Touring in France

Wed 8^th June Estaing to Meyreuis 100km

We spent a comfortable night in the annexe at the Aux Armes D' Estaing being afforded a high room standard with en-suite facilities. Our 7am breakfast was waiter served in the dining room within the main hotel in the adjacent building and pretty good considering our early rise request. It would be 100km today over the cols so hence the early start required.

After paying our bill we collected our bikes from the garage remembering to return the key to reception before setting off. This simple task if overlooked can cause a lot of disruption for the hotel so paying attention to such an essential detail was paramount to deliver our best Scottish sensibility.

We cycled across the bridge from Quai du Lot over to the southern side of the river to stop and take some pictures. The scene from there across to the town was magnificent. The weather had turned overcast but this only added to the atmosphere emanating from the sheer romanticism of the place with the old chateau and spires.

Soon we were off again, pedalling along the side of the river on the D556. I had a feeling of trepidation today, thinking of the cols that lay ahead on the day's 100km ride down to Meyrueis.

After clearing Estaing the road wound around the side of a wooded slope on our right, till eventually after a kilometre, we came upon a junction where we took the D556 through a hamlet called Fabregues then on to the town of Espalion at 9km from Estaing. Here we crossed over the river Lot again into the town proper and sat down at a corner café for a refreshment. Espalion is a busy little market town with a broad main street running from west to east. It gave the impression of a smart commercial little hive and looked quite active with lots of business vehicles parked along the main street. We did not wait too long in Espalion and left the way we had entered it, back across the bridge toward the south bank to exit the town by the D664.

We were now in very rural surroundings. Alwyn had to check his sat-nav frequently here as we bobbed up and down the short steep hills, weaving one way and then the other, holding our course through the mid-way of dead end side roads leading to farmsteads. We were caught out a couple of times as we tried to remain on our course and had to double back a short distance on each of several occasions. Alwyn, however did a good job of navigating here as our corrections were swift. We passed through a small place called Roquelaure and then on to a small hamlet called Lassouts after pedalling some 15km from Espalion.

It was indeed a zig-zag route and it had been a steady but gradual climb all the way up to Roquelaure where we had reached an elevation of 700m. The weather had brightened up a bit since Espalion but not uncomfortably warm and better than that, there was no wind. In the next 60km of our cycling today we would reach a summit of 882m. From Lassouts at 600m we headed through Malescombes and at Pierrifiche we joined the D45 going past the villages of St-Martin-de-Lenne, St-Saturnin-de-Lenne, all very small places. At the latter we turned right in a southerly direction on to the D2. We were now some 37 km from our start in Estaing and we climbed from here 210m in a 6km distance then we went back down to 689m then a further 7km up to the summit of the Col de Lagarde.

We stopped on this summit at 835m to take some group pictures. It wasn't a very picturesque place, in fact rather bleak, a bit like a Scottish moor. I spotted a peculiar hoop shaped overhead railway catenary projecting in a dip to the east which turned out to be a line emerging from a tunnel. From here on there was a good 100m descent for 6km followed by another climb from 690 to 874m in18km. It had clouded over from leaving the Lagarde and the cold air had cut through my clothing. I stuffed a newspaper into my front for a short descent until we reached the small town of Severac Le Chateau at an elevation of 700m. All the roads so far today had been rural but with a good smooth surface and hardly a pothole to be seen. This made the riding reasonably pleasant and with such little traffic it had been relaxing, apart from the climbs. We were now on the northerly outskirts of Severac-le-Chateau. Our exit road from the D2 took us under a motorway bypass and we skirted the town on the easterly side to a junction with the D995. We headed along this road, climbing 100m for 7.5km, to reach a small place called Le Massegros and just upon entering here we turned directly south on the D32. The terrain turned somewhat barren at this point seeming to suit the Spanish sounding name of the village we had just passed. We headed down this route for about 5km until we came upon a junction with the D9. We forked to the left here to take us on a narrow minor mountain road with a good surface. We began to descend again from a height of 880m. The views on this road on the way down were spectacular and I noticed the volcanic craggy summits to the east. The terrain just above us on both sides was now a mixture of gnarled thicket amongst jagged lava rocks, especially so on the higher ground on our left side.

We stopped at a large 'Celtic style' stone cross standing by the roadside to take some pictures. Our viewpoint now looked way down over the village of Liaucous many metres below us to the south-east. At first the descent was gradual, allowing us to stop for photos but now it had become a fast ripping dash down to the river valley below. The road wound downward until we encountered some nasty S-bends near the bottom at a place called Mostuejouls and it caused a little bit of panic with an oncoming vehicle, our fingers and necks were aching as we squeezed on our brake levers. However we made it down without incident and discovered an exit at a small insignificant T junction with the D907. We were now just 400m above sea level. After five kilometres we came upon a bridge crossing the river on our right. I think the location was called Beauregard. The view from the middle of the bridge was impressive, a photo opportunity with an old partly demolished stone arch providing a locus for a scene in the distance. This was a place near Le Rozier a small town to the south of the bridge. We stopped at a ramshackle snack bar on the north side of the bridge before we crossed over on our route south. Here we sat down for 20 minutes to enjoy a coffee and a shaded seat and table out of the sun. The owner passed us some free gratis bowls of cherries to enjoy with our coffee. They tasted absolutely delicious and was to become a lasting memory for me of this place.

