A “Wainwright” for the Pyrenees

by Peter Cossins

In the summer of 2016, my family moved from the UK to the French department of Ariège, which lies between the city of Toulouse and the principality of Andorra. There were all kinds of reasons for moving to the French Pyrenees, and wanting to spend more time riding in mountain terrain was among the principal ones. At 1.83m and 80kg or so, I’ve not got the physique of a natural climber, but I’ve always loved the experience of riding in high country, sometimes on cols and passes made famous by the three Grand Tours, but also happy to explore other routes and climbs, driven on by the anticipation of the terrain and views that might unfold before me, knowing that I’m unlikely to be disappointed by what the road onwards and upwards will bring.

When we lived in the UK, we spent a lot of time hill-walking in the Lake District, and would usually have a copy of one of Alfred Wainwright’s iconic walking guides with us. Since the move to France, we’ve occasionally lamented the lack of a similar series. Given the detail in Wainwright’s books, with their beautiful pen-and-ink illustrations and maps, it would require a peloton of Wainwrights to produce a comparable guide to the Pyrenees. However, after a couple of seasons of col-bagging in the Pyrenees, it struck me that a “cycling Wainwright” to this 500km-long chain might be possible.

Last year, thanks to the backing of Great Northern Books in Skipton, I started researching and writing this guide. As a first step, I looked at existing books on riding in these mountains. My favourite is Mountain High, beautifully written and photographed by Daniel Friebe and Pete Goding, friends and former colleagues, and others included the Pyrenean climbs in Simon Warren’s “100” series of guides and a stunning hardback by Rapha, The Great Road Climbs of the Pyrenees. I ploughed through websites, delved into Strava, pored over every decent map I could find, and also rode and drove thousands of kilometres in France, Spain and Andorra.

I knew from the beginning what this new guide’s point of difference was going to be. Rather than focusing solely on the climbs, I wanted to mirror Wainwright in two ways: firstly, the guide had to be comprehensive and cover the whole Pyrenean range; secondly, all the routes would start and finish in the same place, most of them following a circular course. I wanted to show how climbs could be linked together rather than presenting them in isolation. Now completed, the finished book (which is due to be published in mid-June but has been delayed because of the Covid-19 health crisis) features all of the legendary Pyrenean climbs and hundreds more besides in 112 routes, totalling more than 10,000km of riding and 250,000 of total vertical gain.

Putting it together, I’ve gained a deeper insight into what kind of cyclist I am. I’m not that bothered about Strava stats, training in order to climb faster, or in the dimensions and steepness of the climbs themselves. For me, the quality of a climb or a road through the mountains stems from its appearance and the views it presents. At every possible point in the book, I’ve tried to avoid routes that are busy or otherwise unappealing to a cyclist, or at least to one who isn’t overly concerned with getting to their destination as quickly as possible.

Along the way, I’ve also realised how picky I am when it comes to my appreciation of climbs. Once, I’d have been grateful for the opportunity to ride up any mountain, but now I’ll set out with the express aim of avoiding some climbs or tackling others by a particular flank.

The nearest pass to my home, the Col de Péguère, is a good example of this. There are five different routes to it. The eastern flank from Foix, which passes through my village, is the one I ride the most often but like the least. It rises for 18km through dense woodland and, higher up, pine forest for the most part, much of the latter on straights that are unrelenting corridors of greenery. There aren’t any majestically engineered hairpins or long-ranging views. I find it a bit of a slog.

For many of my riding buddies, though, the climb’s good surface, directness and tree cover ensure the Péguère’s one of their favourites. On hot summer days, I have to agree. The Péguère also has another ace to play. At the end of those 18km of ascent, the road arrives suddenly and quite unexpectedly at one of the most stunning viewpoints found anywhere in the Pyrenees, right at the top of the infamous Mur de Péguère. The panorama totally justifies the toil that leads up to it.

My own preference in the mountains is for a road that’s more meandering, where I’m constantly wondering what will appear around the next corner, and that’s relatively free of trees so that I can take in the landscape. I love a hairpin bend, especially those underpinned by fortress-like buttresses that emphasise the difficulty and beauty of the engineering. I also relish an open summit with expansive views, offering a rich reward for the effort made to reach it. Favourites include the Port de Pailhères in the Ariège, the Coll de la Creueta in Girona, the Hourquette d’Ancizan in Hautes Pyrénées and the Col d’Ispéguy in the Pays Basque.

What stands out above all about the Pyrenees, however, is the variation in the terrain within this range that was created as the result of a collision between the Iberian and Eurasian tectonic plates. Dry and parched at its eastern end, lush and green in the west, in between there are areas that semi-arid, others that are thickly forested, the high peaks and the passes beneath them the only constant. It’s cycling nirvana, and I hope that the Roads, Cols and Passes of the Pyrenees will encourage greater exploration of all it offers.

Buy Peter’s books here >

Buy Peter’s books here >

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