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Col d'Aspin

_{WORDS: Charlie Pearch | PHOTOS: Janet Pearch}

The Col d'Aspin has been featured many times in the Tour de France. Although not as famous as its larger neighbours, the Aubisque and the Tourmalet, it is an essential part of the Pyrenean landscape and an historic climb. Charlie Pearch, Rapha Condor Club rider and bon viveur, rode the Aspin recently with his son, Hamish, and recounts it here.

Hamish and I spin out of St. Lary mid morning, into a light rain. We head north, and keep up a high cadence in an effort to get some circulation and generate heat. It doesn’t take much longer than 20 minutes along the backroad to bring us into the centre of Arreau, a small Pyrenean town that has rested at the bottom of the Col d’Aspin for centuries.

It’s not a difficult ascent from this eastern side, 12.6km long rising about 800 meters to the summit at 1489m. Aspin is an in-between mountain. Whilst featuring 66 times in the tour, it seems to always be en route to a more famous neighbour, oft the Tourmalet. It makes up part of the infamous Circle of Death range of mountains, and is written into the history of the tour. The Aspin is one of my favourite cols, it was my first real climb, and the first col for two of my boys. It is special to me.

We normally try to rip each others legs off up the Aspin, Hamish now getting the better of me every time. But, this morning, we agree to ride it together, to enjoy the scenery and each other’s company and so off we go at a gentle pace.

The first kilometre ramps up slightly and with fresh legs we don’t feel a thing. Soon the road eases to a gentle 4% as it passes meadows in the valley below. This morning the blossom shines out against the verdant green backdrop of trees. Hamish has a solitary earphone, “who’s playing”, I ask, “T-Rex”. I smile, I remember seeing Marc Bolan in Aylesbury many years before he was born. After 3 or so kms the road veers right and a steep ramp forces us to dance before it settles down to a 6% grade.

We fly along admiring the view. Ahead of us the road glistens in the rain, a stunningly beautiful hammer-head hairpin, right, then left, a wall, trees devoid of their leaves line the side of the road. We pass a small stone house tucked away in a curve of the road beneath us. Its angular grey slate roof shines in the wet, and I comment that it would be my perfect place to live.

On we climb, the road starts to feel tougher now, it must be half way and as the pitch increases the wind hits our faces. Soon the snow joins the wind, pinging into my face I lower my glasses to protect my eyes. We grind away, our bodies now warm as toast despite the attempts from above. I try to shield Hamish from the wind, spinning 36-25 or is it 36-27? There is little room to chat, “ok?” “Yep” comes a confident reply.

At about 1300m the clouds part: Blue sky, sun, and we approach a heavenly sight, ahead of us white plastic road markers with red bands stand out like beacons against the grey, brown, green backdrop and above them a bank with trees and bushes topped with fresh snow. The Sun lights up the hairpin as though by St. Peter himself welcoming two lost souls. Up we climb, over a graffiti name that has lost its vibrancy but still unmistakably that of VIRENQUE.

How long has it been here I wonder? When was the last time that Virenque came this way? July 2004? I remember the day well, the Danish chicken, Rasmussen, led over the Aspin in a thunderstorm, with Virenque not far behind. Yes, that was the day that was “given” to Ivan Basso by Lance at La Mongie and the day that Lance ripped the yellow jersey from the back of the brave young Frenchman, Thomas Voeckler. Dopage! Rasmussen, Virenque, Basso… Shame on them.

The road curves left and right, we avoid rock debris that has fallen off the rockface. Hamish rises out of his saddle, the speed increases, and I beg for mercy but Marc Bolan is in full flow and he does not hear me. I go again. Heart racing, I grab hold of his wheel and come alongside. As we cross the line I press a button and see 57:33 register. It's 3 minutes slower than last time but, considering this was a social ride, I am happy.

The cold bites, it’s minus 4˚C up here, time to zip up and move off. Down the other side, through the trees, feet rapidly turn to ice blocks. We descend gently, Hamish has a flat, I don’t say anything and hope that it is slow enough to get him down 6km – it is. Past the quarry and there it is, Auberge de Trois Pics. It’s a must if you are ever this way, their Daube Ancienne (with the ubiquitous frites) is to die for. We wash it down with a pichet of red. The perfect Easter Sunday.

The Col d'Aspin will feature on day three of the Rapha Randonnée Pyrénéenne, from St. Savin to Luchon.