To Ax-les-Thermes: Over Port de Pailheres

October 3, 2017

I may have had some inner premonition about today, because I woke up in the night worrying about how difficult the day's climb over Pailheres would be. I know one factor was weather, and the fact that a chance of rain was forecast for the late afternoon - it seemed like we might be at risk of severe weather at 6,500'. I wonder too though if my body wasn't whispering to me that the state of my health was about to collapse.

For whatever reason, I scoped out the longer but easier alternative - a fifteen mile longer ride that drops further along the Aude to Axat before turning back to cross at the lower, easier Col du Pradel. Rachael and I discussed the options over breakfast and decided to go with the new plan.

Saillagouse is a small French Catalonian village just a few miles from the crest of the Pyrenees, and few miles from the Spanish/Catalonian border. It's inside Cerdanya, a small, confusing border region that includes bits of France, bits of Spain, and the very curious Llivia, a part of Spain completely surrounded by France. It's essentially a small Spanish Catalonian city embedded in France. I can't believe now that it didn't occur to me to pull out the camera yesterday and take a photo of it across the valley. And, it's only a few miles away from that other independent oddity, Andorra. You should stare at the map and take a look for yourself.

Saillagouse sits in the trough down the center of Cerdanya - we dropped into it last night, and this morning we climb back out the other side. Today's ride begins with an easy 1300' climb out the north side, to the ridge at the upper end of the Aude.

Our mission for the moment is to find a store for lunch fixings. There's one two blocks from our hotel but we get directions wrong and miss it. Rather than double back and add to the day's ride, I assure Rachael that we'll find something at Mont-Louis, a place that looks big because its name is in bold onthe map.

There's nothing in Mont-Louis. Its name is in bold because it's an important historical monument, the site of well preserved fortifications designed by Vauban. Silently saying a prayer to myself, I assure Rachael that one of the tiny villages ahead of us will of course have a grocery, and we won't starve.

We move on, and soon are dropping into the upper Aude.

Looking west from whence we came, biking our way out of Cerdanya. It's a steady but modest climb for the first five miles of the day.

It wasn't much of a climb to get here, and it's not much of a pass coming from the west. We feel entitled to it though, because there was no sign yesterday at the summit of Crueta due to road construction. A major disappointment.

A section of the Vauban-designed fortifications at Mont-Louis. We came by this way because I was sure there would be a grocery here, thinking it was a town. Nope - nothing here but this impressive historic monument.

Strike that - I spoke too soon. We're not dropping into the Aude quite yet. We're first biking across Capcir, another little transitional region that's part of French Catalonia. It's a flattish upland basin that has the feeling of a steppe. At its heart is a small lake, and is high enough that it includes a significant ski resort, Les Angles. I think it has its own unique history, with Basque roots of all things. If they decided to secede, I wonder if they'd want to be an island in France but part of Catalonia, or as part of Euskadi? Europe is so complicated.

According to their website, this is the highest elevation cultivated basin in in Europe. We're at an elevation of about 5,800 feet.

Fortunately, Capcir also has a fine open grocery store, in La Llagone, the first tiny village we come to. The day is saved (for the moment at least).

Not finding a grocery in Mont-Louis, we were happy to find an epicerie with all the lunch essentials in La Llagonne.

Moving north, we were surprised to see the weather situation change as we coasted down into Capcir. There's a fairly cold wind blowing straight upriver at us and a darkening cloud bank straight ahead.

Les Angles, a ski report on the Capcir plateau at about elevation 5,800'. According to the town's website, this is the highest cultivated plateau in Europe.

Finally, after transitioning through tiny Capcir we're really in the Aude, beginning about a two thousand foot, twenty mile descent along the Aude River to Axat. There we'll turn away from the river and back into the mountains. With every mile though, this feels like a worse and worse idea. We are running into totally unexpected weather conditions - we're biking into what feels like a storm heading straight upriver at us. As the headwinds kept stiffening and the clouds ahead steadily darken, we pulled off for a quick conference. It looks pretty nonsensical to bike into this any longer than necessary and add fifteen miles to the day when we're looking like we'll get soaked.

