Touring in France

France Part 10

2nd June 2011 Limeray to Loches 50km

A short stage today. We were up early again to get showered, shaved and ready for breakfast for 8.30am. There is only one shower and toilet available to us here but it is really tops with plenty of space, spotless clean and with nice perfumery and a pile of soft white towels. Our breakfast was laid out for us in the usual fashion on the large dining table with fresh bread, jam, cheese and jugs of hot coffee provided. When we had eaten we retrieved our bikes from the garage, unlocking all the chains etc.(paranoia) then began fitting our panniers, bike bags etc. I now had a straw hat to carry. I put it in a plastic bag and sat it in-between my panniers on the carrier. It would remain there for the rest of the holiday as there would only be one other rest day availing the opportunity to employ it. On that particular day, the weather turned out slightly overcast which negated it's use.

We called round at the main farmhouse, paid our bill of 55 euros each for the two days accommodation and set off in the morning sunshine for Loches. We descended by way of the steep hill through the dense trees, once again, brakes squealing under the load of our heavy panniers and re-emerging at Monce again. We traced our route of entry by going back to the roundabout and turning left along the tree lined main road to reach the other side of the river, going back across the bridge. Today it was quiet, no cars speeding along it at this time. The reason I fear this 'Pont Michele Debre' road is purely due to the design of the long approaches, smooth surfaces with bold chevrons leading to a solid white line extending in a straight line of seemingly infinite length across the main bridge section. The centre of the carrigeway here has a lighter shade of tarmac like highways have in the USA. It has a sort of motorway look to it which would give the cyclist a dread of not feeling entirely secure on it (in a sense that it's not meant for a bike). Once we reached the separated walkway on the bridge proper I felt much better. Although the drivers are considerate on the approaches their speed can be daunting and you know you need to be alert, especially when crossing the feeder roads. Have a look on Google Earth and you'll see what I mean. Once clear of the bridge on the D31 we headed south to a large roundabout at a place called Les Vallees, turning left onto the D61. This road, after a tight curve south east is a long straight of good surface road for 8 km through a large forested area somewhat like Poland. After a monotonous ride dreaming, I kind of expected grey uniformed Wehrmacht soldiers to appear at us out of the tall trees shouting... schnell! However they didn't! and we eventually came to a crossroads junction in the forest where we turned right once more for Chenonceaux. On the D80 for another 5km, we arrived at a village called Chisseaux and turning right again followed the signs west for Chenonceaux on the D40 Rue Nationale. In half a kilometre we turned left again down on to a river path and disappeared under a blanket of trees.The path took us westward and after a kilometre we stopped to take some photographs in a clearing.

A gap in the trees gave us a view across the river and I took a shot of people in a tourist boat cruising along. However it was the view in the background to this that subsequently stole my interest. It was a huge Chateau built across the river Cher. I didn't know this at the time but this was the Chateau Chenonceau (without the 'x'). The town adjacent is called Chenonceaux. We sped along the path for a short distance before reaching a stone pier, or landing, which had steps leading up to a short bridge. There was a queue of people standing on the steps and I could see that they were waiting to cross over to the Chateau via what looked like a narrow draw-bridge. There were indications that this was a ticket affair and we paused momentarily before continuing, heading toward the exit from the grounds to reach the nearby town. The chateau in its present form dates back to 1521 and was host to Mary Queen of Scots at one time. Once owned by the daughter of a Scotsman called Daniel Wilson in 1864 who made his money from installing gaslights in Paris, it is now owned by the Mernier Family, chocolatiers and has been in their hands since 1913.

The time was approaching mid-day and we needed to think about food for lunch before the stores shut. They close for lunch early in France so you have to get your food provisions before noon. We found a patisserie in Chenonceaux and after stashing the supplies away in our bags we crossed back over to the chateau grounds again to resume our journey on the river path. The path ended rather abruptly after a long straight section by the river with us still inside the chateau grounds, under the trees. The sat-nav must have indicated something to our leader, as we then crossed over an off-path forest gully to reach another path on the other side. This was like being in a cyclo-cross race trying to keep up with the rest of the group, my heavy panniers making the bike difficult to lift and steer through the deep dip on a slippery leafy surface. I was sliding all over the place, cursing the whole business, afraid of pulling my back out or twisting an ankle. Keith gave me a hand to steady my bike down the steep bank and eventually we resumed in a westerly direction along another riverside section of the path until we reached a small narrow road bridge at a road called Le Port. This girder bridge took us over to the south bank of the river at a small hamlet called Le Canardiere or 'Duckery' outside the village of Thore. We then headed in an easterly direction along the D976 then veered right onto the D81 into the small village of Francueil. From here we took the D80 about 5km southward to the small hamlet of Luzille.

When we arrived here there was a small public park area which had a seat that afforded us a respite for consuming our lunch. We sat here on seats for a while waving to a group of cycle tourists going past us into the village. The sun was getting hot and we were not complaining. We left Luzille on the D80 going south west over to a pretty little village called Chedigny. The first thing I noticed here on entering the streets was the red block street paviers and cottages adorned with flowers and creeping plants. A very neat and picturesque place and it wouldn't surprise me if it had won some award for presentation from the regional administration. A lovely little place.

