Slugs, why did it have to be slugs...

The weather continued to be attrociously stormy as I approached the begining of one of the most iconic climbs in cycling. I was offered accommodation on several occasions, so I must have looked quite beleaguered, but I was none the less determined to make an attempt at the Col-de-Tormalet.

Plenty of things were going wrong besides the weather too. It was around 17:00 when I finally got rid of the last of the slugs, which had been hiding in my cool bag, eatin' mah fruit. It had rained all day and I had a fresh puncture in the new innertube which I had to stop and attempt to patch a few times.

I received many cheers, got accosted by a Belgian fellow who insisted I stop for a beer, where I joined fans from Germany, France, Belgium and the Nether-lands for a drink (mine was a coke). I got an "oh lah lah" from a French lady, and a couple of people running along side in the traditional manner (a couple were even kind enough to push me)

I regrettably decided that the sensible thing to do was to camp some 2Km (by road, approx 150m vertical) from the summit. I had been in sodden riding kit all day and with the sun down and a brisk mountain wind, temperatures were becoming seriously low.

When I got into the tent (still sodden from the previous night's storm) I decided this had been the right choice. My feet were pruned, pale and had seriously poor circulation from having been in wet socks all day, in other words, well on the way to a case of immersion foot (aka 'trench foot'). I got into my sleeping bag in an attempt to warm up, and after much shivering and raspy breathing I eventually got almost comfortable.Read more