After last night's gastronomic extravaganza, Warren and I are beside ourselves with excitement and wake especially early to get down to breakfast first. The Porridge is to die for. Quite literally. As you can imagine, there is a demob feeling today as we all froth at the thought of our final day in the saddle. Add to this the fact that a few of our group have their wives and girlfriends (B.WAGS) flying out to greet them when they get in, so the finish line is starting to loom large. That said, we still have 120km's to go today, so it's important not to get too carried away. Which is exactly what I do when I take my first tumble of the week whilst trying to cycle and remove my jacket. I now know that I cannot multi task. Fear not reader, I escape with little more than a bruised ego, and yet another valuable lesson learned on the bike.
The BWAGS
Our last big climb is 15 km up the Col de Palomeres, and while the weather is good, there is a howling wind blowing all day, which makes the ride very tough. I can't figure out why Lawrence and I have become so popular all of a sudden as our team mates use us as wind breakers. We are greeted at the top by our support team and some of the BWAGS who embrace their partners and try not to gag on the smell at the same time. How emotional. There is much merriment in the air, the final Col has been conquered, and now we can cruise 40 km's down the road to lunch in Thermes de Boulou. Comme typique when we arrive at the restaurant we are ushered upstairs away from the other diners, who are bemused by this pink peleton. Again we are joined by the BWAGS and it is really great to enjoy some different company and not talk about heart rates, energy bars and climbing Col's. Even though we are still some way from our final destination of Banyuls, we tuck into the steak, frites and local vin rouge like it's going out of fashion just to help us on our way. We have asked for speedy service as the Mayor of Banyuls is greeting us at 4, but as most of you know, the French don't do speedy anything.
The Final Col
2 hours and several bottles later we take off and the portents for the final leg are not too promising. Dickie takes a tumble on the cobbles, Rory Kerr takes a proper tumble on the main road - and has a patchwork of grazes to prove it - and Criket, quel surpris, has sent us in the wrong direction. What happens next is not for the feint hearted. We get directed onto a 'shortcut' which turns out to be the steepest climb of the week. An 18 degree elevation for 2 km with half a cow and 2 bottles of wine inside me is not my idea of fun. The air has turned bleu as we all seem to have developed a severe case of cycling tourette's.
Imagine our joy at the top of the climb when Fred announces that this is actuallment a one way circuit road round a private housing estate that takes us back to where we started. How we laughed on the way to deliver Fred and Criket to intensive care.
Back on track, we build up a head of speed, we don't want to keep the Mayor waiting, and our bodies are really starting to give up the ghost. Disaster strikes 25 km's from home when my Silver dream machine gears start making unpleasant noises, and I need the assistance of Bruno, our professional, to get me back on the road. The only downside is my lightest 2 gears are no longer working so I have to grind up the hills in 3rd gear. At this rate I will have thighs that would make me eligible to play for Samoa. We speed through Argeles, but the coast road is hilly and the wind cuts us in half as we make the final push into Banyuls.
At the entrance to Banyuls there is a hill, about 2 km's outside the Centre Ville, where we all congregate in preparation for the processional ride into town. Dickie spots the 3 streamers and some bunting and for a minute his steely exterior starts to crack. His bottom lip juts out, and his eyes start to water as he takes on board the full impact of what we have all achieved over the past 8 days. Being a true leader of men, Lawrence sees what is happening and acts quickly to intervene. In a Jerry Maguire moment, he approaches Dickie and without saying a word, grabs and holds his good friend and agent in a clinch, whispering in his ear "Listen, if I'm not staying in the Presidential suite at this next hotel, you can start looking for a new client." Cometh the hour.
At the top of Banyuls
At 6.30 p.m, a full two and half hours after we had planned to arrive, we smarten ourselves up for the final ride, and for the first and only time this entire trip we look like a well organised, professional crack cycle unit. We descend down the hill, and the sound of the band striking up makes our heart race just a little quicker. To reflect the status of our contribution to this trip Warren and I ride together at the back of the Peleton while Dickie and Lawrence, still connected through their recent embrace, wave at the perplexed onlookers who probably think this is the MardiGras cycling rally. The assembled throng contains many of the faces who have supported us all the way from West to East coast, and the cheers are deafening. So much so that Dickie doesn't hear Warren's shout to get out of the way, and Warren has the most spectacular of crashes 20 m from the finish line. He almost takes me down with him, and I am laughing so much I lurch my bike over to a roadside barrier where I grab on to stop myself from toppling ver.
It is the most fitting conclusion to what has been a fantastic, if somewhat shambolic journey - I am quietly glad we got lost on this last day, and almost had a 10 man pile up in sight of the finish, as it is very symbolic of what has gone on previously. We cross the line in fits of laughter which has been the key ingredient for the trip, and to see our guides Fred and Bruno cracking up is very reassuring. A dip in the freezing Med rounds off this trans Pyrenees challenge perfectly.
We have an all too quick turn around for the evening's most important Awards and Court Session. I have been nominated as Judge EPO, and take my duties very seriously. Simon Hunter is the very persuasive prosecutor - Monsieur le Merckx, and Nigel Garfitt a very able Clerk of Court. The charges, verdicts and punishments are all confidential, but it's fair to say Criket and Fred will make very sure they know the route next time they embark on a trip of this magnitude..
Criket gives us a lift after the party
The after party is great fun and we dance ourselves dizzy long into the night knowing that tomorrow will be a bike free day. Phew.
