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Cycle to the Port of Dover and find we are early, so we walk along the cliffs in imitation of Rimbaud and Verlaine, looking down on the port. The European Bike Express bus arrives early (scheduled for 2:30pm pickup) and we are the only ones to get on at this stop. All but three seats are taken as we head for the ferry. The expectation that you should have handlebars turned pre-loading is explained by the rapid loading of bikes and people. Unfortunately, brutally quick in my case by the over-excited driver. The bikes go on a double trailer with G's on top and mine on the bottom. The hostess welcomes us and shows us to our seats on the top deck. There is lots of leg-room and the seats are very comfortable with big clean windows. A busload of discreet cyclists will be our company for the next 16 hours. The hostesses (Sheila and Darryl) sell drinks and sandwiches but are not pushy and are always friendly and efficient. It is a pleasant change to be surrounded by other cyclists as one surreptitiously compares clothing and equipment for possible tips, such as where to carry a map. The ferry trip, which is thankfully quick, is packed with smokers - and there are few non-smoking areas. Despite the fresh sea air it smells like a pub at closing-time. Once across the Channel, we reboard the bus and head into France. I had forgotten how boring a country can look from the motorway and how tedious a high-speed journey can be. Before the sun sets we see many of the regions we have cycled through. Without the clue of place names and roadside graphics of castles ansd cathedrals we never would have guessed: it looks so unremarkable. A 30-minute stop for food and leg stretching about 8pm and then again at 11:30pm. Finally manage to get comfortable enough to sleep lightly (my last all-night bus journey was when I was 17). All other stops are simply to let people off, at 3:25am and a very large contingent at 5:30 am for Orange. Cyclists getting off in the middle of the night with their bikes and gear do so quietly without the aid of any light. Not much talking amongst the cyclists but then we are all loners so it is not surprising. Fortunately the sound for the movie doesn't work and the attempt at group games is abandoned fairly quickly. We are left in peace until our stop at 8:30 am when we get off on the outskirts of Montpellier with one other cyclist, a widower in his 60s. The immensely positive aspects of the European Bike Express are marred by damage to my bike by the bus driver. (After our return, they reimburse us for the repairs and are very pleasant and cooperative.) Another driver has replaced him but fortunately the host, Darryl can provide some tools so we can get the bike functioning. What is really frustrating is that I had taken the bike to the shop to be shown how to loosen the bolt and turn the handlebars. I was warned that because of the way my brake cables are attached, I should only move the handlebars 75 degrees rather than the recommended 90 degrees. Correspondence and telephone calls with EBE had confirmed this would be fine but the bus driver was too fast for us. As feared, the brake cable is damaged - in many ways fortunate that we didn't notice until we got off as it could have been a very unpleasant 16 hours otherwise. The brakes continue to rub for the rest of the day and Graham spends about one hour of the first day of cycling to try and fix it, test it, try again, until finally he is forced to shave off some of the new brake block. That seems to do the trick (but has to be repeated until we finally get it into a bike shop two weeks later) and we manage eventually to enjoy the 25-mile trip northwest of Montpellier. The landscape is rocky and hilly with lots of brush and low pine trees. Men dressed like southern rednecks are out hunting with short rifles. They call out "bonjour" as we breeze past. The weather is perfect - warm, dry and sunny. The smell of wild herbs and dry pine needles is invigorating. The problems of the morning recede but the day is marred again by the loss of the Montpellier city map (I have accidentally thrown it away in a tidy before we got off the bus). It takes a long time to find a city map and an even longer time to find the hotel we have pre-booked. Walking around in circles, the lack of sleep is catching up with us so when we find the hotel is shut until 6:30 we feel defeated. It is only 3pm but we are desperate to take a bath and rest so the hunt for another hotel begins and fortunately we find one quickly in a shady part of the centre, just across from the Roman aqueduct, aptly named the Hotel des Arceaux. A great view, an inexpensive and quiet room, a shower and a cold beer make us feel human again. Dinner is a high point, not just because of the food but also because of the setting, outside under huge low-limbed trees. Imagine having an entire dining room with linen tablecloths set outside - fantastic! Menu: