Adventure calls—are you up for the challenge? Story by David Desjardins
July 2025. I left Lourdes early in the morning and stopped at the artisan bakery in Pouzac, 20km away, to take off my Gilet grab two croissants. Then I set off again in a matter of seconds, pedaling away the last shreds of dreams that had clung to my sleepy mind until then.
My goal that day was to climb the Tourmalet via Campan, then return via Luz-Saint-Sauveur along the Pau. Halfway up the pass, however, my legs felt lighter. My mood was as cloudless as the sky, where the sun was shining brightly, bringing scorching temperatures. Seven or eight kilometers from the summit, I found myself imagining climbing both sides, one after the other.
Once I reached the top, the question no longer arose. I plunged into the descent as if I were on a mission.
Rarely had I felt so free. But it is a freedom that must be paid for in cash. And in advance.
Among other things, every winter I do preparatory work on the rollers, which sharpens both my physical and mental condition. I owe part of my physical fitness to this, but also the fortitude that allows me to face these monsters that stretch their laces along the mountainside, perched on a carbon frame and equipped with a derisory Lycra armor.
On the rollers, I learn to suffer. Some would say it's a form of masochism. I see it more as a way to build character. Small victories against yourself are won with your head and your legs. Every workout makes me stronger.
When I reached the base on the other side of the legendary pass, I immediately turned back to begin my second climb, savoring every one of the 17 kilometers that separated me from the summit once again.
The bovine indifference of a herd I encountered halfway along the route made me laugh. These pensive cows reminded me of my friends who question my stubbornness in repeatedly subjecting myself to this kind of ordeal. I was alone in the Pyrenees, and day after day, I did it again. Always higher, always further. Alone with my thoughts and the majestic landscape of the high mountains.
I wrote my cycling story with every turn of the pedals, every village I passed through, every mountain pass I conquered and added to my list of achievements. I was freed from the normal life that made up my everyday routine.
This freedom cannot be bought. It is earned, hard, through years of effort. But the dividends are invaluable. The only people who could guess its value that day were those I met on the last few hilly miles back to Lourdes. The smile I gave them sparkled as if I had gold teeth.
And I was already thinking about the wonderful, crazy adventure that awaited me the next day.