Back to plan A: we're climbing over Pailheres. In a few miles we reach our turnoff, start bending west and away from the river, and immediately feel better. The headwind is gone, we've moved out of the light mist that had just developed, and the sky ahead looks way less gloomy. And, we're on an incredible road - we're completely alone cycling through a colorful hardwood forest. In a few miles we've even broken into a patch of sun, and it's brilliant.

A few more miles, and we reach Querigut, a small village with a ruined castle and a bit of infrastructure including a hotel. It occurs to me that maybe we should check in on a room and scrap our reservation in Ax-les-Thermes - I'm quite distrustful of the weather situation - but I keep them to myself. We find a fine spot for lunch, leaning against the wall of the post office in the full sun, facing the castle.

The sky above us grows more menacing with every mile we drop through the valley.

Increasingly concerned about the weather, we returned to our original plan of biking over Port de Pailheres. It's a harder climb but 15 miles shorter, and away from the direction of the weather. Once we turned off the highway, traffic has completely disappeared.

Dropping toward Querigut. The forests have turned very beautiful here and will stay that way until we near the summit of the pass.

Querigut, the small village where we broke for lunch. I noted when passing through the village that there was a hotel and wondered if we should stay here instead tonight, starting to worry about the weather and my health.

The ruins of the small castle at Querigut. We ate lunch across the street from here, siting in the sun against the wall of the post office.

Looking west from Querigut, toward what I think is the pass. Querigut is the low point before the big climb of the day - it's all up for the next ten miles.

We don't stay in Querigut long, because the weather is uncertain and we still have a long hard climb ahead - just long enough to down our usual lunch of cheese, bread and sliced meat and then take advantage of a rare public WC. This is the first time I realize I have a significant digestive problem - I recall now, days later, that Rachael and I were inventorying how much emergency TP we had stashed with us.

The next five miles are much like the previous ones into Querigut - the same beautiful road and woods, moderate grades. We drop a few hundred feet to the low point, and then have a few easy miles of climbing until we reach Mijanes, where the real climb begins. Mijanes is a beautiful village, and a bit of an inspiration at the start of a challenging ascent. We're keeping our luck with the weather too - we're in and out of patches of sun, and conditions don't look bad toward where we assume the summit must be.

Leaving Querigut, the beautiful riding continues as we drop for another few hundred feet and then begin climbing. We're in a patch of sun here, but I'm pretty doubtful about the high country ahead. It could turn pretty cold and nasty at 6'600'.

Mijanes, the last village below the pass. I was surprised to see what an attractive village this is, espalliered against the hillside.

The road we've been following comes to an end in Mijanes, and at the intersection we make a sharp left and are almost immediately faced with the sign announcing the start of the climb:

Now that I'm facing it, the climb doesn't look nearly as fearsome as it has grown in my imagination. It's a very steady 8-9 percent for about seven miles. We've done many climbs like that over the past several years, including this spring in Southern Utah. They are getting harder year by year, but ones like this are still in scope.

Mostly, the thing about this climb is that it's very beautiful, with the multihued autumn hardwoods filling a bowl at the lower slopes. It's inspiring to work our way up, alternately biking into this view and then back the other way as we switchback our way up the wall to the summit.

The first part of the climb goes fine for me, but about halfway up everything falls apart. I leave the road for the trees and leave behind what must be all the remaining loose nutrients and fluids left in my system. I don't know that Rachael is aware of this - on most climbs, I stop often for camera breaks and she plows on to the summit alone waiting for me to arrive at my own pace. Today, my pace is unbearably slow - it suddenly feels I can hardly bike on the level, much less uphill. I go on in short spurts and finally start walking, for at least the final mile and a half. And the longer this goes on, the more often I stop walking to regroup a bit. By the time I finally near the summit and the slope breaks, I think I'm walking in segments of only about a tenth of a mile long. I've never experienced anything like it.

Once we leave Mijanes the climb stiffens to a steady 8-9% for the next seven miles. We start out slowly, evading a few road hazards.

On the climb to Port de Pailheres. So far our luck with the weather is holding, and even improving as we go.

