Lorp Sentaraille, nearly in the Pyrenees

Sunday 3 July

 

West out of Albi

Another quick run down a couple of freeways before climbing over the Petites Pyrenees and Cap Blanc at 519m, nice wooded hill road, up in the cool.

Its been 33 deg most of the day, this hotel has a pool.

 

I miss Albi already, such a nice town. Shot back to the Lautrec Museum to buy the 'Les Chevaux de Toulouse Lautrec' book before leaving, Lautrec's horses. Like the waiters at the St James, the girls recognise me, and we have another nice little chat.

I pass the Tetu magazine ad again, it goes on from saying 'nos heros le rugby' to add 'virile` et sensible'. Cripes...

I see in the paper at breakfast, that Contador and Schleck are at it sledging each other in le Tour.

 

Into the Petites Pyrenees

Had a swim on arriving here, too late for lunch and nothing open in the ville except a MacDonalds, had to happen sooner or later, and a chance to do the international value for money comparison. I got a bacon-burger, sandwich they call it, NZ$7.60, and a large fries as afterthought, $5.00, but roughly about the same in total if I'd bought them as a meal. The large coke was $4.80.

They didnt have an Angus burger, but wait for it,"Le Charolais" was on special for $4.00.

The girl behind the till handled english OK, I think as a general rule, the younger they are the better they speak english, must take it at school.

There's a sunday market across the street I take a look at, supposedly antiques, but the same veritable pile of junk and rusty old tools we've become accustomed to in NZ

 

Down towards Lorp Sentaraille

This hotel is quite conservative, older clientile, but a group of blokes on a cycling holiday turn up, coming in from their days lark in the Pyrenees.

There isnt a covered secure bike park, the proprietor says no problem here, and I sort of believe him looking round the village.

Main problem is it looks like rain, and the forecast says 40% chance of tomorrow. I go back out and push the bike under a tree.

Good table here though, I take option A of the set menu, lapine terrine au pruneau armagnac, 3/4" slab of rabbit pate with liqueured prunes, souri de agneau, lamb shank with baby spuds and stuffed tomato, I dodge the cheese platter, and finish off my local Ariege sav blanc, before the myrtleberry pie dessert and inevitable thimble of cafe.

Sorry to load you with the cuisine detail, but life the same hereafter wont be easy for me.

 

Morning of 4th July now. Have just read Mayles chapter on going to Cannes, cannily familiar, I have to quote him:

"Outside the Palais, what seemed to be the entire Cannes police force, equipped with revolvers, walkie-talkies and sunglasses, was busy creating a series of traffic jams and making sure Clint Eastwood didnt get kidnapped. With the skill that comes from many years of practice, they directed cars into snarling knots and whistled at them furiously, sending the drivers off to the next snarling knot with irritated jerks of the head. It took me 10 minutes to cover 50 yards. When I finally reached the car park, I saw an earlier victim of the chaos had scrawled on the wall: Cannes is a great place to visit, but I wouldnt want to spend the day there."

I watched a bit of TV last night, Clint Eastwood in that movie where he's an aging Presidential protection squadie, dubbed in francais. I try hard myself, but its really difficult to speak french with a low voice, Clint looks absolute incongrous squeaking his lines. That aussie actor in CSI and Shaun Connery in an early Diamonds are Forever are equally hilarious.

And in case you think my comments on french drivers are really because I'm snailing it along the roads, here's Mayle again, in his car, following another to a lunch rendezvous:

"... I should stick closely to his car. Easier said than done. So far as I know, there are no stats to support my theory, but observation and heart-stopping personal experience have convinced me that a frenchman with an empty stomach drives twice as fast as one with a full stomach (which is already too fast for sanity and speed limits). And so it was with Michel. One minute he was there; the next he was a dust smudged blur on the shimmering horizon, clipping the dry grass verges on the bends, booming through narrow streets of villages in their midday coma, his gastronomic juices in overdrive"

Michel goes on to explain to the author how a frenchman needs to win.

I'm amused I should finally make the frustrated comment about fellow road users upon arriving in Provence, where Mayle resides and writes about. There definitely is a difference about that place.

France actually has quite a diversity of character depending where you are.

I'm ultimately careful setting my lines through corners I cant see right round, never to get closer to the centre than half of my lane, and if there's no marked lane, then the right shoulder of the road is my line.

