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A day to remember: Philippe Carrez - N°3092

Sunday 21 August 1988

For this first outing in the Foix region, the weather didn't inspire much confidence. But it didn't matter, we had to go, because the programme was full: four B.P.F., a number of passes and quite a few kilometres ahead.

At the first crossroads, I suggest to Thierry that we turn left for 200 metres to go over the Col de Py. That'll give us one more, and it's a quick win. And since we've taken this road, why not continue along it to do the next two? Five kilometres of diversions to do three easy passes, and the day was off to a good start.

The midday shopping is done in a rather filthy village grocery shop (and so is the shop assistant), then it's a descent of a pass that chills us and forces us to slow down to feel less cold. And long live August!

The second B.P.F. of the day was at La Fajolle, a small village lost at the end of a charming, narrow valley. Of course, a few cars had passed us on the way, but we weren't expecting to find so many people here. It has a festive air about it. But after wandering the length and breadth of the village, we had to face facts: there was not a single shop where we could get our cards stamped. We tried the town hall, but it was closed. On a Sunday, you'd think! Then a 4×4 pulled up alongside us and the driver asked us what we were looking for. After explaining to her what we were looking for, she told us that in the absence of the mayor, Madame Martin had the only stamp in the village and she led us to her. Madame Martin took us upstairs to a very dark, wood-panelled room where modernism had not yet really taken hold. While I ask her about the village, she goes to the back of the sideboard to get the precious stamp for our maps. She explains that while there are nearly two hundred inhabitants in summer, there are only ten in winter, and the road is often blocked by snow.

We set off again for the Col du Pradel at an altitude of 1680m. And here again, for a small pass, we were surprised by the number of cars. The place is obviously well known to the locals. Despite the heavy clouds, the view is superb. That's why we take a few moments to rest: time for me to eat an apple sitting on the grass and for Thierry to take a few photos. Then it's the descent to 900 m, still at a low speed because of the cold, the very high gradient and the very tight switchbacks.

We turn right at the first junction and immediately start climbing towards the Col de Chioula at 1431 metres. After a good climb, I reached the summit a little after Thierry and when I reached him, he said: »Do you know what's wrong with me? No, it's not that, but I forgot my camera at the top of the Col du Pradel». Ouch, ouch! That's pretty annoying. Well, Thierry doesn't have thirty-six solutions. Either he goes back straight away to get it, hoping that no-one has taken it from him in the meantime. To do that, he has to go back down the Col de Chioula, climb back up the Col de Pradel and its terrible gradients, get his camera back, if it's still there, then go back down the Pradel and finally climb back up the Chioula. It's a walk in the park! All in all, it took almost two hours and it was already 4pm. The weather was becoming increasingly threatening and we still hadn't made it back to Foix. Thierry is hesitating a bit and I don't really want to go with him because I can feel myself getting tired. And then to come all this way only to find nothing. What's more, it gets dark quickly at the end of August, especially when it's raining, and Thierry has no lights.

He can also choose to abandon his machine to its sad fate, lost alone at the top of a mountain pass. Of course, it has cost him over a thousand francs, but it has never worked properly, so... No, it bothers him a bit.

Well, there's only one solution left. We'll carry on as normal, and then return to Foix by car. The proposal was adopted unanimously. Of course, it will take longer than by bike to get back to the top of the Col du Pradel, but after all, with the bad weather and the coming night, the tourists won't be up there for very long. So I comfort Thierry because, with a bit of luck, no one will have seen his camera. Especially as it's probably in the grass just off the road, right where I sat down to eat my apple.

So we set off again. On the descent from the pass, as we reached the very pretty Corniche road, the violent, icy rain caught up with us. It had been threatening for so long. A quick stop under a tree and, for the first time all day, we put on our pilgrim jackets. The rain protected us pretty well, at least for a while, but the wind wasn't so great. This was my first real experience of descending a mountain pass in a pilgrim's jacket. With a glider like this, you don't need to brake much. It also has the advantage of insulating us from the cold.

This is how we arrived at Lordat, the third B.P.F. of the day. Late on a Sunday afternoon, our feet soaked and our faces dripping, we were looking for a hypothetical stamp for our cards. The villagers were going to think we were mad. The village is deserted in the rain and we split up to find a possible shop. After ten minutes wandering through the narrow streets, I find Thierry chatting to some people. By chance, he bumped into the mayor's family. The mayor, an elderly man, was in a shed doing God knows what. He finally arrived and we explained our business to him, getting wetter and wetter as the rain continued to fall. He invites us to follow him to his house, where the village's only stamp is kept. He opened the door to the house and then tried to open a sideboard drawer, but to no avail. The drawer is stuck and the son comes to the rescue. We watch the scene from outside, a little amused by the situation while protecting our cards from the rain. Only thing is, the drawer still refuses to open. Having climbed so many passes, covered so many kilometres, braved the rain and the cold and finally failed because of a recalcitrant drawer, it's enough to be disappointed. No, that's it, the drawer is finally open. The mayor will be able to stamp our cards. But the mayor, who's been doing this for so long, still doesn't know where to put it and I end up with a stamp next to the right box. Well, never mind, I'm not that far off now, and after so much effort on his part, I'm not going to reproach him.