We left Chedigny on the D10 and then on the D25 southward through Les Moreaux hamlet and on to Beaulieau-Les-Loches where we turned right westward along Rue du Docteur Paul Martinais across the urban single rail line straight into the centre of Loches. We stopped briefly in a square named Place de Mazerolles to get a bearing on our hotel's location as without it we would be looking for the tourist office to find it. The sat-nav directed us south-east along Avenue du General De Gaulle which was on the other side of the square. From there we took a right turn at Rue Lobin which took us straight on to Rue des Lezards and the steepest hill imaginable. Well, it seemed like that at the time! I gasped up this (on my lowest gear at one point) fearing my knees would snap, hauling my heavy panniers. Oh! how I wished I had left the half of my gear at home. This was a cruel finale to the day. The hill continued for half a kilometre right up to the hotel gates. My colleagues who had lighter bags left me behind. However they had to join a queue at reception and then had to wait on myself who had organised the booking. The Luccotel was just a typical business hotel, no character but it was clean and well staffed. The concierge directed us to put our bikes in a shed some distance round the back of the hotel. The shed was dry, had a lock on the door and had bike stands on the wooden floor. Our accomodation was in apartment blocks situated some distance away inside the large grounds. These were en-suite, of a good standard with a small lawn and drying area in front of each room. After showering we walked over to the restaurant situated in the main building for our dinner. The restaurant had large windows looking out to a balcony affording a superb vista of the town of Loches. The dinner was pretty average but not too expensive. Later one of our group went for a walk down to the town but I declined, thinking of that hill coming back. Well wouldn't you?

France Part 11

3rd June 2011 Loches to Celon near Argenton sur Creuse 100km

We decided to employ the facilities for drying at our hotel to do our washing, so our arrival saw us get stuck in with such an essential chore when we spotted the clothes line and green outside our chalet. Being on top of a hill helped with a breeze. The morning sun had our socks, shorts and jerseys bone dry by the time we collected them after breakfast. Breakfast was a slightly dull corporate affair like the dinner the previous evening but it was adequate. I think we were getting used to the offerings of the French gite which seemed for reasons of pride and necessity to give that extra something special in home produced food and earthly social contact. I think wherever possible the gite is my best choice from the point of view of discovering France and it's people.

At 7.30am we collected our bikes from the shed after paying our bill of 27.5 euros each, loaded up our panniers and set off down the steep hill of Rue des Lezards for the centre of Loches. It was to be a 100km stage today and an early start seemed appropriate. A brief stop at Rue Descartes saw us look for a supermarket to buy some provisions in case of unavailability during the day ahead. Once we had loaded up with cans of juice, meat and bread we set off along the road we had entered the day before, Rue du Docteur Paul Martinais. After a short distance we took a right turn at Rue de I' Abbaye which took us on to the D92 southward. This road took us through the small hamlets of Saint Germain, Saint Hippolyte, Saint Cyran du Jambot, where our route had now become the D28. Our D28 route choice was a good one as it avoided an alternative parallel route to the west of us (the D943) that took in larger towns like Chatillon-sur-Indre. The narrower roads we were on today were quiet and the scenery a little more rural. This afforded us a more relaxed ride. We were headed toward a small town to the south of us called Clion on the D18. At the end of the D28 we turned left then immediately sharp right on to a small but good surface road at Saint Martin where we came upon a tall white painted metal shed on our right. This road was called Prairie Saint-Martin and the interest for me was a large tin shed standing next to an old railway line. It looked like a grain loading bay as there was a weed covered rail siding running alongside the building that branched off the line. Anything connected with railways always has my enquiry and we stopped in a white gravel clearing at a rail crossing next to the building. The white gravel and the white building reflected the late morning sun very effectively making us squint our eyes and we could feel the reflected heat from it on our arms and faces. Keith lay down across the track using the rails as an anchor for some push-ups whilst I had a drink from my water bottle. Looking at the rails, they were rusty, the wood sleepers dried out but there was still evidence of usage, all be it infrequent. It's not wise to play around at such sites as you never know what traffic might suddenly appear on the line. I imagined the roar of a powerful diesel engine, thumping down toward us with a frightening weight, thudding over the rail joins. As it happened, I noticed the rails were welded together and nothing came along them anyway. The railways in France don't seem to be fenced off in the same way as in the UK. However we could see for quite a distance in either direction down the track and a fast TGV would be unlikely to appear on such a weed infested railway. We set off again down this minor road (still the D28) to the hamlet of Le Tranger where we turned right on to the D18. This took us into the small town of Clion after 0.5 km where we stopped outside in the street looking to buy food before the mid-day closure. We eat some cake bought from a nearby patisserie and we bought baguettes and coke for our lunch later on. After this brief stop we continued our journey south out of Clion on the D24. This took us on a pleasant route with gentle slopes and straight stretches of rural landscape with the odd barn here and there. It is worth planning your route carefully in France as sought out alternative routes, of which there are many, provide the cycling pleasure you often dream of. Thus, avoiding roads with white centre lines is to be a preferred choice. These roads usually connect slightly larger towns together, so parallel routes taking you through the nearby skirting hamlets will serve just as well to take you to your destination but offer the pleasurable tranquility that your bike holiday needs to include for maximum enjoyment. In the UK you might exclude roads like this due to mud and potholes, especially going through farmsteads but with the milder weather in France these back roads remain in the most, well surfaced so this issue is less of a concern. The route took us through the small hamlet of Arpheuilles and on to a small village called Sainte-Gemme where we pulled up at a large open white gravelled square in the centre.

The square had some trees at one end, a wooden bus shelter and some wooden benches were placed under the shade of the foliage. A little oasis out of the mi-day sun and out of the glare coming off the white gravel. We sat down and relaxed on the seats to consume our baguettes and coke bought in Clion earlier. After this lunchtime respite we left Sainte-Gemme on the D24 and came upon a split in the road in a heavily forested region. The D24 carried on to Vendoevres but we veered left on what was the D24A. A sign on this route said Meobecq 12km. We carried on down this road surrounded by trees for 2km until we came to a junction with the D11 also signed Meobecq. We turned right here to come upon another junction taking the D11 through it and guiding us south into the dense woodland again. I should indicate that so far today the terrain was in the main flat and the weather bright, warm and sunny but not sweltering. This made the ride, so far, fairly comfortable and easy.