We crossed over the river and out of Le Rozier to head east again along an excellently surfaced road. The sun was out and it definitely had changed to typical south of France weather, a complete contrast to what we had experienced on the higher slopes above. You could not miss the difference in the climate at this point. We kept straight on the D996 at Peyreleau to follow the road along the Gorges de la Jonte. Any mistakes here would have us on steep s-bend climbs in the wrong direction but as the road was well signposted there was little chance of making such a dire error. The D996 is a spectacular route, today the fine weather showed off every detail in the rugged scenery, rising upward on both sides of us. The river, la Jonte flowed down in the middle of the gorge as we cycled along the wide roadway with an azure blue sky above. There were a bit more traffic on this road but it was fairly light. Our destination of Mayrueis lay a further 20 km further down this road. The journey was a fast one as we pedalled along on the smooth tarmac but despite this there seemed to be several long drags to negotiate, which at this point in the day's cycling made it hard going for me on the BJ with it’s spongy 32mm touring tyres. Later on I began to to wish for the white Meyrueis road sign with its red border. When I later examined the profile of the route I saw that this particular road steadily climbed all the way back up to 750m again all the way through the Jonte gorges. If we had gone in the other direction from the point where we reached Mostuejouls on the D907 road, it would have taken us down to the famous gorges of the river Tarn; perhaps some other time in the future? France has a lot of scope for exploration.

We arrived at Meyrueis about 5.30pm, a welcome sight of rustic buildings, trees, shops, restaurants and intricate cobbled streets. Everywhere around here had evolved over time and had interwoven itself around the river, a typical French tourist spot if ever there was. We then had to locate our hotel, the Mont Aigoual but it’s riverside locus made it easy to find as it lay at the top of the main street on the river bank. It can be recognized by it’s vertical signage and green painted lattice-work frontage. The staff at this family owned hotel were all very friendly. The lady at reception was very efficient and she arranged for our laundry to be done for us at a small cost and showed us down the street a short distance to a lockup storage area to let us stow our bikes. The hotel had an excellent restaurant and we availed ourselves of this comfortable facility after getting showered and changed in our en-suite rooms. The waiter was smartly dressed in his striped waistcoat livery and cheerfully conversed with us at the dining table. We would be here for the rest day tomorrow so we had plenty of time to relax in the hotel, enjoy our wine and dinner for the evening and to explore the town the next day. This is the kind of cycling you need to treat yourself to at least once in your life. Give it a try, reader!

Thursday 9^th June, Rest Day at Meyrueis

We awoke to a sunny warm day in Meyrueis at the Hotel Mont Aigoual in Quai de la Barriere. Meyrueis is situated in the Languedoc-Roussillon district, for the benefit of the Francophiles among readers of this text. Today was a rest day, the last of two scheduled rest days in our tour. It was a nice feeling to awake in the morning knowing that there was no rush to get ready for the road. We could take breakfast downstairs in the restaurant of the hotel whenever we felt like it, within limits of course. We did however, go down 'en-masse' but we did so much later on in the morning after taking our showers and having a nice slow and careful shave.

The smell of fresh baked bread wafted through from the kitchen as we headed toward our seats at the long table in the dining room on the ground floor. After having carefully selected our food from the 'set-out' breakfast table at the far end of the room, it was rather comforting to sit down among the white tablecloths and gleaming cutlery. The waiter quickly served us hot coffee with fresh milk to complement our repast.

After our fill we decided to take a walk down Quai de la Barriere to examine the lay of the land. The sun was warm as we gazed up at the craggy mountain, clearly visible ahead and behind the curve of the buildings. We passed a pub-restaurant called the L'Aven Gourmand. There was an old style vintage motorbike sitting outside in the courtyard. It was most probably placed there to attract attention, which it certainly did for us. We walked up to it and examined the bike close-up. It was painted a rather unusual flat cream and brown and had a certain appealing simplicity and honesty about it. It was not a race bike or one suggesting raw power but a typical French bike that would doubtless provide effective and cheap transport in this part of the world for a local resident. There may have been more to this display in historical context than met the eye but alas, we non-linguistic cyclists had insufficient French to draw out any further explanation from those sitting around. I wished I had paid more attention at school.

