The foothills of the Pyrenees

Sept. 6, Monday. We'll be in Quillan now until Friday when we head back toward Paris. Staying in one place is much easier than packing up and moving every two or three days.
Today we all drove to a road up on the plateau above Quillan (a road that we could never attempt to ride with the tandem, and which is so long and steep that Bruce and Jane, once at the top, are too exhausted to ride on the plateau). We rode first beside a mountain meadow, and then through a plateau where fields were dotted with rolls of hay. We rode past a cheese farm, and the Ks bought fresh goat cheese for our lunch. These mountains are covered with forest, and little mountains rise up with granite outcroppings from the plateau, and in the distance stretch those blue ridges of Pyrennes. Up on the plateau--some 800 to 1000 meters of elevation--autumn is just starting to show in the trees and the gardens, and harvest is in full swing.

It was a little up and a little down for about 17K, where we had our cheese and bread in the little park of the town of Belcaire, along with five workers of some sort who, in addition to their food and conversation, put away two bottles of wine for lunch. (Robb can't help thinking about productivity and how the Chinese are kicking France's butt along with the U.S.) We then rode up several kilometers to a pass--Bruce thought it was a grade of 6%--up to 1,253M (a climb of some 800 feet from the village). Tiring but rewarding, and we were able to make it without stopping. From there, a view of the valley on the other side. Clouds blew in this morning, and while we only experienced a few drops of rain, the clouds dimmed the sun and cast a shadow over the view. We can't complain, though. Now that we are back in Quillan, and sitting at the pizzeria down the street with some burly Germans drinking beer, some Brits, and various other local folks: it's cloudy but still so nicely warm. Long may it last!

Robb is planning tomorrow's route. I think we will split off from the Ks to ride around a lake and then hike up to another of the castles. BTW some of the signs we see here are in Catalan and French, both. Like the Alsace-Lorraine, this area has been pulled in different directions at different times in history, between Spain and France.

September 5. R and I took a sightseeing day to visit one of the spectacular Cathar castles for which this region is famous. These castles are all perched on huge rock outcroppings way up high; they date from the 12th century. The Cathars, a Christian sect, were targets of crusades by the Catholic church after Pope Innocent III declared them heretics in 1208. Apparently they had beliefs that were not conservative enough for Rome, like the one about men and women being equal in their ability to deliver sacraments. These castles were their strongholds. We visited one with the impossible name of Peyrepertuse (most of their names have clearly Latin origins), and it really has to be seen to be believed. After driving up and up, we paid our 5E and then had to hike a trail hewn out of the rock up further and around to the other side of the mountain to the entrance. Once in, the stone steps and trail continued throughout. This is not a site for people who are unfit or have problems walking. The "steps", such as they are, are rough, sometimes steep, and worn shiny through the centuries. If there were even one drop of rain, one would be an idiot to even think about it. But we enjoyed the challenge and even took the supposedly 100 steps up to the highest area containing a keep, a dungeon, and a chapel. The views from there were eye-popping, ankd included the sight of another castle (Queribus; neat name, eh?) in the distance perched high up over another valley. Far, far off, several ridges of the Pyrennes, blue. Wowie! (Having stumbled up and down all over this castle, I really wonder how many people could have lived there at one time, and where in the world did they get their water, not to mention food. It seems unlikely they could have withstood any lengthy seige, and maybe they didn't, because they were eventually defeated.)

On the way over, we took a little road through a Gorge de Galamus which gave us some real white knuckle moments. The road for part of the way narrows to one lane, with an overhanging rock cliff on the right and a low rock wall on the other, chasm below. At one point Robb had to jockey the van around backwards and forwards to let oncoming cars pass through. Thankfully this was a somewhat short section of the road but it was certainly nervewracking.

We came back at 4 tired and ready for a lie-down, as the Brits say. Robb is reading, I am writing, and we are listening to Rachmaninoff's Preludes for piano, musically every bit as spectacular as the views of today. It's hot! Thermometer in the van showed 32C as we parked it, over 90. But the mornings are wonderfully fresh, the sun is beautiful tho hot later in the day, and it is dry dry dry.

