Lazy sunday

As Rowan mentioned in a previous post, we realised while in the vicinity of Carcassonne that our mental map of where we wanted to go was too ambitious for the time available, and that heading back inland to visit Millau, its eponymous Viaduc, and the Gorges of the Tarn was not going to happen. This was a definite disappointment, not only due to losing the opportunity to see such an amazing structure, but also because neither of us likes missing a goal once mentioned.

The benefit to the change of plan was that it allowed us to get to the beautiful city of Avignon (via the stunning Pont du Gard) with enough time in hand to spend a couple of days there while still leaving enough time to meet family at a Rhone Alps gite. The possibilities of this situation increased when I recalled that Avignon was not a million miles away from Mont Ventoux, somewhat famous due to its association with the Tour de France...

During our first rest day in Avignon (a mild 34 degrees!), I ummed and ahhed about the possible folly of tackling a big ride after 12 days of solid touring and prior to another week before another rest. However, I finally decided that I would kick myself if I did not try and ride the mountain while I had the chance. Even being woken at 3am by an excruciatingly loud rendition of “Cottoneye Joe”, being unable to get back to sleep for an hour or two, and realising that my mouth tasted stalely of the remnants of a bottle of red wine consumed the night before did not put me off crawling (hopefully) quietly out of the tent at 7am, having a quick breakfast, and getting on the road.

Our wonderful Michelin maps indicated that it was about a 45 km ride from Avignon to the base of Mont Ventoux, 40ish over the mountain, and then back. This 130ish total was completely dependent on getting out of a large city without any wrong turns – which of course didn't happen, and I had covered an easy 50 km in glorious sunshine by the time I reached the base of the mountain at Bedoin. From an early stage “the Giant of Provence” was visible, looming over the road and getting progressively larger as I got closer. A mild headwind wasn't welcomed, but at least promised a talewind home later in the day. Intermittently rough and broken tarseal offered no such benefit, sapping speed and energy without any promise of a return. Still, the outward leg passed in exactly 2 hours at a relaxed 25 km/h, achieved without pushing in anticipation of what was to come. A quick banana to supplement the remains of breakfast and I pushed on.

The road from Bedoin to the summit was divided into two parts on our map, an initial haul of 15 km to an intersection at Le Chalet Reynard, then a final 6 km climb to the summit. Both parts were liberally decorated with single and double chevrons, denominating steep and mildly ridiculous gradients respectively. The true impact of these innocuous marks became clear about 10 km into the first part of the climb, legs burning, no respite at all from the relentless attempt to overcome gravity. "Stoemp, stoemp, stoemp" implored the road graffitti left over from a previous Tour; regrettably there was little stoemp left in my legs. I began thanking somebody that I was not carrying panniers!

Arriving at Chalet Reynard just short of bonking completely, I gave up any thought of a continuous assault and pulled in for a second banana and a medicinal can of coke. Feeling much refreshed and now laden with a souvenir cycling jersey the final part of the mountain seemed much more pleasant – lesser gradients, more cyclists to try and converse with, photographers to pose for! Landmarks such as the Tom Simpson memorial and the Col de Tempetes provided brief halts for photos, and then suddenly I was buying gummy fruits at exhorbitant prices on the summit! More photos (obviously) taken by anyone who happened to be around, admiration of a truly panoramic view, and then I turned for the descent, conscious of having promised to be back in good time.

From having averaged 11.5 km/h on the ascent, it is hard to imagine a greater contrast than the descent. Hardly peddling for 20 km, averaging 38 km/h, occasionally touching 67 km/h before running out of nerve (not acceleration!). It was a great relief that the road was dry and the patches of residual snow confined themselves to the surrounds of the road only. It was also noticeable how quickly the temperature increased as I dropped back down 1600 odd metres – I was not envious at all of the poor buggers now slogging up in the midday heat.

Soon enough the headlong descent was over, and the reality of a 40+ km return to Avignon in the afternoon sun reared its head. The road to Carpentras started prettily before becoming mundane, but was at least a gradual descent most of the way. From Carpentras on I found myself more or less on a motorway, baking in the afternoon sun, and counting every kilometre home. The road reaching the banks of the Rhone provided both a partial relief from the heat, and the relief of knowing home, a shower, and food were near.