The road continued on through the trees for a few kilometres. I noticed that the verges were lined with the same whitish-cream coloured gravel that had covered the square in Sainte-Gemme. Perhaps this was a readily available stone from a nearby quarry and suggested that the black tarmac road was laid over it. Eventually the D11 came out of the trees into flat farmland and we stopped at a small bridge over a gully about a kilometre out of Meobecq. The road was dead straight at this point and you could discern the town buildings some way in the distance. We leaned our bikes against the bridge parapet and consulted the sat-nav to get our bearings for the remaining kilometres to the day's destination. The D11 looked like a main road, with it having a white line up the miiddle, but the traffic on it today was almost non-existent. I guessed that Meobecq lying ahead of us was only a small place. We alighted again and as we passed through the centre of my correctly estimated small town, I saw a road sign pointing in the direction we were going saying Argenton. This was the first indication of anywhere near our destination because Argenton lies a short distance to the north of Celon. The D11 continued on southward on it's rather typical long straight flat stretches. "If this is going to be what it's like in France", I thought "then bring it on!". Happy days of cruising!... Oh! how wrong I was. I was later to find out the truth of the matter the following day. I carried on in my blissful ignorance throughout the remaining kilometres of the mid-afternoon. On we pedalled through the hamlet of Nuret-le Ferron down the remaining straight of the D11 covering the 6 km into the town of St.Gaultier. It was now about 3pm and we stopped at some tables in a cafe in the centre of town.

St Gaultier is a small town with streets dating back to 1500 and takes it's name from the church there. From Google Earth I could discern a path running from east to west across the river Creuse that divides the town. This is almost certainly an abandoned railroad from the contours it delineates and it rather shatters my theory about preserved rail routes in France. This way is now a path for walkers and cyclists but unfortunately it serves us no good as a route on our traverse south as it goes both ways in the wrong directions. We exited Saint Gaultier on the D29 heading south for about 10km until we reached a left turn on to the D55 marked Argenton 11km. The reason for taking this route was lost on me at this point as I was beginning to tire and just wanted to get to our destination. Our leader was busy trying to work out the best route to take as the roads to Celon were complicated. There was a previous left turn at Landes farm on the D66 to Argenton but as I found out later, this road did not indicate a direct route down to Celon. However our D55 took us eastward but connected in a more southerly latitude to Celon via a less complicated route and without taking us into the big town of Argenton-sur-Creuse. At the end of the D55 and before it crossed above the A20 'Le Occitane' motorway, we took a filter road off to the right at the top of the rise up to the bridge. This road ran parallel with the motorway towards the south and quickly became a dusty white gravel track. We carried on bumping down the track for about a kilometre until it looped slightly and joined the D1 coming out of Argenton. We followed this road for a short distance until we entered an unsheltered sun-bleached rise in large open fields with a road going left half way up marked 'D920 Celon 4km'. By this time I was beginning to bonk, possibly due to heat and exhaustion from carrying the weight of my panniers and couldn't wait to get off the bike. The route disappeared into the distance in the heat haze which was slightly daunting but soon we reached a bend in the road taking us by the motorway again for a short spell. Soon we began to move away from this autoroute in a slightly downhill run until we could see a main street with houses ahead. We passed the Celon sign and I gave a sigh of relief, thinking, "Now we just need to find the gite!" The first road went left but there was no sign so we carried on to the next left turn, the D54 and I spotted a small sign Le Canard au Parapluie Rouge (The Duck at the Red Umbrella). Who could forget a name like that?

This was our gite booked by yours truly. The proprietors Martin and Kathy Missen, who originate from South West England, greeted us warmly on our arrival at the large farmhouse building. The garden and the house are very evocative of the typical French farmhouse with creepers on the wall and high sloping roof. Martin ushered us to put our bikes in the large barn attached to the property and then we were taken into the house proper and sat down on large sofas in a comfortable shaded room with lush rugs, tapestries, polished tables and beautiful dark pink walls with hanging pictures. Kathy immediately asked us what we would like to drink and we all sat back with a cold beer in this pleasant sitting room next to a huge fireplace. This all happened so quickly as not ten or so minutes before I had been labouring out on the road in a somewhat exhausted condition under a merciless sun. The contrast was such that it was a heavenly end to the day's cycling. Later Martin came in to the room and said "Does anyone fancy a swim, I've just finished filling the pool" Strange as it may seem I was the only volunteer for this activity and I rushed upstairs to change. It sure was the answer to a quick cool down. Kathy handed me some fresh towels and I went out into the garden to see this raised wooden staging with steps leading up to a platform. When I ascended the stairs I saw this beautiful oval pool with a cool blue reflection shining up at me. This was a Swedish style garden pool with a wooden surround and it was gloriously cold. I removed my shirt and dived in to the still water, embracing the shock. What a remedy for being boiled on a bike! My body temperature instantly reset itself to a healthy normal state and I had the most relaxing swim of my life in an empty deep pool. As I glided back and forth around the perimeter I could hear the birds chirping in the tall trees bordering the garden. Afterwards I sat in a deckchair amidst a beautifully landscaped setting letting the sun do the work of drying me off. What a welcome! The rooms in the gite were in the attic space with dormer windows. They had very comfortable beds with an en-suite bathroom and toilet. It was a pity that we were only here for one night. I could have stayed for a week. Later we had our dinner out in the garden under a gazebo by candlelight with the other guests who were in the main from England. This made for a very entertaining evening exchanging our life stories with one another with the guests who began asking questions in wonder at us attempting to cycle 1000km in two weeks. To us it was nothing special but I guess to folk who are used to the comfort of a motor car it must have seemed rather eccentric. Martin and Kathy dashed about serving us with excellent country faire and some jugs of local wine to relax us even further. This was easily the best overnight stay so far and I can only urge anyone who likes France for a holiday to stay here, be it on two or four wheels. It's hard to imagine that any other hotel or gite could offer the hospitality that Martin and Kathy offered us on this single overnight stay.

