An Idiot Broad Abroad

It was with a heavy heart and a heavy head – yea, I had a slight hangover – that I left Kat at her doorstep to ride into the early dawn in Marseille. I made it to the station well in time for my 7:10 am departure to Lyon. I sat in the train station café and had a coffee, yogurt, and croissant and reminisced over the wonderful time I had reconnecting with Kat and getting acquainted with the city. I was only glad to leave to: a) stop sweating profusely; and, b) go stay with another friend, Jackson, in Zürich!

The journey ahead was planned to consist of three trains over the course of about 11 hours. I had my first two booked (Marseille to Lyon and Lyon to Geneva) but left the final leg to book at Geneva upon arrival.

Generally, when in new travel situations I try to observe other people around me and simply copy what they do in hopes they have a better sense of things than I. Through this method I managed to haul myself, my bike, and my panniers onto the bike carriage of the first train. There were a few other cyclists who were helpful in making sure others of ‘their kind’ were taken care of and successfully loaded on the train.

I sat in an extremely uncomfortable chair in the handicapped area near the bike coach and slept unsteadily. I tried to plug in my headphones to listen to some music and drown out the French chit chat, but when I went to plug them in I realized I didn’t have the adaptor for the new iPhone port. No matter, I will just use my Bluetooth headphones. Wrong again, they were dead. I plugged them into my power stick and just sat with them in my ears in silence.

In Lyon, I had about an hour and a half transfer. The station was pretty hectic but I managed to sit and have a coffee and get some snacks for later. I decided to walk around to see what the station had going on. This turned into a challenging exercise dodging people, infants, and erratic luggage handlers. I found my way outside and sat on a bench in the shade to read.

Catching the second train in Lyon I was again among a large group of cyclists. I hung up my bike and found a compartment to sit in – much more comfortable than the first journey. This trip was only 2 hours and passed quickly. I spent most of the ride strategizing how I was going to get off and run to the ticket office to try to get myself sorted for the final train to Zürich as soon as I could.

In Geneva, I found the elevator – which then took ages – and made my way to the office. A little sweet talking to the lady in charge of dolling out counter tickets and she walked me up to a service agent to get me sorted for the next train out to Zürich – in ten minutes. I had to reserve a place for my bike and I also learned that I would AGAIN have to change trains in Morges.

Well, nothing to do but run like hell and try to make the train. I opted for the escalator instead of the elevator on the way back up to the platform. Big mistake. The bike was very unruly and I was thunking loudly along the rubber edge of the escalator. After that ordeal, I got to the train and saw that I was behind a mass of Iron Man athletes, all waiting to load their bikes onto the train. Luckily, I fit right in with them (physically). We jammed ourselves in and we were off from Geneva to Morges.

One final challenge remained which was a quick change in Morges. Luckily there was one other couple with bikes and panniers who had been following the same route as me most of the day who also had to make this change. And, thank the little baby jebus, I saw the man when I got off because I was about to just cross to the other side of the platform and get on the train to god knows where until I saw him feverishly running down the stairs with his bike. It was only then that I checked the platform numbers and realized he was right that we had to pass under in the station to a different platform.

Once on the correct platform there was the matter of finding the right coach to put the bikes in. This was the only train where I had a reservation for my bike (the rest were open to all bikes) so I had to make sure it was in the properly assigned area.

In the end, I made it and was loaded on and dozed for most of the 2.5 to 3 hour train from Morges into Zürich.

As soon as I got into Zurich and rode my bike out of the station I felt a rush of joy and excitement. Mostly I was just happy to stretch my legs after a long day of sitting. I loved Zürich instantly. It’s clean, calm, and orderly feel against a backdrop of new and old architecture was a delight for all the senses. People just seem happy here. Everyone walking down the street was smiling. They are all attractive. Even the air smells good. I rode through varying smells of freshly baked bread, flowers, and more baked goods.

My feelings changed slightly when I was part way into my ride to Jackson’s place. I was facing a consistent climb that seemed to go on forever. But I wasn’t even that bothered because everything around me was beautiful.

After many wrong turns and a few exasperated profanities muttered under my breath, I ended up at a grocery store near Jackson’s place to pick up some beers. To save a bit of time I just strapped the six-pack to the rear rack of my bike with a bungee cord. As I rode along the street I did notice the faintest waft of beer, but didn’t think much of it – simply assuming this was yet another beautiful scent dancing through Zürich. Moments later, once I had turned off the main road, a woman slowed her car next to me and shouted something in Swiss German. All I could identify in her sentence was the word “beer.” I stopped my bike and looked behind me. A fountain of beer was cascading off the back of my bike and through my spokes. At least only one of the cans had busted.