Later: We headed to a chateau where Bruce and Jane have stayed before for a special dinner in beautiful surroundings. The Ks told us about a nearby pizzeria where every pizza is named for an American Indian tribe: "(I'll have a Comanche, please. No wait, make that a Crow...) It's that kind of stuff that keeps me travelling!

September 4. We're celebrating the completion of a 35 miler with the Ks into the countryside in this mountainous terrain. The Ks have been here several times over past years, and they chose this route as one of the more "tandem-friendly" in the area. It's not only the climbs - their grade and length - that matter, but the descents. We just build up too much momentum on steep descents to be safe. This ride took us through beautiful farm and wine country (is there any part of this country that isn't beautiful?), and we ate our picnic lunch at a pretty old bridge in a tiny town. Then came our climb: it took us 55 steady minutes of climbing in granny gear (6 mph) to reach the high point; it took the Ks about 20 minutes more. I would call this part of the ride The Torture of the Switchbacks, which seemed to never end. However: The views from the top as we began our descent were just stunning, the Pyrenees off to our south and west. The descent was, relatively, gentle and very long, probably between 7-8 miles without pedalling at all, and applying the brakes steadily to control speed. Even so, I'm sure we reached over 30 mph, perhaps as much as 35 mph, on some legs. The views were beautiful going down into the valley.

The large fields have been harvested and are very neatly plowed; sunflowers have been harvest or are awaiting harvest, and the vines are bursting with grapes. Gardens, as everywhere in France, are beautifully tended, neat and clean, and still bursting with produce, especially tomatoes. One special sight we saw today was tractors and small trucks carrying stacks of large red metal bins (think dumpster-type) in preparation for the grape harvest. The tractors in this part of France (and anywhere the principle crops is grapes) are made narrow, to span one row of grapevines, and to negotiate the narrow roads in the rural towns.

We have a pretty good bike map now from the tourist office, which marks routes in terms of difficulty. This will make it possible for R and me to cycle separately from the Ks, who can do, and like to do, the long high climbs. We will pick more tandem-friendly routes, and we will also take the van and do some sightseeing.

Had fun at the pizzeria down the block after our ride, sucking down Cokes and watching a local crowd. A group of four guys who Robb thought look like rugby types, and they were speaking "Eliza Doolittle" English. Two of them look like brothers if not twins. They're past their prime for playing the game, but they sure look like they could be tough if they needed to! The other group was a scruffy bunch of folks in their 20s or young 30s, I would say, long hair, tattoos, messy clothes, chain smokers enjoying beers and conversation with each other. I would love to know what they do for a living! I will say that I was impressed by one of the women, the mother of a (guessing) 6 year old boy. He was bored, of course, and he kept hanging on her and playing with her face, giving dinosaur kisses, asking to see the stud in her tongue (eeeww), and so forth. Once in awhile she would say stop, and he would, but it was clear there was a lot of affection between them, and that was very nice to see!

Sept. 3, Friday, in Quillan. A long but beautiful drive today for a great distance along the Mediterranean. We wanted to drive through the Camargue, the marshy area south and west of Arles along the Mediterranean. I was surprised to see that even here, grapes are being grown everywhere. Even though the area is flat, with marshy areas, canals, and other watery inlets, grapes are being grown.I saw a sign by the road for "Vin du Sable" or Wine of Sand. That lacks appeal, somehow...

We stopped at one of several fruit and vegetable stands, and there were many signs advertising melons, cherries, peaches, and other "summer fruits." We drove by a beautiful area of lagoons where we saw hundreds and hundreds of beautiful pink flamingos. We stopped at a beach to dabble our feet in the Mediterranean, something Robb had never done. He was slightly distracted by the buxom mademoiselle walking the beach topless. Somehow he didn't manage to notice the much older woman sunning next to her husband, in the same state. We stopped for lunch in Aigues Mortes (Dead Waters--??), which turned out to be a surprise, since it's a medieval town with surrounding wall intact and we managed to get fabulous salades nicoises (and lasagna for the guys) for lunch. Then it was on to a faster highway and we finally arrived in this mountainous but much less touristy area around 6:30. I will say this: I have never gone through as many roundabouts as we did today. It seemed like every quarter mile we were going through another one and peering as fast as possible at all the signs to find the right road to take. This was especially because there are so many cutoffs along the sea. It was around and around and around again, everybody venturing their opinion about which route to take. Hard on Bruce, the driver!