We continued our morning ramble around the streets for a short while, taking in the narrow lanes around the river. The river at this time, at least, was rather parched and the riverbed was as stony as you could imagine, tending to take away its photogenic possibilities somewhat. Someone's washing dangled over a line across a wall from an adjoining house at the river’s edge adding a touch of commonality to the otherwise picturesque scene. We found our way out of the town on to a narrow cobbled road to the southeast and took some pleasure just ambling along a path that went through the trees lining the road. We soon looped back again and found ourselves outside the pub again (by some rare coincidence). By this time it was about 12.30pm so we decided to sit down and eat dinner here. After all it was a bit cheaper than the hotel and we had an opportunity to sit outside at the tables that were set around the motorbike. We ordered some wine and pasta from the table service waiter and relaxed under the sun parasol. Dinner took us quite a while to consume at a slow pace.

Later we went back up to our hotel for a siesta. I broke tradition and went up to the hotel reading room on the top floor. I sat down here in the quiet tranquility of a large room with French windows looking out over the back garden. I noticed that this hotel had a swimming pool for the use of the residents. I was feeling less energetic today so I gave this thought a quick pass. I then sat down in the coolness of the empty room on one of the many lounge chairs. There was a large old bookcase at the top of the room, which had doors on it like a wardrobe. This item was a rather ornately carved piece of furniture, stained in a muted faint green with traditional French style carving on the top lintel. The books on the shelves were all in French, which made my reading attempt an extremely slow process. I picked up some magazines that were laid out neatly on one of the tables and found these to be the same. However they had pictures, which offered a little respite to my lack of language skills. Soon the magazine slipped out of my hands on to the floor as I fell fast asleep.

At teatime we all came back down in the lift toward the foyer. Our leader, Alwyn, had seemingly decided, or taken a vote that this time we should return to the pub restaurant for dinner rather than avail ourselves of the hotel's amenities. As we exited the lift into the foyer, a line of hotel waiters, napkins and menus in hand, had lined up at the entrance to the dining room to our left, in seeming expectation that we would enter as we had done on the evening previous. They and the lady at the desk all gazed open-mouthed at us, as we walked straight out of the front door directly past them. An unmistakably loud chorus of indignation was heard. We obviously were seen to be heading somewhere else for our dinner. I found this personally to be an intensely embarrassing situation but then I tend to be a bit soft over such matters and always eager to please. This attitude has not always been in my own interest and to my own benefit. The remainder of our group were completely unaffected by this outpouring of staff disappointment and steadily marched outside with a steely resolve, determined to suit themselves no-matter-what!  I had no doubt that the harsh decision made was derived at either for purely economic reasons, variety or both. I followed on at the end of this line of marching 'single-mindedness', head bowed in shame. I couldn’t help but think that it was a rather mean thing to do as it was a family-run hotel and the service demonstrated had been first-class up to the moment. I thought to myself, "What kind of impression are we Scots delivering to our French cousins"?

We sat down, this time on candlelit tables outside and ordered our dinner from the waiter at the L'Aven Gourmand. As the light faded in the sky, it had proved to be a rather good choice of venue at least from a romantic scenic point of view. However as the evening wore on I began to feel slightly cold sitting outside. I remember when in the Canaries the restaurant staff used to set up an outside heater blower on a pole for the benefit of restaurant clients but I can’t recall if this happened here. In any case the alcohol in the wine we consumed on this evening would have mitigated the sensation of the cool night air. Later we wandered up the street back to the hotel. Fortunately, for myself at least, there was no staff member around in the foyer to deliver a cold stare at us for our blatant temerity earlier in the evening.

Friday 10^th June Meyrueis to Arrigas 73km

This morning I knew what lay ahead insofar as the terrain was concerned. It was going to be 'mountains' all day from Meyrueis, where we were and then south to the town of Le Vigan. From that point there would be a short, uphill westerly journey to the mountain village of Arrigas. It looked to me that we were sidestepping from our direct route south, ever so slightly, in order to get more economical accommodation. Presumably this could only be found outside of Le Vigan itself.

The 'L'Escapade' at Arrigas was our destination gite for today. The small village of Arrigas lies about 17 km to the west of Le Vigan. The small town of Le Vigan is situated in the department of Gard in the region of Languedoc-Roussillon where it nestles between the mountain ranges of the Cevennes to the north and the Causses to the south.

The morning was bright and sunny with a low wind. We took our breakfast about 7.30am in the dining room of the Hotel Mont Aigoual, aptly named, as we were to transcend this 1300m mountain almost immediately on leaving Meyrueis. After a good fuel-up for what lay ahead we paid our bill and went along to the hotel garage down the street to retrieve our bikes.