Salmon mousse with tiny fresh vegetables and a lemon dressing. Cod with a tomato sauce. Chardonnay from Languedoc is lovely and cool. First real day of cycling and we hope that everything bad has now happened and the rest of the trip will be perfect. Getting out of the city is tedious due to a one-way system, closed bus lanes and no clues for cyclists. But G gets us out, more from walking than cycling, so our "daily average" is rather low when we start out. On the outskirts we find a good cycle lane, very fast until we get to Carnon, which reminds me of a rather tacky Florida beachside resort. We are along the Mediterranean but trying to see it is a challenge due to all the buildings. However, la Grande-Motte is quite attractive and interesting with its 1960s buildings looking like large ships. The place is expensive enough to be kept up and the roadways, like expensive California seafront property, are lined by masses of flowering shrubs which remind one of. Then the biggest tangle of the day in le Grau-du-Roi. It is a small place and on the map the road to Aigues-Mortes looks obvious, but a mass of parking lots makes it as difficult to get through as a medieval city. Finally we escape and the last bit of the road to Aigues-Mortes provides us with wonderful views of this walled medieval town, built by Louis XI. France during the 12th century had no port on the Mediterranean so this fortified medieval town was built. Now, some miles from the sea, it still attracts tourists. Inside, a maze of medieval narrow streets will suddenly open out onto squares with cafes, monastic buildings or the 17th century Hotel de Ville. It is hot enough for a long stop in a café followed by a stop to eat lunch just outside the walls, watching the vendors who still sell their wares to those entering the town. From here to our destination of St Gilles, 24 miles away, we are able to follow small quiet roads through the Camargue with views of black bulls and white ponies. The famous pink flamingos, which we saw earlier in the day from a motorway bridge, never reappear. Bamboo groves and tall reeds with feathery white tips interrupt our view of frequent dykes. St Gilles makes one think of a small town in Louisiana with Spanish architecture. Most memorable is the noise. Everyone seems to have a need to speak loudly. A nice hotel and a good dinner (outside yet again) complete a good day. The food is served "family style". We leave some of the giant pâté but the salad is fully consumed! I have a fish platter with mounds of little shells with even tinier cooked creatures from the deep. Lotte, a very meaty fish, is the main course with tomato sauce. Local Chardonnay is consumed once again. Camargue rice is served with the main course. An easy exit from the tiny town of St Gilles as we return to the Camargue countryside. Today our ride is through even more isolated and wild countryside. Paved tracks take us through misty and exceedingly humid countryside. We see the rice fields, now harvested. Black bulls and pumping stations dot the landscape. A mere 10 miles and we are in Arles, a city that appears to be set in the Italian countryside with its church bell towers dominating the sky. A huge amphitheatre built by the Romans is amazingly still in use for local bullfights - and as in Rome, it is full of wild cats. Lots of Japanese tourists are in town. As we leave we notice the church doors next to the Hotel de Ville that have wonderfully expressive animal statues decorating its exterior. We must return! We stop again a few miles later at the Abbey of Montmajour. The morning is getting hot so we don't go in but the ruins look most impressive from the road. As we continue, the landscape changes: hillier terrain, and ridges with views to our left of the Luberon mountain appearing in shades of purple and blue alternating with the rough shine from bare rocks and the dry green of scraggy trees. The blue sky above and later the light blue rayon colour of the canal makes for wonderful contrasts. The smell of lavender hits one regularly, along with rosemary and the sweet smell of dry pine leaves. Soon we start seeing olive orchards and gypsies harvesting olives which will be used for oil. Vineyards, apple and pear orchards also mark the landscape. It is hard to believe we are seeing so many changes in just one day, which began in steamy swamps. A green lizard runs in front of Graham but otherwise we see no animals. We pass through Provencal towns lined by huge plane trees. The Café du Commerce, perfectly positioned on the top of the village, has wonderful views but the noise from the local boys on motorbikes is rather distracting. But then, there is nothing else to do. We finally get to the Chambre d'hôte which is a fortified 18th century farmhouse. It is a 3 star B&B so we are not surprised to find a beautifully decorated vaulted room with views on to the countryside and private pool. But there is no dinner because the father