Having arrived home well short of our agreed panic time, hot water was applied in unprecedented quantities to remove 140km of sunblock and squashed insects, after which une baguette and most of a block of camembert disappeared without touching the sides. A lazy afternoon in the sun and pool followed, along with inadequate stretching and more food and litres of water.

139 km, 6:11 riding time, and a total ascent of nearly 2 km undoubtedly makes my ride to Mont Ventoux the hardest I have done. It says something for the conditioning effect of a months touring that I was able to get up the next day and ride another 60 km without undue trouble, something I can't imagine having been a possibility after previous Round Taupo races for instance. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. Early in our trip I read a book by Graeme Fife, who talked about the addictiveness of riding hard climbs. While not feeling the need to attend meetings yet, I can completely understand now what he was talking about – riding up Mont Ventoux felt a lot more like a solo challenge than most organised races. Especially during the crux kilometres before the Chalet I was passed by some cyclists and passed quite a few more, but never felt close to falling into a supportive rhythm with any of them. The challenge even felt quite meditative at times – no outside problems having any relevance, the only concern being to keep one pedal going in front of the other. I hope in the future to have the chance to ride other classics – for the moment it is a nice thought that if I return home to ride the K2 race that none of the climbs will be anything like as relentless as the giant of Provence.

Sometimes you get lucky

The day before my ride to Ventoux, Rowan and I were joined by her brother Michael for a tentatively planned week of him joining our cycle tour. The only major hurdle in this was that he had no bike...

During our time in France Rowan and I have grown to love Decathlon - a massive outdoor and fitness store, in a New Zealand context like a bigger, better amalgamation of Kathmandu and Rebel Sport. Thus it seemed obvious for Michael to get a basic bike from Decathlon and work out what to do with it at the other end of the week.

Decathlon stores tend not to be located in the centre of cities, taking an amount of land not readily available in the constricted centres of typical French towns. This was definitely the case in Avignon, and the nearest store was at least 10 km from our campsite. Never mind, public transport and bikes to the rescue surely...

Michael and I set off to the bus stop to get Michael on the number 7 bus, having been given instructions for him to get off at "Le Pontet - Avignon Nord". I set off on bike, following the route of the bus - a foolproof plan.

Until, that is I hit roadworks. That prevented me taking the planned route of the bus. Never mind, a look at a map showed another direct route linking back on to the required route - back on track.

Half way along my detour, and well short of Michael's intended stop, I found the Decathlon we were looking for. Uh oh. How to get Michael off at the right place? It quickly became obvious that the only chance was to intercept the bus. Duly following this plan, I cycled back to the next stop and flagged down the rapidly approaching number 7. On which Michael was not. Somehow the driver of the bus guessed who I was looking for, and managed to communicate to me that he had got off at Le Pontet Centre. Back on the bike.

By this stage I was beginning to wonder what chance there was of me finding Michael in the middle of a foreign city with no arranged meeting place. Nonetheless as I got into Le Pontet Centre there appeared in the distance a figure resembling Michael, although unresponsive or unhearing of my calls.

It was Michael, and fifteen minutes later we were gleefully spending Michael's money in Decathlon. An hour after we were fully equipped and ready to hit the road. Told one wrong bus stop, got off at a different wrong bus stop, somehow met up and got back to Decathlon well within the required time frame. Sometimes fate smiles.

Canadian girls and Avignon

From the previous post it may have appeared that I was slightly stretched and a little stressed. This was a correct deduction. It is mainly due to the fact we had not stopped in a campsite for longer than one night for 12 days straight up until reaching Avignon on the Friday 22nd May. Despite deciding to miss out Millau and cutting down our distances, we arrived in Nimes on the Thursday as flat as a French crepe. We cycled around their beautifully preserved amphitheatre (but having been in Rome's Colloseum, did not go in). Having decided to eat out for a change we spent about 45 minutes trying to settle on a place that was not too expensive and bikes could be parked conveniently, not an easy find, particularly when we were feeling as decision making ability had evaporated into the heat.

