ypres to holland
toulouse to barcelona
toulouse cevennes ventoux
western front
the ardennes
geneva alps monte carlo
Other cyco-camping blogs:
  |
Preamble
Europe is a bit tense. Economic stuff etc.
Summer
Fresh back in the land of the living having recovered from
the recent excursion and exertions to Luxembourg it is time to knuckle down for
the summer beano. June 2008 saw D and I cut west to east through the French
Alps before ducking down south to the fancy bits of the Riviera.
Plan A:
This time, starting once again from Geneva, gateway to
Geneva, we plan to head east around the Lac and traverse the Alps from the
north east, over the St. Bernard passes, south west through La Chambre and
finishing off with Alpe D’Huez. Once out
of the Alps it’s straight south to Marseille and a whiff of the perfumed air of
Provence.
It will be the usual early start of the day on the 7.40
crossing to Geneva. So, get to LHR well before check-in opens to configure the
bikes and get to the front of the Q. It will also be the usual nervy start to
the day: getting the bikes on in their plastic bags then waiting anxiously like
an expectant father at the carousel at the other end for the thing to pop out
unscathed.
Plan B:
We were very lucky with the weather last time around in the
Alps with just one spot of rain in Guillestre and a few at the top of La
Bonnette. However you won’t catch me cycling up one of those mothers in the
rain because descending in dodgy conditions is spectacularly unsafe. Whilst
hurtling downhill from the Aubisque in the Pyrenees in pissing rain I noticed
that one of my brake blocks was dissolving. If there is a hint of that kind of
weather we’ll head to the Med!
New Away Kit
I have kept out of shiny cycling shops since the
Belgeluxance trip. A light slipping bag would be good some day. A camera
bracket on the handlebars for the downhill slalom would be peachy too.
Getting there.
British Airways out to Geneva from London Airport (Heathrow branch) and back from Marseilles on
the midnight flight to London Airport (Gatwick) for a meagre £135 though there
will be an extra bag of gear each way at £34 each. We hope we might be missing
the worst of the mad dash to the Stratford Olympic Games, particularly all those American
tourists who are looking forward to the games being in the birthplace of
Shakespeare.
July 12th
Seven 'jours' to go.
 |
| Stratford London, 'Olympic ' High Street |
 |
| Shakespeare country |
July 12th
Seven 'jours' to go.
The Tour is underway; the Alps are in view, the sun is up
and out, the temperature is up, the pound is up against the Swiss Franc and Euro.
Everything is looking up.
Have been putting in 12 miles a day at a firm pace and have
stopped running as there is a wee tinge in a hamstring.
Have poured over the maps to ascertain the hillage and
roadage. The latter looks a bit uncertain as some google views show one vital
road as having more cracks than Jimmy Carr show. The Tour took in the Cols of
Madeliene and Gandon today so I had a good look at that stunning route. Quiet
two lane roads are preferable to narrow single lane. The Tourmalet road got
scary as all kinds of traffic was flying around amongst loads of fragile
looking cyclists.
The baggage will be
my next consideration. If the weather looks hot then I can scale down the
wardrobe just to one pair of everything. Boy, will I smell bad.
 |
| travelling light |
Roadage, hillage and campage are all general descriptions of
the various elements of the trip. Baggage and luggage are not. There is also rainage
and, of course, barkage which refers to the level of dog nuisance.
July 16th
The weather is looking ominous. Sod’s Law has been invoked. Prior
to our arrival in the Alps, the weather is forecast to be beautiful; during our
time in the Alps it will be pissing down night and day; upon our damp, forlorn exit
from the Heidi Country, the weather turns beautiful again. Ordinarily you grin
and bear it but, at over 2500m (8202 feet 113⁄64 inches,
the Grand whatnot du St. Bernard will not be a grinning matter in that kind of
weather. So there is a Plan B, taking us
the whole way around the Lac, down through Albertville and then over the Madeleine
and Crois de Fer and on.
July 18th
Last
minute things. Go through communal items with cyco partner: tools:- pedal
spanner, allen keys, tyre levers and PRK, pliers, chain link remover, nipple key, pump - especially the pump.