is harvesting olives. We walk back down into the town (20 minutes) and finally find a restaurant. Sitting outside, we enjoy views over the town centre while eating a salad and pasta. The wind is getting stronger as we return in complete darkness to the farm. A low mileage day but with our first mountain range to cross - the Luberon. We zoom down from the elevated position of the Chambre d'hôte and immediately notice the much cooler air - and the strong westerly wind. Our first stop, just a few miles away is the pretty town of Lourmarin with a chateau and Albert Camus's gravesite. We locate the very plain grave covered in lavender plants and then head into town to eat breakfast alongside the town's football pitch which has a wonderful view of the Chateau. We see a couple from the Bike Express group, who got off in Orange, making their way through the town. We set off for the Combe de Lourmarin which is part of the Luberon National Park. Combe doesn't mean comb but that is the appearance of the rocks in the gorge which begins our trek across the mountains. It is reminiscent of national parks in the western USA. We wind our way between the rock with various types of oak, olive trees, almond trees and masses of herbs along the road which make every breath so pleasant - marjoram joins the smells of rosemary and lavender. We get to the top (passing the first woman camping cyclist we have seen in France) and soar into Bonnieux. It is as stunning as promised by the calendar photo which inspired the visit to this town. The town, which is on a hilltop, merges in and out of the rock face with only the church spire standing out against the deep blue sky. As we approach we see flickers of bright orange, blue, purple and yellow from the window and door shutters. Breathtaking views below the town show us where we have been and where we are going, including our first view of Mont Ventoux. A short run up a steep hill to Lacoste where the hilltop village is dominated by a ruined château once owned by the Marquis de Sade. Down in the valley, passing the Chateau d'Isolette, home of the wine from the previous evening, crossing a Roman bridge, the Pont Julien, on the old road to Spain, and then up and down into Apt, the largest town in the region. Industrial outskirts remind us Apt is known for its crystallised fruit while the old town where we are staying is full of narrow cobbled streets full of good quality shops. School has resumed and the season is officially at an end but there are plenty of tourists from Germany, Belgium and Portugal (some pretty awful drivers!). For the first time we are seeing lots of touring cyclists and even more day-trippers, racing cyclists in training and former racing cyclists keeping fit. The best restaurant is fully booked so we are forced to eat in a Crêperie but at least it is inexpensive. Return to our room to read some of our books printed out from the Internet. G has Tolstoy's Kreutzer Sonata and Le Fanu's Carmilla, while I have Balzac's Vicar of Tours and Pierrette. We throw away the pages as we read them so as to lighten the load. Early start going up a very steep hill out of Apt. Saint Saturnin is yet another amazing village perched on the knob of a hillside. What appears to be a shorter version of the Great Wall of China marks out this fortressed town. One end of the wall ends in a stone tower while the other merges into a church spire. We continue climbing to a restored 18th century windmill where we have another breakfast and enjoy views of this bright blue, sunny and windless morning. Distant tiled roofs bake in the sun as we head up through oak and pine forests to the summit of the Col de La Liguiere (998 m.). The 13-kilometer ascent takes us three hours, including food stops. The pitch varies from 6.5% to 8%. We pass many butterflies as we descend gently towards Sault. Before arriving, we turn off to explore a 10-mile stretch of the Gorges de la Nesque (we had explored the other entrance to the Gorges when we lived in Bedoin in 1986). There are lots of cyclists when we arrive in Sault gathered at the panoramic café. We join them after settling into our hotel. There are plenty of cafés and shops specialising in local candies but only one restaurant open - a mile walk uphill and through the woods. It is a 3 * hotel, very nouveau riche with everyone watching everyone else. The waiters play the game as well and it all gets to be too odd so we leave after a mere four courses - very delicious, I should add. This causes further consternation, which we talk about on the pitch-black walk back to Sault. Far up a mass of stars shine out and we are reminded that they still do exist even though we can never see them in southern England! All the people in our hotel, bar one couple, are cyclists from Germany, USA or Britain. Lavender essence rather than soap is used for washing up so our clothes smell quite nice the next day.
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