We contemplated over lunch heading straight for Avignon but ended up going with our original plan of going the picturesque way (according to Michellan maps who have a green line accompanying any “picturesque” roads), via a town called Uzes and the river Gardon. As we headed out of town on the road to Uzes we were greeted with “parlez anglais?” by two Canadian sisters on bikes. They were not trying to head anywhere near where we were going, but were keen to follow us on our green road. They seemed as keen as us for some company and it was fantastic meeting these girls as we have had pretty limited interactions with cycle tourists. None have ever been heading our way or been within a decade of our ages. Shanlee and Allanah were 19 and 20 years old, (“Irish twins” they told me), and they had plenty of much needed perkiness that was contagious. Within 5 minutes of chatting with them I was ready to cycle another 30km which was good because that what I needed to cover to get to the next campsite.

I have struggled with hills most of the trip despite the fact we haven't had that many. There was a big climb coming out of Nimes soon after we met the Canadian girls. Somehow having 2 very fit women in front of me keeping up with Nic gave me the motivation that got me up that hill faster than any other hill thus far. We then all enjoyed the descent down to the river and a beautiful bridge (Nic has cultivated bridge appreciation in me - he is pictured on this one with Allanah). The campsite in Uzes was nice enough once we had followed all the signs to it and we discovered that sharing a campsite between four is much cheaper.

That night we exchanged cycle touring stories over a 3 L cask wine that Nic and Allanah had found. We learnt from Allanah who had been cycle touring by herself through Spain and North Africa for ~4 months that there are 3 classes of cycle tourists. We have been slightly dismissive of the credit card tourists who cycle with minimal gear and stay in hotels (although this is something I do aspire to in future). We feel superior in the knowledge we have everything we need on our bikes. The third class of cycle tourist is the “hippy”, go and stay wherever, which is what Allanah had been doing and what I cannot manage due to my addiction to a daily shower. I felt slightly weak confessing to my weakness that requires utilisation of campsites that come with a price and a shower block.

The next day we set out down the valley stopping by a town that did kayak rental for 25 euro a day. As we had only 40km to cover to get to Avignon we decided that 5 hours of kayaking would make the day suitably challenging and jumped into a van to be taken up river to start paddling.


Thanks to the heat this was a mix of paddling, drifting, swimming, jumping off rocks and for the Canadian girls – yoga poses on the kayak -it was an amazing break from the bikes. We then jumped back on stopping off at the Pont du Gard, an amazing Roman aqueduct. The 4 of us on fully laden bikes wheeling through were quite the spectacle as well in this large tourist attraction. An American family walking past with slightly rounded daughters did not seem able to understand what we were doing let alone why.


We arrived in Avignon with some debate about accomodation types. Despite the perfect weather we had been enjoying I was keen on another little chalet (mainly so I could sit on a chair) for the next 3 nights we had planned in Avignon this was not possible but we were happy to share a campsite in a campground with a pool. Nic and I had a great wander around Avignon the following day in the 30 degree heat. I bought a dress and changed into it as a way of coping with the heat. Swam in the pool before cycling off to the TGV station to meet my brother who had missioned it down from Amsterdam to Avignon that day to meet us. Slightly frentic conversation at the train station before sending Nic off to get a new tent for us (upgrade!!!) and a sleeping bag for Michael so that he could inherit our old tent and join us. He then spent the next couple nights sleeping under the stars by preference. Our new tent is luxuriously big and no longer requires acrobatics to get in and out of. Our campsite looked amazing - 3 tents!

The Sunday Nic decided to spend his day of rest climbing Mt. Ventoux by bike - over 1800m in altitude and 130km return journey. I wisely decided this was one challenge too many.

Monday was a logistical exercise that only 2 engineers could come up with. Michael had bravely decided to join us on our final leg to the gite and was off to get wheels. He set off first thing on foot followed by Nic on bike with plans to rendezvous at a bike hire place with the likely destination being our mecca of Decathlon – the sports store that provides everything and that Michael was to bus to. I was off on a 6km walk to meet Mum (2 thirds of my family have followed me to France!) who was to pick up her hire car from the TGV station. We were then to meet back at the campsite, hopefully all with the appropriate forms of transport to re pack and head off. These permutations seemed to work, despite a mix up with bus stations, and difficulty starting the hire car and I arrived with Mum back to the campsite to meet my brother who was now a proud owner of a 150 euro bike and lycra shorts.