Travel insurance – shop around make sure cycle touring is covered as some
regard UN Peacekeeping as an extreme sport.
As the world
and his visa credit card descend upon Olympic London, its tills ready, I’m
gonna be off.
The Lac
Thanks to the mosquito squadron that had attacked me under the
cover of night I looked as if I was wearing the King of The Mountain Polka Dot
shirt. Up early but the Dutch man had already slipped out noiselessly during
the night. Clouds drifted across the blue canopy above us – as per the
forecast. At Chessel, we picked up a cycle path beside the Rhone, blue grey
with alluvial load scoured indiscriminately from the mountains ahead.
The valley was dominated by the lurking mountains one one side and an incongruous oil refinery in the valley.
Watched Wiggins assert himself further on Le Tour in the bar
of the Camping Du Park site between St Didier and Morgex. Mont Blanc dominated
the valley ahead of us. 24 euros for the very ordinary campsite with one or two
flies hovering over the hole-in-the-floor toilet made it a bit pricey. Entering
France on a Sunday you’ll be met with nothing open so stock up with enough food
for all day.
The speedy descent took in the nineteen spectacular hairpins
into Bourg Saint Maurice and the Val D’Isere. On to Moutiers and there is a
tunnel, long for cycling being a mile long. Plenty of light but there is the
dambuster effect of the incredible noise – a constant engine roar from all
shapes and sizes of vehicles.
It is not too steep to start with, the km markers at the
side hovering around 6% while the elevation increases consistently. You think
this is going to be toughish, imagining the 6% straight to the top, but doable
without too much brutality. But, somewhere in the middle, is the shocker, the
toying, the teasing: the road goes downhill
and then flat for 4 km. All that effort of the first hour or so is to no avail.
The remaining distance decreases and but so does the elevation. So, the last
third is brutally steep. And as you slow down, the heat becomes as relentless
as the gradient, the road having left the shelter of the forest behind. The road was covered with the names of Tour
heroes who’d passed over the same surface two weeks before. Then the hair pins
of 11%. I couldn’t imagine getting up them without getting off and walking – my
granny could have done with another couple of teeth. But, you just keep on
going as the col will eventually arrive at your bike.
Down the other side to La Chambre and another fantastic descent
with fantabulous views. One quirky phenomenon was caused by the torrents of snowy waters coming straight down the mountainside. In the the fierce heat of the lower valleys these provided an extraordinary blast of cold air as they passed through a bridge under the road.
July 24th
The Col Du Glandon is a replica of the Madeleine – a flat bit in the middle and a wall at the end and barely a few metres difference in height. It is slightly shorter but still took over three hours. There is, bizarrely, a football pitch near the top.
Half way up there is a cafe and as we
settled down to the most fantastic invention: Orangina (!) a man rolled in on a
sturdy bike pulling a trailer with 20kg of gear and stuff and behind him was
his 12 year old daughter on a fancy dan bianchi. Don’t know how they got over
the top when it went all 11% and more.
The descent was not the usual straight
back down with a handful of hairpins. After getting down to a reservoir there
was a tough unexpected climb of 10%. Normal service was resumed as we headed
towards Alemonde and Lac Du Verney and Bourg D’Oisans beyond.
We shied away from it all; we’d done four cols in four days
and, besides, this was no countryside for old men. We preferred the easy on the
eye camp site, A la recontre du Soleil, anmd didn’t go to the ball. You have to
be careful crossing the road on the bend – they fly down that blind corner into
Bourg. There, some good old timer’s advice.
The compadre, as is his
wont, sped off while I hung back in an attempt to pace myself – 12mph with a
couple of hours of stops should do it.
First stop was the bottleneck in the
valley of the Durance at Sisteron – a dramatic cliff face rose above the tranquil
blue waters of the river fed by melting snows. From there it was a fairly
straight route towards Aix En Provence. The road, the N85, was another route
Napoleon had taken. This was the journey he took from returning from his summer
break in Elba in 1815 on his way to Waterloo. It took a hundred days. Perhaps he
should have stayed away. We left that road to get on the quieter D4096.
