Alpine Preparation

Preparation for this year's tour started in earnest this weekend when I treated S to a jaunt up the local hill on a visit to my parents and old stamping ground in the Rhondda. This was to get us into fine fettle for the upcoming travails in the Gironde where we would be weighed down by frequent quaffing breaks and possible the odd bottle stuffed into the panniers. Needless to say, because I have related it before in this column, that hills are not her forté, however the drag up the Bwlch mountain on touring bikes with various weighty attachments was accomplished in relatively exemplary style. Near winter conditions at the top (in July!) precluded any lingering to enjoy the view so we set off on the descent into the Ogmore valley.

You may be familiar with the picturesque seaside spot of Ogmore, but the top of the valley is a post-industrial mining town which elicits variable reaction ranging from 'what an effing dump' to 'quaint' to 'I'll never forgive Thatcher for f***ing us over'. So we sped through the narrow streets to Blackmill where the downhill ends and it started to get lumpy. Now S doesn't like lumpy, she's more of a flat cycling type of cyclist - when the road goes up and down in quick succession her enjoyment takes a similar profile proportionate to the time taken to respectively increase or decresae her gravitational potential energy. However, I see it as my duty to inculcate her into the true cyling faith and look forward to the moment when she sees the light and her hill phobia turns into the bright-eyed religious zeal of the true believer who has learned to love the upward gradient. Some way to go yet on this evidence . . .

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