I've picked up on a few bad accidents in the papers around here too, the only blessing being you get scraped up quite efficiently, 2 helicopters at one fatal scene, a 4wd went under the front of a truck, just the floor and seats left.

Last night there were bean sprouts with the terrine, and I think about the news that people are still karking over here from that listeriosis scare.

 

The cyclists are outside my window cranking up for another day in le montagnes, its stopped raining, so I think I'll chance my arm on the run over the mountains to Lourdes, tonight's stop.

Albi - 2

Still Saturday 2 July

 

Started the day with a laugh by trying to check out of the hotel, but dates in and out weren't tallying, there was an extra night here on my booking sheet, had to pull out the next town's hotel booking, arranged to leave my pack down with the bike, then 100m along the street, realised I'd left the next booking slip behind.

New receptionist today, she was waiting for me, I really was booked again tonight, and I slowly recalled I had planned to do a TdF loop out and back from here, forgot all about it.

I did the dumkopf circle finger round the ear sign and muttered "trop beaucoup jolie femmes", and she threw her head back, flashed a smile with some good-humour mirth, and took hold of my arm, shoo-ing me back upstairs with my pack.

Donc... I go nowhere today, but downtown.

Dig the size of those peppers

Its Saturday, market day, and stalls line the morning street, huge, healthy looking fruit and veges, bread and other bakings, the biggest toms, aubergines and peppers I've ever seen.

And that's not all, there's more in a modern 2-story mall further into the old town area. You think the price of fish is bad enough, try $60NZ/kg for big fillets like terakihi or cod, $5 - $10/kg most fruit and veg, but tomatos must be in season, $3/kg. I dont think to check the price of meat, but I spot a skinned lapine, with its glassy eye looking at me.

A genial shopper starts chattering to me, I apologise and say j'ne pas Francais, I am not French,

so where do you come from?.., New Zealand, very good, you speak good English!

Is this your first time en France?... non, je visite devant, l'anee long temp

How you like France now?... the girls are prettier, and he snorts, giving the international throat cut gesture like he'd rid the world of them all.

 

The old cite's like a spoked wheel of streets radiating out from the cathedral, nearly 20ha odd of boutique shops and cafes, summer sales are on, 30-70% off, mens casual shoes E40-70,  and I spot a stylish LBD in a ladies-wear window, E70, women would love this place. French women are nicely shod, nice feet and ankles.

I find the tourism office and share my encounter at the market, with the girl there, the office boy overhears, and we all have a laugh. French humour is quite interesting, I dont think its the single punchline that tickles them, its more amusing if several meanings can be drawn from it.

I buy an Albi City Pass for E6.50, which gets me into the cathedral inner sanctum for E1.0 and into the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum for nix.

 

The Cathedral Sainte Cecile is stupendous, started in 1280 AD, finished around 1390, but added to or modified over the centuries, the largest brick cathedral known. The inner chapels, altars, and choeurs are carved from limestone, soft immediately after mining but hardening with age, done by Italian artisans, as are the many centuries old paintings. There's a huge mural at the main altar end, of the Last Judgement, done in 1490, one side depicting the saved rising naked from their graves, the other the damned with their book of life hanging round their neck awaiting assessment, while below 6 panels depicting the 7 deadly sins, (sloth hadnt been invented then), show all sorts of stuff pending if you havent been good, rape by monster, water torture, boiling in oil, and no drinks beside the pool with Dave Allen or Benny Hill.

I get the headphone English audio guide, find the lot quite interesting, the painting of the overhead vaults is 500 years old, never been renovated, the scaffold work to do it must have been something to behold. There's a model showing how the bricks got hauled up a slide. The organ has 3500 pipes in original form.

The story of Ste Cecile is quite a sad one, born into a poor family she took a vow of celibacy, her mother forced her into marriage with a suitably rough man of similar station, who she set about gaining acceptance of her vow and eventually converting, as she did hordes of other folk, which didnt go down well with the male hierarchy, was tried 3 times, escaping ultimate condemnation under law not having to face a 4th, but dying in poor shape in the arms of the chief bishop of France who came to intercede. She was made the patron sainte of arts and music.

The ticket gets you into the cathedral treasury, and among the relics you get to see her skull, (I think).

The purpose of such a grand scale build was to impress upon the people of the time how huge the church and faith was/is, and I have to confess getting to feel a bit of the over-awe and oppression, those times did have a surprising sector of the dubious.

