The town of Carcassonne in the south of France is deserted at this early hour. It’s almost as if the streets are closed in expectation of the Tour de France passing through, but the only person on a bike is me, and the only race is the one I have created for myself as I clip in and set off. With nothing but empty tarmac ahead, I’m soon out the other side of Carcassonne and heading south at speed.
The terrain is fast-rolling – the Pyrenees wear their foothills like a delicate perfume – but after 21km the high mountains come into view. This road, the D118, is small enough to be quiet but big enough to be smooth and quick. The prevailing easterly gives me a cross-tailwind, which helps me to lap up the early kilometres. On top of that, I’ve trained for this, but a voice in my head reminds me to be wary of going too hard too soon. It’s going to be a long day.
The longest breakaway
This ride is my homage to one of the greatest – yet least known – exploits in cycling history. I only happened upon it by chance, but as soon as it caught my eye I had to find out more. And as I dug deeper into the story, a plan began