Finally arriving at Jackson’s I was happy to see him come out the front door of his apartment to greet me! We share a hug and a hello and prep to bring my things inside but, alas, his keys were left behind in his apartment. Well, we waited for about twenty minutes until someone came out. In the meantime, his friend showed up who he had invited for dinner. At least we had the remaining beers while we waited…

Jackson burnt some homemade schnitzel for dinner and we topped it off with steamed veggies and spätzle. To finish, fresh Swiss chocolate. Amazing. I hope I can make it to a chocolate factory tour before I leave Switzerland.

After dinner Jackson and I went for a tram ride to the bottom of a funicular which took us up to an amazing view of the city. He pointed out some spots including his University’s downtown campus, the Cathedral, and the main train station where I had been earlier. The sky was painted a brilliant pink and red. Everything felt calm and safe.

We headed home and hit hay early because we plan to do an early half day hike tomorrow.

DOTD

A very sad day because no dogs were captured on film. To compensate I will pull one from my inventory.

It has been utter bliss to spend some time relaxing and catching up with my old friend, Kat, in Marseille. Initially reserved about Marseille, I have come around quite a bit. It is the city with the most hours of sun in all of France, if I am not mistaken, and the least amount of rain. I mean, come on! It is also quite walkable and filled with fabulous architecture. Kat, who is going to Architecture school here, calls Marseille a “living laboratory of architecture.”

The first full day I was here, Mecredi (Wednesday, for the layperson), we went to the natural swimming pool by the small port near Kat’s house called Vallon des Auffes. We baked in the sun for a bit and splashed around. The remainder of the day was spent going to the history museum. This has the remainder of what was the original port of Marseille along with many ancient Greek and Roman artifacts from up to 2600 years ago!! All of which were found at the site of the old port (where the history museum is now).

We dined on the upstairs terrace in the same small port by Kat’s place. I had the Cash of the Day – the product of an unfortunate language translation. I am not sure what it was but it was quite rich for my taste…

On thursday I woke up before Kat and her Mom (who is also visiting Marseille from Canada) and I went for a run to the main train station. It was hot and the run turned into a slow jog / walk. I needed to get my tickets sorted out for my journey to Zürich and I was having issues booking online for my bike. Anyways, after waiting in a very long line and witnessing a slight altercation between the security guard and a hopeful passenger, it was finally my turn to be helped. I made the mistake of asking the woman if she spoke English and she simply said “no.” Umm, okay – any suggestions here, lady? Finally she shrugged in the direction of the woman next to her and I shifted over to wait for this magical English speaking service agent to become available. Meanwhile the next, next customer who comes up to my original non-English speaker was speaking in, wait for it, ENGLISH. And the transaction seemed to flow seamlessly. Well at least I have learned and I won’t make that mistake again.

I ran home and stopped for a coffee and picked up croissants on my way. Later we headed for the ferry that took us to an island about a 20 minute trip off the mainland. We walked up to see the Calanques (like Fjords) which gave a beautiful view of the bright turquoise water against the white stone. Further we trekked in the blistering heat to arrive at a beach. I have to say the trip was worth it because it was the most beautiful water I think I have ever swum in. We stayed there for a few hours and then languidly made our way back.

After some food and a rest, Kat and I readied ourselves to check out the weekly Thursday night art showing that happens by the natural swimming pool I mentioned earlier. This was very cool. Local artists alternate weekly to hang up their work against the brick breakwater and people gather around drinking wine, smoking, laughing and viewing the artwork.

Later we wandered to the bar in the port and reminisced about old times over a bottle of Rosé. The area was packed with people and groups spill out the sides of the terrace onto the stone steps to enjoy their wine and takeaway pizzas. Kat noted that she loves how people of all ages enjoy an evening out – and that they don’t “get lame when they get old.”

Today I hurried off in the morning, again leaving the two sleeping beauties at home. I took the bus to Cathédrale La Major – one of the most ornate cathedrals I have seen so far. Next I found a coffee on my way to Mucem (Museum of European and Mediterranean Civilizations). This site has an excellent blend of new and old architecture and I spent a long time wandering about the area.