It would mean so much more to those of the faith, fascinating, but I was conscious of being in another man's domain.

During the Revolution the cathedral was near sacked, any of the heraldry pertaining to local nobles was defaced or removed, and the place incredibly put up for demolition for 1m francs, but no takers.

The bishopry next door, similarly all of brick, including the vault arches, normally done in wood, but brick as a fire safety measure, as is also the high exterior facade and embattlement. It seems all throughout, the church being so involved in the political comings and goings, being in the clergy wasnt all that safe an occupation.

Now it houses the Toulouse Lautrec Museum.

My comment yesterday about his dissolute ways was taken from the Lonely Planet guide-book, but I find on viewing his life of art that the inference is much a malignment, he was so prodigious in such a short life, engaging in a whole raft of subject themes, family, friends, notables, dogs, and even horses, life in Paris from cafe scenes to serious student life taking orals in front of professorials, to poster art for Follies Bergere and Moulin Rouge.

I'm no art expert, but I found a lot of comedy captured in his caricature, and his work is a fine depiction of life in France during his time, late 1800's.

His venture into brothel life is thus understandable, despite Napolean's attempt to regulate the industry the life of a "lady" was one of near bondage to the trade and the madame, he's capturing the futureless detachment in the faces of his subjects.

Lautrec's noted for his minimisation of brushstroke, most of  his oil work looks like pastel. I bought a couple of prints, and on reflection will go back this morning and get the little book on his horses. They dont have the attempt at perfect form of a Stubbs, but again are caricatures of snorting, galloping, or just standing still horses, even the owner/trainer paddock scene is so recognisable as a contemporary setting.

The girls in the museum shop were very helpful, I commented to one how fortunate they were to have such a depth of history, and she answered, you are the first guy from New Zealand I have ever met, and well, you are such a young country. All I could do was shrug and say, we got le rugby, which got a giggle. League is pretty big round here, but have noticed a sports magazine poster headed "Tetu", with a heavily moko'd rugby player on the front, "nos heros de rugby", the article inside. A pharmacy near the hotel I pass regularly has a poster featuring "Le Beast" Chagal advertising some pain relief rub, beside the suppositoire one that touts for the constipation relief that Mayle so amusingly takes the mickey out of in the book I'm reading now, Toujours Provence.

Last tourist gink for the day the old pont, bridge, over the Tarn, built in 1040AD, and still there. The town dosent have much of an early Roman evidence, but apparently things took off with this bit of strategic asset building, and the town established a significant trade route mein.

That's about it for this town, to my places list I could add, Place I could live in - Albi.

The urban pops a tick over 50,000, add another 30k to cover the surrounding prefecturage, E250 to 500k will get you a decent sort of hacienda with a swimming pool on 3 to 8ha of land, 200k for a reasonable townhouse, but rent looks dear at E300 - 600. I spot a Century 21 shop, and am reminded seeing one of their signs on a ranch gate in Montana, everywhere man...

I Googled for nightlife but dosent appear there's any other than opera and classical concerts, other than that I joined the local populace for cafe dinner about 9pm, rips du porc  avec pommes de terre, spare ribs and baked spud, with a head like perfume glass of rose. Whole families out for dinner, and I guess thats your nightlife, discussion and bon homme, pretty cool, rather than the down home Ulyssian age disgracefully, you could do it rather gracefully here.

Recommended eating, St James Pub et Brasserie, along Place du Vigan a bit, alfresco under spreading broadleaf, good menu, plats du jour change daily, reasonable price, and excellent service, I notice clientile greeting their regular wait staff with a handshake.

A Rocket in France

There's a handful of boy-racer boom-boxers doing rap, on the street, and more than a few reverse cap, low slung shorts American apers around, but guys round here love their bikes, seen some really smart looked after latest models.

Most incongruous sight was the first beggar seen so far, sitting at the entrance to the cathedral, he looked so arab I was tempted to ask him what he thought he was doing panhandling at the door of the infidels. I passed him downtown later, hope the cops had moved him on.

The gendarmes municipale do their beat on push bikes. The hotel is a mass of security, CCTV every passageway and portico, we're even on breakfast TV, and the reception area shuts right down at night with metal garadoors, you let yourself back in through a security code door after 9pm, manned last night, but havent seen any suspiscious coves around. There's the inevitable aging, bitter-looking barflies in the bar/tabacs, I avoid those places.

