"Come hell or high water" was something of a tacitly understood standard for our trip; you finish all the climbs on your bike, or you get shipped home in a pine box. Or maybe French Oak? Something that would really impart a lustrous finish to the eau de cycling gear without completely muting the tannic undertones associated with a sucrose gel-based diet.
You're really going to want a tight seal on it is the take-home point.
In any event, the sixth and final day of riding elected to exercise both halves of the aforementioned idiom. The first half of the ride built steadily to a sweltering 37 degrees celsius -- that would be just a hair under 100 degrees, for those of us who don't want to dick with Google -- coupled with some humidity I'd peg in the 40-50% range. Altogether, not what people would typically categorize as primo cycling weather, evidenced more tangibly by the small mountain of empty water bottles in the back of the HC Bike Tours van.
Having been sufficiently hydrated and motivated -- many thanks to Aigars and Coach -- to plow through the hardest climb of the day (Solour + Aubisque) and a moderate valley loop, we arrived back at the base of the alternate road up Solour. This was to be the last climb of the day, and, indeed, the trip. Old Man Ruegs, standing conspicuously at the foot of a small chapel at the base of the climb, submitted aimless inquiry regarding the prospective availability of some sort of cloud-based water delivery arrangement that might squelch the heat.
Perhaps caught between re-runs of Cake Boss -- Coming up: Cake Boss makes cake, because what am do Cake Boss? Cakes! -- it seems ol' [insert deity(ies) of choice] caught the message. Not more than 5 minutes later, we were greeted by a few drips in the form of an absolute f@#%ing mountainside deluge, complete with gusts of wind, deafening thunderclaps and muddy mid-road rivers. Perhaps he/she/it/they was/were irked by the request?
I don't know, I haven't read all of [insert spiritual book of choice].
Notwithstanding the effusive response from the heavens, we plowed forward, determined not to give up less than 6 miles from the final summit. And while that determination yielded some nominal damage -- my phone now regularly attempts to add new and exciting international cities to the "world clock"... Woah damn, Dubai! Check that shit out, it's like... 7:45 where you are! -- we managed to get everyone to the top of Solour and into a toasty van filled with quiche, croissants and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride in each other.
8 days. 7 rides. 406.6 miles. 55,767 feet of climbing.
Couldn't have done any of it without all the support from you guys. Not only during the last week, but over the many months preceding the trip. Love you all, and we couldn't thank any of you enough for caring and participating.
So let's go get shitty drunk the next time we run into any of you. I owe you at least a couple beers.
**mic drop**
Note from Elder Ruegs - seconding what Colin has said. Thanks for reading this madness and for your comments (it will continue for another few days from Barcelona where we will likely eat and drink too much so these posts will maintain a certain random frivolity). The support has been great. A really big thanks to the HC Bike Tours team. They made the experience great and we look forward to another tour with them in the future.
This started with some text messages and emails in February and now this adventure is slowly winding down . . . . . only to set the stage for the next. Hope to have you part of whatever that turns out to be.