|
Day 1: Perpignan
We board a bus to board a train to board a plane full of British holiday makers. Sandwiched between two families with two small children each, the wailing of infants prevents any restful reverie of our impending travels. Seven days of sheer exhaustion and hunger followed our three-week cycling trip in May. It must provide some sort of lesson - but what? - as we head out for four more weeks of cycling.
Returning to Perpignan is like a warm and sunny home-coming. The Hôtel de France has left our bikes in the locked garage where we placed them (no charge for a week's bike parking) and have given us the room we had a week earlier. They show us newspapers describing the riots of the past week. The CRS (the heavy-duty arm of the French police force) is everywhere but the effect is low-key because officers on the verge of retirement have been brought in from elsewhere. The shopkeepers are nervous. When we revisit our favourite outdoor café, "Les Trois Soeurs" (the three sisters), we listen to their conversation while sitting on bright red upholstered couches and stools arranged on strips of red carpet (obviously no sudden rain storm is expected). We have dinner again at "Le Gastro", a very friendly, family-run restaurant. A chilled white Chardonnay helps dispel the heat: 20C at 9pm. The immense welcome for tourists is fantastic but what would it be like living in a city where 37% of the citizens vote for the National Front?
Day 2: Perpignan - Vernet-les-Bains 77 k
My mother-in-law, who cycled in France just after WWII, spoke of the smell of drains. We experience the smell over breakfast!
By following the canal to the rail station (which Salvador Dalí proclaimed the centre of the universe), where the bike path begins, we avoid the morning traffic. The bike path is wide enough for two and runs beside the road, often with a better surface, until Toulouges, where it disappears for a few miles. There is no consistency to the right of way rule, so one has to pay close attention. Even though cyclists are known for spending more money than car drivers in places they pass through, the bike path bypasses the towns and we never have the chance to purchase some food. At Thuir we get off the bike path and follow signs, over the col called Als Cols, to Castelnou, a prettiest village. [PHOTO] The road is quiet and the gradients are easy but the heat is already intense and shady spots are rare.
Two easy cols - Collade des Planes and la Font rouge - before we arrive at the Eglise de Fontcouverte. A few hundred metres further on is a perfect picnic spot for cyclists. Stairs lead to stone picnic tables and an endless supply of cold water from a spring. We soak our head scarves in the water before departing. We don't have to wait very long before our headgear is parched dry. Fortunately, there is plenty of water along this route, for example, at St-Michel-de-Llotes. On the descent to this village there are many oaks being harvested for cork. [PHOTO] A wide shoulder (90% of the time) along the fast red road from Bouleternere to Marquixanes (N116), plus easy gradients, makes this much pleasanter than expected.
Eus, our second "prettiest village", is arranged like a pyramid, with the church and bell tower at the apex. Red roof tiles top cream coloured houses. Somewhere along this route we pass a barefoot pilgrim on one of the Santiago de Compostela routes, a happy young woman who calls out a greeting. Assuming we are also pilgrims she tells us it must be faster by bike. How is she managing? It is 104F and we have lost our appetite but are weak and shaky with hunger. We stop at a café in Prades. A collection of raucous middle-aged women (agricultural workers now finished for the day) provide a type of entertainment. When G goes off to a shop, leaving me alone at the table, one of the women, looking much the worse for wear from alcohol or other drugs, turns to ask me about myself. Are we pilgrims? Where have we cycled from? She walked from Perpignan to Nantes via Bordeaux. She is one of the many pilgrims who are now stuck in this town full of folks wanting to live an "alternative lifestyle". Hippy vans are as numerous as the tour buses that stop for a look at the church. I can see why. It has an amazing altarpiece - rococo gone mad with a gigantic statue of a Pope in the centre.
With a bit of food in us now, we tackle our last two cols of the day. We have a brief break in Fillols when a rainstorm forces us to shelter beneath a cherry tree. I feast on the ripe fruit hanging over the road for anyone to enjoy. We have been passing signs indicating that "camping sauvage" (camping in the wild) is not allowed. Unusually for France, the locals are suspicious and unfriendly. We suspect it is something to do with the number of pilgrims along this route.
Vernet-les-Bains has seen better days since 810 when it was founded by the Romans who bathed in its healing waters. The water is also famous for its destructive power. The town, caught between steep mountains and a torrential river, was flattened by a flood in 1940.