There's just one more small pass to cross and we're almost back to Foix. By the time we reached the N20, the rain had finally stopped and we could take off our pilgrim jackets. After a quick discussion, we decided to head back along the main road as quickly as possible, as there was no time for sightseeing and we still had to go back for the camera. The 16 kilometres were swallowed up at 40 km/h, with Thierry and I putting in some good stints.

In Foix, we decided to take a breather for a while and have a little pick-me-up. At around 8pm on a Sunday, there was hardly a café left open in the main square. Despite the humidity and the cool temperature, we decided to take a seat on the terrace facing the square. It's already very dark and the town is almost deserted. Two tables away, a group of men are chatting over a drink. With my legs stretched out as far as I can to relax, my gaze wanders off in the direction of a tall building. Suddenly, I see a figure jump from the second floor. It was a superb leap, as if from the diving board of a swimming pool, but the cars parked below prevented me from seeing the landing. However, I could clearly hear a loud crash. You can imagine my amazement. I immediately turned back to Thierry, who hadn't flinched. The group of men continued chatting peacefully. I was probably the only witness to the scene. I explain to Thierry what I've seen, but he seems surprised by what I say. But he too had heard the noise. I suggest we go and see what's going on.

We grabbed our bikes from the wall next to us and walked across the main square, but we didn't want to rush. There's no point getting hit by a car just because we have to save someone! When we reached the scene of the accident, we found a young woman lying on the ground, moaning as she tried to move. In her fall, she landed on the bonnet of a parked car, then fell back onto the pavement. The car was badly dented, while our acrobat's right foot was badly swollen and her face was bleeding. On the way, I spotted the entrance to a hospital a few steps away, so I suggested to Thierry that he go and get some help. Meanwhile, I looked after the young woman, trying to comfort her and explaining that help would arrive soon. But help didn't arrive and I too began to get impatient. I thought back to a recent news item where a man had died almost in front of a hospital because no-one wanted to come. A little anxious, I try to reassure myself. However, the emergency services still hadn't arrived and I didn't know what to say to this young woman who was becoming increasingly agitated despite the pain. Finally, some nurses came running, closely followed by Thierry. But it's only to hear them say that they can't carry her and that we need to call the fire brigade. When I told you we were not far from my news story! I also understand from what they say that the patient was trying to escape from one of the hospital buildings.

But for Thierry and me, the day wasn't over yet, as we still had to go back and get the camera. So after asking if we could leave, we headed for my car parked a little further on. On the way, we passed the fire brigade's rescue bus and it was with a calmer mind that I started the engine, heading for the Col de Pradel.

Night has fallen completely and the rain has started to fall again. But now we're warm and dry. The 42 km to Ax-les-Thermes are easily covered, but the hardest part is still to come: a 15 km climb to the pass. The road is very narrow and it's virtually impossible to pass each other. Fortunately, it's around 9pm and no-one but us has the bright idea of venturing out onto this road. With my headlights on, I tackle the climb. The gradient is steep and the bends so tight that I have to use first gear frequently. But on the bends, the headlights only shine across the road and I can't see the edge of the road. My vertiginous descent by bike reminds me that there must be a void all around the car. Not very reassuring! To add to the anxiety, we're now entering the fog. As for the oil warning light on the dashboard, it's been on for ages and I'm trembling at the thought of a breakdown in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the night. But Thierry is by my side and talking reassures me a little. To think that we're taking all these risks for a camera that's malfunctioning, that's likely to be completely destroyed by the rain that never stops falling, and that someone will surely have picked up by now.

After half an hour, we finally reached the summit and I stopped the car. Thierry gets out alone, braving the elements, looking for his camera. I watched the scene for a while, safe in the car. But the headlights weren't aimed in the right direction and he couldn't see a thing. So I make a not very reassuring U-turn, trying to light up the place where I think the camera is. Thierry still couldn't find anything, and as I thought he was looking in the other direction, I decided to get out. I soon found the place where I'd eaten my apple, the peelings were still there, and I immediately saw the machine. Thierry saw it too and we got our hands on it at the same time. At last we're happy and almost relieved. Almost only because there's still the descent to make. But this time, our spirits are high and a little music on the car radio cheers us up.

At around 11pm, we finally landed at a pizzeria that had remained open, where we could finally get something to eat. The rest of the route was a mere formality and it was well after midnight that we were able to enjoy a well-deserved rest. As I lay in my duvet, I thought we'd done pretty well in the end: 163 km, 10 passes, 4 B.P.F., one person saved, one camera found and not a single injury. All in all, a good Sunday.

Philippe Carrez