We lunched and then Michael, Nic and I set off by bike in the heat towards Orange.

Made it to the Mediterranean.

We have done over 1700km down the west side of France in about 3 ½ weeks and have changed a few of our ambitious plans. Our limitation is that we are keen to get to near Grenoble by the 29th May to meet both our mothers who have hired a gite together for a week there and to celebrate an important birthday. First change was ditching the Barcelona plan. The other night we had a long look at our map book and decided that my legs were not up to getting to the Millau viaduct. Nic had hoped to see. I feel a bit bad as I really am the weakest link. The only thing I am carrying of Nic's is his toothbrush. He has the tent, all the bike tools and bits, the gas and the stove as well as our 2 small pots yet he is still fastest uphill, takes all the headwinds and is the least likely to be the one whinging when we hit the 70km mark for the day. He has taken the change of plans with much grace and only a little bit of resignation. As we both keep saying the point is to enjoy the cycling not to try and see everything as we will be back (possibly not self propelled).

Today was pretty amazing (despite clocking up 97km). We have enjoyed brilliant blue skies the last 3 days and today as we cycled along the coast from past Narbonne to near Montpellier. The coast is very built up compared to NZ but with weather like today spectacular with the terracotta, blues and white. Such a contrast to the Normandy coastline where we froze and the colours were shades of grey. Stopped for a swim on a deserted stretch this afternoon (thanks to only a cycle path and no road beachside). I have finally ditched my long sleeved and legged cycling gear that I was sweltering in the past couple days in an attempt to avoid frying. Nic and I are, obviously, not the types to tan but we are developing areas sharply demarcated at sleeve and sock lines that are a pleasant shade of off white. This is only kept from being lobster like by the 50 plus sunscreen that the French seem to only market for “bebe” and “enfant”. Based on some we have seen so far, brown and wrinkly with a paunch is all the rage.

Coming down the west side of France has been a bit of a mission at times. There has, as I have alluded to, been some whinging from my side of the tent. This is the side of the tent that leaks however. We discovered this on a night when we were kept awake by a very dramatic thunderstorm. Lightening and thunder are a lot brighter and louder when under 2 thin layers of nylon. Fortunately that night we woke to blue skies and a dry day. We arrived in Cahors after a long (100+km) but scenic trip out of the Dordogne valley (had visited the Lascaux caves the previous day) past multiple hillside chateau. It was dry but that night the rain started and didn't stop. I hate packing in the wet. An Englishman and his wife who befriended us in the campsite, (after an interesting exchange in French about our dinner until I realised we were better off parlez Anglais), sensed our desparation and helped us figure out our next destination with their camp guides. However I had other ideas...

When our tent first revealed its' leakiness, Nic started talking about buying new tents. I started talking about hotels. After leaving Cahors (pictured) and cycling a day in the rain we did check into a hotel with clean sheets and towels and a roof in Mouissac. We followed a canal path from Mouissac towards Toulouse with mixed success. Amazing going over canal aqueducts (even I can admire this engineering over 300 years old). These carry the canal over rivers, water over water. At one point the cycle path finished and we tried to continue beside the canal in the thickest mud I have seen. Never before managed to lock a wheel with mud jammed between the tire and mudguard. We had more success close to Toulouse and found our way to the campground easily.

The Toulouse campground is so far the worst. Mainly thanks to some French teenagers with bad techno and bladders that seem to need to be emptied just behind a hedge adjacent to our tent. Can cope with that, but the repeated requests in the little English they had, of “do you want to see my ….?” was more than I needed that night. A Dutch couple saved us, offering us wine and moving our tent to their site away from the noise, much appreciated.