We stopped off to cook up
some spelt and dry the flysheets. I had never eaten spelt before. My compadre
reeled off the nutritional info and the other ingredients and cooking
instructions none of which made it taste of anything. We were less than half
way at 2pm but had plenty of bananas, biscuits and even a super energy boost –
avocado. I’d even got a gel a steward had thrust at me on the triathlon.
There was a bleak bit of hot
road towards Peyrolles and after that rest stop the road rose up again for a
good while before Venelles, another stop, before we took a very picturesque
D63, a back road off the D96, to Equilles. From there we descended down towards
the airport area, picked up the D20 at Velaux that took us all the way to the
terminal.
Back to Gatwick and my world has been transformed by the Olympic Games. It 2.15am and I am told I have to fold my obviously unfoldable bike to get on the Southern Trains service to Victoria. I was a bit shorty with the jobsworths who told me of the special changes due to The Greatest Games Ever as I continued to the train to risk everything as I reminded them that were not too many people going to the Olympics at 2.15am!
July 19th
Having got up before I went to bed I took the 03.34 from
Paddington to Harlington and Hayes then rode the five miles to T5 at LHR. This
involved three bizarrish miles of the perimeter road around the airport to the
nice looking terminal but it is a handy way to get to an early flight.
The routine at the airport has been honed. Handlebars around
and rotate downwards; seat down, wee bit of air out the tyres and pedals off.
Leave a pannier on the back on the right side to protect derailleur then slide
bike into CTC cycle bag. Finish it off with a dash of ‘FRAGILE’ tape and head
to the queue smugly licking your lips as you watch what you misinterpret as awe
on the faces of fellow passengers. Slight tension as you catch a raised
eyebrow by the check-in operative then a bigger dose as both eyebrows undulate
across the brow of the man at the big baggage conveyor. All’s well and the
flight descends into Geneva after providing a eyeful of the enormity of the
alps.
The usual pre flight-check the night before over the phone
established that D was responsible for the pump. We have had history with
pumps.
As we reconstructed the bikes to the more familiar riding
configuration, the time came to pump up tyres at which point I realised D’s
pump was effectively a joke pump – perhaps used by circus clowns in some visual
slapstick My Bike's Got A Puncture routine. It certainly didn’t pump up tyres. I swore and stomped. D
then managed to inflict a puncture. I went off in search of other cyclists and
eventually found some putting their bikes together and we were able to borrow
their sooper dooper pump. Make sure all your bits work before you set off.
Geneva Airport is not easy to get away from. There is a footbridge
to the left of the arrivals car park that takes you over to an office block
where you take a slip road on the motorway that turns off at the Saconnex
exhibition centre that you cycle through to Chemin Eduard Sarasin where you go
left to Route de Ferney then head south east-ish then north east to eventually
pick up the Route De Lausanne.
The Lac
The road is OK with a cycle lane but is busy. It stays close
to the lake and is mainly flat. There are plenty of places to stop but if you
are after camping stores for the gas there isn’t much except cyclocampeer in
Vevey on Route de Italie. There is also Suess off the route up in hilly Lausanne. The towns and villages are all very pretty
with lots of people mooching about with briefcases full of money en route to
the no-questions-asked banco. It was like the Med down on the shore: marinas full of yachts, motor boats and bikinis. Despite the apron of fancy dan mansions there is
space for fields of wheat and proper looking industry (not just laundries
cleansing barrow loads of cash). All this with the hugeness of the Alps rising
from the southern shore.
Lausanne is home
to the Olympics but there was a sign over the door saying that they were all
away on their summer break. There was also the HQ of Tetra Pak, in the news because
of the heiress found dead in London. They don’t launder money in Lausanne, they
dry clean it, iron and fold it then return it in a plastic wrap with a hanger. As you go through
Vevey, Nestle is nestled amongst the trees on the left and right. Cyclocampeur www.lecyclocampeur.ch is a handy store though it opens in the afternoon. The man knows his stuff. We bought a £20 pump and left. We made up
the hour we’d lost with the pump and puncture to get to Montreux by 5 to get a coffee. From
there the road veered south and we approached the broad and flat Rhone valley.
 |
| Add caption |
 |
| going round the bend |
Switzerland isn’t cheap. The Blue Horizons camp site in
Villeneuve was 37 SF. Cramped, full of noisy kids with mosquitoes lurking and
ready to bite. We squeezed our tents in next to a Dutch solo cycocamper who had
surrendered to a psychotic wanderlust that was taking him on a ridiculously
long trip though he did mention that he fancied getting the bus up the Grand St
Bernard pass.