I did a little shopping on my way back toward Kat’s and stopped at Abbaye Saint-Victor. The 2 euro fee to go down into the Crypts was worth it. Sarcophagi galore! And very eery.

Finally I have made my way back to Kat’s and had a little lunch. Her and her mom are out at the moment so I have had time to work on my blog! This evening will be my last in Marseille (this time) and I have picked up some wine and appies for an evening soireé.

It’s been a great visit here in Marseille and I will certainly be back again soon! Direct flights from London to Marseille!

DOTD(s)

Apologies to my dedicated fans and readers for the several day delay in update! I have been whisked away into ecstasy here in Marseille as I catch up with my dear friend Kat who I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years. Plus, her wifi situation is not ideal for visitors and thus I haven’t had a lot of time with the ol’ internet.

The day I was set to leave Mérindol started out well enough with a delightful home prepared breakfast at the house in wine country. As I was finishing plying myself with croissant and fresh jam, the caretaker came out to the terrace and asked if I had just heard that noise (gesturing toward the sky). No, I hadn’t. Apparently a storm was a brewin’ in Provence and passing through the region – direction: Marseille.

I thought that if I left ASAP and just legged it I could miss the worst of it. This was not to be. Within the first half hour of my ride it had started to lash. And, because I wanted to make it to Marseille as quickly as possible I had opted for the most direct route – on the big highway which apparently was just a thoroughfare for massive semi-trucks. Soon I realized I definitely couldn’t handle that – especially in the rain – and opted for the smaller country roads, despite this meaning a longer journey. At this point I was getting considerably wet and my right foot was nearly saturated. Miraculously, the left was still in good shape. Either way, I decided it was high time for a coffee break to see if I could wait out the rain a bit.

When I left Lambesc half an hour later the rain had actually seemed to stop. Unfortunately, that was just localized to Lambesc. Continuing on I was hit hard with a downpour and the thunder was rolling in stronger and stronger. I couldn’t see any lightening at this point so wasn’t too terrified. I was also on roads between big trees so I didn’t feel too vulnerable. But that soon changed as I was riding in between fields and saw a faint flicker of light in the sky – this is when I really got a bit freaked and tried desperately to remember all I have ever learned about electrical conductivity. I cycled feverishly to the next town (which, lucky me, was up a 500% grade hill) and found the only restaurant in the town that was open for lunch.

I had an extended lunch and tried to dry my clothing and myself under the automatic hand dryer in the bathroom. I had the Pizza d’Italia and a café crème. It was nice to be inside. Unfortunately, after about an hour and half of loitering in the restaurant I had to hit the road again. I was only half way to Marseille at this point. But, at least it looked like it had stopped raining!

The next 10 to 15 km was a comical scene of me stopping to remove my rain jacket and then stopping five minutes later to put it back on – and so on and so forth. Finally, the rain gave up totally and the skies cleared. The only silver lining to all of this is that it was not as bloody hot as it has been the past few weeks.

The next horror of the day occurred when I was closing in on the outskirts of Marseille. I avoided the larger highways but this detour meant I was riding through some sketchy areas of town. I was dodging broken glass on the street regularly. As I was peddling as fast as I could and barely stopping at intersections for fear of being robbed I sincerely wondered why my friend lived here. Not to mention the traffic is absolute chaos. No one observes traffic signals. Cars, buses, scooters, bikes, semi-trucks, electric wheelchairs all just drive wherever they feel like, pedestrians be damned. I have to say Marseille is not a cycle friendly town.

But, eventually I made it to Corniche Kennedy where Kat lives and sighed a breath of relief. After quite a day I had made it in one piece. The rest of the evening was spent catching up over Rosé and getting a few drinks downtown later on.

In retrospect it may have been a day to get the train…

I have been staying in Marseille the past three nights and will leave tomorrow morning. I am taking the train to Zürich to stay with another good friend, Jackson, for a few days before I resume my riding! I am definitely nearly ready to be back on the bike. And after spending several days drinking, eating, and relaxing I think I will need to!

GOTD

Goat of the day.

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.

___

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.

100 km day, baby! First time I have broken into triple digits. Now my body hurts everywhere.