France Part 12

Sat 4th June Celon to Plazanet 116km

We were up early at 7.30am this morning to get ourselves ready before breakfast at 8am. It was duly laid out for us by Kathy and Martin in the dining room whilst we were packing all our gear upstairs. Responding to our leader's ‘gravitas’ on this day, dire warnings were being expressed to ‘get on with it’ as today's stage was 116km. In all this haste I forgot about retrieving my personal ‘orange scented’ shower gel. This item was now ready for discovery by another guest happening to use the room en-suite facilities. That's typical of what happens on a tour when you are on the move. I was thankful that I hadn't left my spectacles, mobile phone or worse. I am sure I would have had my important valuables repatriated but the inconvenience would have been significant, worsening the further we pedalled on the road south. Not something your cycling colleagues would appreciate. This should be a caution to those inexperienced in bicycle touring as it can happen when attention is not focused properly on packing efficiency.

In response to an early departure request the previous evening, from our leader, Alwyn, I was led to think of the job that a hotelier has, to try and accommodate his/her guests' demands. By my observations of the previous evening's energetic catering work I could see that earning a living from running a small hotel is no push-over. I appreciated the cheerful effort put in by Martin and Kathy to make our stay complete in every way. Breakfast was excellent for us, with a nice presentation in the sumptuous surroundings of a finely decorated room and the wide variety of fine breads, jams, cheeses and cold meats simply completed the luxury experience. Hot coffee and tea were ready on the table with toast and anything else we desired, as the kitchen was adjacent to the lounge in the next room.

Later after clacking down the wooden stairs in our shoes from the attic rooms we gathered ourselves outside in the courtyard, clipping our panniers on to our bikes and squinting our eyes in the bright sunlight, the most naive of us contemplating another glorious day of cycling ahead. We took some photographs with Martin and Kathy and the other guests. It was sad to say cheerio to such a nice couple. The guests too had been charming to us and we had enjoyed our brief time together. One guest had a nice white BMW sports car in which he and his wife had driven down from London. I thought of the driving experience in this fine motor car but always I seem to return to the reality of the roads chosen for their journey in that they would most probably be very different to ours. On a bike you can use the most remote of passages, assisted by the characteristic and very effusive French wayside signposts. We will traverse the most rural of tarmac and have the convenience of stopping wherever and whenever the notion takes us. This contrasts in my mind with long straight stretches of auto-route, grey metal crash barriers, signage gantries and motorway dining areas with their inflated price structure. The sports car driver gets his kicks from a blue sky, the wind noise, speed and the roar of two or three litres of power at his/her disposal. A different enjoyment entirely, provided you can stomach the extortionate road pricing of continental auto-routes. It's the former dream that keeps us adhering to the cycling faith.

The reality of my musings on cycling was to be tested today on the announcement from our tour guide, Alwyn, that the terrain ahead was about to change. Today, we would reach the mountains and our cycling from here on would be quite different from the gentle rolling pace, assisted by the momentum of heavy panniers. Yes today would see us us engaging those, so far, little used, larger rear sprockets and those small granny rings. I couldn't help but think that our guide was deriving some sort of pleasure out of inflicting us with his rather serious aspect on this particular day. He had the benefit of touring experience from cycling forays into places like Tibet and Vietnam in recent years, describing to us the strengths of body and mind required to cope with the demands of such dangerous and unknown territories. It was all very well to take on countries like Germany and Holland but France harboured some surprises that would test us.

As we made our way along the D913 to Bazaiges and Eguzon-Chantome on this calm and sunny beginning I began to wonder when we would become aware of the changing terrain. Soon we reached the small town of Dun-le-Palastel and stopped in the square. An elderly lady with an English accent stopped to chat to us. She told us that she and her husband had left the south of England about 30 years hence seeking gentler sunnier weather here and began telling us how her life had changed as a result and how she and he had quickly got used to the different culture. I thought to myself she had left the south of England? What does that say about the differential with the Scottish climate? Should I bother to go home?

We then headed south again on the D913 to Fleurat then took the D912 to Le Grand Bourg, Aulon and Sant-Dizier-Leyrenne. By the town of Masbaraud–Merignat slopes altogether unseen and unfelt in our previous travels were beginning to appear on the horizon. I began to feel the force of gravity on my BJ bike upon reaching them. Long wheelbase, steel frame, chunky Mavic wheels, robust MTB style Deore transmission and those heavy panniers were all signalling to my legs that I should have trained a bit more on this bike. So did Alwyn! He had repeatedly warned me of the need to get out on this bike before we went away to get accustomed to it. He had suggested that I even fill the panniers with items such as blankets to simulate loaded touring. I was to get out on the road with it as much as possible prior to the tour. Of course I didn't, I didn't appreciate the need, the difference in loaded cycling demand. Now I could see that the road ahead was not going to be as easy as I had first thought. I had not properly prepared myself for it. I was too accustomed to Sunday runs on a carbon bike with nothing but a spare inner tube tied to the back of the saddle. The next town we reached on the D913 was built on a steep hill. I sat outside a church in the small town of Bourganeuf on a wooden bench in a nicely designed courtyard with the others and for myself, eating some desperately needed anti-bonk food and coke. A group of six to eight teenage cyclists whizzed down the hill past where I was sitting and sped round the curve of the courtyard in front of us. I immediately detected that these young boys were the precursors to serious professional racers by the immaculate shorts and trade jerseys they were wearing. With stylish helmets, mitts and expensive shoes they appeared to be riding smart lightweight MTB's. However it was the speed, close positioning of each rider, the expert control displayed with their machines and the smooth pedalling cadence that impressed me most. The whole package! The hairs rose on the back of my neck and I thought to myself. “This is the culture of France, this is what they do here and is the native sport!” I couldn't put the vision of this spectacle out of my mind for some time. It brought home to me how different it is here from the UK. Cycling is part of the DNA here.