 

Thats it for today.

 

Albi

Saturday 2 July

Just gone past 1600 miles on the odo.

Out of the Ibis hotel yesterday morning and crossed the Rhone, nowhere safe to stop and get the 'been there' pic, but this mornings hum triggered, (with a bit of poetic license),

"3 german officers crossed the Rhone, parlez vous...

Its a long climb out of the broad valley, more market garden on its floor than vineyard, but I'm soon at 1000m onto a high rocky plateau, so cool I more than once ponder getting the jacket out.

I forgot to mention the redolence of rural France, today the smell of high country pine. The ride through the Alpes was simply incredible, nearly all day in fumes of something like wysteria is it? There used to be a white florreted thing draped outside my mothers back veranda, and I've got a wattle sort of tree up my drive that has purple catkins, pretty similar fumation. There's a loud bird I dont recognise, going nuts in the purple flowered tree outside the hotel window.

The ride through Provence was similarly punctuated by the fields of lavender, like a helmet full of soap.

Host Richard, of a few nights back, has told me I need to jack up my commentaries for a wider audience, be a bit more outrageous, even bullshit some. I really enjoyed his huge gins and conversation, and didnt want to feed an impression to future guests that they could expect that of right. He's given me Peter Mayle's "Toujours Provence", a sequel to the best seller, "A Year in Provence", and hugely amusing. It's an English emigrees take on the local French characters and situations he encounters. I've just read the chapter about pharmacies. They're everywhere here, any respectable size village you pass through has its flashing green cross neon, and rural interests are well served by smart little ambulances and house call doctors.

He says I could pretend I'm someone from a foreign land taking a year settling in Whangaehu, and I could invent outrageous and comical yarns about all you people I know. Now that would be fun, names and all that bearing no reference to actual persons, of course!

I could take the nom de plume, Bierrey Crumpe....

Anyway, back to le discourse.....

fuel indicator down to the last 2 bars, time to dial GP in for nearest source de essence, I get turned up a goat track 5km, and pop up on another highway, right beside a service station, gas up, and am soon down linking to a major highway, the A75 turns out, 130k limit. Slip into the traffic, drop the Bandit into overdrive and its happily humming along at 4750 rpm, but after a couple of weeks at 60-70kmph average it feels like 300 to me.

Most of the way here to Albi now on freeway, the 300 odd km trip cut out quickly and I arrive at the hotel early for a change.

Another nice hotel booked via http://www.booking.com/, Interhotel Cantepau, the receptionist is a slightly fuller-faced dead-ringer for Sandra Bullock, she tells me her English est ne pas bon, do I parler Francais, ne probleme pas...

When the technical rapport is OK, only the doing words need filling in, hand-waving often sufficing, and I'm such an expert at hotelling en France by now, je obtenir le drift ces bien, whats even better, she shows me the underground garage where the bike will be locked away for my sojourn!

Looking out my early morning window

Smallish room, but man, do these Francais know what a good bed is, always fresh white linen, fluffy duvets like nothing I've experienced.

The wifi isnt so flash but the email works coming and going. I've run a few pings at odd stopovers, (did I mention?), and have figured, while the actual speed isnt high, I think the band width is pretty wide, as opposed to speed at home, but down a skinny pipe that stalls if your neighbour's downloading dirty movies.

Nice town Albi, I have a sundae for dinner, you dont have to eat large everywhere, great for the travel budget. I have a few beers, French 1664, at 3E a bottle, $6NZ, not outrageous by any means, I was paying that in a night out in a bar at Ellerslie couple of years ago, and you can bet Auckland and Wellington will be loading the charge for the coming RWC fiasco.

Vanille, citron, nougat et chantilly

You pick things up as you go along, across the sidewalk there's a shop headed up Kanga-ou in green and gold livery, with a joey painted on one side, restauration rapide, sur place ou emporter.

Get that? Ocker fast food, have here or takeaway, LOL

I watch a cafe-side chanteuse, is it?, girl singer, very complex lyric, both cooing and staccato, dont understand any of it except the Simon/Garfunkel number she does quite well, I down my armagnac and leave them to it.

Today, I'm giving adherence to the TdF course the boot, only 200 odd km to the next stop, and doing le cultural thing to have a gink at the St Cecile Cathedral and the Toulouse Lautrec Museum, man after my own heart, except I cant draw as well, dont have broken legs and have to use a couple of canes, and didnt die before 40 from too much dissolute boozing and womanising.