The day was long and trying – but mostly just because of the sheer length of the ride. I find when I am riding solo I don’t stop and take as many breaks as I do when with others. I’m really not one to dither and dally and this can be problematic when I am on marathon rides like Day 9. I even remind myself each morning before I set out to relax, just take it easy, stop lots to take pictures and have a snack – but I still get wound up in my own competitive urge to just get to the destination hah! Ah well, if I keep trying each day I am sure eventually I will slow down and stop to smell the roses. Oh wait, I did do that –

Riding out of Sète in the morning was a big ugly at first but once I reached an area where the landscape opened up into a calm canal lined path it was quite nice. I was on gravel most of the way along the canal. The majority of it was level but here and there some parts were absolutely gnarly. I was just wishing and hoping to make it through with tires intact. And, again, the panniers were working great using my signature napkin fastening technique. Perhaps I need to trademark it.

Before the canal path, I go to turn around in a tight sidewalk once I have realized I have taken the wrong turn (again), I can’t get my foot unclipped fast enough and go down hard on my left knee. So just as the wound on my right knee from last week has pretty much healed I now have a new one on the left!

Following the canal leg of the journey, I came to a pretty bizarre beach resort town. All the hotels and condos were designed like space ship boats. Strange buildings, strange people. I stopped for a coffee at a little cafe in the area, out of necessity rather than for it’s ambiance. Although, it had all I needed: bike rack, coffee, water, toilet.

The rest of the trip after the beach was along roads. Mainly smaller local roads but still decently busy with traffic. Along the way there were several fresh fruit and veggie stands, which I stopped at once or twice for water and fruit. The ride cut through a nature reserve that seemed to just be farmland filled with Mas’s (farmhouses). Still, nice views on the open road and the occasional waft of animal feces.

Arriving into the outskirts of Arles I was a bit concerned it wasn’t going to be that nice, but I was happily corrected once I reached the centre. It is a very beautiful town filled with old stuff, but also a lot of tourists. There are several Roman sights that have UNESCO heritage status, including the Amphitheatre, Roman baths, and Cryptoportiques. It is also where Van Gogh lived for a year shortly before his ear incident.

Along with all the old stuff, there seemed to be a cool progressive art scene in Arles as well. I stumbled upon a free photo exhibit that was pretty edgy. There is a lot of street art and photos pasted on the old walls. Several neat bookshops. I would have been happy to spend another few days here because I think there are a lot of museums as well as cultural events going on. But, alas – I must ride into wine country this afternoon.

I am headed to Mérindol today and will be staying at a B&B / home (I think). Very excited! The check-in isn’t until 5pm so I am going to have a little time to toodle around Arles, maybe find a bike shop to make sure my bike isn’t on the verge of total collapse, and have a nice lunch somewhere along the way.

DOTD

DogS of the day!

Before I forget, a few things I failed to mention in the last post or two that are certainly note worthy.

1. When I was staying at the nice Belgian lady’s B&B in Leucate she was surprised to hear I was from Canada. I assumed she must have thought I was American. But when I asked her where she thought I was from she said, “I definitely thought you were from the continent – British, or maybe Irish.” This was a wonderful compliment because it meant I have a slight Euro-vibe, and also I don’t appear to act like an American!
2. I forgot the other thing I was going to say.

It has finally happened – I no longer know what day of the week it is. Nor what the date is. Of course, I really cannot complain however, it makes it difficult to keep track of where I am going which day and what accommodation I have booked for when. I just remembered what I was going to write in number 2 above.

2.2. The afternoon I had checked into my B&B in Leucate and emerged from my shower I noticed two missed calls, a voicemail, and one urgent sounding text asking when I was going to check in. Me, being the daft dingle I am, texted the number back: “Is this Arlette? I checked in about half an hour ago. The girl with the bike.” Then I check my email and see that there is an email from a different hotel that I had booked for the SAME night in a nearby town. Luckily I was able to get almost a full refund, but yikes – it got me in line on trying to stay organized with my bookings.

Anyways, back to today. I had a major breakthrough with the panniers. Real top of the line, cutting-edge technical solutions. I inserted a ripped off corner of a napkin around the rack creating a secure fastening between the pannier clasps and the rack tube. I also bungy-corded the problematic pannier securely to the bike frame. I am frustrated with myself at having forgotten to photograph it but I am sure you can mentally picture it: white, soiled breakfast napkin shards sticking out of my pannier holders. At the end of the day when I arrived at my hostel in Séte, I took the panniers off in the reception area and later realized there were little clumps of napkin littered across the floor…

The ride was mostly flat and straight forward today. It seems that generally the riding in France has been less exerting that in Northern Spain – but perhaps that is just along the coast where I am. I stopped for coffee in Beziers and lunch in Adges. Both were kind of scuzzy around the edges but charming in the historic centres. I was glad to be in both for just a quick stop rather than a long stay.

