Along The Pyrenees

Words: Finn McLachlan
Photos: Finn McLachlan & Johnny Doudney

There are many gems deep in Ground Effect’s garment discography. They made faux-propaganda tees, witty revolutionist graphics and chunky-zippered baggy shorts lined with polar fleece padding, just to name a few. In May 2025, Johnny and I put these classics to the test with a 1000 km ride from Montpellier to Bilbao.

On day one, it rained. We got about 1 km from the hostel and decided to turn back and book another night. We were chuckling amidst the deluge; what luck.

On day one (2.0), my tyre was flat before it left the hostel, again 100m from the hostel, and again before we reached the Mediterranean. The folding Airnimal bikes were winners once again on planes, buses and trains - but the elusive 24” wheels can be their downfall. One spare tube proved not nearly enough. The flamingoes kept us company as we puncture-repaired tirelessly until we realised that the wire bead from the rear tyre was working its way out and puncturing the tube repeatedly. We naively snipped it off and rode on along the coast. Then the entire tube and tyre started coming away from the rim. We quickly realised our grim mistake. We decided to split up. Johnny rode off into the sunset looking for a bike shop, while I walked my bike 6 km to the town of Frontignan.

An hour and a half had passed, and still no rencontrer with Johnny. The tyre was screwed and the rear of the bike had to be lifted for any advancement. The trip was looking down. Day one had ruined us; there would be no snowy peaks, no mountain towns and no Atlantic Coast to greet us. But as we spotted each other in the distance and Johnny’s fist was thrown skyward, the tarmac ahead quaked in its boots once again. A closing bike shop in Sète had the 24” treasure in stock, and we were mounted and rolling once more. We camped in a dog park and ate cold nachos for dinner because our cooker was incompatible with our gas canister. A first day for the ages, and a whopping 34 km.

It was all (metaphorically speaking) downhill from then on out. Following the Canal du Midi cycle route was a breeze. We met an Italian named Dani who had sheltered from the previous storm in the same Montpellier hostel, and free-camped with him between the canal and a vineyard just past Béziers.

The picturesque towns along the canal were fruitful and many, and the route (although narrow and mostly gravel) was très vite.

Carcassonne was a highlight. I recreated a photo taken 23 years ago (before I was born) with Jillian and Max (Mum and Bro) in the old castle, La Cité. Peek the old Ground Effect cap.

We headed south-westwards out of Carcassonne, leaving the canal towards the pièce de résistance - the chemin de Piémont Pyrénéen. We found ourselves unexpectedly on a beautiful rail trail (or voie verte) that took us all the way to the medieval town of Foix, then up and over to Saint-Girons.

The next day, while following the river Ousse, a couple in their 70s pulled up alongside us on a beautiful blue tandem. They were super friendly, but once the new bike path began, they went into their tip-top gear. We took advantage of this, creating the ultimate velocipede train using the power of slip-streaming. This resulted in our fastest segment of the adventure: the first 30 km done in 90 minutes, rapid for our tortoise set-ups.

As per the tandem racers’ recommendation, we made a detour to the painting-like monastery of Saint-Bertrand-de-Commignes. The morning’s rapid slipstreams set us up for the longest day of our trip. We set up camp after 103 km in the mountain town of Bize, not massive, but a fulfilling effort.

Onwards and westwards, we rode into the unassuming town of Lourdes for a sandwich lunch. But while heading for the exit, the religious roots of the region began to reveal themselves. First, the hotel after hotel that lined the river. Then, a tourist street with religious paraphernalia galore. A couple were walking a cart up the street, which we initially thought was a stretcher with a sick lad on it, but it was just one single candle, weighing probably 50kgs. Lines and lines of disabled and elderly sat patiently in blue push trikes. Solemn glares left their devoted visages. Lourdes is, of course, the site of the holy healing spring according to Roman Catholicism (this explained the many Italian speakers about). We had no idea about Lourdes, seems everybody else did though. The cathedral was extraordinary and immense, but the storm clouds were looming, and our prebooked Airbnb was waiting for us in Tarbes, so we split before the magical spring could lure us in.

The next few days were as per: sweet as. We followed the Ousse, camping on its banks and munching mountains of pesto rosso pasta as fuel. Suddenly, before our legs expected it, Bayonne was within reach.

Having made good ground in the previous days leading up to Bayonne, the stretch between our skim-tastic free-camping spot near Lahontan and the Atlantic Ocean was shorter than expected. Bayonne was our first real milestone in the trip: completing the chemin de Piémont Pyrénéen, celebrations were in order. First, a high-five, then a fight with the intimidatingly large breaks on la plage de Marinella, before being slammed back on shore for a sandwich and beer. Not a bad way to mark your first day in Basque Country.

Off down the Atlantic Coast, we then cruised inland from Hendaye up the river that separates France from Spain. About ten seconds after crossing the bridge, we were greeted with an “hola,” and it was only then that it dawned on us the extent of just how little Spanish we knew. The valley then became a gorge, the Spanish signs became Euskara (Basque), but the rail trail laid out a red gravel carpet equipped with long tunnels and ancient waterfalls.

The steep walls of the valley meant no easy free-camping, but once we got to Sunbilla, the setting sun was no longer a worry. It was majestical. All of the five-storey baserri were photo-worthy, green peaks jut up all around, and seemingly every local was gathered by the river for some springtime event. There was even a campground with friendly Dutch travellers who gifted us some Belgian beers.

The next day was the climb. We had been aware of it all trip, and we set off stocked with lots of sugar and water. Before we knew it, we were up at the top, but Johnny was disappointed with the view, so we biked up another saddle to have a sammie with a vista.

This was the highpoint of our trip. At 912m, it was relatively low for the Pyrenees, but the downhill into Pamplona was pretty mean aye. Wouldn’t have done it any other way.

Pamplona was our first rest day. We ceased to rest though, we wanted a taste of the local culture. We ate religiously good tortilla de patatas, danced with fibreglass bulls at the Plaza de Toros, and got tipsy off Tinto de Verano and Kalimotxo.

Our paths crossed again with our old friend Dani. He had followed his nose to the start of the Camino de Santiago and found that the route for the first couple of days was only suitable for tramping-booted pilgrims. Capable of much greater distances than us, he had been severely slowed by the Camino, but was loving every moment.

From Pamplona, it was east up a hot, wide valley. We had set our sights on a camping spot near a massive reservoir. It was a stinky day, passing many industrial factories and pig farms. After we split ways from the main road, it was beautiful and vast: classic Spanish countryside.

We free-camped in a beautiful forest (apparently quite illegal in Spain) and rolled away unnoticed toward Bilbao. The final 80 km of our trip was aided by a massive winding downhill. It felt like descending Takaka Hill; it went on and on. Bilbao proved to be very difficult to enter by bike. We weaved through steep towns and garden paths only to get cut off by the roaring highway. We got chased down by some form of security after pretending we didn’t know what “ENTRADA PROHIBIDA” meant. But after many trials and tribulations, we made it up the final hill to the hostel and glimpsed the golden glow of the Guggenheim. The fall of the Soviet Empire and the liquidation of its titanium submarines allowed the joint to be clad in those iconic titanium scales. We had more time up our sleeves than we expected (this cycle-touring stuff is easy), so we spent an entire day exploring the innards of Gehry’s golden fish.

Thus concludes our biking stint along and beyond the Pyrenees. Decades later, Ground Effect’s classic garments are still up to the challenge. The best end-of-life environmental impact a product can have is to delay its terminus out far into the future. We think our baggies still have at least another mountain range in them.