/ richard cross

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Helen was giving it the big Z’s this morning so I caught up on a few emails while she slept. It had rained during the night (the first time since day 3) and it was still cool and overcast when we packed up and set off. I was secretly relieved that the weather had cooled off as the heat on the plains around Toulouse can be ferocious (but a couple of deg warmer wouldn’t have gone amiss though).

We decided to take the direct road into Montauban to save time, but a head wind slowed us and made it hard work. My legs felt sluggish and I was starting to worry about the Pyrenese, all negative thoughts which needed to be banished. Arriving in Montauban we found the tourist office to check on cycle routes to Toulouse, then second breakfast helped restore energies.

Heading south took us through the vinyards of Fronton, always keen to eat and drink locally I fond a bottle in the supermarche this evening – very good it is too (supping it as I write).

From there we descended to the plains where we picked up the Canal Lateral à la Garonne. As part of the long distance route from Bordeaux this took us right into the hear of Toulouse, missing out all of the traffic and route finding hassles. Along the way on the canal we passed the 1000km mark since we started 2, a tally we celebrated with baguette and pate.

As we drew closer to the city so more graffiti appeared until it seemingly covered every available inch of warehouse (though interestingly not private property). Some was your usual ‘tagging’ while others we real works of art. When it’s this good it deserves to be displayed with pride as I think it can enhance what are otherwise drab light industrial estates.

We stopped for a ‘demi-pression’ on the river and contemplated our next move. The map showed the nearest campsite to be too far to be useful, but the tourist office came up with a list of others. The detour had revealed Toulouse to be an interesting and varied city, one we’d be keen to come back and explore, but with the bikes and the need to get ourselves sorted it would have to be another time.

Heading out of the city (like Paris) was a nightmare. Our timings were wrong and we caught home time traffic, the quiet D road we were on turned out to be the escape route for countless commuter villages along the way. The sudden exposure to traffic had the effect of making us both angry, not at each other, but at the traffic. Everyone seemed hurried and impatient, with no consideration for the fragile cyclist, but it was probably just us not being used to busy roads.

It was with a sense if relief that we reached Lacroix-Flagarde (great name), a collection of small shops in which to stock up on wine and veg allowed us to relax and concentrate on finding the campsite. We did eventually (thanks again to Google maps) and were able to wash, eat and relax after another 100km day , well it was actually 99.78km, but we think that’s close enough!

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Having one again consumed a nudge too much wine at the fete it was time to get going and work it all off. We left Larnagol at 8.30 and headed to Pech Merle, famous caves with pre-historic paintings about 25kms away. Janie had booked us in on the 11am tour so we had good time to get down there, thought the pull up to the caves caught us out and we were overheated by the time we arrived.

Tour groups are limited to 25 and there is a cap on the number of groups per day in an attempt to minimise pollution in the caves. We were glad we had booked as the French holidays had started and there seemed no places left.

The introductory talk went mostly over our heads, but the gist was the caves were discovered 60 years ago and they contain some if the best preserved pre-historic (circa 25,000 years ago) cave paintings in the world. There was a palpable excitement as we we’re led through the heavy doors protecting the modern entrance and then down…

The caves themselves are impressive enough, passages, chambers and all manner of limestone formations (all tastefully lit) look stunning, however all pale into the background when you see the first painting of a mammoth. It’s so almost impossible to comprehend the timescales, motivations or the individuals involved, but here are echoes across history on the wall in front of you. Not only that but the images themselves are surprisingly beautiful, simple lines depicting what was either their quarry or their gods. The tour lasted an hour, but the images and connection with these ancient people will stay with me for a long time.

We rolled back down the hill, had a coffee/chocolate chaud and planned our route, up and over the Causse de Limogne (limestone plateau). Before we set off I had to have a work related phone conference to discuss the finer points of data capture mechanisms on a project I’ve been involved with for the last 3 months. It was quite a bizarre experience as location and time away from the project made it hard for me to get into the head space. However it seemed to go well and by the time we had climbed the 300 meters our of the valley I had totally forgotten about it.

The plateau seemed remote, forgotten and slightly odd. One of those places where scarecrows take on a sinister look and the houses look half finished. We barely saw anyone and it was only as we descended out of the forest that normality returned. We were relying on some shops to be open in the large town of Caussade as we had no provisions except for some honey and a can of sardines (though there are folk who would call this dinner and dessert). It didn’t disappoint, a mini Cassino coming to the rescue again.