July 20th
 |
| Rhone cycle path |
The valley was dominated by the lurking mountains one one side and an incongruous oil refinery in the valley.
 |
| discrete oil refinery |
 |
| stocking up on logs |
The valley narrowed at St. Maurice and the cycle path joined
the road to Martigny and the start of a 20 miles uphiller to Bourg St Pierre –
from 500m to 1650m. The road to Sembranche is a bit busy but there is a cycle
space. Stock up on bananas and water in the small town as Orsieres is a climb
away from the road.
It is just past Orsieres that the going gets tough and not
having had the pleasure of a hill for over a month my legs ceased up. It takes
a while to get up to speed on hills and so it was a gruelling effort to get to
the camp site.
Half way, the cute village of Liddes with its ramshackle looking timber houses had a tiny shop where we got provisions for the night.
A few
people stood around doing nothing. There was no watch-making, army knife
sharpening or money processing going on in this neck of the woods. Bourg Saint
Pierre lay on a narrow plateau. The campsite grass was soft and neatly mown and
the amenities were basic but clean and there was a communal dining room which
came in handy when the weather caved in. Our neighbours were a tight lipped German
couple, serenely reading intellectual looking books after cooking and eating
with their spick and span cooking gear.
 |
| fabuolous view after muscle busting climb. |
 |
| twee Alpine setting |
Half way, the cute village of Liddes with its ramshackle looking timber houses had a tiny shop where we got provisions for the night.
 |
| Liddes old style shack |
In 1800, in an attempt to launch a surprise attack on the
Austrian army who had invaded Italy without asking, Napoleon and 40,000 troops
crossed the Alps into Italy via the Grand St. Bernard Pass, 800m higher up.
They eventually hooked up with the enemy in June
and gave them a hiding. And lo and behold, it being July, there was a re-enactment of this event going on. The campsite
had a number of canvas tents and blokes stomping about in Napoleonic garb and
heavy boots although they did seem to have arrived in a rather modern looking
air-conned charabanc. There was no sign of the Dutchman but a bus that went up
and down the pass did take bikes in its stomach.
 |
| Napoleon fan club |
The campsite guardian was gloomy as the season hadn’t got
busy. The village bars looked empty, tumbleweed could have tumbled across the
immaculate street; the strains of a harmonica could have echoed around the
valley, etc. 30SF for the night.
July 21st
It tipped down in the night and drizzle continued as we
packed up in slo-mo in hesitant anticipation of the climb ahead. It was damp
and gloomy, the village enveloped in whispy cloud, as the German couple pulled
out early, their German bikes kitted out with Ortlieb, and gliding on German
tyres. We took off half an hour later, kitted out in booties and layers.
The
going is much the same as the day before except for the three mile covered
section. That continues into the tunnel while cyclists, unless they have snuck
onto the bus, have to take the road over the top. It is only four and a bit
miles but the gradient approaches 9% and over the further you go. The road was
bleak and high and twisted and turned and the oxygen thinned a wee bit.
Once at the top I took off my shirt and put on more layers as it was around 9 degrees and damp. You don’t want the sweat to get cold and stay on your chest. Scoffed a plate of chips at the top. Once down the other side, the clouds vanished for the stunning, heart stopping 30km downhill into Aosta, the temperature increasing rapidly. It took a nervous while to get the feel of the road and the twists and turns and to get confidence in the vital parts of the bike. You have to keep your eye on the surface for cracks, debris and glass but you also want to take in the awesome view. Tricky. Taking hairpins also needs a glance back to see what is likely to mow you down if you take the centre of bend. I managed between 35 and 40 mph eventually. Thrillsville.
