Lots of hills

Day 13 Entraygues to Banassac

Phew! The bikes did not get stolen from the Town Square in the night. And what a wonderful breakfast in the Petit Chou - the very musical Chambre d'hotes in Entraygues. 

Setting off in the correct direction for once we idled for a while as Tom discussed sprockets with a Frenchman. 

We climbed steadily following the Lot through the Gorge. Helen ever the hooligan scaled the wall of the EDF hydro barrage and we scarpered quick to avoid arrest. 

Then up and over to Estaing a beautiful medieval town full of pilgrims en route to Compostella. We chatted to one young man who spun us a line and Tom and I ended up subbing him on his way. 

The Lot had appeared to be nearing its source when it opened out into a wide open valley but not for long. 

Crossing the river to avoid the easy route we ground our way uphill over 8km. We did see some lovely smelling surprisingly of goats cheese. Time ( the simpleton) wondered if they smeared the goats in goats cheese to make them smell. 

Then DOWN. Into one of the most beautiful villages in France for a meagre sandwich and a grumpy cafe owner. 

Much texting was going on to try to meet up with our friend Suzanne and her Mum en route from Edinburgh to the South of France. And we succeeded. 

There followed another unnecessary hill with a series "plaques des gravillons" on the way down to spoil the swoops. 

Everyone was on the limit by the time we got to a Logis at Banassac by a motorway. 

After a bit of faffing we found what we needed. A small unprepossessing restaurant with luvly vin de pays d'oc and some lovely grub. Much fearful trepidatious worrying about the BIG day tomorrow over the highest col of the trip. 

And so to bed (after a wee dram). 

Km cycled 81 M climbed 1586 mechanicals/injuries 0

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

The Diary of Samuel Hodgson

Up betimes and on my knees to give thanks to the Lord for delivering me of the vertigo from which I thought I should not recover. 

Then to break my fast and on the road. My man Thomas, a simple soul but of a good nature did devise a route which should take us by a shorter way to Rocamadour, a place of pilgrimage and favoured by a most wonderful situation upon a cliff. 

But first we came to Tourtoirac where the bakery was of a most ancient construction. Madame boulangère was a most comely wench and was wont to teach me a little of the manner of baking bread. I had my arms around Madame as she showed how to insert the long paddle into her oven when my wife appeared and looked most displeased. I showed her how the urchins of the parish also came to learn about baking and left their thanks but she looked most surly until the beauty of the road once more soothed her mood. 

It is to be noted that the Lords hereabout spend much money in having labouring men repair the roads much better than is wont in England. Thomas who is of a long line of road menders is constantly exclaiming upon the subject. 

And so making good progress we passed through rich countryside with crops being mainly of walnuts and sunflowers with also many ducks and geese being raised. 

We stopped in the heat of the day for a simple meal of bread and duck's liver. 

We did have much merriment as we made a revel wherein I played the part of Mistress Rosie the riveting wench and Thomas the part of Wise Norman. This did much amuse my good wife and her maid Helen. 

On the road we saw many fine houses fallen into ruin which caused us to wonder what had befallen them and also came upon some high posts used in a game played by men with oddly shaped balls. I believe it has lately come to my college in Cambridge. 

And on to Souillac where we enquired in the office of Pilgrims and reserved lodgings for the night. It was a steep and 

baking hot climb but at length we came to the shrine and gave thanks we had come so far. The surly maid had given us chambers in the very eaves but a passing fine view fro our window. 

Our evening meal was a simple affair of ducks liver and Cassoulet with cheese and the red wine of the country. Since I submitted to the cutting for the stone my physician Dr White told me that I should drink no liquor stronger than small beer and eat little rich flesh but I have often seen him in the Inn of the Three Scalpels quaffing fine claret by the pitcher and eating whole fowls so I do believe all doctors to be liars. 

And so to bed. 

Leagues cycled 98. M climed 950 Cols achieved 1(315m) no Injuries or mechanicals (the Lord be thanked)

Things fall apart the centre cannot hold

Day 10
Things Fall Apart...The Centre Cannot Hold

How to fit WB Yeats into the blog? Cometh the hour, cometh the man as Jim obliged us with a spectacularly dramatic and noisy outbreak of vertigo with associated reverse peristalsis which overwhelmed him first thing in the morning just as we were contemplating the day's exertions.
Tom was driven to a pharmacist in the nearby town of Savignac by Hugo, the very kind owner of our B&B ( who had worked at Le Gavroche in London in 2000 and lived in Peckham Rye).
When "la plume de ma tante" represents the limit of one's schoolboy French, discussing the finer points of neurophysiology and pharmacology was a mite tricky. But nothing daunted...It also seemed crucial to avoid our hosts calling out the Sapeurs Pompiers. In France the fire brigade acts as an ambulance service and the thought of a man with a hosepipe, in a country where the suppository is king, turning up at Jim's sickbed seemed to be an outcome worth avoiding at almost any cost.
For a mere €13 embarrassment was averted as we came away with oral (!) medicines one of which was rejected after consulting an online resource. The other seemed likely to hit the spot without turning Jim into even more of a wreck and indeed rapidly had the desired effect as he fell asleep allowing the rest of us a moment of peace.

Tom and Helen spent some of the morning walking around the village viewing the manor, a church, a water mill and some interesting road works.
In the afternoon Tom and Helen cycled the 10km to Tourtoirac to view the Abbey. Impressive from the outside, inside it was a sad and dusty ruin, over-restored in the 19th century and allowed to run to seed since. 