Our hotel room is large and includes a glassed-in patio overlooking the river. The roar is so loud we can hear little else. We have dinner in a restaurant decorated in a Latin American theme. We have our worst dessert ever, a most unappetising fruit soup. Imagine canned fruit swimming in water with a few fresh pieces of banana and apple. At least the meal is inexpensive.
Day 3: Vernet-les-Bains
The morning is consumed by a fascinating tour of the local geological museum. The collections are the work of one man and his wife. He knows every rock and has a story to tell about each of the thousands of items on display. He keeps his audience spell-bound, regardless of our educational background. The BBC would love him.
We take a bus 4 kilometres downhill to Villefranche de Conflent so as to catch the Little Yellow Train which winds through this beautiful countryside on routes only accessible by rail. Unfortunately, it is full of tour parties and we have to abandon our plans. It feels too hot to explore the pentangle-sided Château-Fort Liberia so we return to Vernet-les-Bains. The trip back provides us with the postcard view of the town, which we would not have seen otherwise. The bus trip also proves the destructive power of the private car to a community. The time-table is out-of-date but no one has noticed because no one uses the bus. The buses go back and forth, empty and subsidized. Those rare people who don't have a car (by choice or circumstance) are forced to use a public form of transport which is now completely divorced from the public.
A slowly setting sun seems the perfect time to climb up to the château and church, immortalised on hundreds of posters and postcards. We are surprised to find they have been sold to the highest bidder and are closed to the public. At least we find a restaurant with better dessert options.
Day 4: Vernet-les-Bains - Rennes-les-Bains 92 k
Lots of cyclists pass through Vernet-les-Bains. A few years ago, the maid was shocked to find bedrooms filled with the remains of drug transfusions, needles and other drug paraphernalia. The professional Italian team didn't eat much either - another clue.
We eat everything in sight before descending on our bikes to Villefranche. Though it is a Sunday, the red road (N116) to Prades, notorious for accidents, is hectic with shopping traffic. However, we find ourselves alone when we turn off for the Col de Roque-Jalère. The plant life, low trees and scrub, lacks variety, but many flowers are in bloom and the smell of thyme is refreshing. The gradients are fine and we are soon at 991 metres. Wonderful views of the snow-capped Canigou present themselves on this hot and sunny morning.
Passing rocky boulders covered in lichens, we experience our first puncture (after cycling over 9,000 miles in France) on the descent to Sournia. The culprit is a tiny piece of gravel, pretending to be a shard of sharp glass. A quick repair in a small patch of shade and we are soon on our way again.
The Tramontane, like the Mistral, is a strong wind that blows from the north-west. The Mistral is known to have stopped trains. From Le Vivier we struggle against the fierce might of the Tramontane. Several times we are brought to a complete halt by the sheer force of the wind. It is most frightening when this happens while going down a steep descent!
Shops are rare and our bags are soon empty of anything edible. At St-Paul-de-Fenouillet we find the owner, hugging a huge bag of cherries, locking up a PMU café. She sees our condition and promises to come right back. Refuelled after a delicious ham sandwich and ice cold drinks we enter the Gorges de Galamus. Exceedingly narrow, twisting roads with low tunnels blasted through the rock-face are ideal for cyclists and walkers but nearly impossible for motor vehicles. [PHOTO] Looking down we see bathers enjoying waterfalls, made gentle by boulders in this fast-flowing river. All too soon we leave behind the fantastic scenery to head up two climbs. The gradients are fine but the wind makes it a struggle. The amazing view of the rocky mountain top of Bugarach comes into sight. [PHOTO] The mystical mysteries of this mountain on the meridian have been made famous to a new generation by Dan Brown. The long narrow village of Rennes-les-Bains, situated between a sheer rock face and a river, beats to the sound of New Age drummers.
Our hotel is run by two sisters, one so timid that she remains in the basement kitchen placing food in a dumb waiter while the other works upstairs in the role of receptionist-manager-waitress. There is no choice and we eat and drink what is placed before us (a distinct lack of vegetables and fruit). Our fellow boarders are mostly older single women, staying here for some time in hopes of a successful spa cure.