We left Bourganeuf down the other side of the hill on the D51 then took the D940 to Peyrat-le-Chateau, followed by an easterly route on the D13 toward the Lac de Vassiviere. This lake is the largest artificial lake in France, a reservoir supplying the town of Mazet to the west.

Later, as the sun clouded over, we approached the shore on a curving wide road, more like a driveway than a public road due to the abscence of white markings in the middle. This road skirted the lake for some distance on our left side. First we reached the village of Auphelle on its banks from the D222. We had originally tried to book the hotel at this spot but it was fully booked for this particular time due to a motorsport rally. This had forced us to book Plazanet which added another 20 or so hilly km to our journey resulting in this longest cycling day of 116km. It was slightly irritating to be navigating along the perimeter of the west side of the lake with hot hatches with their go-fast stripes screaming and roaring behind and ahead of us. This was the only day we encountered some stupid driving by young drivers, some who opened their doors momentarily as they sped past us going up the hills. It illustrated that even in France, the ‘generic testosterone boy racers’ are still ever present.

My eye caught a poster on a telegraph pole for an instant as we passed. It had a picture of Raymond Poulidor on it with his name underneath. Poulidor was famous in the 1960's as an arch-rival who often shadowed Jacques Anquetil, five times winner of the Tour de France, until 1964. I have no doubt that Anquetil's success was heavily influenced by Raymond's forceful riding. He consistently was ever only seconds behind Anquetil in many Tour contests. He rode for Mercier-Hutchinson-BP. This shadowing led to the French public referring to Poulidor as the 'Eternal second' which was a rather cruel appendage. Raymond was a fine rider with many wins in the Classics but alas he never won the Tour de France in spite of his great ability. It was however a fact that, despite his unfortunate nickname, Raymond Poulidor was liked by the French more than Jacques Anquetil and much to the latter rider's dismay. I wondered what the significance was of the poster and wondered if Poulidor originated from around these parts.

We left the perimeter road with it’s ‘noisy petrolheads’ to enter a small rural road system on the right the D43B then east on the D43 taking us on to the C5 minor road marked Hiveraud Shortly this route began to take us through dense woodland on a hilly terrain. The trees on each side of us grew taller as we began to climb on a narrow winding road up the side of a small mountainous region with no level section to be seen anywhere The road kept climbing ever upward crossing the D34 and the light began to fade from us like a scene from a Harry Potter movie. In fact the already overcast sky we had left for the cover of the trees was darkening gradually as a lightning storm approached. It wasn't long before the rain started and we halted for a brief moment to don our rain capes and switch on our rear carrier lights, just in case a vehicle were to come up behind us. This never happened but later on I was to be rather regretful of the lack of traffic in this remote part of France.

The storm was getting worse. The dense foliage on either side of us kept the wind at bay but the rain was quickly becoming heavier by the minute and was by now dripping in chilly globules from the wet leaves above and seeping down our necks. Water was running off the sloping earth bank on our left side and forming muddy rivulets diagonally in front of us. Our wheels splashed through the brown mud and our tyres slipped on the small pieces of branch and leaves carried down by the water from the bank. I had already engaged lower gears than normal to cope with the strain from the gradient and I was now at my peak of output with legs hurting. I was somewhat concerned about my knees as one could pull a tendon in the cold rain wearing shorts at my age. I wondered how long I could keep the pace up as I slid back and forth on the saddle gasping for breath in an attempt to stay with the others .You would think “Why all the eagerness to stay with the rest of the group when pushing 68 years of age and the others 10-20 years younger?” I think for the first time on this tour I was suffering from fear of being in a remote area. I was up in the hills of the Plateau de Millevaches in Limousin without any personal mapping references, no local geographic knowledge and in a foreign continent, miles from the security of home in Scotland. I admit that I was scared of being left in this isolation. I was dependent on our group leader who had the navigational skills and equipment to guide us. I knew in reality the others would wait for me if I fell back but the circumstance made me think irrationally. We were all silent, except for the scraping noise of sticky detritus thrown around inside our mudguards and the noise of wet tyres on gritty mud. Every one of us took the pain quietly but was determined not to relent to each other, the gradient or the rain. When the going gets hard, psychological self-preservation kicks in and no one wants to be seen to be a wimp! Eventually we came to a level clearing in the woods that momentarily gave us a slight respite from the steep incline. The sky was wide open and dangerously dark as we passed huge piles of wet logs on either side, left by the loggers. I could smell the wet timber as we passed. The narrow road began to rise again following tight curves and we found ourselves back in the dense woods again. However the overall gradient now had eased a little.

