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Perhaps the fact it rained pretty much all the way down  through France to the Pyrenees was a warning of things to come.  Our hotel was in Canfranc Estación which is near the summit of Somport,  the first climb in the Quebrantahuesos, this was a good location for the normal very hot conditions as it was high up on the mountain, but pretty cold and gloomy with the weather this year.

On the morning of the Quebrantahuesos it was raining as usual at the hotel but became warm and sunny as we drove past Jaca towards Sabiñanigo. Ever the optimist I changed out of my three-quarter bib-shorts and left my waterproof jacket behind in the car.

At least I had enough sense to wear a gillet and arm warmers, and then it was off to the start in Sabiñanigo.

This was all it had promised to be, great atmosphere with thousands of very fit looking Spanish club cyclists lined up in a huge queue. They were all wearing full club kit sponsored by their employers with shaved legs shiny with embrocation, they really looked like they were ready for business.

A few minutes before the start helicopters came roaring low overhead which added to the sense of excitement. Then at 7:30 am the gun went and those in the front pens (reserved for celebrities and people with good times in previous editions) started off, it then took 10 minutes or so before my part of the queue passed over the timing mats.

The ride does a loop south of Sabiñanigo then heads back through the town, the riders  swept along seemingly effortlessly without so much as touching the pedals. Crowds of people lined the route cheering and calling out to the riders.

The route went down a slope to a bridge were the road narrowed, cyclists ahead of me were calling out to slow down, there were water bottles on the road and several riders sitting by their wrecked machines with their head in their hands, some were in tears.

As we bypassed Jaca a powered para-glider came swooping past and the bridge over the road was lined with people shouting and clapping,  I was in a happy slightly dreamy state where it all seemed easy, the large groups of cyclists just moved along as if carried by the tide.

With that encouragement the first twenty miles or so flew by in less than an hour in spite of starting the climb up the Somport, although at the bottom the gradient is only 2-3% so it’s not a hard climb until it gets steeper near the top, just long at 28 kilometres or so.

The first signs of what was to come was that it started to rain as we went past Canfranc after twenty five miles, at first it was just fine rain but as we got to Canfranc Estación where the main road enters the tunnel and the QH route turns off to follow the old road over the Somport pass the rain was heavier.  The other disturbing sight was of streams of cyclists riding back down the mountain, still with their QH numbers on their handlebars.

As the road passed the hotel we were staying my wife standing there with an umbrella up against the rain, waiting to hand me my waterproof. She had been there when the first riders came past, escorted by police motorcycles.  While I was putting on the jacket I said to my wife that it was going really well, then set off again towards Candanchú and the top of the pass.

Then simultaneously the gradient steepened to 5% plus and a nasty headwind started to drive the rain into our faces, the last few miles up to the feed station on the summit were a struggle. At the top it was fairly chaotic, cyclists were turning around in droves while others tried to get through the scrum. A kind helper took my bottle and filled it up for me then it was off down the descent on the French side.

Eventually one and a half thousand cyclists turned back from the summit because of the weather, a lot of them were wearing short sleeves tops with no protection against the freezing wind.  The French police escorted groups of riders back through the 8 kilometre Somport tunnel as they were in no fit state to go back over the top again.

Even with a Gore Tex jacket over a gillet I was shaking so hard so as to be almost thrown off the bike.  Had to ride pretty cautiously at the top where it is steep with lots of sharp corners, but it would have been hard to go faster what with the cold and driving rain which was pretty painful.

It was a relief when the road levelled out and in no time the turn-off to Escot and the Marie Blanque arrived, the prospect of some climbing seemed welcome as it offered a chance to get some warmth back in the body. At this point it was three and a half hours into the ride and just short of sixty miles completed.

The Marie Blanque  starts off gently for the first few kilometres but gets steeper with the last four kilometres being over 10%, it was just a case of grinding away and not going over the limit and just keeping going.  The Etape (and the tour of course) went over the same side this year on their way to the Tourmalet. It was raining pretty much all the way up, my Garmin gave up all of its functions at this point because of the mountains and mist and cloud, and the GSC10 cadence sensor bit the dust completely which is par for the course when things get wet for this rather dodgy bit of kit. My official time at the top was just over four and a half hours  (my bike computer being no use due to the rain) so it took me an hour to get up those 11 or so kilometres.

The descent from the Marie Blanque was slow and slippery then there was a rather grim ride in rain and headwind to the foot of the third climb of the day. The Portalet is long and gets progressively steeper towards the summit, with an average gradient of just under 4.5%.  I managed to climb within my limits without feeling the temptation to jack it in. The rain, cold and the increased gradient made it really hard work for the last few kilometres. There were people camping out in the rain with tarpaulins to try and keep out the worst of the weather. They were still cheering and clapping even though they must have been freezing having been there for several hours by the time I went by.

The Spanish side of the Pyrenees was dry so at last there was no rain and the opportunity to pick up a bit of speed. This was then promptly wiped off by the turn to Hoz de Jaca.  By then I  just wanted the whole thing to finish, it was a narrow road with sections that were bumpy and some quite steep bits, even a section of cobbles (well, really bumpy road but the effect was the same). Eventually we rode over the summit cheered on by spectators who kept shouting only there was only 100 metres to the top for what seemed like a kilometre. There was then a short descent and then the route rejoined the main road for the last downhill stretch to the finish. Rode into Sabiñanigo and crossed the line in 8:47 for a silver medal. There was free San Miguel and a pasta meal for all the participants plus a medal and a certificate.

The  event was very well organised with seemingly endless supply of volunteers ready to lend a hand. The town takes the event to its heart, there are bike sculptures on every roundabout and crowds of supporters out cheering the riders on the day.

On every descent there were marshals waving red flags and blowing whistles on the dangerous corners, they stuck to their posts in the rain and wind for hours on end.

I did met some UK based riders on the climb including a couple from Oxford TRI, but the vast majority were Spanish. The general standard of riding was very good in the fast groups. The first section up to the French border is on closed roads and the many thousands of cyclist take up the whole width highway between the start and the top sections of the Somport climb. I would definitely return and try again in warmer weather. The atmosphere on the first section is great although my experience of the French side of the ride was not wonderful because of the weather. The start village is in a rather grim industrial park and doesn’t compare to the experience laid on for the Etape.

This year the organizers ran out of thermal blankets as three hundred riders were treated for hypothermia. Last year they were dealing with heat stroke in very hot temperatures. There were loads of motorcycle support riders, ambulances and Mavic mechanical service cars out on the the route.

In my case I was probably better off in the cold rather than in very hot conditions, the week after the event Spain  was experiencing a heat wave.  I wasn’t terribly fit but didn’t feel too bad after the event, I rode within myself and was very cautious on the climb of the Marie Blanque. I was riding with a compact and a 11-28 cassette which did not make the last four kilometres of the MB climb a doodle but it wasn’t that hard that I felt ill or tempted to bail out.