For about 15 km before reaching Séte from the south I was riding on a paved and dedicated bike path between the beach bluffs and vegetation. It was glorious save for the headwind.

Once I arrived in Sète I had to do a final circle half way around the little peninsular island to reach my hostel. Sète seems to be a town of contradictions, but mostly just bland. It is a port town and has the typical commercial paraphernalia that goes along with being such. Included are cruise ship harbour and a carnival along the boardwalk (but not a quaint old French town type carnival, more of the “neon-lights, creep infested chaotic affair you align with a Chucky horror film” type). But, despite some of the less appetizing sights, there is a great deal in Sète to enjoy for one afternoon and evening.

Once I had checked in, I noticed another person with a bike suited up with panniers near the reception. This Swiss guy, probably around my age, has been bicycle touring and camping for the past 7 days and has gone 1000 km’s. Now, that is insane.

I went to a bizarre museum, the International Museum of Modest Arts, this afternoon. This was a collection of seemingly everyday items reassembled and configured to get you thinking, among other oddities. I quite liked it. Later I walked along the promenade as far as the Corniche. I walked down the cliffside path to a tucked away beach and put my feet in the water. Great views and a decent breeze to hinder my profuse sweating. I don’t know what it is but even after a cold shower and lying naked and completely still for at least ten minutes, the moment I move again I am enveloped in a cocoon of moisture.

Finally, I returned to the historic centre for a drink and had the best surprise of the day: a Facetime call from Leah! We chit chatted while I sat by the canal and enjoyed my cocktail.

I loitered a bit and tried to determine the best move for dinner. I ended up at a local pizza joint that was run by an Italian, Chez Melo (Melo for Carmelo – the Italian chef). It was absolutely delicious. I was sat at the loner table where other single people are put. At first I was confused when I arrived at about 8:30 pm and there were plenty of open tables but the maître D seemed to have a hard time deciding where to place me. In the end I am glad he could fit me at said loner table because the pizza was amazing. And shortly after I had sat down and ordered the place filled up completely to the gills and probably turned over at least once before I had finished. I enjoyed talking to the locals at my table and learning about the area. Even got a talking to by a guy who apparently saw Jimi Hendrix before he was famous in a small pub in Northern France… Okay okay okay.

Tomorrow I head off for a long ride into the great blue yonder in search of a little town called Arles. Until tomorrow.

DOTD

It was a Winnie stacked day – aka Cavalier King Charles Spaniels!

Another shortish day. No complaints! Roughly 55 km from Leucate to Narbonne with a detour to Grussain on the way.

The day began with a delightful breakfast at the civilized hour of 9 am at my Bed and Breakfast, La Maison Bleue, in Luecate. The owner was a nice Belgian woman and had the most delicious homemade granola I have ever tasted. The French couple from Toulouse who I spoke to at breakfast recommended I take a stop in Gruissan on the way to Narbonne. I am glad I did. Gruissan is a seaside town with an old castle that looked like it had been partially demolished at some point over it’s lifetime. I stopped for a coffee by the sea and watched some windsurfers prepare to take to the waters.

Nothing horribly eventful occurred today except that the pannier piss-offs continued. The bags flew off about five times on separate occasions going over rough terrain or pot holes. Most of the ride was along the sides of canals on gravel paths that were quite bumpy. While the route was very scenic, it had me at stress-level midnight the whole time (both about my tires popping and my panniers bouncing off).

In the end, I tried to Google some info on how to keep the Ortlieb back roller panniers attached and it seems that this is a pretty common issue. One suggestion was to take left over inner tube from a previous punctured tire and use it to form a tight fit around the rack. If only I had figured this out last night before I left my punctured inner tube at the B&B in Leucate. As a place holder I shoved one of my bike gloves between the pannier fastener and the rack. Moderately irritating to not have my gloves, as I couldn’t fell my hands for the remainder of the ride, but the solution seemed to work. Tomorrow’s mission: find a bike shop and see what they recommend.

At least I have mastered the ability to slam on the brakes and immediately remove my clipped-in foot to make sure I don’t keel over into the pavement when my pannier flies off!