By this time we had reached a not insignificant altitude of 700m. The air had taken on a distinct chill. Added to this was the incessant rain and the cold dripping water from the foliage above. We stopped at a T junction with a small road going to the left which I reckoned was to the north. Alwyn stopped us all to consult his sat-nav. It appeared not to be working properly. He claimed this was due to the wet foliage above and around us blocking the GPS signal. Someone suggested that we should split up to check out the route ahead a little way and similarly the route to our left. The road on our left had a dead end sign in the verge next to it. I was nominated to check it out anyway as Alwyn thought it should lead to Plazanet, our destination, even though the sign indicated otherwise. So the decision was that Alwyn would check out the way ahead and I would set off up this road and the two others would remain posted at the junction. I began slowly cycling up this narrow road. At the start it had been reasonably well surfaced but this soon developed into a grassy centred clump with ruts on either side. The foliage cover was still as dense as before and the road wound on ahead. You couldn't see the sky or beyond the next turn for the tall trees on either side. After a short spell I stopped and stood wondering what to do. I began to begin shivering with the cold. The rain cape I was wearing was only a race jacket and had limited protection against water ingress. It was meant to offer only shower protection, not the kind of deluge we were experiencing. I decided to turn back as I felt that I needed to keep moving. By the time I reached the other two at the junction I was wet through and freezing. At this point I could sense that my thinking processes were failing due to the onset of hypothermia. Someone gave me a wine gum to try and restore my energy. As I chewed frantically on this, my front crown tooth became detached and I caught it in my shaky hand up on my mouth just before it fell down into the mud to be lost forever. I at least had just enough mental process left to wrap the item, get it into my back pocket to take home for future re-attachment. This was indeed one of those days! I thought about opening my panniers to retrieve my heavy rain jacket but I thought the wiser of this as I didn’t want the rest of my clothes to get wet. Keith handed me a plastic jacket that he had stashed outside his panniers. I put this on over my clothing but the rain penetration was complete and had soaked right down to the skin through my own cape and jersey underneath. This was seriously uncomfortable and made me think how important the right gear is when confronted with conditions like this.

Just as I started to shiver again Alwyn appeared and seeing the state I was in, began phoning in haste to the hotel in Plazanet asking for vehicular rescue as we were all by this time effectively lost. This proved very difficult at first as the signal was blocked at the spot where we stood. Alwyn began moving up and down the road until he got a signal. After a few attempts he finally got through to Margaret the owner of the gite but it was difficult to interpret her interrupted speech. Eventually he came back after having given her what he thought was our approximate location saying "Margaret is coming in the van to pick us up!"

After about ten minutes a dark blue transit van appeared out of the cold damp mist and Margaret clambered out to greet us. No other vehicles had passed us since we left the lower ground. Apparently we were only six kilometres or so away from Plazanet, straight on down the road that we were on and with an additional loop-back from the tiny village ahead of us called Faux-La-Montagne. This was the loop that Alwyn had thought we could circumvent by taking what he thought was the more direct road to the left. No doubt this idea came from consulting his sat-nav. I was glad to get into the front of the van where it was warm, the heater having been switched on prior to arrival. Margaret with the aid of the other three loaded my bike and panniers, then she turned back round and headed straight down to Faux La Montagne to loop on the D3 up to Plazanet. As the distance wasn't much to go and they now had the route from Margaret, the remaining three tagged on behind us on their bikes. I was completely exhausted and sat quietly in the van on the way to the gite. Although it was warm inside I did not feel at all well, having succumbed to the cold and lost my concentration. If we had stopped earlier, lower down the mountain I could have worn the heavier waterproof jacket in my luggage which would have offered more protection.

My driver, Margaret was a very kind and considerate woman who immediately recognised the state I was in and gave me some sympathetic words to cheer me up en-route. Immediately on arrival at the gite her husband Paul, who was also a kindly soul, assisted me upstairs from the basement garage to my quarters to get dried off. Margaret and Paul were from the south of England and had made their life at ‘Vallon Vert’ running this afore named gite at Plazanet. There was a brief moment when I staggered on the narrow staircase and Paul, an ex-sailboat man, grabbed me from behind before I fell backwards. I thought that he was rather good at this manoeuvre, possibly honed from the experience of being out sailing regularly in choppy seas. After a warm shower and an extended rub down with a hot towel I got some semblance of comfort back. However I was still feeling pretty weak from my prolonged exposure to the cold rain earlier on and I felt that all my strength had slipped away. The weather outside was a lot cooler up here than it had been earlier in the day back at Celon. I kept going over in my mind my bad judgement that had resulted in my present state. I noted that the others had not succumbed as I had which made me think that it was the one item of clothing that was solely responsible. Cycle touring is so different! You need to think carefully about the conditions you are in and it evidently it was a mistake to have worn a thin race cape. This ‘showerproof’ item was not designed for touring in cold wet weather, the fabric being porous to allow sweat to evaporate during competition, it was evidently not suitable for today.
In the evening we sat round the dining table whilst Margaret served us a delicious home-made dinner with red and white wine. Although the meal was very cosy and enjoyable I felt so weak and ill that my appetite was curtailed and I couldn’t eat my fill. I think Margaret understood how I was feeling and suggested I get to bed early to get properly rested. This I did after she ushered me to a single large room with a double bed to myself. I was grateful for her concern and once I laid down I fell asleep. It was late on in the evening when Alwyn knocked on the door to see how I was, The group had been conferencing while I was asleep and Alwyn, the spokesman suggested that I don’t cycle tomorrow in order to recover. He had made arrangements with Margaret for her to run myself and my bike in the van to Mauriac, our next stop, at 12 noon the following day. This would give me a day off the bike and still keep the tour schedule moving.

France Part 13

Sunday 5th June Plazanet to Mauriac 92km

The night of the 4th was a strange one. I lay in bed, awakened periodically by pangs of fear and a ghastly feeling of desperate weakness, made all the worse by the knowledge that I was far from home without powered transport. I was only too well aware that progress here depended on the energy output to cope with the cols surrounding me in every direction. I did not know if I would recover sufficiently to continue the tour. The cold soaking had gone right through me with both legs gone to jelly. The thought that with a sleep-in until 12 noon the next day this might still be insufficient for a full recovery. I knew I would be in a warm van until Mauriac had been reached but even that prospect had me full of trepidation. At this time I had no clear vision of a satisfactory outcome.

