The Sautarelles climb from Sauxillanges was a tough one, with a couple of surprising 20% sections in it to really test the legs. Made extra challenging - as if it were really needed - by massive steak-eating rabid guard dogs (didn't your mother always warn you about rabies across the Channel?) roaming free by a farm near the summit lake - L'Etang du Fagonnet - to knock you off as you hauled yourself up the last ramps, or worse, bite you. My mouth was already foaming, but thankfully from the effort of trying to hold Mike and Dave's rear wheels rather than any kind of zoonotic viral neuroinvasive disease. The prospect of a gleeful fast descent was quashed by some major public works: the whole of the 10km-plus road down was being resurfaced, so we spent a good half-hour riding cagily over loose gravel that tunefully played in our spokes, and cursing the small gobbits of black tar that were getting flicked up onto tyres, bar tape, frame and shorts.
A route mess-up meant we rode a few more miles than planned, and this seemed to tell on Les as we neared the end of the ride. As the heat built up as we travelled further south, he gave us his best 'Tommy Simpson on the Ventoux' impression, unable to hold his head up to see where he was going, made worse by the fact that it meant he was looking over the top of his glasses and so was effectively riding blind. We all waited to chivvy him along, but nearing the finish I slipped away - just to be able to ride on my own for a moment - but ended up excitedly riding to an imagined victory. Jamesy had been doing it all week, so why not?





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