Blazing saddles

Day 12

Rocamadour to Entraygues-sur-Truyere.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Or was it just a game of two halves? Perhaps the Dickensian mots justes better describe our day which was characterised by its physical and mental ups and downs. And in a definite nod to Dickens we experienced our own Tale of Two Cities thanks to Jim (of which more later).
Following breakfast in our hotel, Le Lion d'Or, (the girl at which happened to be English), we set off back up the hill (2.3km; 9% gradient) to L'Hospitalet where we bought lunch and exhausted our knowledge of Russian military motorbike and sidecar combinations in discussion with a rotund and rather plethoric Frenchman who was driving one, with his long suffering wife in the sidecar.

We planned a route to Gramat and on to Figeac to avoid the hills on the "official" route. Unluckily we ended up on an extremely busy and fast (not us) road with long climbs on which we could hear the lorries roaring up behind us. There were also major problems for those not riding on the Brooks B17 saddle with inflammation in the undercarriage area. A lesson perhaps?

After a fast and exhilarating 5km descent into Figeac we had lunch in a cafe in the medieval centre and set off on our trademark tour of the suburbs including an out and back past the Lycée (sophisticated and disdainful French youths mocking dusty and confused English cyclists who replied in the only coinage a Frenchman understands: "Agincourt, Crecy, Waterloo, TDF 2012, 2013 and 2015". That stopped them).
There then followed a hot and tiring climb (8.7% for 5km) to Montredon. As Jim said: "The clue's in the name. Otherwise it would be called Valredon."

Just before that we experienced a cattle stampede moment as a demented French girl approached us at a run waving a stick and shouting in French "please get off your bikes and stand well to the side before these cows kill you". (Or something like that). There followed a smelly and noisy stampede of huge beasts leaving a smelly trail behind them. 

For the last 35km of the day we followed the River Lot upstream to Entraygues-sur-Truyere on a road which hugged the right bank with wooded hills rising high on each side and allotments planted down to the water's edge. 

In Viellevie we stopped for refreshment and Jim phoned ahead to book accommodation in a Chambre d'Hote. 

On arrival in Entraygues-sur-Truyere we enquired of a likely looking elderly woman the directions to the Hotel Cro-Magnon. When she denied all knowledge of such an establishment we put her ignorance down to dementia until a few minutes later at the Tourist Information we realised that Jim had actually reserved rooms in Les Eyzies, 80km or more to the west.
Jim looked fearful for his safety as the implications of this error sank in but, in a display of superb practical nous, Helen saved the day by tracking down rooms in a Chambre d'Hote only 10 metres from where we stood.

After such a long and physically battering day we faced having wine bottles exploding at our feet in a nearby restaurant with aplomb and equanimity. 

And so to bed.

Km cycled: 106
Mechanicals: Jim fiddling with front derailleur (again)

Injuries: various bottoms and Jim's pride