Helen suggested we press on another 10km to Negrepelisse on the banks of the Aveyron. Once again Google maps on the Blackberry saved a lot of faffing and we we’re able to find the campsite, pitch, shower, eat and write up the day.

Tomorrow we aim to make it to the other side of Toulouse. Not quite decided if it will be through or around.

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After a late night at the fete, a lie in was mandatory. Janie was off to a ladies lunch and needed a swim to cool off first so we made for the river. She headed off after her swim, while we went to pick up our bikes and have a look at Phil’s ‘project’ – a lovely old house which he reckons will take 2 yrs to renovate.

A very snoozy afternoon was followed by some bike maintenance i.e. tightening up brakes after all our downhill the previous few days whilst keeping up with the Wimbledon scores and Tour de France action online. Then it was off to another local fete, where we managed to converse with some locals in a sort of Franglais, eat lamb, potatoes and sausage and then twirl around the dancefloor to the traditional band.

An earlier night tonight, we headed back to pack up our final bits and pieces ready to resume our journey in the morning.

It’s been great to have such a lovely place to stay for 3 whole nights but the one thing I’m going to miss the most is a really comfy pillow!

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Waking up neither of us could quite believe we had made it to Larnagol last night. It was luxurious to be able to get up slowly without the need to pack up and get moving and we enjoyed it thoroughly. Kettles, toasters and washing machines were all used, all the more appreciated after 10 days in the tent.

Amongst the reception committee last night was Phil, a friend of Janie’s who lives in the next village. We had jumped at the idea of kayaking down the Célé (the river gorge just north of the Lot) but in the warm light of day we were not so sure, it sounded like an ‘activity’. Having taken a long time to get ourselves moving it was later than intended when we arrived at Phil’s, but we were soon motoring (how odd to be in a car) up and over to a stunning cliff lined gorge which is perhaps even more beautiful than the Lot.

We parked by a bend in the river where it was easy to get the boats in, spread out some blankets and while Phil took a bike further down the river we snoozed while Janie swam. On Phil’s return we ate a late lunch and the set off, Helen and Phil on single kayaks, myself and Janie on the double (I say ‘on’ as these were sit on kayaks rather than sit ‘in’).

The cliffs of the Célé are over 100 meters in places, rising sheer out of the water where the river bends, at other times some distance away, evidence of a different course in a different era. What ‘rapids’ there were tended to be very shallow and we were often out of the boats to drag them through to the deeper flows.

We paddled for about 2 hours, through dense forest which at times felt ancient and primordial, only occasionally glimpsing houses built in to the cliffs. We saw clouds of dragon flies, a falcon chasing birds and Phil even saw a snake in the water, all added up to an experience which was as unexpected as it was enjoyable.

Phil got out to bike back to the car and trailer while we paddled on for a short distance, getting out at the water mill at Cabrerets, just before the Célée joins the Lot. Janie had been singing about chocolate cake for the last couple of miles, as luck would have it we had landed next to a cake shop! No chocolate sadly, but a very fine pear tart hit the spot.

The journey back over to the Lot was again stunning, the way the villages use local materials and colours combined with the lack of regularity means they seem a part of the landscape, rather than something added by human hand. This gives the region a very harmonious feeling, integrated rather than imposed and an ideal spot to rest up for a couple of days.

The trouble is we are not vert good at taking it easy. There was a village fete nearby which Janie was keen to go to, so we dashed back to the house for a quick change before heading on to Saujac.

When we arrived there were already about 150 villagers assembled, most of them well into their third apperitif. We were the only outside guests which made it all the more special. After days of passing through the French countryside it felt like we were at last seeing French life.

Five long tressel tables were all set for the meal which started with bread and bean soup. This turned out to be excellent and I had to resist going back for a third bowl, as this was followed by melon and port. During these first couple of courses we were treated to the ‘birthday song’, which involved the a singer leading us through a drinking song for every star sign. When your birth month came up you had to stand on your bench and drink your drink down with the chorus. Being shy visitors we sat politely out while some of the more exuberant villagers seemed to join in every time. By the bbq chicken arrived there was a party atmosphere and when Janie got the microphone to sing 3 songs it was an appreciative audience. She sang 2 traditional French songs and her favourite, Summertime. Her contribution ensured ‘les Anglais’ had sung for her supper and we felt welcomed in.