The
going is much the same as the day before except for the three mile covered
section. That continues into the tunnel while cyclists, unless they have snuck
onto the bus, have to take the road over the top. It is only four and a bit
miles but the gradient approaches 9% and over the further you go. The road was
bleak and high and twisted and turned and the oxygen thinned a wee bit.  |
| Approaching Grand Col de St. Bernard |
 |
| Roller-coaster to Aosta |
 |
| Add caption |
Once at the top I took off my shirt and put on more layers as it was around 9 degrees and damp. You don’t want the sweat to get cold and stay on your chest. Scoffed a plate of chips at the top. Once down the other side, the clouds vanished for the stunning, heart stopping 30km downhill into Aosta, the temperature increasing rapidly. It took a nervous while to get the feel of the road and the twists and turns and to get confidence in the vital parts of the bike. You have to keep your eye on the surface for cracks, debris and glass but you also want to take in the awesome view. Tricky. Taking hairpins also needs a glance back to see what is likely to mow you down if you take the centre of bend. I managed between 35 and 40 mph eventually. Thrillsville.
Couldn’t be doing with the heat or the roads down in valley and
took advantage of a cheap train (3.15 Euros for me and 3.15 for the bike) for
the 18 miles from Aosta up to Pre St Didier.
Watched Wiggins assert himself further on Le Tour in the bar
of the Camping Du Park site between St Didier and Morgex. Mont Blanc dominated
the valley ahead of us. 24 euros for the very ordinary campsite with one or two
flies hovering over the hole-in-the-floor toilet made it a bit pricey. Entering
France on a Sunday you’ll be met with nothing open so stock up with enough food
for all day. |
| I'm not going over that - Mt Blanc |
July 22nd
High in the forest behind Pre St Didier you can catch a
glimpse of one of the eight hairpins that carry the road to the Col straight up
and away from Val D’Aosta. After the abrupt hike of the hairpins, the road
softens, never threatening to whip yo’ ass. It even has a plateau. However, it
does go on and on and in the heat, took nearly four hours. Sweat poured off my
brow splattering on the electric blue of my Ridgeback’s cross tube.
Take
bananas and 2 litres of water although there may be drinking fountains en route
– and something salty like crisps or peanuts. I managed this in granny +1. More
chips at the top.
Take
bananas and 2 litres of water although there may be drinking fountains en route
– and something salty like crisps or peanuts. I managed this in granny +1. More
chips at the top. |
| Petite Col de St. Bernard |
A cycle path takes you north down the valley toards the base
of the Madeleine.
Bellecombe, which sounds like a village in Devon, has a terme
– spa – and has a number of campsites set together in the valley. There is a
row of eateries and one tiny shop. The Marmotte, that does the best pizzas this
side of, erm, Pisa.
The campsite, Camping Le Clos Fleuri, was cheap at just under 10 euros but had just one toilet and one shower though it was clean and friendly.
The campsite, Camping Le Clos Fleuri, was cheap at just under 10 euros but had just one toilet and one shower though it was clean and friendly.
July 23rd
Ten days or so before, I’d watched an Alpine stage of Le
Tour that took in four cols. The camera trickery tricked me into thinking the
Col of Madeleine looked OK but it is a mean and fickle pass.
Stock up with snacks at said tiny shop as there is nothing until a cafe half way up to the col.
Stock up with snacks at said tiny shop as there is nothing until a cafe half way up to the col.
 |
| Add caption |
It is not too steep to start with, the km markers at the
side hovering around 6% while the elevation increases consistently. You think
this is going to be toughish, imagining the 6% straight to the top, but doable
without too much brutality. But, somewhere in the middle, is the shocker, the
toying, the teasing: the road goes downhill
and then flat for 4 km. All that effort of the first hour or so is to no avail.
The remaining distance decreases and but so does the elevation. So, the last
third is brutally steep. And as you slow down, the heat becomes as relentless
as the gradient, the road having left the shelter of the forest behind. The road was covered with the names of Tour
heroes who’d passed over the same surface two weeks before. Then the hair pins
of 11%. I couldn’t imagine getting up them without getting off and walking – my
granny could have done with another couple of teeth. But, you just keep on
going as the col will eventually arrive at your bike.
