Under the typical French sun we initially bumped over quiet paths with a number of easy climbs. The venom would be in his tail. From the col de la Mort we had to conquer another 1000 hm. After just 100 m, the track on the screen of my GPS makes a suspicious bend across the contour lines. The sight of the path and the thought that it would soon be an hour of poussage (pushing the bike further), forced us to choose the poessieway. An asphalt climb that took us 400 m higher on arelatively easy pace.
When we arrived there there was little choice, we had to go up. Simpel! We quietly hoped that the path would be more or less bicycleable. The opposite was clear. Poussage turned into portage (carrying bicycle). The internal knob was turned a first time.
The day-trippers, who returned in full from the lakes above, expressed their sympathy and wished us courage, a lot of courage. Bon courage! Someone even asked if we were from the national TV. Presumably for some comic program, or a candid camera. It didn't look good; that was a fact.
After some deliberation, we descended a bit and decided to take a different path. The wide gravel road was so steep at times that Illya decided out of nowhere to lie down ad hoc, with the bike between his legs.
The last hour consisted mainly of poussage. Arriving at 2100 m we were immersed in the beautiful and wonderful mountain world. Our short-term memory did not fail us and the hard work was soon forgotten.
The easy warming up day immediately put us with both feet onto the ground. How long are we going to do this again, I asked out loud a few more times that evening? 7 days? The first day brought us 54 km and 2400 vertical meters. Average speeds doesn't matter in this world.
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