Through Toulouse (where Nic was “picked up” by a couple just returning from cycle touring NZ and the world and given an address in Grenoble), we joined the Canal du Midi (pictured) and followed this for the day. Beautiful riding with lots of other cyclists, roller bladders and walkers. First campsite we approached off the canal was “complet” with what appeared to be a music festival. We moved on. Found a couple of young French cycle tourists who had encountered the same problem and followed them to the most beautiful campsite we have been in. Freshly mowed grass, deserted apart from us, pretty flowers all potted up, toilet seats and toilet paper (not always or often a given) and views out to the Pyrenees (pictured below). Perfect.






Shame we had our dinner all sorted and had to turn down offers of cassoulet from the campground owners.

Continued down the canal and have now seen it out to see from Agde on the Mediterranean. Planning to continue up through Nimes to Avignon to meet my brother and then to start meeting some hills ......

What do you call a group of cycle tourists?

I settled on the phrase "a chain of cycle tourists" - terrible pun, but couldn't think of anything else.

This group of older French tourists were in the Loire valley.  Ironically after this we saw no other cycle tourists until yesterday (over a week) - which was a truly miserable day in Cahors, about the worst weather for cycle touring that we have encountered so far.  Guess massochism is alive and well in Europe.

On the road (or canal path)

We are onto 5 nights consecutively in our tent after having had our 2 night break from the elements in the chalet near Mont St Michel. We have also had 8 days of cycling in France (2 days in England) with a total distance covered since buying our bikes in Bristol – 775km! Even on our rest day in Mont St Michel we ended up cycling ~22km along a canal path then back along the causeway, very picturesque and we felt quite smug compared to those driving and parking in the immense car park out there. Photo is of Nic herding sheep towards Mont St Michel.

Nic has done a fantastic job on navigation helped no end by the Michellan map book we got at Costco for all of 9 pounds. We are tearing maps out as we cover them which is also quite satisfying. Not only have we not got lost, (although we do have slightly heated “discussions” on arrival to cities/towns when searching for campgrounds), but Nic manages to get us onto the scenic route. We have cycled through forests, on rural roads with no cars in sight, a 20km canal path into Renne (pictured below) where the only other traffic were cyclists (one of whom offered us a bed!), fishermen and walkers. Yesterday we came from Angers to Saumur along the Loire river and followed exclusive cycle paths a good distance. The slight increase in distance and decrease in speed, is definitely made up for by the pleasantness of the cycling.

Cycling the last 4 days has been slightly more comfortable for me since we followed signs to a bike shop in Coutance during our long wet day heading to Mont St Michel. I only brought one pair of bike shorts with me and have been craving some knee cover – mainly for warmth but partly to avoid cycle short lines that have already started appearing on my thighs. We were also looking for a bar bag as Evans in Bristol were unable to fit one to my bike due to oversized handlebars. We found some long, bright, French (how appropriate) blue bib(!) shorts on an incredible discount. Never worn bib shorts (thought they were only for posers and professional triathletes) but have been told there is no going back. They are definitely warmer and I am appreciating the brand new chamais although I am still developing sock lines (and we are still in the North of France). Bar bag is great for our daily pain and fromage. Nic also got himself an odometer as the Kathmandu one does not seem waterproof or particularly functional (although I think he is still carrying it with us??!!). Photo of me, canal lock and bib shorts.

Campgrounds are all an experience in themselves. We have stayed in 3 star and 4 star campgrounds as well as camping municipal which sometimes are not open! Best campground so far was the one where we weren't in the tent but in the chalet near Mont St Michel, what a surprise. The one last night is not too bad – 4 stars and 29 euro for 2 nights, but unlike 2 previous campgrounds the wifi (yes campgrounds with wifi!), is not free.

The campground at Chateaubriant, 2 nights ago looked very unattended when we arrived. I was not keen on staying as all the toilet blocks were locked with the only water available being from the washing up area. Nic was not put off as there was a nearby wooded area that he thought should suffice for any necessary trips and we could wash ourselves in the sinks. I gave him the benefit of the doubt (and the first wash) bringing him a pot of hot water to do his face only to be told that there was hot water on tap and he had had a bath – in a sink the size of a laundry tub. I followed suit with Nic standing guard at the door of the area (there was a father/son soccer – sorry, football – game being played on the field 100m away). Flashbacks to when my parents put us in the laundry tub aged 18 months, for our evening bath. Best thing about this pretty much deserted campsite, was that when the office was finally attended the next morning and we tried to pay, we were told that it was free as we had not been able to have a “douche”. Little did they know about exactly how much hot water we had managed to use.....