Salad, cheese, tart, coffee and of course plenty of wine was just what hungry cyclists needed and we both ate our fill. We didn’t have the energy for dancing but Janie got stuck in. We got back late, thanks to Phil for getting us home. A real treat of a feast and a superb ‘rest’ day. Perhaps a proper rest tomorrow.

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Not really sure I can accurately describe the scale of yesterday, even if I could I’m currently too tired to try. Suffice to say we made it to Janie’s at Larnagol where a welcoming committee, beer, food and a bed were all waiting – I’ll post more later but in the mean time I’ll let the stats speak for themselves:

• Start: 8am
• Finish: 11pm
• Distance: 186.96kms
• Major ascents: 8 (or 9, it’s a blur)
• Max gradient: 10%
• Top speed: 59.7km/h
• Overall total: 839.3kms

More later, must eat now!

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It was a day of ups, downs and gorges! The first up was as soon as we started, up and out of Aynat and onto the volcanic plateau that extends like a skirt around Puy de Dome. Like every other day I’d forgotten to warm up properly so after 10 minutes my hamstrings were tightening up and I had to stop in the shade of a driveway to do some stretches. I just hoped the folk who lived there hadn’t chosen that moment to look outside! The good news is that these simple exercises help a lot and soon we were on our way again

The road to traversed the plateau at around 1000m. With the higher peaks and passes of Mont Dore to our right we were almost tempted to make for the tops, but needing supplies we headed for Murol. Our decision was rewarded with a spectacular sweeping descent with views to distant volcanic peaks with the remarkable Chateau de Murol in the foreground. Plus to my delight we had stumbled on the ‘Route des Fromages d’Auverge’ and were able to buy some excellent local cheese in Murol, the location of our now mandatory second breakfast.

Leaving Murol was a long hot slog, but like all the rest it relented in the end, then it was time for lunch. Can you see the pattern? Climb, eat, repeat! We sheltered under the trees by Lac Pauvin south of the ski resort Super Besse as it looked like the clouds which had been developing all morning would deliver the forecast storms. But no, they held off and by the time we set off again it was already clearing.

The descent from our high point (about 1350m) was fabulous, about an hour of down hill – not so steep that brakes were needed, rather and steady and flowing where all you needed to do was sit up and your wind resistance would slow you down. This quickly added to the day’s distance travelled which up till then had been restricted due to all the climbs.

The road continued down through lush tree lined (gorgeous) gorges, the air getting noticeably warmer and more humid as we lost height till we reached a town called Condat. The temptation is often to press on, put more miles in, but this risks missing the hidden gems or in this case the hidden fossils. The dayglow sign for the ‘Musee Servaire’ suggested it wasn’t your usual stuffy museum, indeed in this was the finest collection of fossils I’ve ever seen and M. Sevaire was eager to show us around his life’s work. Form the 230kg meteorite from Argentina (about the same size as one of our panniers) through to the amazing uncurled amenonites (they don’t know why) this was a richly varied exhibition and the owner was on hand to tell stories about all the exhibits. I was amazed to find such a treasure tucked away like this and can only hope the season (they opened yesterday) goes well for them. See: http://www.museeservaire.fr/

From there it was another long hot climb out of the gorge, this time accompanied by swarms of flies, which was nice! This last climb lead us to Riom es Montagnes whose municipal (ie. cheap) campsite and promise of pizza lured us in to call it a day. Although off the ‘target’ distance 80kms over the terrain we had covered was a significant effort, making the subsequent pizza and all the trimmings taste even better.

Early night as a big day planned for tomorrow, an attempt to make it to Janie’s place to the SE of Figeac. Our legs, the weather and the roads all need to come good if we are to make it in one push.

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Woke for the sunrise again, it was so stunning I woke up Helen to see it too. Thankfully she agreed!

We were on our way by 8.30 in an attempt to avoid the midday heat and feeling rested and refreshed we made good progress. At about 10am we passed the 500kms mark in a little place called Denone. No fanfare, no cheering crowds, but it felt a significant achievement having started out a week ago with no idea how far we’d make.

