the end of the summer
The last weekend of proper summer beckons. It’s the boundary between the heat and languor of August and the tumult of September. The rentrée as they say here in France - re-entering the fray of work and the inexorable pace of things that absolutely must be done. But just before the season turns, the last weekend provides a bubble of calm. A pause in which to wring out the last dregs of summer. A little opportunity for a micro adventure.
Canigou from Escaro
I’ve always thought that bikepacking looks cool. But (for me at least) also intimidating. Whilst the mountains beckon and the idea of climbing forest roads and hidden passes sounds inviting, the kit looks intricate and the penalties for getting it wrong, steep.
A weekend trip by bike to visit family staying nearby though? That falls within the realms of imaginable, achievable adventure. Just a few spare clothes, a sandwich and a bottle of water. Nothing requiring so much as a backpack. I laid out a pared down kit, sorting out the ‘how minimal is too minimal’ items on the floor. Then neatly rolled and divided them between top tube and handlebar bags on a sturdy gravel bike geared for the mountains.
Packing list... Fold+Rºll not pictured
And so it was, that we were ready for a not-too-early start that Saturday morning. Soft-pedaling our way up the back route to Escaro, until recently, a mining village. Then turning right onto dirt roads, past the disused workings of an opencast mine and a sign marking the obliteration of a hamlet to create it. The miners left tracks that delivered us around the ridge and into the next valley, dropping down to the village of Souanyas, where we filled our bottles from a spring that promised good water in Catalan. The tarmac restarted and we sped on - to the start of the next climb.
Descending to Souanyas
The roads narrowed as they threaded their way upwards, quiet, hot and largely deserted. Finally, in the high hamlet of Sansa, they gave out. A ribbon of pale broken stones and gravel threaded its way up ahead. We stopped at the filigree iron cross that marked the edge of the village before heading on and up, over the narrow stone arch of a bridge shaded by pines and firs then back into forest tracks that zigzagged to smooth the gradient.. At the Col we were happy to drop down the other side, on doubletrack, through green conifers with a hint of damp in the air, and into a rolling plateau with fields of cows and occasional villages.
The iron cross just above the village of Sansa
Our final climb was gentle, green and shaded to the top. A new change in the landscape surprised us. The fast descent looped its way down into wooded wrinkles of hills and steep valleys, with escarpments accentuated by grey rocks and outcrops.
Our goal was just ahead. A mountain village inhabited for at least the last millenium. The houses of Quérigut huddle in intricate streets between the castle ruins and a rocky outcrop. There are glimpses of neighbouring villages, sheltered by hills and the mountains beyond make their presence felt. The Porte de Pailhéres sits, far and high, on the horizon. We look out from the castle walls and realise we are adrift, amid this sea of green. A static tempest of trees and rocks. We had reached our destination.
Quérigut evening
The last weekend of summer lingered with our trip. We listened to the village stories and imagined earlier times. From the hey day of the castle to more recently, when Quérigut was a waypoint on the escape paths through the Pyrenees during the Second World War. The house we stayed in was home to the village doctor and friend of the Resistance in the 1930s.
Frame bag, Fold+Rºll and wallet. You don't need much...
When a damp morning greeted us on Sunday, it was not hard to stay a little longer. There was no rush to get back. When we finally pushed off, we chose to head straight up a steep wooded track and immediately felt we’d made a rather brutal start. On regaining the road everything became familiar (and more gradual) and we retraced our route back over the Col and down to Sansa. Every kilometre now was warmer as we lost height and headed down towards the foothills of Canigou.
The track above Sansa
This gradual heating made homecoming easy. We had been to breathe the cool mountain air and catch a glimpse of the wild passes that lie to the west. Home was warm though, the afternoon slow with Sunday sleepiness. We had had our adventure and come back again. Ready for September. Ready for the rentrée.
Trip:
Fuilla to Quérigut (return)
Total length 115km
Total ascent 2600m
Night falling on Quérigut in the Ariège