As the light came in through the curtains of my room I felt a little better but by no great shakes. I lay undisturbed until mid-day and then got washed shaved and dressed in civvies. I wandered into the dining room where Margaret entered from the kitchen. She wished me a good morning and suggested that I join her and Paul for some lunch with them in their living room. I duly sat down where Paul was sitting watching formula one racing on the TV. He explained that this was one of his pet likes and I sat down in an armchair to watch the proceedings. The very act of sitting down to this and listening to the commentary had a very calming and relaxing effect on me and after a plate of broth, some rolls and a large bowl of pasta made by Margaret, I felt a lot better. I could feel some degree of well-being returning and I began to feel steady on my feet again. After lunch Paul showed me a couple of fine sounding acoustic guitars he had and I sat for a while strumming one of them and discussing its merits. This was great therapy. I began to realise that I would be continuing the tour after all. It was a great feeling.

Margaret suggested that we prepare to leave in the van for Mauriac and she would be the one to drive me there. I gave her some remuneration for fuel and collected my belongings. The rest of the group, who had left early in the morning had left their panniers in the spare room so that they could cycle on unloaded that morning. We collected these items, checked everything was accounted for, loaded the van with their luggage, my own luggage and my bike.

We set off about 2pm in overcast but dry conditions down the connecting road toward the village. First stop was to fill-up with diesel and then a brief call outside to converse with a charming old French lady, standing by her cottage gate, who lived in Plazanet. Margaret explained to me that in such a small community, as an incomer it was necessary to make an effort to socialise with the village residents. I could see the rationale in this, after all the only barrier to such an integration is that of the language. You just have to make the effort to learn the native language as any foreign incomer has to do back home. This is something we rarely think about in Scotland with regards to incomers from abroad who come to live in our country. The journey down to Mauriac wasn't easy for Margaret as she was relying on a car sat-nav and the inevitable wrong turns and road works presented her with a fair bit of unnecessary circling before the most direct route was found. As for the cyclists, they had managed to put a considerable distance on us due to following a computer planned route using Alwyn's bike sat-nav.

Our route took us on the D992 to Bessat, D21 to Peyrelevade, D21, D36 to Millevaches, D36 to Meymac, D979 to St. Angel then on to Neuvic on the D171. We caught the group right in the centre of a suspension bridge across the Dordogne on the D682. The riders had stopped to admire the view across the river taking photographs. Meeting them at that spot was a surprise because the bridge is accessed on both sides by a short tunnel. We turned a corner went though the tunnel straight on to this all but deserted bridge, except for three cyclists stood there. As the van pulled up Margaret switched the engine off and wound down the window to talk to the cyclists. In the background here was an eerie silence, not a sound from the water below and not a whisper of a breeze, just all encompassing quiet. Considering the distance we had come the lads had made good headway.

Mauriac lay 13 km to the south-east of where we were stopped. After a brief chat we continued on our way and it was not long before we finally arrived in the small town of Mauriac. I had seen a picture of the hotel the ‘L’Ecu de France’ on it's own website so it wasn't long before I spotted it. I went inside with Margaret and she spoke to the concierge for me in French who told us to go round to the side street to unload my bike into a garage there. The van was duly parked in the side street and the bike wheeled into this rather crowded space which happened to be full of motorbikes. Fortunately pedal cycles, being thin by comparison, could be accommodated along the walls and a large aluminium ladder on it's side laid along the far wall made a perfect anchor to chain the bike to. The rest of the group were still out on the road at this time and in spite of my protestations of being quite able once more, Margaret insisted on carrying all the group's panniers upstairs to the rooms. I felt somewhat embarrassed allowing a woman to do all this lifting work whilst I stood by. She was just a kindly person who showed concern for my welfare. Once I was established in my room properly she said goodbye and left to drive back to Plazanet. Her help was there when it was required and I had been afforded the rest I needed to carry on with the tour all thanks to Margaret. It wasn't long before the rest of the lads appeared on their bikes and I showed them round to the garage first so that the bikes could be taken off the street.

Later on that evening we all had a splendid meal together in the hotel restaurant, highly recommended. The first impression you get of this hotel is that it appears quite 'used' looking, as though it had seen better days but it hides a splendid cuisine which we all sampled late on in the evening, great service, food and wine and at reasonable cost. This is a dining opportunity you can't ever miss if you ever go to Mauriac.

France Part 14

Monday 6th June Mauriac to Sansac de Marmiesse 67km

Breakfast didn't disappoint at the Hotel Ecu de France. We were ushered into the conservatory seating that faced upon the street of Avenue Charles Perie. The waiter assisted us with the self service table. Most French waiters will be happy to converse with you and provided you make an effort they will help you with translation. We joked with our waiter for a few minutes before getting stuck in to 'fuel up' for the morning's cycling ahead. It was a cheery scene.

There was plenty to eat at the serving table where we helped ourselves to rolls sweetmeats and cheese followed by some with jam and honey. Plenty of hot coffee with the waiter replenishing the supply quickly. I can't remember if the waiter served the coffee at the table but I recall that the service was good. It was relaxing watching everyone go by and getting on with their business outside early in the morning around 8.15 am. We had our panniers packed beforehand, waiting in our rooms upstairs.

