Finale

Now home after a drive to the Loire, where Margaret and Rodger welcomed us again, and then a flight from Tours to Manchester.

Given that we have ridden 1100k and driven another 700k, can I just have a final word about French drivers?

As a fellow motorist I think they are generally hopeless. They drive way too fast, and way too close.

However most French drivers are brilliant when they encounter cyclists; much better than their English counterparts.

French motorists, even lorry drivers, will actually stop if they cannot pass you safely.  And by safely , I stress that they will often wait till they can use the other carriageway to pass and so give you as much leeway as possible

Moreover there is no fuss; it’s just the norm.  They don't sound the horn, or wave a finger etc. 

Indeed one day we came across a small cycling club out for a ride, two or three abreast, doing around 20kph . This peloton was followed by a caravan of about a dozen of more vehicles waiting patiently to overtake.

 This queue included several white vans and at least one Audi, yet we detected no stress or impatience.  They would all get by when it was safe.

In contrast your typical English driver seems more concerned about scratching their paintwork than looking out for cyclists safety.

As long as it will not marginally inconvenience them, a “Volvoiste” will sometimes self-consciously pull out and give you a reasonable amount of room.

If they would have to slow their progress by any measurable extent however, they generally prefer to see if they can just “squeeze past”.

Their concern for their paintwork means that, as they do so, they probably unconsciously hold their breath or even hunch their shoulders so as “feel smaller” as they pass.

Once past, the act of breathing out and relaxing their shoulders probably means that they don't look in their mirrors and see the cyclist giving them the finger!

So French drivers are the best if you are cyclist. 

But hold on, wasn’t I knocked off my bike by a French motorist? 

Well that happened on a cycle route: I would have been safer on the road.

So bravo and vive la France.  

Ps. But I don’t think these reflections apply to taxi drivers. Whatever side of the Channel, each seems as bad as each other.  Oh Audi drivers are probably exempt too

The journey draws to a close

At Margaret and Rodger's on the way home.

La Mer et le fin

Well we made it. A bit of mechanical improv and we arrived just in time to miss lunch.  What recession?  Beer for P and Orangina for K - Salut!!!


Phil by text.


Entry from KR

The bike was more rideable than we thought and after a good nights sleep we thought we could press on.

Philip now in role of "domestique" which he plays with a mixture of comic abuse and utter thoughtfulness.

He tweaked the bike, produced some high powered painkillers and worked out a careful route through the city.

My front wheel had more kinks than a Tory backbencher, but with more of a mind of its own.

And thus we wobbled our way to the Med through vineyards, where there seemed more rock than soil, and then across a low ridge dotted with pine and outcrops.

The coast itself  has saltmarshes and lagoons so its a bit like being at Weston super Mare: the sea itself can be a long way off.

But we got there in the end. Of course there are no fanfares, nor bands at moments like these. No one noticed and why should they.  However, in the words of H W Tillman " I believe we so far forget ourselves, as to shake hands!"

Ps one final happy coincidence. One of Philips favourite songs from the last trip was La Mer. He is convinced he knows all the words but , to me, he simply repeats La Mer once or twice before singing "dah de dah do" in a cod French accent!

But its a lovely song and its author and singer - Charles Trenet - was born in Narbonne! Sue will try to paste a link,

The Domestique's View

Well, after 6 hours malingering in A & E thoughtlessly left Philip with nothing better to do than chat to underdressed French and American girls.  Still shocked he had to be led to a 'nice hotel  room' but in one Narbonne's fruitier banlieus, he complained. I had to cancel the very reasonably priced sports masseuse whom we had cycled past coming  into Narbonne.   This morning only extra coffee and a pot Belge from the local Pharmacie persuaded him back onto the bike on which he wobbled for effect through the  town. Talk about highly strung coureurs.

From Sue - link to Charles Trenet info - Well done from me and from Dan and Lorna - looking forward to you both coming home.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Trenet

So near and yet so far

Phil and Keith cycled on today - partly on the Canal du Midi - heading for the Med at Narbonne and very nearly made it.  More details to follow but Keith was knocked off his bike by a motorist as they headed into central Narbonne.


A long wait in A and E took up the rest of the day but the good news is that no bones are broken - he is just very stiff and bruised.


They are going to try and get a hire car tomorrow and head up to the Loire - and a flight from Tours  to Manchester on Tuesday.  


Perhaps they may get their feet in the Med ( they are less that 5 k away) - but probably not the bike wheels as planned.  Maybe Phil may complete it for them.


Bon voyage and Bon route 


Sue xxx

Vive le Tour

85 k in really hot conditions to reach Revel, a bastide town overlooking the broad valley that links Toulouse and the Med ( DN - what is the proper name for this? )

Its a handsome medieval town with a lovely market hall right in the centre and a 1930s public baths.

