Day 10: Arles to Mérindol

I am not sure how but my Ride with GPS seems to have deleted my ride stats from today. From what I can recall it was about 59 km with an elevation gain of approximately 300 m and a duration of 4.5 hours, inclusive of stops.

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The schvitz (Sweat with a capital Schvitz) is reaching monumental proportions. It is indeed hot. Just when you think you have acclimated you move one single cell in your body and it is game over.

Today was magnificent. I stopped briefly at a bike shop on my way out of Arles and had my tires filled, thus leaving me mainly stress free for the day. I say ‘mainly’ because, of course, I was subsequently worried that the tires were now too full and the high pressure would make them burst. Yes, I am a very laid back person – why do you ask?

Pretty much the entire route today was on road – local highways and connectors that were generally very small and untouched. The highlight of my day was passing by ancient Roman aqueducts! My very first aqueduct experience – would make any engineer wet! I also saw an Abbey! What a day!

I rode on in pursuit of coffee and a comfortable chair, or any chair for that matter. I found said things in Maussane-les-Alpilles. I now understand what all the fuss is about Provence. It is beautiful. And this was before I had even tasted any wine.

Following coffee, I navigated my way to Eyguières where my parents and their friends have gone for many a coffee break on their cycling trips. I was hoping for lunch at Lou Cigaloun but they were only serving drinks. I had a Perrier there and found a different place for lunch nearby. It is difficult to find a bad place to eat in this neck of the woods I think.

After lunch I was delighted that I only had about 25 km until I reached my destination, Mérindol. When I arrived it appeared that nothing was open at all except for one bar. I walked in and, to my delight, saw the TV playing the last 60 km of the Tour de France. I sat at the bar and had my (more than one) post-ride beer while watching the race. This was a great way to kill a bit of time before I could check in at 5. 

However, getting back on my bike in the hilly town of Mérindol after a few beers and 60 km of riding earlier was a bit of a challenge. Especially because I didn’t properly put the address in Google Maps and didn’t have the good judgement to avoid the gravel path it sent me on. I basically did the equivalent of a Tour de France Mountain Stage under the influence of post-ride indulgence. Luckily, I eventually found my way to the night’s roof over my head.

Immediately I saw a dog and was thrilled. Milka (like the Swiss chocolate) is the resident dog and we have made fast friends. The caretaker called me a “crazy girl” when she heard what I was doing over the next month or two and when she saw that Milka and I had warmed up together while lounging by the pool she wasn’t surprised to see the crazy dog with the crazy girl.

Despite my hardest and most dedicated efforts to sit and relax by the pool while reading my book I was savagely accosted by mosquitos. They just love me. I tried moving locations, lying completely still like a corpse, and even submerging myself in the pool fully – but that only worked for about 30 seconds at a time. Eventually I went inside and fixed myself up for the short bike ride into town to find somewhere open for dinner. Monday’s in France are not exactly bustling with activity and services. 

As I hauled my bike out of the garage and pulled it up the gravel drive, I felt that there was something really holding it down, making it difficult to pull. When I was trying to ride away I became aware of an obstruction: my bungee cord – the one which I had undone from my pannier when I removed it earlier and left dangling – had gotten so horrendously intwined with my gears that for a moment I considered running back to the garage to see if they had garden shears or an electric saw. 

After much wrestling, elbow grease, tire removal and spewing profanity, I was on my way to town. Notwithstanding the concerning whine my bike tire now makes. I think it may just be a lack of oil removed by the bungee cord rubbing against the gears – but likely the entire tire has been infiltrated by killer bees and they are forming a colony inside and plotting their overthrow of my bike from the inside out. 

As I suspected, the village was a ghost town but I found a Vin Cave open – there must be a God! I ordered a glass of Rosé, the pan con tomate and the cheese plate. I was in heaven. After, I tried the rouge from the Ventoux and Luberon regions – wow. I hadn’t yet really tasted any French red wines yet on this trip and this was good. Of course, I forgot to record the name.

Now I am back in the homestead and sweating profusely in my non air-conditioned room. I am going to take a look for Milka to try to cuddle and then prepare to retire for bed. If I make it through the night without melting I will ride to Marseille tomorrow to stay with my dear old friend, Kat. 

DOTD

Milka, obviously.

BOTD

Just wanted to add in BOTD, Book of the Day, as it is very topical. Recommended by my good friend, Dr. Zoë, was author Peter Mayle. Right now I am reading his book, ‘A Year in Provence’ and it is the perfect read for the trip. Especially after today’s ride and staying in Mérindol I feel I can relate quite a bit to some of his quotes. For example, he writes about cycling in Provence:

We were halfway up and flagging when we heard the whirr of derailleur gears, and we were overtaken by another cyclist – a wiry, brown man who looked to be in his mid-sixties. “Bonjour,” he said brightly, “ban vélo,” and he continued up the hill and out of sight. We laboured on, heads low, thighs burning, regretting the beer.