OK, à bientôt mes amies!
Photo moments from the Pyrenees
OK, à bientôt mes amies!
OK, à bientôt mes amies!
Pyrenees Act 1 Scene 1
What could be better than riding in France? Riding in France with friends!
Friends Bill Stewart and Kalima Rose arrived in Toulouse on Sept 14. On the 15th, we loaded up the bikes in Toulouse on the very narrow street outside our hotel. A tourist train snaked by, and several cars that I never thought would have fit without taking off a mirror, or a handlebar.
We arrived in Argeles-Gazost, a great place to base ourselves for rides over many well known Tour de France peaks.
Unfortunately, John had developed a nasty cough by then which is still lingering despite a visit to a local doctor and a prescription for antibiotics. Yes, maybe it’s viral, but with John’s myeloma, we don’t take chances. The cough sounds like it is coming from his feet.
He has been chauffeuring us to the starts of our rides, allowing us to do more manageable distances and getting out to see the views outside the hotel room.
He is trying to keep a beneficial attitude, but we are here on this Pyrenees trip because he dreamed it up. We are riding, and he is hacking and lying in bed with muscle aches. I was sick like this on a bike trip we did once in Italy–also preceded by rainy weather–and it was only so consoling that we were staying in a castle and surrounded by Tuscan hills. He is with us in spirit, I know, but I miss him on the rides. We’ve been married twelve years and riding together steadily all that time, so his absence on these mountain passes is profound for me, down to my toes.
That said, I can’t really imagine riding anywhere more beautiful. The Tour de France riders can hardly take it in, they are in so much pain and so focused on their competitive goals. But I’m not competing with anyone, and it’s lovely. The first ride in our Pyrenees tour started at the top of the Col de Spandelles. Here we are with all of our clothes on, preparing to descend.
Here are the views from that descent. Imagine mountain stream sounds in your ears, the dinging of sheep and cow bells.
Then we rode up the Col du Soulor (altitude 1474 meters). The feeling is so expansive you are swept up the mountain by it, pedal turn by pedal turn.
Ride 2 in the Pyrenees was yesterday, the 17th, from a little town called Gédre, steadily climbing up a long valley to the Cirque de Troumouse, where I was astonished to find cows at that elevation, 2125 meters.
What will we do today? That remains to be worked out, but I am sure it will be spectacular!
Looking forward and back
I could list many favorite things about La France. The graceful language, fun to speak and even more fun to listen to, the relentlessly edible food and drinkable wine, the long history and beauty of the country. The joie de vivre par-tout.
Every day we pass through many small towns, and I’m always struck by how well cared for the homes are–even a crumbly hundred year old stone farmhouse will be dotted with flower beds and decked out with colorful shutters, blue and orange and red. It warms my heart as I pedal past.
Arriving in and exiting towns, however, is decidedly not one of my favorite things. Many people all trying to get somewhere on teeny, tiny streets. The leisure of the lunch hour is nowhere in evidence. It’s dog-eat-dog, or car-eat-bike. You muscle through, with a little prayer that you will emerge intact, pointed in the right direction.
Leaving Sarlot Le Caneda, after staying two nights to work around the rain, we managed to ruffle the feathers of a numbers of drivers, getting in their way as we tried to navigate to the bike shop for some air in our tires. The bike shop was closed, and just for good measure, a bee stung my ring finger to bid us farewell. Ouch.
Our days in the saddle have been great. We typically start around what we call “the crack of 11.” We ride through gorgeous countryside on relatively quiet roads. Castles pop up everywhere. Cows watch us, chewing their cud. Sometimes cars, or other cyclists, pass and give a thumbs up. Yesterday I rounded a corner and came upon a puddle of sheep, lounging in a pile, heads resting on flanks. I stopped to take a photo and they watched me cautiously but then decided I couldn’t be trusted and dispersed, to my disappointment. Once one of them turned tail, that was it, they all did.
I have a rear view mirror that attaches to my helmet–very helpful when touring. I’ve been thinking how it’s always important to see both in front of you and behind you on the road, and in life. You can’t just look in one direction. Well, you can, of course, but why would you want to? You’d miss so much.
Tomorrow is the last day of riding in this region–the Dordogne, Lot and Cele valleys–and then we return to Toulouse to meet friends and head to the Pyrenees! Woo hoo! 
Quick hit
Day 7 of a 9-day ride. Too wiped to write much, but here is some footage captured of our climb out of a lovely medieval town called Rocamadour.
Castle in a Raindrop
And I guess I should include wine in that subject line, since you can even help yourself in Sarlat-Le-Caneda, where we welcomed the wine and dry hotel room after getting completely drenched on the road. So wet my shoes were squishy. We have rain gear, but with this grande pluie it didn’t matter. Dinner at the bistro across the street was delightful. We were famished, because in addition to the rain-drubbing, we had been unable to eat properly all day. One serious pleasure, and challenge, of bike touring in France is food. Riding 40 kilometers on coffee and a croissant has never worked well for me. I’m a Zen breakfast kind of girl—-three bowls, a mix of sweet and salty, and some protein.
Lunch hours here are kept to schedule–between noon and 2 or 2:30. By 3pm you are out of luck unless you can find a bar open that serves food. Of course, you could self-provision, but that requires organization and planning too, and adds weight.
Yesterday we left the bike bags at the hotel and rode a loop into the countryside, lousy with castles. We found ourselves in prime cyclist territory, in the middle of an amateur race of some sort.
- Approaching Castelnaud la Chapelle — note the rain clouds overhead
The sky threatened, but it didn’t unleash on us.