My 15th Euro Trip: A Climb Too Far?

I said I would write about my recent trip to France/Andorra/ Spain, and here we go. If it gets a little too much ‘woe is me’ then just skip it. I promise to return to skewering pronoun nonsense or expressing outrage at student loan forgiveness or at being called a ‘semi fascist’ (moi? Non!) soon.

First the good stuff: once again 44 | 5 put on a wonderful tour. The food and accommodations were first rate. The roads were mostly great for cycling, up and down and quiet, although there were a few exceptions to the ‘quiet’ part. The climb from the main city part of Andorra up and into France seemed to be in use by every car, truck and bus in Europe. True, there was a nice shoulder. But there was also a big headwind for the first half of the climb, so between the trucks and the breeze I felt pretty battered.

There was also a lot of traffic on the valley roads between the climbs, and it was bumper to bumper along the beautiful Costa Brava road. But as I blogged last week, the Spanish drivers were simply ‘muy, muy amable‘ and shared the road with no honking or engine revving or one fingered salutes. And they followed the 1.5 meter rule without exception.

And it isn’t every cycling trip where you can ride through parts of three nations in a single day. On August 22 we started in Andorra, climbed up and into France, then dropped down to Spain. Only 44 miles and 5,600 feet, but 3 countries!

Finally, the other guests were all people I know and like a lot. We have a great time on the road and at dinner. And the 44 | 5 guide/owners John and Gerry are more like friends than guides.

Now for the ‘woe is me’ part. I’ve been on at least 30 cycling trips since 2005. So many trips I’ve lost count. I’ve done 15 in trips in Europe alone. Occasionally (and rarely) I have been the strongest rider or nearly the strongest. Most of the time I’m in the middle somewhere, not the slowest but certainly not the one out in front. But this was the first trip where I was dead last, the caboose, the Lanterne Rouge.

There were a couple of climbs where I wasn’t the very last one to arrive at the top, but they were few. And every time the road was down hill or flat I got dropped. I was so far behind most of the time that I couldn’t even see the other riders, and the guide who was on the bike with us had to wait and show me the way.

I was also the only one who abandoned any of the rides before the finish. On Day 3, I was so far behind after the first 2 kilometers of the Col de Peyresourde, and feeling so awful, that I got in the van after a mere 12 miles. On the two longest days I also skipped the last part of the ride, although I can say I did all the other big climbs, albeit slowly and well behind the others.

I do have a couple of convenient excuses. It is true that I was the oldest rider on this trip. I’m 66. There were a couple of 62 year olds, one newly turned 60 person, and the three ‘children’ aged 33,44 and 52, I realize 66 isn’t much older than 62. But while I felt really strong at age 60 (I even wrote about that in a blog) both my perception and my power meter agree that I’m not what I was then.

More excuses: I’ve been distracted by events on or near Brumby Road that I’m not at liberty to blog about. Let’s just say that my mind is not exactly focused on the joy of cycling right now.

Then there is the big excuse: oral surgery! In the late afternoon of Friday August 5 I felt a sharp pain in one of my remaining molars. I saw the dentist on Monday August 8. We determined it was cracked and had to come out before any trip to France. The extraction needed to be done by my excellent implant doctor, whose 401-K I have been making considerable contributions to. This is implant #6, do the math.

He performed the extraction and bone graft on Wednesday August 10. I took the offered ‘happy pill’ and had Stoker drive me, to try and make the process less stressful. With limited success. My flight to Toulouse is Monday August 15, only 5 days away!

After the procedure the dentist packed this disgusting and irritating putty like substance over the wound and put me on a regime of Advil for 4 days, along with 12 days of antibiotics, and other pain meds as necessary. I didn’t take any of the ‘good stuff’, though perhaps I should have. All this made my stomach uncomfortable and played havoc with my normally normal digestion. Not to mention trying to eat very carefully and keep food away from half of my mouth. And the taste of the ‘putty’ made me want to gag occasionally. The putty stayed in until after I returned home!

The antibiotic kept my digestion in turmoil until I finished the last pill with 4 days left on the tour. Miraculously my stomach quit hurting the next day and everything was back to normal and stayed that way. I know this medicine isn’t good for my cycling. Look what the internet says: some of the antibiotics that may have a side effect of tiredness or weakness include: amoxicillin. Guess what I was taking!

Despite the uncertainties at home and the gaping hole in my mouth and a stomach that wasn’t really cooperating with the hydration and refueling needs of a cyclist, I went to Europe anyway. I expected to have a difficult tour, and I met those expectations easily.

In August 2021 I rode in the Pyrenees and did fine. Not the slowest by a long shot. Ditto in May 2022 in the Cevennes. But this tour I had to deal with being off the back and riding in the van because I felt lousy or was simply exhausted. I was more than a little frustrated.

I tried to keep at least somewhat upbeat and not spoil the other riders’ trip by indulging in self pity. That is what my blog is for. I’ve toured with these people before, and I like all of them. A lot. I want to tour with them again. But I have reservations. I’ve often said it is better to do one cycling trip too many than one too few. I don’t know if this one is the last one. Probably not. I’d like to do a trip without a hole in my mouth and amoxicillin in my stomach before I say basta or finis.