The couple of BMW tourers in the garage are cranking up, so time to go, a bientot...

Design Francais en route de Albi

Le Pouzin, Rhone Vallee

Friday 1 July

Getting into the second half of the trip now.

So Cannes...

Checked out of the hotel yesterday morning, lost its "little gem" status a bit when my mastercard wouldnt work,

and everytime I threatened to push the validate (enter) button, the proprietor went into paroxysmic arm-waving

so I gave up and paid cash.....

have to watch it a bit, there's a bit of feigned ignorance goes on in tourist territory, part of the reason I dont like it here.

Eased tentatively into the morning traffic, linking with the scooteratti, still amused by the helmeted women riders, heels, light dresses, business jackets or suits, label handbag slung around neck or shoulders, any thought I'd been losing my nerve soon lost in the hurrying to get to work rush.

In fact, I start to get aggressive, pissed at the lack of any semblance of who has right of way, there dosent appear to be any, frowning and scowling at anybody who even looks like getting in your way is order du martin.

Even the pedestrians, I be polite at crossings, but still get arm-waving, either a dont shoot cower, or a bugger off you infidel bastarde, a smile rarely works. I far prefer the USA situation where children and pedestrians are sacrosanct, stop regardless or its 2 nights in the slammer.

Setting the GPS for Antibes I have a putter round the Cap to Juan Les Pins, Pete Sarstedt's song remember, had it as a signature on my guitar in its day:

Tell me the thoughts that surround you?.. Yeah right!

When you go on your summer vacation,

you go to Juan Les Pins

with your carefully designed topless swimsuit

you get an even suntan,

on your back, and on your legs

Wend through Cannes and the waterfront, opulence, luxury yachts in the bay like aphids on a rosebud, getting on to 11's now, place is chocker, spot a Gucci storefront, not as many classy women as you'd think, but those you do see walking platinum cards. A service truck has stopped right where the driver feels its most convenient, as they all do, in the middle of the lane, there's a lot of honking, and after 5 minutes or so there's that familar der, dar, der, dar, der, dar as the gendarmerie arrive, and quickly as the traffic jam happened , it resolves, but the truck is still firmly in place. I manage to follow all the other scooters as we thread in and out of the stalled traffic, and make our getaway.

I follow the coast to St Tropez, magnificent ride once out of the traffic, far better  place, laid back, bit like St Helliers is to Aucklands beaches, away from the madding crowd.

This whole stunt takes about 3 hours, but at least I can say, been there, even if I didnt stop for the T-shirt.

Amen to all that, and I have to gas up at an Intermache (supermarket) in St Tropez, before re-engaging the GPS set for fastest route to this hotel I'm at now in La Pouzin, just south of Valence in the Rhone Vallee.

Again, I've no idea where GP's taking me but I'm in for another surprise, a huge one, and maddenly I cant retrace the whole route, even on the detail map, just have a few towns names in my memory and the mastercard chit from a station I got some gas from.

I'm quickly into the hills, its cooler and traffic free, nice road, plenty of curves, this is where Jean Rebelle belongs, en chemin, and then I flick on to it, I'm heading into Provence, so this is where all that dreamy, poetic stuff has its genesis. And after 300km of it I'm totally hooked, cant explain why, soft colours, fields of lavender and golden grain shimmering in sweeping valleys, old stone houses with blue shutters and terracotta tile roofs, narrow rocky or wooded gorges leading up to cols of 700-1000m, then wending switchback down to the next sweeping valley, I pass over a col road-marked a la Le Tour, and can envision the peliton sweeping by, even think I see the spot where Lance did that bounce across the grass in unplanned short-cut of a switchback.

I take countless photos, each one a firming reminder I must get myself some acrylics and canvas when I get home, I have such a horde of paintable subjects from the Drome.

Nice hotel here, its an Ibis-Accor, I've had another 8 hour sleep. The Rhone is a stone's throw out my window, so wide it could be mistaken for a lake through the trees. Great breakfast, and have to say I've got to enjoy the couple of croissants and conserves, and ces martin I've added a couple of light crepes avec ham and fromage, and a bowl of pineapple and orange pieces. I had a lapse on the coffee machine and pushed the espresso button, but went back for seconds, tried the 'long american' button to get a decent serve. Excellent coffee anywhere here in France, you can tell by the dregs left in every cup.