Far more impressive was the boulangerie where we bought cakes from a jolly, plump and flour coated lady baker who showed us the 200 year old oven and a fine collection of long handled shovels for getting the loaves out.

Getting back up the hill out of Tourtoirac in intense heat was a bit of a trial but we were soon up high with a cooling breeze and had the joy of a fast downhill dash back into Coulaures and a near disastrous collision with Verity who had abandoned her wifely duties in favour of a walk.

We now await Jim's recovery and the continuation of normal service.

Km cycled: 20 (10 in the wrong direction)
Injuries: Jim deeply indisposed
Mechanicals: nil

Into the Venice of Perigord

Day 8

Rochechouart to Brantome

Awaking to a fine sunny day we stepped outside into a freezing morning then spent several minutes trailing to and fro across the square between our hotel and the boulangerie opposite arguing the toss about the relative merits of a hotel breakfast (more expensive but inside and warm) or the boulangerie (outside, cheaper and cold but more temptingly delicious). Finally deciding on the boulangerie, by the time we had placed our complicated breakfast order there was a long queue of locals stretching out into the square giving us decidedly baleful glares. 

Leaving towards Brantome in near freezing conditions we took our customary wrong turn on the outskirts of the town but, making a virtue of necessity, continued on the wrong road for a further 10km before taking a cross country route, cutting a trail through the cowpats on small C (or possibly D or E) roads to rejoin the correct route.
The road rolled along through woodland, small farmsteads and quiet hamlets. We were passed from time to time by ageing Renault and Citroën cars from the 1950s making us feel as if we'd entered a strange time warp. All was explained as we arrived in St Mathieu where a vintage car rally was under way with its attendant odours of petrol and fried food.
We far preferred the thought of the next town, Piegut-Pluviers, tempted no doubt by the prospect of a fine pie. No such luck. The usual gorgeous village with a large Mairie (town hall) was completely deserted. All at the car show perhaps. 

Not too much further on we had a much needed and sustaining meal in Nontron where we met up again with Ian and Jeanine from Oxford and Denver on their lightweight Co-Motion tandem with trailer in which they are carrying camping gear for a 5 week Brittany to Monaco tour.
What are the chances of three tandems at the same time on the same route? Quite high, obviously.
They rather put us to shame on the road out as they disappeared off into the distance while we plodded on weighed down by age, infirmity,  beer and steak frites.

Brantome, our next stop, is a fine medieval town on an island in the river Dronne which is anchored by 12 bridges to the mainland. No sooner had we arrived than helpful locals, eager for our custom, surrounded us and ushered us into the Hotel Coligny, a most excellent establishment, and eager for our custom. We could see no reason to disoblige them and, following brief ablutions, we stepped out for a tour of the environs.
Most of the town is built of white limestone and many of the buildings retain their original form and features. The Hôtel de Ville with a frontage of almost 100m overlooking the river would not be out of place in a city of several million.
For some reason known only to himself, and doubtless his Divine Creator, Jim insisted on taking a photo of me up Jacques Brel's Passage. 

This ridiculous interlude was followed by several minutes of sublime beauty as we watched a Kingfisher patrolling his stretch of river, occasionally diving for fish. Of the many tourists along the river we seemed to be the only ones aware of this display.
And so back to the hotel for our evening meal and, by now daily, discussion of the route ahead and ways of alleviating its likely rigours.
Kilometres travelled: 63
Injuries: rear end mischief
Mechanicals: 0

Along the Vienne

It was an easier day today along quiet roads along the Vienne river. We were deep into cow country and the evidence was beneath our tyres. We cunningly crossed the viaduct to avoid the drop into town and up the other side and got stunning views into the bargain.

The Vienne was used a lot for tanning and the hooks for hanging the skins on are still visible on some of the old houses. They also have iron bars on the window a because of the wolves. 

We passed lovely little villages, mostly deserted of course, and dropped down into Confolens for coffee and pick up stuff for a pique nique. The bunting was out, the sun shone and the tarts looked gorgeous. 

We ate lunch in a small village and sat at picnic tables by the river. Our intention was to swim in all the different rivers but so far no one has taken the plunge. 

It was an uphill finish into Rochechouart and found a little hotel by the square. Wandering around we watched a boules competition in full swing including youngsters and ancients with toddlers looking on. 

Another big evening meal celebrating a rare local breed of pig the Black Bottom. Speaking of which we spent time planning when our rest day could be to give some rest to our sore backsides. We are hoping that things will improve!

Km cycled 60  Metres climbed 728. No injuries/mechanicals

Along the way of St Jacques

Leaving the citadel behind early for a long day ahead we did the usual faffing about finding the way out of the town. We found an alternative route past a church with a scallop sign saying 1497km to Compostella - we left that for another day.

We have worked out that tandem riding needs frequent stops to rest the backside because you can't dance around on the pedals so we knocked off the miles stop by stop. 

After lunch naps are another important part of my training regime.

The weather was pretty good and so were hot and thirsty approaching Isle Jourdain. There is a spectacular viaduc which looks very much like Cullingworth don't you think?

The B&B afforded us the first proper cup of tea for a week thanks to a South African psychologist running it with his French wife. A fascinating insight into what running a business in France is like (and the psychological problems of the ex pats).

Km cycled 106 mechanicals and Injuries 0