There’s not much else to say about my ride, except that Google Maps fought me the whole way trying to get me to either continue on gnarly gravel paths or to get me to turn onto them. I must figure out how to search rides that are paved only… anyone have tips?!

Arriving in Narbonne was interesting. It is a very picturesque, typical looking French commune. The population is about 50,000 and it was founded during the Roman ages in 118 BC. It is difficult to wrap my mind around how old these towns are. I walked into a Church and down into the basement that had Roman ruins and graves. There is also certainly more modernity to Narbonne than Leucate. It has many shops and bars, among which I was very excited to see Sephora. I resisted the temptation to enter.

In the evening there was a local food and wine festival going on by the canal with live music. Of course I had to go check it out and taste the flavours of Narbonne. My favourite was the fresh oysters, which the region is pretty famous for I am told.

After writing this I think I will head out to try to catch a free theatre production – a comedy. Should be very interesting to try to watch live theatre in French. I am hoping it will be a physical comedy…

Tomorrow I will set off bright and early to my next destination, about 75 km away, Séte. Again, it looks like the ride will be along the sea so it should be intriguing to see what kind of surface I will be riding on!

DOTD

Spotted a few furry potentials today, and even touched three or four. However, when it boils down to it I am a real sucker for a golden.

All I hoped for upon rising was that today would go a bit more smoothly than yesterday and that whatever the HELL tried to attack my pillow and, ergo, attack me was now dead.

Again, so glad to have a lift from my new friend, Maria, who picked me up from my horror-show camp ground and drove me into Argelès-sur-Mer to a bike shop. I got my tire fixed and bought two new CO2 canisters (still no clue how to use), one hand pump, and one new inner tube. Unfortunately, “my dignity” was out of my price range.

I am glad that the day was lined up to be a pretty short and flat ride. In the end it was about 55 km and it was mainly uninterrupted. Except, I was having a real issue with the panniers today. Shortly after I had my bike fixed and set out on the road, with every little bump or slight undulation in the road one of my panniers would go flying off. Immediately, I would put on the brakes forgetting that my feet were clipped in, barely get one foot out in time, and then sort of stagger to the ground. This happened about four to five times!! I was getting pretty frustrated because each time I thought I was solving the issue and it just kept occurring. Finally, I tried switching the sides that they were mounted on and, a voilà! Yet, I find it hard to believe that for the last six days I have just randomly strapped them onto the correct sides… Anyway, I made a mental note to remember which way they were oriented. Of course now that the panniers are off I have absolutely no recollection.

Once that was figured out it was straight forward to my destination of Leucate. I am staying in the old historical centre and it is exceptionally cute. Best of all, my B&B has real bed linen made of non-paper material!

Once I arrived I took a shower and walked maybe twelve paces to get to the town square and order a beer. I noticed that some people were setting up tables and a stage for something later in the evening so I made a note to come check back later. After my beer I was debating several options, including: go to the beach, go for a hike, have a nap, do some work, or have another beer. In the end I chose to go for a hike. Really it was just a walk.

The walk was extremely picturesque but I quickly became aware that I was inside of a cricket horror film. The sounds were deafening as I wandered around through isolated vineyards and slopes. I tried to remain calm and forget about the fact that I had left my anti-allergen medication at my B&B. At a certain point though, I saw something flying through the air that honestly looked like a rat with wings and that is when I decided to do the short loop.

Back in town I wanted to just enjoy some time relaxing in my nice room (nicer that last night, at least) so I bought a baguette, some cheese, meat, and a tomato and had a little picnic for one. I checked out the festival on my way home and listened to a bit of live music before coming back for my petit dinner.

DOTD

Spotted while on my post-ride beer break!

Day 6 was quite a day. How can I start? Since I had to delay blogging for a while due to lack of internet connection I will rewrite what I had written in my personal notebook following my day:

“Where do I even fucking begin? Today has been a day.”

I don’t know if I need to go on…

But, I will.

Excitement levels were high leading into the day because I was crossing from Spain into France. Crossing the border was fraught with just that – excitement – plus mild panic, general unease, and a sense of impending doom. Vive la France!

The day started with the climb I was nervous about out of Cadaqués. Looking back on that at the end of the day, it was the least of my problems. Having ascended the climb I set off in hopes of the border. I stopped for a brief coffee in Peralada, a medieval town in Spain, and then carried on. All was well.

