Arcouzan bikepacking route is a mixed-terrain, circular cycling track around the wild and remote (but surprisingly accessible) Ariège region of the French Pyrénées. Arcouzan is not a race; it’s about finding connection through adventure. It’s designed as an immersive journey for cyclists, a bike-packing route encouraging you to travel slowly and embrace everything you encounter.
Continue reading below as Claire Frecknall and Tomas Montes document their reconnaissance mission on the new Arcouzan bikepacking route…
Gazing across a sun-dappled courtyard at the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrénées mountain range, it’s easy to wish we were still up there.
It’s easy to forget the uncontrollable shivering as we huddled around the fire in the tiny refuge hut on Rocher de Miglos.
It’s easy to forget the driving rain and losing feeling in our fingers on the descent down to Ax les Thermes.
It’s easy to forget using a bundle of toilet roll to mop the floor after changing out of our dripping wet clothing in a restaurant toilet.
We are here to perform reconnaissance of Arcouzan, a new 480km bikepacking route around the wild and remote Ariège region of the French Pyrenees. The route is named after a small but defiant glacier that sits on the northern slopes of Mont Valier, a high mountain peak that would be visible for almost the entirety of the ride – if the weather would let us. Mike Tucker is the designer of the new route and owner of Zero Neuf, an idyllic bed and breakfast around 60km south of Toulouse, which sits close to the start point for the route, the nearby town of Pamiers. Tomas Montes, a photographer from Spain, is here to document the ride, having ridden sections of it in the past with Mike during the planning stages, while Hari and I traveled from the UK to join them, both of us excited to be in Guinea pigs on the new route.
I came to the Pyrenees hoping to escape the conveyer belt of crappy English weather, unfortunately it wasn’t to be. As the date for our ride approached it became clear that the unpredictability of the mountains and a freak Europe wide cold snap would at best make completing the full loop an arduous slog through strong winds and rain, at worst it could be downright dangerous. Snow was still settled on high passes along the route and with sub-zero temperatures forecast more would be falling throughout the week. Having packed sensibly for variable Spring weather none of us had come prepared for Winter still having a stranglehold.
Tomas and Mike knew too well the dangers of the mountains after a brush with hypothermia just a few km outside of the town of Foix last year so neither Hari or I protested when the decision was made to leave a day late, it meant skipping the first section of the route but also avoiding the worst of the weather.
I generally travel pretty light but this time I had packed a tent over a bivi, full sleeping bag over a quilt and my mountain bike overtrousers and a hooded Goretex jacket over my usual lightweight Shakedry. We took stoves to ensure the possibility of warming drinks and hot food too. All this meant a far heavier setup that I’m used to and I was envious of the wide range of the 2x GRX setups on Mike and Hari’s bikes. My choice of the smallest possible 36-tooth chainring with a 11-46 cassette was a vast improvement on Tomas’ 40-tooth ring and 11-42 cassette, and by the end of the second day he was really feeling the strain, especially carrying heavy camera gear along with his bikepacking kit.
We shortcut almost directly south through Foix to re-join the Arcouzan route just outside of Tarascon-sur-Ariege. 60km of cold headwinds and a false flat towards the mountains meant we started the first proper climb of the day already flagging, but legs slowly got into the rhythm of climbing and views of snow-capped peaks glimpsed out of the mist beckoned us upwards. Asphalt switchbacks turned to gravel as we passed patches of crisp white snow nestled amongst pine needles. Our proposed destination for the night was a small refuge at the top of the next climb. Dropping down to the valley, we stopped to refill water bottles and shovel flapjack into our mouths before starting to climb again. By the time we arrived at the next summit, the temperatures were dropping and the barren landscape above the tree line offered no protection from the wind. We breathed a collective sigh of relief to see a pile of firewood and a rusty saw leant against the side of the refuge when we eventually reached it.
The refuge was tiny, with barely room to stand, but with two wooden sleeping platforms and a roaring fire it was everything we needed. We made dinner and hot drinks on our stoves and wrapped ourselves up in our sleeping bags for a warm and comfortable night, relieved to have solid walls and a roof over our heads.
We woke to crisp blue skies and a light sprinkle of snow, a cloud inversion nestled below us with sun-kissed mountaintops stretched as far as the eye could see. Our kits warmed in the morning sun and I had a splashy wash in the freezing water of the ice-covered tap that was running constantly behind the refuge.
A long doubletrack gravel descent took us down through the mist to a breakfast of pastries, fruit, and coffee in the village of Les Cabannes. Extra supplies for the day were shoved into pockets and bags alongside the extra layers we no longer had to wear now that the sun had burnt through. From the village, we climbed gradually up to the Route des Corniches, a quiet tarmac road that traverses the mountainside through tiny villages and below a working talc mine. As we sat at a viewpoint for our lunchtime picnic, it was hard to believe the weather that was going to hit us later, although Tomas recognized the signs in the mosaic of small wispy clouds that had started to form above us.