The ritual of tyre inflation that took place in the garage on this morning revealed a weakness in my bike. I was using a small push-on mini-pump (Puff-pump), which required a lot of work to get the big Conti tyres up to 70 psi. I began to wonder why it was taking so long without any appreciable difference in inflation taking place. In fact my front tyre had lost its residual pressure almost entirely, which led me to give up pumping. I pulled out a replacement tube and began to remove my front tyre. I discovered that the tube had split at the valve rendering it useless. I wondered how this had come to happen and soon saw that the valve hole inside the rim had no chamfered edges. It would appear that Mavic do not round them off. Rounding the hole's entry would have prevented the sharp edge cutting through the rubber seat of the tube valve. Obviously my 'rocking' the valve with a push on adapter had caused this unfinished edge to cut through the rubber. After I re-fitted my new tube, I borrowed Keith's pump that had a flexible hose adapter to re-inflate the tyre. I have never encountered this problem with lighter racing wheels. Such wheels seem to tolerate the rocking action of a push-on adapter. It is something to consider if you use Mavic touring rims. Get the right type of pump for them!

After my entire tyre 'kerfuffle' the group set off again up the D986 at an initial altitude of 700m. About 3km out of Meyrueis we passed above the ancient 1534 Chateau Roquedols on our left, down in the Bethuzon valley below. The slope increased as we went along and after 10km it eased just a little at 1000m with short steep increments at various levels along the way. This higher terrain comprised of a base of rocky sandstone with a steep rise to our right and a fall-away on our left. The region here was heavily forested with tall conifers and thicket undergrowth that continued constantly along the roadside.

After 15km we reached the famous 'Abime de Bramabiau'. This tourist attraction appeared to us through a break in the trees on our right side. The 'Abime' is the result of an underground river 'Le Bonheur' exiting to the open at the base of a huge abyss with high sandstone cliffs on either side. It is like a giant natural culvert with a waterfall at the base and an enormously tall gothic arch above, 37m high and 10m wide, worn out of the stone by gradual erosion. This is something special to see and can be visited if you wish to pay the 7.50 euro entrance fee. There is a walkway built at the base above the particularly noisy waterfall where tourists can stand above the falls and there are further internal walkways to let you see inside the huge caves. It takes a while to realize the sheer size of the abyss as you look down from the mountain road above. The location has been explored by cavers searching for the source of the river from at least the beginning of the 19^th century.

The only problem with cyclists visiting the cave seems to me to be one of access. It looked to be only reachable by foot from the village of Camprieu further down the D986 (where there is a car park). In view of a prospective looped detour from the roundabout further down the road, we decided not to pursue the thought any further and maintained our designated route from Tabarde up to the Col de l'Esperou. Passing by the village of l'Esperou Montlau and after 25km, our road joined the D48.

At 34km from Meyrueis on the D48, climbing the Col du Minier we reached a height of 1300m and came upon a stone monument at the side of the road on our right hand side. This was erected to the memory of the French army General, Charles Huntziger, who I later found out had been prescribed the unpalatable duty of having to sign the armistice documents at the surrender of France to the Germans in June1940. The then French Marshal 'Petain' government had assigned to him this onerous duty. General Huntziger subsequently became a member of the newly installed Vichy government. He was killed in a plane crash at this spot in November 1941, returning from North Africa to the town of Vichy in France, just some distance north of the spot. It appears that the four engine aircraft lost its way in heavy fog due to difficulties with an obsolete radio and crashed into the mountainside killing all persons on board. Here lies a monument to indicate the location. There was some speculation at the time that Hitler had engineered this crash because he feared that Charles Huntziger was secretly collaborating with the French Resistance movement. It had me thinking that during one's travels, a bike is often responsible for casually discovering stuff like this. Stuff that otherwise would get ovelooked.

From the General Huntziger monument, one begins descending on the D48 toward Le Vigan on a winding road looping down the mountain sides to and fro' and near to the villages of Arphy and Aulas, straight down to Rochebelle and Pontchanet to join the D999 at the very bottom. The descent took us from 1300m down to 250m in 20km, a free-ride if ever there was one. This is where I discovered that you need good brakes because the road is relatively smooth with lots of fast cornering at the bends. You might think you could just constantly brake but once moving, your speed builds up so quickly and the blocks get very hot. In addition you realize, with the momentum of heavy luggage, that you will reach a point where you will lose control with devastating consequences for both yourself and your machine. A loaded touring bike can also develop stability problems on long fast descents. I read somewhere that you can develop a 'speed wobble' (say after hitting a surface bump). A jolt can excite the steering into oscillation at its resonant frequency. The remedy to avoiding a devastating crash is to put the inner part of the knee or thigh against your frame's top tube. This apparently 'damps' the tendency for increasing amplitude of the 'wobble' by shifting the center of gravity of the moving mass. The effect of the additional body mass contact at this point reduces the steering oscillations to zero. Fortunately the road surfaces here were smooth and nothing untoward occurred. I kept my brakes cool by releasing them every so often and was surprised how fast my speed built up during the 'release' gaps. My neck and shoulders began to hurt after a while with the braking strain and my body weight that was bearing down on my forearms, wrists and fingers. This reminded me of the 'Tour' riders and the courage and skill required from them during the long fast mountain stage descents. I saw a 'YouTube' video of our Robert Millar once, when he was out training on a fast descent and I couldn't believe the speed he was reaching and the calm bike control he displayed.