First of all, I should note that I felt very sluggish all day. I felt as if I was “pulling lead the whole way,” according to my notebook. Particularly this was the case when I was on a highway, the N-11 (I think), and it was basically a constantly increasing slope into a headwind the whole time. I had been floundering between the Eurovelo 8 GPS route and plain ol’ Google Maps. What have I found? Both are shite. It is unreliable to count on Eurovelo because there is no indication of whether or not the route will be paved or gravel. I made the mistake of following it nearish the French border and realized either I had to slash my way back to the main highway or I was probably going to die in the wilderness somewhere in a no-man’s land between France and Spain. Surprisingly, this is NOT where my tire went flat. More on that later…

Back on the highway, something very bizarre and unsettling happened. Within about a 10 km stretch I rode by 5.5 ‘ladies of the night.’ And it was 12:30 pm in broad daylight. The 0.5 refers to a women I am honestly unsure whether she was there for that reason or not. Either way, it was really surprising and certainly a bit upsetting. But it kind of made sense as I approached the border towns on either side of the Spanish-French crossing. They were pretty gross. Big mega outlet stores, sleazy casinos and bars, and every single store/man I rode by reeked of knock off cologne.

I was certainly glad to be out of the area once I had passed through the border. Even better was the fact that after a serious climb to get up and through the border it was basically all downhill to the town I was staying in.

Fast forward to me happily toodling along and realizing there is a bit of a dark patch in the sky threatening rain. Next, I hear the thunder. Luckily, I see no lightening. I carry on and hope that I can just make it before the skies open up.

Turns out, weather was not the issue I had to be concerned about. Roughly 6 km from my destination I feel a little off kilter (as well as feel like I am really slogging along and not moving too fast) so I glance at my back tire – definitely flat. Okay, so I have a flat. I am on a pretty isolated country road and not in a town. Maybe I can try to ride about 2 km to the next town and at least get some help. I try a few pedal strokes and immediately realize that is not going to happen. Fine, the tire change attempt happens here. I get all my gear, I flip the bike, I remove the tire, and I prepare the new inner tube. Everything has gone smoothly so far. The issue developed when I tried to use the CO2 canister. In short, it did not work. Well, at least I have a second one I can try. But instead of watching a youtube video or Googling instructions on how to properly use a CO2 tube to refill a tire, I just go for it. Yeah – it didn’t work. That’s two wasted cartridges and one idiot without a functioning bike.

I wasn’t too worried because at least I was close to my destination and I could easily (?) walk the 6 km with my flat.

Again, fast forward to me hauling my dead weight (and my bike) up hills and, even harder, down hills, in incredible discomfort. Finally I arrived at a village only 2 km away from my destination and I went into the tourist info centre. They had a bike pump and I managed to change the tire and fill it with a hand pump. This got me down to where I was staying but in the end it again went flat when I had it parked.

The destination: I still don’t really know where I was. I was staying at a camp and bungalow park called Camping Des Albères and after the day I had the last thing I wanted was to go bloody camping. At least I had the foresight to book a bungalow that had running water. I had a shower for far too long. I am starting to really appreciate showers. I figured that my bike would have to be taken in a cab to the next town in the morning and fixed at a bike shop. Nothing really left to do tonight but go find some food and drink.

I walked back up to the town I had stopped in earlier, Laroque-des-Albères, and found a cute bar that was run by a Belgian. There I met three delightful women, two from Britain and the other from Sweden. They were all middle-aged and terribly inspiring career professionals with vacation homes in France – we got along fabulously. The best part was that Maria, the Swede, was kind enough to offer me a lift into town the following morning so I could get my bike fixed! So generous. I really enjoyed chatting with them and then set off to find the Creperie they recommended for dinner.

I was sort of half consciously following my Google Maps to get to the Crepe place when I spotted the biggest dog probably in the entire world (see DOTD)! This also happened to be at a very quaint looking eating establishment. I assumed it to be the Creperie and found a table.

Not until the waiter brought over the menu (giant blackboard she moved to each table when needed) did I realize I was actually at ‘Hotel Catalan Restaurant.’ No complaints, it was fabulous. I had gazpacho, pork cheeks, and creme de Catalan. Dear god it was good.