Day 5: Rennes-les-Bains - Foix 116 k
The map is deceptive and the small and pretty town of Espéraza (famous for hat making) is more lively and full of shops than the much larger town of Quillan where a dreary population allowed an out-of-town mega-shop to close most of the city centre shops. The lesson is to stop when one sees shops! Fortunately, drinking water is available along the roadside at the Col de Coudons, Bélesta and Fougax.
Three Slovakian cyclists, of various ages, greet us on the climb up the Col du Portel. Speaking in English and never sitting in his saddle, the older one talks with G to the summit of the Col des Bans and then up to the Col de Coudons. The gradient is ok but the heat is wearing.
The wide landscape of the Plateau de Sault, covered in thick green meadows and a few white cows, provides a pretty break from the climbing. Of course, the descent to Bélesta is marred by the knowledge that we will have to climb back up to 1059 metres in a few miles. Fortunately, only the last 3 miles of the Montségur / Tremblement climb is horribly difficult. We view green pinnacle hills topped by boulders imitating human fortresses. The scenery is striking and shows the desperation of the Cathars who were forced to go further and further into the wilderness to escape persecution.
Nowadays, there are towns with well maintained homes. The one exception is Lavelanet where factories and cheap high-rise concrete housing for the workers form a less pleasant contrast. In the 19th century, the river water used to change colour daily due to the discharge from the textile mills. A nearly futile hunt for the D10 forces us to explore too much of Lavelanet. However, once found, it is worth the time as it is a quiet route with good gradients through countryside reminiscent of Tennessee-Kentucky border lands. Small hamlets crouch on the hillsides. We enjoy cycling on a series of ridge-roads, nearly level.
As we descend to Foix we are greeted by the rugged ruins of three castle towers, rising up from a rocky outcrop. The river Ariège, which runs through the centre of Foix, forms the backdrop for dinner in our hotel restaurant. [PHOTO]
Day 6: Foix - Audressein 101 k
We are led out of Foix's busy morning traffic by an elderly cyclist on a 3-speed bike. Looking a bit like Charles de Gaulle, he is extremely fit and has obviously done a lot of cycling. He leads us around huge trucks with a firm salute and they give a friendly honk in reply. Rather impatient with our more cautious style in heavy traffic, he motions (by pumping his elbow) for us to work harder. At the edge of the final suburb, he stops and gives a final salute - a great exit.
Tarascon is remarkable for its setting amidst steep triangular rocks, forming a massive halo around this pretty and lively town. Just outside are numerous grottos and caves containing Stone Age paintings, none of which we visit. There is no time as we have cycled only 15 miles and it will soon be noon.
We start the ascent of the Col de Port (1250 metres). The gradients are easy at first. We go through attractive villages and hamlets, past shady copses and lush green meadows. From Saurat (678 m) official signposting for the col begins. Cyclists are informed of the next kilometre's gradient (between 5%- 8% with a 3.5% relief section). At the top, we are greeted by a herd of wild black horses. [PHOTO] As we are admiring them (and they are admiring our lunch), a cyclist flies past, skimming up and over the top of the col without any change to his smooth fast rhythm. An amazing sight - he must be a professional!
The long and gentle descent is a real delight. One of the villages, Massat, is full of post-hippie/New Age/Christian communities. From here until Oust, the downhill is at 1% alongside the Ariège river, now much shallower. The cool blue-green water, tumbling over rocks, is a temptation on this hot afternoon. The hamlet of Soueix-Rogalle, containing a lovely 12th-century church and houses topped by slate turrets, is as surprising to us as we are to the postmaster in his silent post office.
At Sentenac, we have the pleasure of once again being lead through a busy town by a fellow cyclist. This time, instead of being in his 60s, he is about 8 years old! Fast and furious, always dancing on his pedals, he leads us through the busy local streets until he abandons us outside his home, the official start for the climb to the Port de la Core (1395 metres). [PHOTO]
The road is quiet. We pass a shepherd speaking Couserans dialect while his sheep criss-cross our path. This used to be called the "lost valley" where bears were trained to act in "amusing" stunts and dances. Now all we have are fantastic views against a setting sun. I struggle up the long hard climb. Shaky and exhausted, I am not encouraged when a fellow cyclist going the opposite way tells us the summit is still a long way off! The Spanish border, marked by snow-topped mountains, appears nearby. Eventually, we do reach the summit [PHOTO] and descend quickly, past a series of pretty hamlets, to the small village of Audressein. The hotel-restaurant has pretensions beyond its "customer base" resulting in high priced menus and wine lists. From somewhere, we find the energy to explore old barns, the remains of a thresher and the church.