Now I'm back in provincial France the girls are decidedly more attractive too, a couple of honeys at reception and breakfast bar, eye games country again.

I notice a sign back along the way, Avignon Rugby Stade, thats what I want to be re-incarnated as, a discarded Hurricane with a contract, right here will do! 

The bathroom facility in the room is interesting, its a quarter-round cabine module I guess is in the corner of every room, basin, loo, and a shower with doors that open both out and in so it dont drip on the floor. Have to give the French their due, you see exceptional design flair all over the place.

A car??? at the St Tropez gas station

The '95 Range Rover I once had was such a shameful cobble of componentry from all round the world that its reliability was a disgrace, I recall a discussion group comment that it would have been far better French designed, before being engineered in England, fair comment.

The trucks on the roads look pretty cool too, from a boys toys point of view, classier than the American's plain-Janes.

Quick summary so far:

best place - Annecy

worst place - Cannes

place by the sea - St Tropez

sentimental place - Tavaux et Pontsericourt

exciting place - des Grand Alpes

place I would come back to - PROVENCE!!

Still, better not be too hasty, have to see if my bike is still where I left it chained last night, behind the hotel.

I see the odd Harley in my travels, quite amusing seeing the French trying to look like Hog geezers

its just their Gucci-ness gives them away, specialement le chics au pillions.

The other thing rarks me up a bit round the roads is the French driver, no matter what the vehicle, service van, dorky little Citroen ute, 6 ton truck, or mundane voiture, they all want to assert their speed supremacy, like they got little balls need proved to be bigger.

Mostly, I just let them have their way, but now and again I lose patience, drop the Bandit down 2 cogs in a hairpin and leave them to it.

Anyway, such drags never last long, the average motorist dosent seem to stay long on my tail long or in front once having triumphed before turning off, I think most of the road usage is local.

Cannes Canned

Wednesday 29 June

Well its confession time again, here I am at another tourist holy grail, and I spent most of the day in and at the hotel pool, grappling with the possible reasons for my procrastination at getting down to the waterfront. I wondered if it was being shattered after the the day in the Alps.

Had the greatest days motorcycling I'd ever done, and the 2 fabulous days prior at Annecy, come at a price?

Discounted that in the finish, after all, I crashed for 9 hours sleep last night, and have now given myself a more valid reason for today's lack of appetite for things tourisme...

Sensory overload, to put it simply, partly I'm not ready to crowd more stuff on top of a couple of fantastic days memory, and partly, I doubt there's room. I have to answer myself the question, what have I really come here for, and its the riding primarily, on which, things have come together extraordinarily well, the bike's enjoyable, apart from the sore arse it gives me, and my thirst for the mountain terrain has been well sated, with yet more to come in the Pyrenees.

On top of that the pool here is fantastic, about 15x6 metres, 900 at the shallow end, 1.9 at the deep end, 28 deg water temp, loungers and umbrellas all round, and I had a good book to finish reading.

The competition to head down to Cannes didnt stack, hassle, crowds, jacked up tourist season prices, maybe being a walking Xmas tree for pick-pockets, you need a day or so to figure out how to slide in to the place.

By mid afternoon I'd mellowed somewhat so headed off down the street to the bus-stop, only 2 mins walk away, a moderate 1 euro to get down town. I leaned on the bus-stop post for 3/4 hour, I was at least 5 mins early for the next bus according to the timetable, but nothing came. Then I began to fret about how I'd get back home late evening with this sort of service.

Hey...,

couple of car yards along the street so mosey in, a BMW coupe and a CLK Merc, 2002 to 2005, 60k to 100k on the clocks, E12k and E14k, roughly double the numbers to convert to NZD, a Merc 4wd wagon E20k, and a Porsche Cayenne 2009 approx 110k NZD.

Still no bus, people watched for a bit, heaps of scooteratti and motorbikes, helmets are compulsory, but nobody in protective clothing, shorts, bare arms, girls in light summer dresses with thin straps, or no straps, frankly it looks great, and I'll defend these peoples right to do it till the cows come home, a freedom being whittled away by the call to safety, but is it really just a disguise for everybody else to drive their cars without consideration for others, or to justify dressing up to look tough like Robo-cop, or justify ones salary if employed by OSH.