The campsite Le Bois Joli had ground harder than Mark
Cavendish’s thighs but was OK otherwise.
July 24th
The Col Du Glandon is a replica of the Madeleine – a flat bit in the middle and a wall at the end and barely a few metres difference in height. It is slightly shorter but still took over three hours. There is, bizarrely, a football pitch near the top.
 |
| Things get nasty 11% |
Half way up there is a cafe and as we
settled down to the most fantastic invention: Orangina (!) a man rolled in on a
sturdy bike pulling a trailer with 20kg of gear and stuff and behind him was
his 12 year old daughter on a fancy dan bianchi. Don’t know how they got over
the top when it went all 11% and more. 
Bourg D’Oisans: The Monte Carlo of cycling; the Wembley, the
Wigan Casino; the Westfield Shopping Centre. Bourg D’Oisans where every other
shop sells bikes; Bourg D’Oisans where there is more lycra than a JD sports
superstore. The Bondi beach of cycling. The town is like some kind of psychedelic
experience with all these colours swirling around in all directions. And, on the outskirts, is what everyone is
there for: 14km of wall – the Alpe D’Huez. The campsites are also full of bike
people, cars full of bikes, bikes towing bikes, and more lycra fluttering in the
breeze on ad hoc clothes lines like another bad dream. And those tasty bikes, all
shiny and unladen – no mudguards, racks or bells.
 |
| Bourg D'Oisan |
July 25th
Back up the road to La Paute for the seemingly lowly Col d’Ornon
but, a 600 metre climb in 11km – hovering around the 6% - is still no walk in the parc. We made it
in 2 hours.
The descent was not so fast but on the way down we met the 122km cycling stage of the Alpe D’huez triathlon coming up. Its thousand entrants had done a 2.2km swim in Lac Du Verney and follow the ride with a 22km run. The cycling stage would also include the Alpe D’Huez. So, just a little bit like our day’s effort and no walk in the parc either.
The descent was not so fast but on the way down we met the 122km cycling stage of the Alpe D’huez triathlon coming up. Its thousand entrants had done a 2.2km swim in Lac Du Verney and follow the ride with a 22km run. The cycling stage would also include the Alpe D’Huez. So, just a little bit like our day’s effort and no walk in the parc either.
Stopped at a cafe for more chips and spoke to some people
from Leeds who were supporting their friend who had done the Marmotte – a monumental
ride over some big cols – a couple of weeks before just as training.
Once down off the Alps, we took a short cut over a big hill –
our last of the trip – to get onto the N85 to head south. Not a great road but
it did possess the requisite hard shoulder that kept the trucks at a safe
distance. No hairy hairpins but it undulated and after the col I was down in
granny +1 for the upward bits. We got to the really cool village of Corps and
opted to stay high instead of dropping a long way down to a camp site on Lac
Sautet which would have meant more squadrons of mosquitoes and one helluva
climb the next day.
The Municipal site was very small and clean and simple but the ground was harder than, er, rock. I needed to make a hole with my Phillips screwdriver for the leisure pegs that I sadly possess. The French have a thing for rock music and the bar tender suggested we stay on for the rock concert the next night to hear covers of the Rollin’ Sterns and Dire Strets. I’d rather have my toe nails removed with forceps. Another pasta al dente al fresco under the stars and a rather nice bouteille de vin as per normal – they always help with the getting to sleep. 11 Euros for the night
 |
| Rural Idyll |
 |
| Municipal site at Corps |
The Municipal site was very small and clean and simple but the ground was harder than, er, rock. I needed to make a hole with my Phillips screwdriver for the leisure pegs that I sadly possess. The French have a thing for rock music and the bar tender suggested we stay on for the rock concert the next night to hear covers of the Rollin’ Sterns and Dire Strets. I’d rather have my toe nails removed with forceps. Another pasta al dente al fresco under the stars and a rather nice bouteille de vin as per normal – they always help with the getting to sleep. 11 Euros for the night
 |
| lac Sautet |
July 26th
Needed to get 58 miles done, including the Col du Bayard, in
searing heat. The Col was not the regular steep and bendy killer kind of col
but the short drop down to Gap was serious 12% hairpins and the scariest of the
trip’s descents. The heat got more oppressive as midday approached and our
usual fastidiousness for frugal supermarket sourced picnics evaporated quickly
when we saw a MacDonald’s.
