push on, the view on the right slowly closed in by the forest.
The dull ache in the legs becomes a definite burn, and then 5km from the top the wind picks up as the forest begins to thin. I begin to struggle. The joy of holding a rhythmic cadence disappears into the wind. 3km from the top, the trees now stunted and sparse, the wind becomes the biggest foe, not the gradient. The 1km sign is passed in open grassland and blustering wind, requiring constant attention to prevent being knocked over.
Rounding a left hand bend I can see the end of the road, and beyond it a castle like building. A ‘Sweeney’ is shouted into the breeze to mark the completion of the climb.
After a short break … in the café …. where the cook interrupted his morning tea to produce an excellent basket of chips that is not normally available until lunch time, washed down by best hot choc on trip so far, we commence the descent, shivering from the cold wind still blowing hard. Like the drop off Puy Mary there is no joy to be had in the first few kilometres due to the breeze blowing us around. The distant views enjoyable but near to us it is semi arid.
The last few kilometres of the descent into Meyrueis, at -1%-3%, are hard work with the wind dead against us. Crossing the Jonte river I turn left, back to our house. But the race? The Rider? The book is real, but the race – it’s a myth. It never existed. I feel no obligation to complete a course that does not exist.
Distance: 84km
Height Gained: 1,500m