On the climb to Port de Pailheres. There were a few patches like this. Not bad, and typical of switchbacks they have a harder and easier side, so you get intermittent breathers.

Really a gorgeous climb, in a beautiful season. Somewhere in here though my system broke down completely, and I essentially walked the last two miles to the summit, stopping to recover often. I'd love to do this climb again in full health someday.

When I finally arrive, Rachael is there of course - she must have been so for at least a half hour, but she doesn't say. She's very glad to see me, knows what's been going on because she's been watching it, deciding if she should call for help - you can see the final mile and a half from the summit. She's very supportive, describes me as heroic, does what she can to help - shows me the viewpoints, the best wind shelter, reminds me to take a few photos. I'm so spent that it doesn't occur to me to take a photo of her, or of the summit itself until she reminds me.

But we're up, and we're dry. Nothing to do but drop - 4,200' in the next 12 miles, to our hotel at the base of the climb. Suddenly, I'm really cold. I layer up for the descent of course, but after about a quarter mile it's clear I've not done enough - there's a cold headwind, and I,m losing thermal ground. I stop, quickly put on my rainpants, and start again. Not enough - I'm still getting colder and starting to shake, so after another mile I stop and add my wool Pendleton shirt on as yet one more layer. That's just enough, and I seem to be just about stable.

The next to miles are an exercise in self control and concentration, and more or less a race against time. I know I'm in an exposed condition and need to get to shelter, need to warm up, need to stay alert, focused, and in control. I really can't tell you a thing about the pass itself, because I don't look at it at all - I just alternately stare at the road, the remaining distance, the elevation, feel whether I'm losing heat or warming as we drop lower. It's the most harrowing ride I can recall.

At the summit, it was sunny but very cold and windy. I was so defeated that I wasn't myself - Rachael even had to remind me to take a photo.

Looking back on our ascent. Mijanes must be around the corner to the left down there somewhere.

The last photo of the day. This is the start of the steep descent to Ax-les-Thermes. We'll drop 4,200' in the next twelve miles, into a steady, frigid headwind. It didn't even occur to me to stop for a photo along the way - it took everything I had to hold myself together and try to retain body heat on the way down.

We made it, of course. Finally getting around to writing this five days later, there's not much else to say. We were lucky, and the hotel really is right on route, and really right at the base of the pass. I recall spotting it while we were still coasting into town, and looking back I see that the sign announcing the climb is about 100 feet behind me. I consider taking a photo, but don't have the,reserves for it. I remember us checking in and parking our bikes in their small closet by the front desk; and then immediately heading to the room and into the shower. Ah - now I also remember getting out of the shower and into bed, and then calling Rachael to join me under the covers for extra warmth because I thought I might be dangerously hypothermic. After that, nothing I'm sure of. Oh, and now I remember thinking that we needed to take the easiest route to Foix tomorrow rather than biking the high route we had planned, and mapped it out to see that it was only 26 miles, mostly downhill. I recall going to sleep with that as the plan for the next day. Rachael thinks we went out or downstairs for dinner, and our credit card at the hotel looks like that was right, but five days later neither of us can recall for sure.

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Today's ride: 49 miles (79 km)
Total: 970 miles (1,561 km)

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Kelly IniguezA 4,200 foot descent is plenty on it's own, much less while ill!

Do you still have the Pendleton wool shirt? Perhaps because we are in the wrong season now, I don't see you mentioning it.
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1 year ago

Scott AndersonTo Kelly IniguezSickest I’ve ever been. There are several photos of me wearing that shirt in the next few pages while I was recovering. I’ve still got the shirt back in Portland, but it doesn’t go traveling much because it’s gotten too worn.
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1 year ago

Scott AndersonTo Scott AndersonI forgot to mention though is that I do have a Pendleton along, but not that one. I always have one, and wear it daily. When I get back to the states I get it dry cleaned for the next tour and wear a different one. I’ve probably gone through more than a dozen of them in my life, wearing them out or losing them.

For years mom would buy me a new one each year as a birthday present.
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1 year ago