Form there we rode through a succession of small farming villages, all the time the volcanoes of the Auverge were getting closer and looking larger. Along the way we saw an buzzard drop it’s catch of a pigeon right in front of us, slightly surprised we rode around the corner where 2 young girls asked me for a ‘pomp’, – wary of entrapment I checked Helen was witnessing all was above board before helping them blow up their flat tyres. With a ‘bon journee’ floating in the air we rode on with me feeling like international ‘bicycle repair man’.

Entering the outskirts of Clermont Ferrand reminded us there were busy towns in France, not just sleepy villages. We found the tourist office where we needed camping and bike route info and I amazed myself with by conducting the entire exchange in French, though I’m not sure the woman who helped me was so impressed with what I was doing to her language.

To the nearest park for lunch where we assumed the parkie meant ‘get those bikes off the grass’ because he stopped gesticulating when we did! I spent the time planning our route up to the Puy de Dome, the huge volcano which at 1465m dominates the area. We were not aiming for the top as it’s a dead end and had been declared ‘out of bounds’ by mutual consent. However feeling good after a rest day we decided to pick a direct route up to the high ground as a way of seeing what we could cope with.

Heading out of town passed thermal spas and towards the mountain it seemed that people were giving us odd looks, as if they knew something we didn’t. Trying to ignore this we pedalled on and as we did it got hotter. On the road Helen’s bike computer peaked at 40.2deg c and with sweat pouring off us we plugged away, stopping to drink (and drip) in any patch of shade there was.

Slowly we found ourselves clearing the roof lines of the tower blocks, round the first sets of hairpins, then the second and beyond. When the trees began to thin out we knew we had made it as far as we needed to go, not to the top, that lay another 500m above (and looked truly punishing). Instead we turned off along a rolling high road which tracked the 950m contour, where houses clung to the slopes hogging the best views while the road dodged between volcano cones with occasional glimpses of the Puy du Dome behind us. We had made it into the mountains and it hadn’t broken us! It was great to be up high, it’s cooler, the scenery fascinating and the campsite by the lake at Aydat is excellent (cold beer and showers).

Time to revisit the maps and see where we can go from here. Up is still a possibility, but will see what the legs give us in the morning.

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Having decided today would be a rest day I was wide awake at 6am! How annoying was that? Not really, as the sunrise was stunning. Snoozed for a couple of hours before getting up for a lazy breakfast and just enjoying not having to pack up and roll on.

We took the opportunity to do some washing (phew!) before wandering into town to look around and have a long dreamt about lunch.

Gannat seems like a fairly typical French town, the centre ville built around a church and square, civic pride shown by it’s floral displays and thankfully not a Tesco’s in sight. True, the outskirts are often a mess of light industrial developments but they have had the sense (or lack of ‘ambition’) not to rip the heart out of their town centres. This has made almost all a delight to visit, each has an identity of which they are justly proud. I’m sure there’s a flip side to this point of view, but for someone passing through the difference between French and British towns is significant.

Lunch was everything we hoped it would be. Amongst the locals we munched our way through a simple salad, steak au frites, fromage plateau followed by tarte au pomme and cafe express. Fabulous and it felt well earned. We slept it off in the park next door before Helen asked ‘ou est la piscine?’ (fans of Flight of the Conchords will understand).

We headed back up the hill to the campsite and spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool, reading up on the Tour de France programme and pouring over our route for the next stage of the journey. After much deliberation we’ve decided on the ‘aesthetic line’ which will take us south east through the volcanoes of the Auverge towards our friends in the Lot and beyond Toulouse. We will find out over the next few days if this is the right decision.

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Packed up and off by 9am but instead of hitting the road (and avoiding the heat) we did the tourist thing and had a look around Bourbon. The castle looks like a castle should; turrets, moat, imposing position all present and correct. It dates back to the 12th century but is now used as a backdrop to ‘son et luminaire’ shows. It wasn’t open (of course, it’s monday in France) but it was funny to see some of the cast hanging around in costume, it gave the place a ‘Pythonesque’ feel.

From there it was back up the hill and the road. It was hot and felt hard, neither of us could find a rhythm and each km seemed hard won. Our target for lunch was Montet, with a name like that we should have realised it was going to be on top of the biggest hill in the area! It was difficult to keep the negative thoughts at bay, “it’s too far”, “it’s too hard”, “my bike’s making odd noises” and more crossed our minds and when we arrived at Montet we slumped in the shade of the church and ate our lunch in near silence. When the shade disappeared we were forced to move on, but round the corner we found a shady patch of grass in the middle of a roundabout and settled in for a snooze.