The D999 is a major road, which runs east to west. We turned eastward at the junction with our D48 toward Le Vigan as it was the early afternoon and we needed a café for refreshment. As we cycled along the few kilometers into the edge of town our leader Alwyn stopped abruptly. Apparently his saddle had become detached and fell off. We stopped whilst he examined what had occurred. It turned out that the head of the seat-pillar securing bolt had snapped off. It was fortunate that this fracture occurred after the descent from the mountain otherwise there could have been a serious accident to the rider and/or following riders. This mechanical failure now meant that we had to seek out a 'bike shop' or 'atelier de reparation' as soon as possible. We required a new bolt to fit the pillar in order to re-attach the saddle. Fortunately we didn't have far to go to get expert assistance. A kind passer-by recognized our plight and directed us to a suitable emporium that was situated at the far end of the street where we were standing. We cycled along the street slowly and found the specialist lightweight shop. An assistant from inside came out with Alwyn and looked at the bike. He quickly found the item required from the shop stores and fitted it for us there and then. Cost five euros! I thought that was a reasonable charge for a good on-the-spot repair.

After this event concluded itself we settled down at some vacant seats outside a café in a tree lined street, leaving our bikes parked where we could see them. A waiter came out and served us. We sat in the sunshine for a half-hour or so and then headed off back down the road where we had come, along the narrow busy streets. Eventually we were back on the D999 heading westward toward Arrigas, some 17 km distant. The D999 is a fast road and although not excessively busy today, there were a few fast sports cars racing by us but they still allowed us plenty of room. However the noise from the infernal engines was annoying, especially as the road started to climb upward on a drag. It was getting hot in the late afternoon sun and I was getting very thirsty again. The sun was reflecting off the rocky cutting on our right side. The few villages we passed were situated within the first six or so kilometres and after that it was open road on a mountainside. We slogged onward, up the steep rise as the road wound ever upward on slow curves. I could see our route wind it's way high up the mountainside ahead of us into the far distance and the sight of it was exhausting to look at. It was another case of a 'non-cycle friendly' environment but there was no choice if we were to reach Arrigas.

Eventually we reached a junction on the D999 flanked by an abutment wall that snaked back the opposite direction and upward. This was the D292. We turned on to this minor road and were confronted by an initial steep climb. This was the road to our gite at Arrigas. After a kilometre or so the road levelled out to a winding route through thicket and conifers, eventually running slightly downhill. In 3 km we had reached our destination. L'Escapade was situated on a steep hillside.

Our entrance to the gite was by a stony but short steep access to the garden and then we had to carry our panniers down steep rustic stone steps toward the house. Returning for our bikes we had to shoulder them down the narrow steps, directed by the owner. I found this a bit scary but we managed it eventually and stowed the bikes in the cellar beneath the house. The couple who owned the gite were very pleasant and welcomed us inside to a nice home cooked meal. There was a little French spoken at the large dining table at our request. This took place between the owner and ourselves and mainly between David Wilson who was better at this task than the rest of us. The owner cooked our meal for us and being close in an adjacent kitchen, could converse freely with us. Later we lay down in our en-suite rooms for a rest. It had been a tough day especially toward the end. I stood out on the balcony of the house gazing out, overlooking the village rooftops as the sun began to set. The South of France is a lovely place to be at this time of the year when it's not too hot.

Saturday 11^th June, Arrigas to Aniane, 70km

We awoke to a sunny morning in l'Escapade, Arrigas. The room we had was comfortable, the morning sun shining through the white lace curtains of the French windows. I thought to myself, “how short these stays were on a bike trip. There is really not much call for luxurious rooms in expensive accommodation as your time inside them is fleeting to say the least. Besides you get a family welcome when you arrive and the chance to experience France more intimately than you would in a big hotel. Our room had en-suite facilities. In fact nearly all the places we stayed on our tour offered this level of availability. It sure beats (for comfort) the galvanized metal troughs for washing and shaving in cold water that was reminiscent of the SYHA in trips to the north-west of Scotland in the 1960's with the GNCC.

We sat at the communal dining table for breakfast, chatting to the owner and his wife. The bike mileages were diminishing now as the tour was beginning to come to an end. Only one more night to go before returning back to the UK. However I did not realize that there was to be a sting in the tail.

Today we would encounter one of the wonders of the world, 'The Cirque de Navacelles'. One could easily avoid this challenge if one so wished but I dare anyone who considers himself/herself to be a bike rider to take on this one with a loaded bike on a hot day! You simply have to do this one. The road is dangerous however and you need to respect it.