I'm not so sure though, about bikers helping themselves to an unwritten right to lane-split right up to the front at traffic lights and other stops, but while its part of the furniture so to speak, it is a sort of an establishment of place, if a bit in your face.

Anyway...

besides the pool, this hotel, Les Liserons de Mougins is a little gem, moderate tariff, and as handy as you could get to Cannes itself, on a main thoroughfare, easy to find. My room's small, I chose a little motel type unit out back I thought would be close to where the bike would park, but on arriving was ushered to a detached function facility not booked for anything for the next 2 nights, where bikes can be padlocked away. Another top bed, and there's an AC unit in the room that goes about its business unobtrusively, but its only the afternoon and evening when things get too sticky hot. The proprietors are helpful, speak fair english, and the room was serviced unbeknown while I was up at the pool, fresh linen and my electronic clutter and strewn paperwork and clothes tidied up. I''m going to leave a tip for the service lady, a young afro girl.

That's another plus for travel in France, no pressure for a tip. 

To end the day, I found a patisserie, bought a coffee and a ham & tomato salad instead of a goodie, plus a couple of cans of Heinie to take home, all for less than a tenner, so no complaints. Another comely, tanned, mm'selle, but a bit guarded about the eye game, certainly read my mind around the shop, fourchette?.. pain?.. cafe?.. grand?.. en plus?..

like going oui oui oui, all the way home.

For tomorrow I'll look at riding down to Antibes, Juan le Pins, then follow the coast to St Tropez, before heading bee-line to the Rhone Valley. 

Annecy to Mougins

Tuesday 28 June

Phew what a day, loaded the GPS and it confirmed what I'd been told, a 5-6 hour journey using toll freeways, or on my GPS avoiding them, 6 hours by fastest route for the 412 km. No idea of route, just input the hotel address here near Cannes, and throw blind faith to the satellites and my electronic guide, and given the unknowns of the days task made no effort to include TdF stages in the route.

It turned out to be one of the greatest days riding I've ever had.

Petit dejeuner at Grange de Julie

Was a little pensive having to move on from La Grange de Julie, Annecy and the lake is such a wonderful place, my highlight stopover of any time or place. Can only agree with Sylvie's reluctance to let rooms for less than 2 nights, she says people return for ever longer stays year after year, not surprising. There's also the dramatic change between summer and winter adding attraction, although gathered the comment it can cloud in and rain days on end as well, so was blessed to arrive in fine temps, and given the added advice thunderstorms roll in after 2-3 days heat, probably helpful I'm leaving on a high note.

There's plenty of green and forest round here, Sylvie's cats sometimes amuse by bringing snakes inside, small ones 12-18", see quite a few lizards in my travels too, and when I commented how much I admired the forests in France she informed they have been under some form of management since the 1500's, such has been the  importance of the resource. I did notice riding through several forests what appeared to be thinning of old trees, and she said people are allowed to go into the woods to gather annual firewood needs, even knock over the odd tree, provided they clean it all up themselves, I would imagine on designated cull trunks.

Anyway, the first 100km slipped by in a satisfactory time, along tree lined roads beside new mown hay, towering montagnes either side, and I thought hooboy, this is going to be easy, twice  passing a gorgeous chick thumbing a lift and regretting being pack-laden and not carrying a spare helmet, and encountering yet another smile flashing lady sports-motorcycle athlete at an intersection. I dont carry an MP3, but am often inspired to hum up stuff from my memory bank, so this morning it's old Maurice's...,

thank 'eavun, for little girls, for little girls get bigger everyday

thank heaven for little girls, they grow up in the most exciting way

those little eyes so helpless and appealing

one day will flash and send you crashing through the ceiling......

thank heaven for little girls, no matter where, no matter who

for wizzout zem what would little boys do

amen to that...

After following a blackened water river for some kms, suspect there must be some mining going down somewhere handy

sure enough I pass a discreet sign "Rio Tinto - Alcan", humungous power sub-station, and did suspect there could have been some coal-mining

who knows what...

then the GPS turns me off into the mountains, past a sign saying "Route des Grand Alpes", holy crap, a whole list of Cols on another sign, I'm in the real deal, and didnt even plan it, the main roads go in great circuits following the valleys, and the GPS is short-cutting me over the tops.