It’s amazing what 30 mins of rest can do! Once we got going again we ate up the kilometers, partially down to more flowing roads but also thanks to a different ‘head space’. We had decided to go as far as we felt we wanted to, no targets, no pressure. This I think freed us up, as fairly quickly we had more than doubled our morning’s distance. Buoyed by this we pressed on and made it on to our third Michelin map (thanks for these Kev, much appreciated), itself another significant marker in the journey and a good boost for morale.

It’s also worth saying what a boost the money that’s been donated for WaterAid has been. Knowing you lovely people have dug deep has helped spur us on when the going gets tough – with a long way still to go this it’s really helping, so thank you all.

We stopped in Monesteir for the last of our day’s bread and cheese where I picked up an email from Greener Leith saying they had featured our efforts on their excellent site, this spurred us on for another 20kms which took us up some steep hills but lead us to the lovely Charroux. This is another of France’s most ‘beautiful villages’, and without the other tourists or over priced ice cream we agreed. The highlight for me was the clock museum, with over 6 centuries of time pieces represented. Along with the historical significance and the craftsmanship was the most incredible noise; whirring, clanking, chiming, sounds of the passing of precious time. No photo could do the place justice, so I tried a cheeky video instead. No sound on playback so will have to check when we get home.

From there we had an amazing sweep down a long hill with the volcanoes of the Auverge as the backdrop. But every down brings an up and sure enough the last pull of the day into Gannat was hard.

It being late on monday most shops were closed but we managed to stock up at a ‘mini-marche’ before heading to the campsite. We had talked about staying in a ‘proper bed’ but camping is better, where else can eat then lay down without having to move at all (the same works in reverse in the morning). We found a good spot after some tired ‘discussion’ and then lashed into a veritable banquet. Repleat we watched the sunset, with our first day off cycling tomorrow the wine tasted even better than usual.

Total distance: 491kms

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The Saint Satur campsite is a tranquil place, the pitches nestled amongst the trees. I woke early and wandered to the river’s edge and it was a joy to watch the mist lift over La Loire as the sun rose.

At 8am the baker’s van arrived. Such a treat it was that it didn’t really matter they were yesterday’s croissants. We were on our way by 8.30, by far our earliest start – the idea being we would finish early and so get proper rest. Of course few plans withstand contact with the enemy, and this was no exception.

Our route from Sancerre took us through some tiny villages and I was delighted to find one called ‘La Croix’. Sadly it seemed far removed from the fine wine producing villages (Pouilly is just up the road) as there was a distinct smell of vinegar in the air!

Once again it proved impossible to cycle by a well situated cafe, this time in La Charite sur Loire. A fine looking place with a 16th century centre, but lived and worked in rather than pickled for tourists. Anywhere else it would be mobbed by coaches, perhaps it usually is and we just caught it right. Either way we were both taken by the place, if slightly disturbed that we didn’t notice a shop keeper moving our bikes so he could open his shutters.

South, south, ever south. At Cuffy and it’s amazing canal ‘water tank’ used to maintain the levels (yet another feat of French civil engineering). Here we said ‘au revoir La Loire’ and ‘bonjour La Allier’, another river to lead us south.

We were buzzed by a classic car rally, much honking of horns and cheering and it was in high spirits we rolled into Apremont, said to be one of the prettiest villages in France. Here were the tourists in their droves, milling and gawping at the houses so perfect Disney would have rejected them for being unbelievable. We tried to get in the spirit but an overpriced scoop of ice cream didn’t endear us to the place, so we headed on.

Some undulating miles led us to change our destination for the day, shaving 15kms off the total, but adding what can be classed as our first ‘big hill’. One word – hot! But by 7.30 we’d arrived in Bourbon l’Archambault and despite the campsite being up the hill on the other side of town felt we had made the right decision as we’ll avoid more main roads tomorrow.

A shower, a giant plate of pasta (but a sad lack of wine) then some bike maintenance and that was it for the day. With 120kms today and the total now over 400 we feel pleased with our progress, however we are starting to sense the mountains of the Massive Central rise ahead of us so any satisfaction is tinged with trepidation. But that’s all to come…