I waddled home, completely stuffed from dinner, to face the reality of my slumbering situation. The bungalow itself was cute but the sheets provided were… not. In three extremely small clear plastic packets I read the labels “Disposable Bed Linen.” What followed was me making my bed with hospital paper bedding. I thought, at least if there is some sort of middle of the night murder it will be an easy clean up.

The last thing I will say is that the bungalow had no air conditioning, no fan, no air circulator or cooler of any shape or fashion. However, I was also afraid to keep my windows open too far because of massive creepy-crawlies and other creatures. I decided I better just leave the windows open a bit so I don’t die of heat stroke. That back-fired hard when I went to grab my paper pillow and felt a bit of a prick and then in the grey scale of the night saw a massive black object against the white pillow. I threw it off the bed and then smothered it with the (definitely not infested with bedbugs and other scary insects) duvet.

After a fitful sleep of going from so hot I was going to sweat myself into a puddle to I am so cold I could hollow out my legs and use them as arm warmers, I woke up to check the corpse of whatever I had smothered in the night. And just like any good horror film, there was no trace left at all…

DOTD

I don’t think this boy needs any explanation…

I asked the owner if I could “pet his dog,” and he replied, “yes, and you can pet me too.” Ahh, the French… I think I have made my point.

The weather has cooled down a bit and is hovering in the high 20’s. Certainly beats 37 degrees. Unfortunately, my signature leg rash has still appeared despite the dip in temperature. I went out and purchased some sunscreen with zinc oxide and titanium dioxide in it after I arrived in Cadaqués. It cost me 20 euro and it is designed for babies, so the stuff better work!

Today’s ride was enjoyable but not without minor incident. Several wrong turns at roundabouts occurred, more than the usual 15 to 20. And while I am on the topic of roundabouts – the Europeans love them – I have to admit they are pretty fantastic. Canada should think about planting more of these circular traffic features in cities (I say with absolutely no data or traffic analyses). Plus, they are fun to loop around on a bike.

With the temperatures just about perfect for insects and other flying creatures to waft about in the fragrance, I experienced an awkward run-in with something airborne. In a low traffic road next to a hay field, what I believed to be a flying ant or an perhaps an eagle, flew into my ear and caused me to panic just a little and try to swat / scoop whatever the thing was out of my ear. Next thing I know I am going handlebars first into the hay lined ditch and was projected out of my seat. Luckily, this was probably the best case scenario for location of collision. After I had righted myself and was sort of standing, two men on bikes stopped and asked (in Spanish) if I was alright, etc. One helped me clear the hay debris from between my panniers that had flung off and then reload them onto the rack. All-in-all, not a terrible fall and it could have been worse. What I have learned is to do my best to seal all exposed orifices while cycling through the country. Difficult areas to seal include mouth and nose, what with the breathing and all.

I had been nervous all morning about the impending doom that was the big climb I had to do after about 70 km. My fear was not unwarranted. This was a big boy of a climb. And best of all, I have to do it in the reverse direction tomorrow morning! The views were fantastic though and it felt like a real accomplishment getting to the top!! Especially because this is the climb that my parents and I decided to axe from our ride from L’Escala to Figueres, so now I have done it and they haven’t – hehe!

Upon arrival to Cadaqués I immediately went to my hotel to shower, circumventing the usual post-ride beer. Not to worry, it was simply delayed until after bathing. I sat by the shore and watched the water lap against the rocks and people frolicking on the beach. Cadaqués is of particular interest to me because it is where Salvador Dalí, my fave artist, lived for most of his life.

I even went to Casa Dalí and, wow, it was worth the price of admission! As well as being an amazing artist, I learned that Dalí was a supremely intuitive decorator. He had features all around the house that would enable him to expend as little effort as possible. For example, he had his canvases rigged up on a pulley system that could be adjusted up and down so he could remain sitting and working on his large pieces without having to stand. He had so many chairs in his house, from massive to miniature, you could take rest breaks every few steps. My favourite feature was the positioning of a mirror in a room below his bedroom that reflected the view out of the window so that he could see it from his bed. This way he was apparently the “first Spaniard to see the sun rise every morning.” What a guy! I took so many photos of his home but I will just post a few to give a taste of it.

A beautiful town and a fabulous tour of Dalí’s home, well worth the climb to get here. I am writing before I head out for dinner – I am in the mood for some seafood. I have a feeling it will be fresh!

DOTD

Spot the dog:

Also in Dalí’s house, the bear was a gift from writer, Edward James.