Over 2,000 kilometres / 1300 miles were cycled on a 26-day route which took us
(via train, then bus, then ferry, then bus) to Montpellier. From there we
ventured into Cathar country, soared up and over several Pyrenean mountains and
had a detour into Spain before we finally headed north along the Atlantic coast
to the port of Roscoff in Brittany. Another ferry, another train ride and then a
final cycle home from Reading completed another marathon (by our standards)
adventure holiday which broke many records. For example, there was sun every day
and any dampness was due more to the wonderfully high temperatures (90's F/30's C)
or early morning mist in the mountains than actual rain. Sleeping was no problem,
with a record-setting 11.5 hours two days in a row. Longest day cycling was 9 ¾ hours
which was also the day with the highest mileage topping out at 92.2 miles/147.5 kilo-
meters (day 16).This trip took us higher than before, over the Tourmalet at 2115 meters
(day 9). But cycling up and over one high mountain is actually easier than going up
and over 9 cols (passes) in one day (day 4). All this breaking of records was noticed
by our bodies which began to complain after 21 days on the road. A 26th day was added
as a rest day which we enjoyed in the lovely city of Nantes.
We stayed in two-star hotels, some on the verge of becoming one-star and others
aspiring to be three-star establishments. On day 14, a hunt for a hotel added 20
miles and one country, Spain, to our route. We had many good meals but only
a few excellent dinners (several in the most unlikely places) - and for the first
time, a few we wouldn't want to repeat. A year wasn't long enough to renew our
tolerance of energy bars and I found myself no longer enjoying the tabouli salad
which had become a staple for our lunches. French breakfast fatigue didn't set in,
but finding food we enjoyed eating during the day was a struggle - hence Graham's
loss of 14 pounds/1 stone. The fact that I didn't lose any weight confirms how
unfair life can be! As in years past, the friendly shopkeepers and calls of "bon
courage" and "bonjour" while cycling kept our spirits high. The courtesy of
French drivers was a pleasure we were sorry to leave - my favourite being the
armoured tank carrier which stayed well behind me until there was sufficient space
for passing without alarming me. Graham's map reading kept us on the prettiest and
quietest roads but failed when, in the region east of Béziers,
the map (Michelin 1:200,000) bore little resemblance to the landscape. When a road
disappears, it doesn't matter that the map says otherwise! The compass, renamed
"the ball of truth", was invaluable in such situations.
I woke each morning, excited as a child on Christmas morning,
wondering what adventures would be unwrapped for us that day. Though we were
never disappointed, there were days which stood out as particularly magnificent.
The journey from Cucugnan to Lagrasse, though hard,
took us along beautiful gorges and woods from where we would emerge
to wonder at the amazing sights of former Cathar castles high on inaccessible
hill-tops. The quiet and simple attractions of the Canal du Midi
lead us into the bustling pink brick city of Toulouse. The craggy and rugged
mountains of the Pyrenees, full of cycling legends and fantastic views, tested
our stamina over several days. Perched along a mountain side, the Cirque du
Litor was a fairy-tale path between two mountain tops and a place to which I
would gladly return. The Basque country, green, open and astoundingly tidy in
all respects, was full of adventures. We eventually reached the surf of the Atlantic
Ocean, sparkling blue in the hot sunshine. The pine forests of the Landes,
which provided us with cool, green cycle paths over a 200-mile stretch, made
it possible to cycle for hour after hour, observing the subtle differences
of the woodlands, the nearby beaches and the odd colonies of tourists/campers
and proto-Californians. Marshes and the remains of towns overrun by sand in
the 6th century still had an abandoned feel about them. Brittany, in contrast
to the Basque country, felt untidy and closed-in, until I adjusted to enjoy
the dense and mysterious woods which Merlin probably deserted a long
time ago. Carved stone steeples marked the villages, including
Roscoff, where we enjoyed our best meal of the trip as we
watched the sun setting over the English Channel.
A marvellous trip!
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