Aubisque: The Tour Route

Suffering in the sweltering heat climbing the mythical 'hors de categorie' Col d'Aubisque (1,709m) in the Pyrenees, I kept hearing distant cowbells, like echoes of Greek epics full of struggle, honour, wrath, treachery and glory. Since the publication in 1957 of Roland Barthes' collection of essays "Mythologies", which includes a classic essay on Tour de France, journalists have mythologised cycling as a heroic ordeal, carried out by male riders in epic landscapes, full of sacrifice and glory. In other words, cycling is much more than just pedalling; in its purest form, it reflects the essence of human striving and deeper morality. During the pandemic I have also pedalled hard and long, riding to the edge of physical exhaustion into the landscape surrounding Oxford in search of adventure. There is nothing heroic about my quests but a guiding principle has been to cycle as far as my legs will take me, bringing a camera and an open mind. And on every outing, I have been fortunate to make many wonderful discoveries. My cycling started in earnest at the very beginning of the pandemic, as a way of regaining fitness after a bad case of covid, but has slowly transformed into an obsession. I have started to devour the cycling literature, from the romantic tales of sacrifice, honour and fairness on the mountains to the harsh reality described in the recent confessional autobiographies of professional cyclists. The pervasive cycling myths spun by Barthes and his followers have been shattered by these confessions and in particular the systematic deceit of drug-taking and subsequent downfall of seven-times Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong. Similar to other sports, professional cycling has shown to be venal, selfish and ultimately flawed in its search of easy profit. But my kind of cycling feels far removed from such madness. And I have felt the call of the mountains growing ever louder, as the pandemic has kept me stuck in the relative flats of the Shire. So when we finally arrived in the foothills of the Pyrenees, I had no choice but to climb into the clouds, up the mythical Col d'Aubisque, featuring in almost fifty editions of Tour de France since 1910. It is a kind of madness but early morning, the sun was peeking through the clouds covering much of the nearest mountain top as I started. The sun soon gained in prominence and I kept my cadence high as the inclines grew steeper. The thermal baths of Eaux-Bonnes provided much needed extra water and after some steep climbs in the mounting heat, I made it to the top with its magnificent views. As I started my long descent back into the foothills, only interrupted by a short climb to Col du Soulor, I started to hear how the mountains are alive with music. Along the route, eagles and vultures kept circling overhead with horses and cows lazily grazing on the slopes. And I kept hearing cowbells, like those in the incessant funkiness of "Comin' 'round the Mountain" by Funkadelic, playing on repeat in my head and making me dance. What a day to be alive! In the words of Keats: "What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?" Parliament Funkadelic - Comin' 'round the Mountain https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qc69vC5mXdU