Around 8.30am we went up and retrieved our baggage and entered the garage via an internal door from the hotel. At the same time I settled the bill. Once we had the bikes outside I crossed the road to use a hole-in-the wall machine to get some Euros. We then settled who-owed-who for outstanding debts arising from the bill I had just paid as well as from our various activities the night before paid by others in the group. There is no escape from this chore. When a group goes off together it is inevitable that someone pays for 'everyone' to suit some waiter or receptionist that wants a single payment for services rather than to deal with each person in turn. This means you are forced to keep a mental tally or lose out if you cannot accurately recall the transactions of the day or evening. Sometimes you can induce a bit of friction from your mates arising from this if you make a query about anything owing to you retrospectively. Buddies get very sensitive over this issue, so to avoid a 'fall-out', I find it is best to get settlement as early as possible and to be absolutely clear about what is owed. Due diligence is required as a lot more than money is at stake.

Once all the monetary proceedings were complete we set off on the bikes taking the D681 through Ally and after 17km we came upon a small town called Pleaux. We stopped here for some 'Coke' refreshment around 10 am. Alwyn and I sat outside a small cafe called 'Le Retro' next to a rustic looking historic building while the other two went to shop for food. The weather was cloudy-bright today, not too hot, making it pleasant to sit and watch the activities of a few passers by. Apparently to distinguish Pleaux there is an iconic volcano called Puy Mary (1,787 m) situated about 13.5 miles away. Puy Mary is located in the Natural Park of the volcanoes of the Auvergne. We however were not going volcano hunting today as time was of the essence. We continued from Pleaux on the D2 to Rodier and then took the D653 to Laroquebrou at 43km arriving around noon. This small town is situated in the valley of the river Cere and is quite a pretty little hamlet. We entered on a long avenue of trees overlooking a sunny esplanade where there was some wooden bench seating and waste baskets allowing us to take our lunch in comfort. The entrance road seemed a little rough surfaced but it fitted in with the rustic houses and shops to some extent. To be truthful I think it was being resurfaced. The surroundings were of pleasant old style bleached stone buildings redolent of the South of France. I noticed a railway line on the hill to the south by virtue of a large diesel locomotive shunting engineering wagons and a crane back and forth. This suggested to me that the crane was being used to remove fallen rocks and debris from the track. The railway ran along the south bank of the river beneath towering wooded slopes. Apart from this distant activity it was a tranquil and holiday oriented scene with little bustle. We spent an hour here lazing on the benches after taking lunch, sunning ourselves and contemplating the next stage of our journey. The local authorities here provided a smart toilet block for the use of visitors and we availed ourselves of it before we set off to the east on the Puy de Jalenes along the bank of the river. Our journey took us along the D18, a winding road in dense woodland cover. After a few kilometres we passed under a tall arched stone railway viaduct where the line switched from one side of the river to the other. We stopped just outside the arches to take some photographs. Unfortunately the light was fading as the sky had, in the interim, turned somewhat cloudy. There was a smattering of drizzle in the air but it didn't last very long and we carried on cycling eastward into hilly terrain which never amounted to anything too strenuous. The road twisted on and at 4km from Laroquebrou we passed by the reservoir at St. Etienne Cantales or le lac du barrage sur La Cere, built between 1939 and 1946 with its first filling in 1945. The water was a bit low at the time, exposing deep sandy coloured skirts below the water line of the trees and the reservoir looked quite picturesque in this state.

The D18 wound on through the town of Lacapelle-Viescamp but we took a short detour avoiding the village loop by taking a left turn off the D18 at a junction with the D461 on a bridge across the railway line and then we made a right turn on the D361 through Le Cassan. Another right turn eventually took us through a small tunnel under the railway at Jalles. Our position was now some 2 km to the east of Lacapelle Viescamp on the D64 on the Pont D' Authre. Lacapelle Viescamp is a venue for an overnight stay with CTC led tours but we had to carry on a little further to reach our destination as ours was a privately organised one. We cut across the D18 from Lacapelle Viescamp outside Jalles on the D64 and then turned left at a T junction with the N122, a major road. This fast road took us down a gradual descent though the steep sided valley of le Pas du Laurent on smooth tarmac but the white markings and lines painted on the road surface made us cautious. Traffic was rather fast on this stretch but fortunately for us it wasn't too busy as we approached our 1.5 kilometre away destination of Le Pont du Laurent.The gite is on the left hand side of the road at the bottom of the hill, a large cream coloured farmhouse with red tiles on the roof and some gite signage . A kilometre or so further on lies the small town of Sansac-de-Marmiesse.

We rolled into the entrance gate to be met by the owner who helped us with our gear getting it upstairs to our rooms. Afterward he showed us into a large garage area to stow the bikes.This gite is a very pleasant place with a nice garden and a has a secluded drying green at the front hidden by trees. The lady does electrical clothes drying for you on as well for one euro in the event of rainy weather. However today was only overcast and remained dry, turning sunny later. We were able to get a washing done and hung out to dry in the evening. There is a large communal dining room on the ground floor which has a huge table and chairs set in front of french windows. In this room there are good cooking facilities with a cooker and microwave available. We prepared some soup and pasta bought earlier in Mauriac and Pleaux and sat down to a nice meal. A lot of time earlier was spent organising food, checking our belongings in our bedrooms and getting showered. The beds were very homely and comfortable, a huge difference from what I was used to back home with the SYHA but then its a different experience altogether in Scotland and each has its merits. In the morning it was the same process repeated, except that our breakfast food was supplied. Breakfast was self service but we enjoyed every convenience comparable to the other places we stayed so far in France. It's a pity our stay was a brief one as it was a nice place with quiet surroundings worthy of exploration. For example this gite has a swimming pool and the garden banks on the river Cere. We did not seem to find the time to use the pool or even get a look at the back garden. Perhaps we spent too much time napping, messing about in our rooms?....take note!