Day 7: Audressein - Bagnères-de-Luchon 73 k
Spare drinking water doesn't need to be carried in this region. Yesterday, most hamlets and villages had fountains or public water taps and today is no different. The climbs to St Lary, the start of the ascent to the Portet d'Aspet, are easy. While eating a second breakfast we contemplate the worryingly sharp bend in this narrow village where the Tour de France will be coming through in July (as it does each year). Four kilometres at 8% up to the village of Portet d'Aspet is followed by even steeper gradients for the last 2 kilometres to the summit.
Despite this, we have to stop briefly to avoid passing a cyclist wearing a "Leader of the Tour of the North" t-shirt. He is very heavily laden and I am surprised he doesn't fall over at several points. While refilling our water bottles at the top, we meet his wife, who also has four massive panniers. They are members of the CTC, retired and now spending at least half the year cycling around France. Even though they are camping I am sure I could help them reduce their luggage - but as they show no envy of our scanty luggage, I decide to mind my own business!
The number of cyclists is amazing. Now that we are on the Pyrenean col route, we see large groups from the US, Britain, Italy and France - 98% men and 98% with support vehicles rather than luggage. Half way down is the Casartelli memorial, a meeting place for all of us. The imposition of helmets for racing cyclists followed the death of Casartelli. The fact that he would have died regardless of a helmet is never remembered. The hypocrites have also done nothing about removing the large and ragged concrete stumps that lurch out at cyclists, even now, on this steep and dangerous descent. The evangelical "you must wear a helmet" brigade (and some of the worst believers are cyclists) concentrate on this seemingly simple solution to cycling safety rather than tackling the much more challenging (but more significant) problems of bad driving, unnecessary road furniture, dangerous intersections, etc. End of sermon.
A brief and easy climb to Buret is followed by the much tougher climb to the Col des Ares before we can enjoy the respite of a steep downhill to Fronsac. Yet more cyclists cross our paths while we cross the wide and pretty Garonne river. We soon locate the bike lane along the not very busy D125. [PHOTO] This wide lane continues through to Bagnères-de-Luchon (with two small exceptions at Burgalay around the rail junction and in Cazaux). This is a vital link for cyclists on the west-east Pyrenean route. It avoids the busier N230, which heads for Spain, and the Col du Portillon to Luchon. The sleepy, cool and green spa town of Luchon has lots of inexpensive grand hotels and just enough shops for our needs. [PHOTO]
Day 8: Bagnères-de-Luchon - Arreau 37 k
It is a partial rest day, but a Pyrenean col, the famous Peyresourde, has been thrown in to keep our legs from stagnating. The climb starts one mile from the hotel and continues for 11 miles. We pass a grandmother hitching a lift into Luchon just before we exit the main road. The older road we are taking is two miles longer than signposted and is even quieter. It requires clambering up and over numerous mountain villages, starting with Garin and Poubeau [PHOTO], each marked by its own church steeple. The view over high meadows is wonderfully open. We can see the top of the col for most of the climb. [PHOTO] Research for G requires the hunting down of standing stones, singing stones and cagot fonts, the first of which, when heading west, is found at Anéran. [PHOTO] (Cagot is the term for a group of people in the south-west of France who were discriminated against and treated as a separate and distinct caste though it is unclear what distinguished them from others.)
Arreau, though it is crowded with 15-16th century wood-timbered buildings, a famous façade covered in wooden carvings and a fantastic church (11-12th century door and 15th century brightly painted interior), is not officially a "prettiest village". We enjoy meandering around, crossing medieval stone bridges and admiring the river. The Cagot Museum in the Château des Nestes is deeply disappointing for its simplistic view, but it is interesting for what it does not say.
The Hôtel d'Angleterre is most pleasant with prices and quality of service more in keeping with a 3* establishment. It even has a vegetarian option as part of its evening menu - first time ever. About 8 British cyclists are there as part of a trip arranged by "Cycling in France". The leader is very jolly and speaks some French but otherwise is surprisingly ignorant to be leading a group over a series of Pyrenean cols. Of course, the participants don't seem to mind the lack of information.