By the time we reached the large spa town of Ax les Thermes, the skies were dark and heavy – a guarantee that rain would be with us by early evening. We made the decision to ride the next climb, but loop back to the town where there was potential for shelter and warmth, rather than continuing on the Arcouzan route to our proposed remote camp spot. Our decision was the right one, as after a short stretch along the river we started to climb and almost immediately felt drops of rain. The off-road path was challenging enough to keep us warm, too warm by the time the rain fell hard enough that we needed to put on waterproof jackets.
Reaching the top, we regrouped and put on extra layers in the hope of fending off the cold on the descent but all of the clothes we had just weren’t enough. The top section, a stretch of singletrack that would have been grin-inducing on a warm dry day, became a slippery leaf-littered gulley that we navigated nervously with squealing, gritty brakes. Once we reached doubletrack again, the rain was hammering down and the surface water and puddles were unavoidable. We were soaked with water from both above and below and shivering by the time we reached tarmac.
Finally reaching Ax les Thermes was a huge relief. I could feel the ambient temperature rise by a few degrees and the open hot spring in the center of town was now steaming profusely into the cold air. Had it not been for the smell of sulphur, I’d have submerged myself fully clothed into the bath temperature water. Instead we opted for a local bar and a chocolat chaud to clasp our hands around to help slowly regain the feeling in our fingers.
That was it; we had all changed into dry clothes and made a mutual decision that not one of us now wanted to pitch a tent in torrential rain just to put our cold wet kit back on in the morning to ride in more rain. The next section of the route would have taken us over the Port de Pailhères, a high pass with high winds and the potential of snow. The option of a train ride back to a hot shower and a warm bed was too much of a temptation. We would spend the next few days exploring the start and finish of the route in the relative warmth of the lowlands and foothills that surrounded Zero Neuf.
Zero Neuf is situated in the Ariege, which is a sparsely populated and largely agricultural region. Fields of wheat, sunflowers, and wildflowers are broken up by patches of ancient oak woodland. The trees that line the repurposed gravel path along a disused railway will provide some welcome shade during the summer months during the final, flat, fast kilometers of the Arcouzan route back to base. The sleepy villages of ramshackle stone-built houses with sun-bleached wooden shutters take you back to a simpler time. The roads are quiet and you often skirt along the clear waters of the Le Grand Hers River. It’s impossible to resist the lure of freshly baked bread and pastries from the boulangeries, and the local produce of which the Ariègeoise are so proud can be found in épiceries in the larger villages. Cheeses, cured meats and honey along with seasonal fruits and vegetables make a perfect picnic lunch.
Even outside of the mountains, the riding here is incredible, so there was plenty to explore and enjoy. At the end of the driveway is a beautiful swim spot. The tranquility of the location and the home-cooked food lovingly prepared by Mike’s wife Joss softened the blow of not completing the ride we had come here to do.
Talking to Mike along the way, I can feel the passion he has for his new home. He and Joss have spent 10 years out here welcoming guests and guiding rides in the region.
“The more I ride in the Ariege, the more captivated I become. As my knowledge of the region has increased, my appreciation for everything ‘Ariegeoise’ has grown exponentially and I want other passionate riders to experience the Ariège as I do, like a local.”
“Our high-tech society sees more and more people lose touch with nature, I set out to design a route that reconnects its riders with their natural surroundings on more than just a digital basis. There’s a great book called Last Child in the Woods and the author, Richard Louv, suggests that both adults and children have increasingly come to ‘regard nature as something to watch, to consume, to wear: to ignore.’ This quote really resonates, and so Arcouzan was never going to be just a route to follow; I want riders to engage with the landscapes, people and places, flora and fauna, food and drink of this region.”
About
Arcouzan has three route options, each of which start and finish with some flat kilometers and rolling hills to warm up your legs before hitting the long climbs of the mountains. The full route is 480km +11,500m, the short route is 370km +8,700m, and there is an 165km +3,500m Arcouzan light option for those new to bikepacking or short on time. The route will be based around 5 checkpoints, one in each region of the Ariege, each carefully picked to connect riders to the route. Brevet cards will be available at the start, a nod to the desire for a connection without a digital connection that Mike had told me about.
The route is best ridden between April and October, but as we found it’s worth checking the conditions in the mountains. Storms are not uncommon even in the summer months and the high passes can see snow until May, so being prepared and flexible with plans is crucial. Luckily Mike has realized this, and with the alternative routes and shortcuts there are bailout options if the weather gods punish you like they did us.
The climbs are long but all ridable with the correct gearing, there’s one hike-a-bike section on the optional Port d’Aula “lollipop” loop that dips over the Spanish border but this is easily avoided. The mountain roads here are virtually empty so you will often ride a tarmac climb to the reward of endless mountain vistas before a long sweeping gravel descent. Low gearing and 40mm+ tires are recommended.
The route will launch this summer, with talk of a relaxed Arcouzan rally later in the year.