Our route followed that by a recent Tour, as we saw Vive le Tour marked on the road.

We also passed a lovely memento to one of the great figures of the Tour, though he never won it. Raymond Poulidor was the housewives' favourite and came second many times. Generally I think he came second to the legendary Jacques Anquetil, who I think won the Tour 5 times.

Anquetil was a hard man, uncompromising and unsentimental. The antithesis of Poulidor in fact. And when challenged on drugs he darkly said " you don't win the Tour de France on mineral water"!

Anyway, in 1968 Poulidor lost his chance to win when a car strayed onto the course. And there is a little monument marking the spot.

We are doing the Tour on coffee and orangina and, for me, the occasional cigar! If we could get anything stronger then we probably would!

And if we had raced  some of the hills we did today (one went on for 6 k) in high summer too, only to find your hopes dashed by a bloody driver .....

the monument would be to a  dead motorist and not the lost opportunity.

Vive le Tour and vive Poulidor.

No sprint finish

Our objective today was Cordes sur Ciel. We knew we were in for a steep finish, but it was the hills in between that concerned us.

The first started literally outside our hotel door, and went up for 5 k. Half way up we realised we were on the wrong hill. This was a bad thing.

We felt we could rejoin our route and pressed on. When we summitted we were back on route and the slight detour had probably eased our ascent.  This was a good thing.

We then immediately started a long descent, shooting down to the River Lot. Though the descent was thrilling (aka terrifying ) we soon lost all our hard won height. And after 12k we were climbing steeply again. This was unquestionably a bad thing.

The day went on in that way. Techically we were crossing a dissected plateau with the Rivers Cele, Lot, Averyon, Viaun cutting deep valleys into the landscape.

On the tops there were flat sections where you could boule along, and the scenery was fine.

We stopped for lunch at Villefranche, a stunning medieval town with a fabulous market. Over a sandwich on a park bench we fell into conversation with an Australian who was doing a short tour. She had had the worst of the weather  having started a week ago, and was about to set off back to family in England. She told us about a worldwide touring forum\club - "warm showers" by name. Families could register and offer support of various kinds to tourers - the minimum being a shower.

We were slightly dreading the climb out of St Martin. Its three hair pin bends were so tight on the inside as to feel about 30%. But we got up it, Philip in better state than me.

Interesting that our memories of that climb somehow blotted out the other few climbs between us and the final climb up to Cordes.

We are camping tonight in balmy weather. From experiencing english weather over the last few days, we are now bang in Midi type weather. Hard to adjust, but lovely now as the heat of the day eases.

We will however have to cycle up the hill to eat!

The man from Barrow

About 65k today, climbing up onto the Causse from Gourdon, then crossing it for about 40k, before descending steeply into Figeac.

I struggled to do more than 9 kph on the uphill but the speedo touched 59 kph on the descent.  

Philip, in his capacity, as the fittest fat man he knows, was faster both ways.

The Causse looked great, once the mist cleared.  Sheep and goats , with "cow bells" ( if that's not nonsense ) , dry stone walls, small fields and rocky outcrops. And utterly deserted.

What few villages there were had been by-passed by the new road that had been put in a few years ago. With its cuttings and embankments ( the former now natural rock gardens with saxifrage and stuff ) it made a more even road for cyclists.

But no cafes or buvettes till we reached a relais routier about 40 k in. We stopped for 4 courses ( passing on the cheese ) plus wine for about 12€ each.

And as we ate we reminisced about the man from Barrow. We bumped into him on this road in 2006.  He and a mate had decided, one night in the pub, to cycle up Mount Ventoux.

It must have been quite a night in the pub ! Ventoux is serious. The great Tommy Simpson died on its slopes.

He had got his bike out of a skip, bought  a cheap tent from Millets, and got a flight to Angouleme. He had slept the last night in a field by the road and was planning to meet his mate in Millau and go on from there.

He was something of an ingenue ( what is the french for ingenue? ) speaking little or no French, determinedly mispronouncing Millau, and commenting regretfully how French tinned tuna was not as good as you got at home !

In contrast to our lycra and specialist gear, he wore jeans, a work shirt and plimsolls.

I am not sure he knew what he had let himself in for (the jeans were going to hurt for a start ) and I am not sure he quite knew the geography. He planned to get to Millau that night, which was a huge undertaking. 

But all credit to him! He seemed a decent bloke and he had already made great progress.   I hope he made it.

If he did, it would make a great story down the pub. And the tale might have included meeting two poncey englishman with fancy gear.