Day 9: Arreau - Lourdes 84 k
Fantastic sleep in a fantastic bedroom is marred by a buffet breakfast with the British cyclists. In brief, they are oblivious of others and don't know how to behave in a hotel. Even the French guests start asking the owner when these rude people will go away. A shame, especially as they are cyclists.
Our route today was followed by the Tour de France in 2002 (but they did much more). The D929, the main road north from Arreau, is not too busy. The valleys we wander through in the Baronnies region are amazingly remote. A hard (7-8%) but short climb to the Col des Palomières is followed by an enjoyable ride through a very humid river valley like a little Amazonia. The hunt for Cagot objects feels like a wild goose chase until we finally have success in the church at Juncalas. We enter Lourdes via a wide and pleasant bike path that we have been on before. Unfortunately, gaining access to the path from the road has been no easier.
The hotel, a former convent, is easy to locate, as are the nearby main sights, the Grotto, Bernadette's family home and the Basilica. Not being Catholic, visiting these places doesn't provide strong emotional reactions, though it does feel very odd. The hotel lift is positively scary, miniscule (18"x 36") and covered in dark blue carpet, a bit like a grotto… If you aren't thin, the louvered doors can't shut. Despite this, we enjoy a very substantial dinner beginning with a salmon mousse, then a goose liver salad, followed by trout and tagliatelle, a refreshing sorbet, and finishing with a crepe flavoured with fresh myrtles. The bikes watch in amazement from the open French doors.
Day 10: Lourdes - Bielle (via Goust) 84 k
We cycle out of Lourdes on roads filled with pilgrims, all of them either walking or being pushed in wheelchairs. Within minutes of the town limit, we are in a forest through which the narrow and stately Gave de Pau flows. Hundreds of picnic tables litter the grassy and shady banks. No one is about, other than a few runners and I find this place more inspiring than anything in Lourdes. It is identical to the countryside Bernadette would have been walking through when she saw her apparition - some say it was a fairy, others say it was Mary.
St Pé de Bigorre has three tiny grocery stores. Not as useful, but more impressive, is the sanctuary at Bétharram. A series of small 19th-century chapels built in the renaissance style are arranged on a steep hill overlooking the wide river. It has been a pilgrimage site since the Middle Ages when a girl was miraculously saved from drowning by the appearance of a branch (pretty easy miracle…). Bernadette came here a few days before having her vision. Fickle pilgrims no longer visit this place meaning "blessed branch", though the most visited pilgrimage site in France is only 10 miles away.
Pelotons of cyclists accompany us on small climbs through rolling countryside. As in 2002, we take the closed road / cycle path (the D240) towards the Falaise aux Vautours at Béon. This time, the road really is closed off with boulders [PHOTO], but we manage to squeeze past. After Laruns, we begin the climb to the Col de Pourtalet on a fairly busy narrow gorge road with an impressively easy gradient of 1-4%. We feel sorry for two very bored teenagers who wish us well as we pass through the depressing spa town of Eaux-Chaudes. Their parents are probably here for a cure. They will soon need one as well in this isolated village.
Just as the Col du Pourtalet threatens to move into higher gradients, we find our turn-off for Goust. Formerly, it was a tiny, semi-independent republic, perhaps the smallest country in Europe, but is now just a hamlet on the edge of a precipice. We climb up an astoundingly steep gravel and tarmac road. [PHOTO] The descendants of the family G has read about in 19th century texts are still there in the same house. Many photos and discussions follow about what G has read.
Several generations have also looked after the hotel in Bielle but we suspect this is the last one. A competent but obviously unhappy woman looks after her many guests. Over dessert, looking out onto the main road, we start hearing the sound of drums followed by the syncopated rhythm of bells. Suddenly, a flock of sheep, wearing huge bells around their neck and ribbons on their head, round the bend, accompanied by shepherds dressed in florescent yellow and orange. The traffic on the busy road is forced to slow down. A lovely sight.
Click here for Part Two
Click here for photographs
Back to home page
|
![[PHOTO]](Castelnou.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Cork-oak.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Galamus.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Bugarach.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Foix.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Col-de-Port.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Seix.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Col-Core.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Luchon-D125.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Luchon-bear.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Poubeau.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Peyresourde.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Aneran.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Ossau.JPG){kind=link}
![[PHOTO]](Goust.JPG){kind=link}