We set off, this time carrying our gear and bikes down steps leading to to a narrow lane just below the gite. The descent of the steps wasn't much easier than the day before with our cycling shoes wobbling on the narrow rough stone steps. However we made it, ankles intact and wheeled our way from the village down the road we came the day before. It was hot today and we arrived back at the D999 junction, brakes squealing as we approached down off the ramp. Alwyn took a right turn toward the village of Alzon, some 5km of climbing to the west. Our route south was to be from a junction 3km ahead. Here we turned left onto the D158, a good surfaced minor road, sign-posted 'Blandas 12km' and 'Cirque de Navacelles'.  The road we were on was near the summit of a mountain and the views from it were spectacular, revealing the scorched golden brown detail and the arid beauty of the Mediterranean scrub.  The scene here was truly resplendent in the early morning sun. Many sections of the road here were blasted out of the mountainside in sharp walled cuttings of dry sand and layered limestone as it gradually climbed ever upward. After 6 km we reached a junction at the summit, 736m on the Causse de Blandas. To the right was signposted 'D158 Blandas' and the 'Cirque'. Left was 'D843, La Regalderie'. We went to the right when, in fact, either road would have taken us to the same destination. This was because the roads converged again to form the D158 within a couple of kilometres to the south-east that took us straight into Blandas. There were so many alternative roads available to us in France. In the UK we would be highly suspicious of another route, thinking it would be badly surfaced or lead to a dead end but such alternatives were here in abundance.

Blandas appeared, blanched stone, red tiled and deserted like most remote villages in this region. I thought how the weather let homeowners off the hook with the absence of the formality of UK homes' roughcast finishes and finished brick required to keep out the ravages of weather and purport to add value to property at great personal cost. Here all that was necessary was to keep out the sun, at least during summer. Winter may be another matter but as folks here could afford cars I thought that technology would probably have solved the winter problem such that it would not be an issue. The bonus found here was that the very simple, rugged and rustic look of the dwellings imbued an air of artistic amenity, coming for free by virtue of the climate.

We turned right in the center of the village seeing a sign on a wall saying D713 'Cirque de Navacelles 2km'. Exiting the village we wheeled along a straight section for a kilometre. I noticed that the trees, such as there were, seemed stunted and small, the landscape reminding me of Scotland north of Inverness, except that here there was a clear blue sky and it was decidedly warm. In a short distance we came to a signed junction where we made a right turn 'Cirque de Navacelles 1'. Up ahead came a 30km speed sign and I saw a building to the right of the road. There was a stone built wall about 4ft high on the other side of the road as we approached. The building was the 'Restaurant du Cirque' a tourist gift shop and cafe placed in a prime spot to garnish the spoils of this wondrous place. We stopped at the wall opposite and rested our bikes on it. There was a plaque set on a pedestal with geographic, historical and bird life information about the location. The view looking down into this vast chasm from the road was breathtaking in every respect. I thought how taking a photograph of it would never truly reveal or do justice to such a scene. One needs to visit the site and see it with one's own eyes. The climate being so dry and warm lends itself to viewing the spectacle unimpeded by mist, fog, cloud or midges or any other obstacle to the transparency of the space.

The 'Cirque de Navacelles' is an enormous basin like a huge natural amphitheatre, 300 metres deep, created by the erosion of the Vis river. It resides in the Languedoc-Rousillon department. A long time ago the plateau high above the river collapsed and cut it off. The collected river silt was left when the trapped river dried up forming a small patch of arable land at the bottom where now stands the village of Navacelles. The river has been allowed to flow again for irrigation purposes but is very narrow like a large burn. The geological shape, height of the depression from the residual plateau needs to be observed by the naked eye to be fully appreciated.

The site is remote, away from any populated areas with only sparse villages nearby. The roads are cited to be 'poorly maintained' by French standards. I say this, because compared to minor Scottish roads, they look pretty good to me. Nevertheless the descent into and ascent leaving the basin are very steep and the snaking corners are very severe. The edging walls do not continue all the way and where gaps are, the drop would be likely to have fatal consequences. One doesn't want to dwell on it.

We wandered over to the café and sat outside for an iced Coke at the tables set out on a balcony. We contemplated what lay ahead, a severe descent and a tortuous climb under hot sun.