Like Orangina these just taste so much better when you are abroad as does our cooking. From Gap it as pretty much downhill except for the easy gradient of the spectacular Gorges de Meouges that took us to the idyll of Barret Sur Meouges and gallons of water later we were sliding our pegs into a nice green field of soft earth. There was a pool, lots of toilets and a cutesy provence style village. Bloke who ran was a bit odd though. 17 euros a night wasn’t too bad. This as the place I intende to whip out my rod I get fishing but the river was barely six inches deep and full of walrus-like humans lolling in its refreshing waters.
I could see fish of about six inches in the clearest
of water and so I passed on the fishing and so I didn’t get to touch my rod for
the whole trip. I took all those trout recipes with me too, darn it.
Like Orangina these just taste so much better when you are abroad as does our cooking. From Gap it as pretty much downhill except for the easy gradient of the spectacular Gorges de Meouges that took us to the idyll of Barret Sur Meouges and gallons of water later we were sliding our pegs into a nice green field of soft earth. There was a pool, lots of toilets and a cutesy provence style village. Bloke who ran was a bit odd though. 17 euros a night wasn’t too bad. This as the place I intende to whip out my rod I get fishing but the river was barely six inches deep and full of walrus-like humans lolling in its refreshing waters.
 |
| Route de Napoleon |
 |
| Cooling off under a sprinkler |
 |
| Alps give way to Provence |
It was very hot and I didn’t
fancy cycling up any more hills and so we decided to stay at the campiste the
next day then get to Migraine, via the train the day after at a hefty 21.50
each.
July 27th
 |
| Gorges de Meouges |
We popped down to nearby
town of Laragne to get postcards and a nice cup of tea. There is a campsite in
the town but it was full when we passed through the day before and the ground
seemed hard as, er, stone, and the amenities block would have been messy and it
was not cheap. We did a sprint back up the gorge and to the campsite 8 miles
away. Then hung by the pool tiddle our thumbs and rested our legs. The village
possessed a bar/restaurant the food of which didn’t inspire. There was a band
playing – Arabian Balkan folk – gypsy style rhythms which was fine for the
first couple of songs but when the remaining eighteen sounded like the first
couple it got a wee bit predictable. The band and their entourage and fans
looked as if they’d arrived by time machine from Woodstock and not in the Renault
Lagunas parked up nearby.
July 28th
It tipped down a couple of times overnight and the morning was overcast but warm. It was quite early and apart from the wet flysheets we were packed by nine at which point I casually suggested we do the 100 miles to Marseilles on the velos -given the cool conditions. The suggestion was met with the appropriate enthusiasm by my compadre and off we went. But, within 10 minutes, the clouds had evaporated and we were under the blazing sun again. Well...what the hell: let’s boogie. We were due to check in at 10pm – 13 12 hours away more or less. We could nae fail.
It tipped down a couple of times overnight and the morning was overcast but warm. It was quite early and apart from the wet flysheets we were packed by nine at which point I casually suggested we do the 100 miles to Marseilles on the velos -given the cool conditions. The suggestion was met with the appropriate enthusiasm by my compadre and off we went. But, within 10 minutes, the clouds had evaporated and we were under the blazing sun again. Well...what the hell: let’s boogie. We were due to check in at 10pm – 13 12 hours away more or less. We could nae fail.
 |
| Sisteron |
First stop was the bottleneck in the
valley of the Durance at Sisteron – a dramatic cliff face rose above the tranquil
blue waters of the river fed by melting snows. From there it was a fairly
straight route towards Aix En Provence. The road, the N85, was another route
Napoleon had taken. This was the journey he took from returning from his summer
break in Elba in 1815 on his way to Waterloo. It took a hundred days. Perhaps he
should have stayed away. We left that road to get on the quieter D4096.
 |
| D63 towards aeroporto |
444 miles (D to E was a short train journey)
Watch the zany film!
Watch the zany film!