We have decided to spend 2 nights at our current campsite as our legs need a rest day (not to mention other parts...) I was keen to get another chalet but fortunately/unfortunately there is no rain excuse and it is a factor of 5 cheaper to camp. My only real issue with the tent is the yoga stretch and half sommersault required to get out of it at night when dealing with the effects of the French cider we have been enjoying with dinner. And being restricted to cooking with only 2 smallish pots (for 2 largish appetites). Waking this morning to a coffee being passed to me while still in my sleeping bag, a pain au chocolat (aka as petrol) within grasping distance and the river in sight does not get much better however.

Photo is of morning tea stop on route to Angers.

This trip probably sounds so far like what the majority of our friends would consider torture and not something to ever voluntarily commit to. Despite the challenges (and both of us would be bored if there wasn't some challenge involved) we are enjoying it and have had enough sublime moments on canal paths to make up for the cold and wet day(s). I have also been told (by Nic) that I am also developing some abdominal muscle definition which will likely be a once in a lifetime, unmissable experience!

Engineering on the road

Although it was discussed, Rowan and I decided at an early stage that neither of us would be even attempting to work on this trip. Nonetheless it is difficult, and probably not desirable, to completely leave behind the jobs we do even on a trip of this length. The continuing influence of our professions manifests itself in different ways: fortunately Rowan's medical skills have not really been required so far on this trip.

For me, practically every day leads to thoughts related to engineering. On waking in Rome and being told there had been an earthquake relatively nearby, the immediate question was obviously “how big”? On being told it was a magnitude 8 quake, the immediate thought was “nah, not possible – half of Rome would have been flattened”. It turns out the quake was around a magnitude 6.  More directly, now we are cycling everyday brings contact with Dept. of Civil & Environmental Engineering logoed drink bottles.

Also everyday the various engineering projects of Europe, both modern and ancient, have been catching my eye. As someone with a desire to build bridges, it is not surprising what has been most prominent in photos. Hence Rowan has put up with explanations of the Ponte Fabrichio in Rome;

the Ponte Vecchio in Firenze;

the Clifton suspension bridge;

the merits or otherwise of various bridges in London;

and the simplicity and cleverness of various footbridges.

Poor girl.  There are a number of other bridges marked on our big map as "must visits" for me as well!

Less grand structures have also been intriguing. Cycling through the east of Brittany (Bretagne) it became obvious that the French have a quite different solution to the situation where wires are unbalanced at a power or telephone pole – not using the guy cable methods common in New Zealand. Despite my well known interest in concrete, I am not sure that the French reputation for elegance shines through here.

Our time in Rome made it clear that engineers and builders have not always progressed in there abilities. The perfect condition of the Pantheon (~2000 years old) was a marked contrast to the various domes and arches we saw in the Vatican (~500 years old).

It has not always been structures that make me think. Cycling along beautiful canal side paths we have passed numerous locks and other works of hydraulics engineers. Near Mont St Michel there was also a partially complete and rather interesting looking tidal barrier. I have not got the skills nor had the time to translate the french on the sign, but believe that its function is to allow partial tidal ingress and thus aid in clearing silt from the river and restoring the environment.

By its nature geotechnical engineering should not be as obvious as the other branches of civil engineering.  However, I did have occasion to hope that Italian geotechnical methods have improved since the middle ages due to the number of leaning towers we saw.  I thought Pisa was unique, but clearly it is not as the tower on Burano shows.

Obviously while cycling the highways and byways of France, Italy, and England we have covered many miles of roads, along which a number of thoughts related to road engineering have cross my mind. However, these will have to wait for another post. I will simply close this one by pointing out to Dr Fassman that the monks at Mont St Michel seem to have the jump on us regarding green roofs!