The only clothes I haven't worn at all yet: bathing suit; pair of light shorts for cycling in really hot weather; 2 biking jerseys, ditto. We have only gone to a laundromat once. I wash things out in the sink every night; at the laundry I only washed two pairs of socks and my "good" or "dinner" pants.

From Robb:
Boulangerie, oui!
Patisserie, oui!
We say "Oui!" to French pastry!

Our tandem generates interest. People who see us flying along sometimes actually do a double-take, and when it's parked we notice people coming up to look at it. The only tandem we have seen was on the back of a car with other bikes, at the top of Mont Ventour. .

Sept. 2, last night in Provence. A good last day of biking and sightseeing in Arles. We rode in again, and today climbed the mountain behind St. Remy to the north (it's a short chain of small mountains called Les Alpilles) both going and coming back. Today was a 40 miler. We took almost all back roads again, beautiful. The museum in Arles provides a very good introduction to the history of Arles in Roman days. It was good preparation for walking the city to see the coliseum, renovated and still used today; the theater, ditto; Roman baths (not in use). Now that the Mistral has bid adieu to this area, the mornings are warm-chilly, the days are warm-hot, and the evenings fresh and cool. The air remains cool, and the flowers continue beautiful. Today several people called out "Bon courage!" to us on the road as we were climbing over the mountains, including one woman in a red car who also clapped her hands for us out the window. That, plus the cheery "Bon jour" that we exchange with other cyclists on the road makes up for the occasional jerk who is impatient or speeds way too fast around us. What I find funny is that when we pass people, we don't know their nationality and vice versa. Yet we're all saluting each other with cheery "bon jour."

People don't wear as much clothing with writing on it as in the U.S. However, what there is, is invariably English. Vacation spots, rock bands, events, pop figures and stars, and enigmatic words or sentences are all subjects, and one I spied in .Arles the other day, the ever-uplifting Bull Shit. Finally, today "Queen Victoria" tried to help Robb figure out how to pay for gas; the rhinestone crown on the t-shirt was a nice touch....

We often heard and saw gushing water on our rides, and rode past countless irrigation canals ditches. sluice gates and springs. That's what makes it possible for such a dry area to be so productive. I'm sure some of these canals have been in place since Roman times. As far as planting goes, vegetables are usually planted in raised rows, sometimes in plastic or sometimes covered with row cover. There are also many, many hoop-style shelters covered with some sort of plastic, vented every few feet, where vegetables are grown. They clearly have it down to a science in Provence. As far back as the first centuries AD, Arles was the center of fruit, vegetable and grain distribution for that part of the Roman empire.

We passed the Mas Carpe Diem near Arle. (Mas=farm...)

Bulls and bullfighting, are popular in Provence. There will be some huge spectacle in a few days in Arles, and the area we cycled through these days is famous for raising bulls. They hold bullfights Spanish-style, but there is another type of competition where "toreros" compete to yank some sort of decoration off the horns of bulls without getting gored. They wear special gloves with razors on them for the purpose (!). The bull lives in that one...

A bee flew under Robb's helmet yesterday! We had to stop very suddenly so I could get off and he could get the helmet off fast. Luckily he was not badly stung, but he sure could have been,
A final word on matters hygienic: i will be clear but not graphic. A public WC in Arles was the "squat type" we've seen here before. Upon completing my mission, I reached for the TP and as I did, the wall in front of me suddenly erupted in water, which fell along the wall and into the hole in a great rush. Startled, I threw the paper into the pit and as I turned unlock the door, the floor erupted in water as well, flooding the bottom of my shoes on the way to the pit. This startling method of "cleaning" a public WC was completely unexpected and quite unnerving. It barely gives you time to get the job done! AND on the subject of bidets: most of our hotels have not had them, which is somewhat surprising to me. This hotel, however, has one and has decided to place it immediately opposite, and facing, the toilet, both of which are completely exposed on a raised platform in the bathroom. I will leave you to decide how this arrangement would make you feel about using either one in the presence of another person, beloved or not...

At dinner, we agreed we're all tired! But tomorrow it's up, out,, and on to our last destination: Quillan, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. (French pronunciation: holding your nose, say: "Kee-yaw.")