The time came to mount up and meet the challenge. I have no doubt that our GNCC hill climbers would love this one and make light work of it. However at my age it was a different matter altogether. I decided I would go at my own pace as my bike was heavily loaded. The descent difficulties became apparent as I reached the first of five 'S' bends on the way down. It was very steep and my brakes screeched loudly as I made the tight turns. The others behind and in front had the same experience. We hadn't progressed very far when I heard the roar of a powerful engine in front coming up toward us. Then I saw what looked like a Spitfire pilot, goggles, cravat and trailing scarf sitting in a vintage Fiat racing car rushing up the hill straight at us at breakneck speed. The driver had just turned out of the second corner below. I wondered what the heck was going on and if we had somehow breached a time warp. We encountered a number of these characters throughout the duration the uphill climb as they looped back again. We carried on down to the next snake bend. The third snake bend is few kilometres away to the west, down a longer stretch of the road. Some of these longer stretches had us gathering up a frightening speed. Again, like before, my arms and shoulders began to ache and I had to let the brakes off periodically to let them cool down, for fear my tyres might burst from the frictional heat. To me this was a worse effort than the climbing! I urge anyone riding here to be very careful as a fall through the gaps in the wall on the first part of the descent would land you directly on the lower road below and from a considerable height.

Eventually we reached the very bottom and I took the initiative to start the ascent after reaching the small bridge over the river. The road after the river crossing climbs up to a junction where you can visit the village of  Navacelles or you can turn right on the D130 up out of the Cirque basin on the big climb toward the village of St. Maurice that lies beyond the top on the plateau above. It was not long before the other three passed me on the ascent. In this circumstance I found my bike far too heavy compared to the other lightweights I have at home. The competitive spirit of my younger comrades was too much for them and they battled on against each another out of my sight up the outrageously steep incline. I considered right there and then that I had overloaded my bike with too much unnecessary luggage, carrying two rear panniers full to the brim and a front bike bag. In addition I felt the tyres to be too sluggish and heavy, finally I was 67!

I battled on, first changing down into the 22T granny and then selecting larger and larger sprockets until I reached the limit, at 34T. I reckoned this must have been a gear of 17 inches! My prowess or lack of it hit home when I was gradually overtaken by a hiker, walking with a rucksack on his back! I was subsequently to find to my cost that a 17 inch gear is so low that if you stopped and tried to pedal again on an incline like this, you couldn't balance the bike long enough to get started again. This I found out to be true when I stopped to get my breath but I managed to get going again by leaning against the side of the stone cutting on my right and starting from that supported position. Eventually I managed some sort of rhythm and from then on I slowly made it up and round the last 'S' bend, Sweat was dripping from my forehead and I was deep in oxygen debt, gasping and spluttering as I made it up to the top of the last bit of incline.

When I reached the summit, the D130 cut through a flat barren scrubland. Ahead I could see low buildings way in the far distance. I cycled on and past a sign, 'La Baume Auriol' and the clean looking building I saw on my right side was the 'Auberge de La Baume Auriol'. I saw that it had a restaurant building beside the accommodation block and my colleagues were standing at the gable end of it waiting for me to arrive. I was thoroughly knackered when I dismounted. A couple riding a tandem behind me stopped and offered me consolation for having made the ascent successfully but I felt pretty bad mentally within myself. Although my colleagues were ten to fifteen years my junior, I hadn't put in the performance I would have liked. (I got my own back eventually on a Sunday run later when back home riding my carbon fibre lightweight!). I blame the rise of 'Sportives' for the generation of a competitive aggression in today's touring cyclists.

The D130 soon led us into the small village of St. Maurice de Navacelles by a road through a terrain that looked like 'Clint Eastwood' territory, the odd horse grazing among the barren scrub of a scorched landscape. Eventually we reached a T- junction at the St Maurice village where we made a right on the D25 along the smartly lined tarmac road and then we took a sharp left back onto the D130 again, by a road sign marked 'Le Coulet'. This minor road took us on another but less formidable climb. We stopped at another plaque on a waist-height stone wall, half-way up the ascent, describing the flora and fauna of the land, the wild life and geography. The view from here was another wonder with a huge panorama over the river gorges leading to Navacelles and in excellent visibility. The time was 1.40pm and it was getting hot. We re-applied our sun block on the spot without delay as there was little cover.

We carried on along the D130. As I pedalled along in the sunshine my thoughts were on the surrounding terrain here thinking that it was so markedly different from where we had begun the tour in the valley of the river Loire and I thought that it was a pity that it was confined to almost the end of the holiday. However it might be possible in the future to design a tour based around the Southern Mediterranean as the EBE bus company can discharge you further south on its way to Rosas in Spain.

The D130 was a pleasant ride. It was not long before we arrived at a small hamlet, which was a cluster of whitish rustic houses called 'Le Coulet'. It was here that my imagination was caught by the rugged simplicity of the houses and I felt the urge to take a photograph of them. However the mood of the others at this time was not conducive to a photo stop so they carried on, leaving me to fiddle with my camera, they making a right turn away from the village but still on the D130. Unfortunately as luck would have it my camera refused to work, the lens remaining inside the body, refusing to budge. I had noticed over the week that it had been 'acting up' but somehow I had managed to coax it to work. At this point realizing that it was, this time truly 'gubbed' for want of a better description, I put it away and followed on. Unhappily I couldn't seem to catch the group. They had disappeared out of my sight. Either they were pushing it a bit or my bike was sucking up the extra effort I was putting in to catch up. It was a strange, slightly scary feeling being isolated without maps or GPS in this barren landscape but I put it out of my mind and carried on. Several kilometers later the three had stopped for a natural break and I had finally caught up.

It wasn't long before we reached a T-junction at another isolated place called La Trivalle. Here we joined the D9, turning left in a southerly direction on the road toward the Col du Vent leading down to Arboras. However rather than facing another climb, we were heading toward a descent on the Col du Vent from the Navacelles plateau. We descended 530m over a distance of 10km to arrive at Montpeyroux and a further 130m over 5km to reach St. Jean-de-Fos. Going down through Montpeyroux was both an exciting and interesting ride through narrow streets. With streets barely a car wide, we had so slow up to negotiate the turns to keep on our route.
Leaving Montpeyroux by the D141 takes you east into the town of St Jean-de-Fos in 5 km and 1 km further on from the town lies 'Pont du Diable' where it joins the D4. When we reached this spot, known as the 'Devil's Bridge' across the Herault river, there were many holidaymakers bathing down on our right side, off what looked like a small beach and lots of parked cars lay parked along the roadside. The sun glinted off the vehicles as we first rounded the bend in the road that took us over a newly built bridge. The original old bridge stands to the right of it, a little lower and people were walking across it back and forth. It would seem that this old arched stone bridge is no longer open to motorized traffic. Benedictine monks built it early in the 11^th century for traveling from Aniane to other places of worship in the area. There are several bridges in France with the same name and the use of the name 'Devil' or 'Diable' has only a folklore connection in all cases due to a lack of understanding of the bridge origins in Medieval times.

Crossing the bridge, we noticed what looked to be a place of refreshment on our left side, built on a large ledge on the mountainside. We turned into an opening beyond the corner at the other side. This led us into a car park and weaving through some small trees on the left, a path took us into a seated terrace where a rustic stone red-roofed bungalow stood. This place is a café bar. I forget the name of it. We wandered into the dark interior after leaning our bikes against some empty picnic tables. The bar was empty except for a barman polishing glasses. He stared at me straight without making any smile or gesture. I noticed that he had shoulder-length silvery, wavy hair and a tan. He looked intelligent, was not a local, more like a seventies rock band member. I ordered in French but he responded in perfect English and served us up some beers although we asked for soft drinks. He expressed a kind of 'mock-response' as though we were interrupting him at his work, mumbling away to himself in English and throwing my payment money back to me on the counter. I thought he was mad or funny or both. Anyway he finally took the money and this confirmed that he was not mad but was participating in some sort of 'zany' act. It was all quite amusing. I don't think the others picked up on the humorous side of his behaviour as I did. We all filed outside again to sit at a table. Without further comment being made over the matter and despite witnessing it, everyone drank their beers quietly.

After our refreshment was concluded we took leave of 'The Mad Barman' which I thought should remain in my mind as the 'name' of this café and pedaled off down the smooth, straight road towards Aniane. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was hot. I was getting used to the South of France weather and I couldn't get my head round the fact that Hostellier St. Benoit, in another three kilometres, where we were headed, would be our last stay of the tour. The instant delight of the fine weather seemed to me a rather cruel ending to our cycling adventure. It had been for myself, at least, an 'adventure'.We were only one more day from being whisked back to Blighty and to it's cold wind, it's drizzly rain and grey skies.

The D4 continued straight into Aniane where it became the D32. Hostellier St Benoit is on the left hand side on Avenue de Saint-Guilhem as you enter the town, just opposite the old cemetery and still on the D32. The hotel is a single story sprawl of bungalow style, red tiled roof buildings with gardens and a swimming pool for the use of the residents. We were asked by the staff at the desk to stow our bikes in a sort of atrium near the entrance foyer, as we were not permitted to put them in our rooms. We locked them up first, just in case, as people could freely pass in and out of the hotel entrance door nearby. The accommodation here was excellent, a light, airy, comfortable room with en-suite.

We decided to walk into the town of Aniane in the evening to take dinner. It was only a short stroll into the centre where there were a few eateries to choose from. We took a right into Blvd St Jean where there was restaurant opposite a large square called 'Place Etienne Sanier' that served some nice home cooking. There is also an ATM on the other side of the street 50 yds away at the bank Credit Agricole where you can get Euros. Late in a tour most people will be running low on spending money so it is handy to know this location.

We spend most of the evening dining here and went for a walk round the lovely town of Aniane in the late evening before returning to our hotel. Tomorrow, Sunday would be our last day on the bike and the one to make the final journey into Montpellier for our bus pick-up. It was a 'thought' to go to bed and sleep on.