Thought I'd never be able to find the track on a map, but I have, I've come down a road east of Chambery, through Albertville, and up over the Col du Madeleine, 1984m, back onto a highway for a bit, then up into the mountains again.

Stop for a nerve-settler breather at mountain village of Valloire for a ham sammie, half a breadstick thick with ham and buerre, what's also unsettling is the Franch roadworks, "route baree" means anything from you can sneak through, to, no you cant and a detour who knows how far, but the GPS seems to know the way around. The roads are so narrow, a reseal job means a road closure, and it is summer in the Alps, cant be done any other time.

This time its up and over Col du Galibier, 2616m, but not right to the top, there's a tunnel through it. Heaps of cyclists here, support vans following team colours out training, switchback after switchback too numerous to count, and painted roads in support of favorite heros, at one turn I spot "alle' Schleck 07" and figure the 07 TdF must have come through here.

Onto another main route through Briancon, then turn up over Col de Vars, 2111m, and now the motorcyclists thicken, 100's of them, going like cut cats, even the pannier laden adventure motos, I rail a bit at how much of the road theyre taking, but figure with no railing separating them from a 1000' drop, they dont give too much of a stuff about how much of my road they take.

Another all too short stretch of valley bottom road, then turn up into the montagnes again, this time a long climb over Col d'Allos, 2247m, and down the other side, I dunno maybe 30km of winding mountain road, so by this time its late afternoon, I stop at a village cafe for a rest and a quad header glace (sundae), and to phone tonights hotel to say I'll be late. There's a bit of a kerfuffle in the rue, cowbells and all, and a mob of sheep, maybe 3-400, brown ones with tight curly fleeces, followed by a dozen donkeys hustle through town. The cafe's full of motorcyclists, all nationalities, 20 odd bikes pulled up, most with their lady pillions, and I join the rush to photograph the sight. Never saw another biker stopping to photograph the mountain scenery, but they rush en masse to catch this theatre du ovins, have been wondering what on earth NZ has in scenic comparison, both here and in USA, but here-in's an instant answer.

The road quickens from here on, and soon I'm winding down towards Cannes on one of those mountainside fast lanes James Bond eludes the baddies, or pursues la femme fatales on.

Getting to Mougins is a bit of a shock too, you drop down through a maze of narrow, heavily built-up switchbacks, take a wrong turn and the rue you should have been on is so closely parallel the GPS dosent pick it up till too late.

I miss the turn into the hotel, distracted by the blonde in a Maserati en mois derriere, stall at the next set of lights, and have to do another km to the nearest roundabout to get the required u-turn, by which time she's gone and I look like a proper Joe Hunt anyway.

Fantastic day, I've missed dinner, but the hotel pool is fabulous, too tired to sit down and write, and I sleep 9 hours.

Advice to anyone touring France, dont plan any day on the road greater than 200km, if youre fit enough you can do it, its just that you'll miss too much in the rush, whiling away a day under a cafe parasol is the raison d'etre in these parts.

Amen. 

Annecy

Monday 27 June

Uneventful run yesterday, across from Chissey en Morvan via Autun where I cashed some Euros and filled the gas tank, through a lot of vineyards, not so much grain cropping, mostly hedged paddock land, Charolais cattle, and some red and whites, probably Simmental, to Tournus, start town for TdF Stage 7 across to St Claude, a stones throw from Geneva.

This stage section was over higher ground, alpine pasture type of place the cattle get put out to for summer, great cycling territory, and just as interesting en moto.

Sorry no pics for this traverse part, my Nokias been playing up and is flat battery today, tried my new Ideos, takes good pics, but should really be named Idiot, its another one of these system protected dicks of things that dosent want to connect to anything unless you kiss its arse, and wont do it automatically either, plus there's no instructions. Give Nokia its due, it recognised itself as a supplementary drive E: right off the stick and I can access the pics anytime.

The TravelSim chip I bought supposedly to get cheapest cellphone coverage similarly has been a crock, I keep getting a daily email cheerily welcoming me to the service, oxymoronically asking me to phone in and share with them how marvellous they are, plus I think there's also some sort of service lock I have to extricate myself of from 2 Degrees. It works by you dialling in the required number, then they call back from the central service point with the connection. I've been waiting days for any reply.

Vodafone's global roam has been fantastic though expensive and coverage is excellent, at 65 million pop there's hardly anywhere uninhabited here, and I can text direct to anyone back home straight from my contacts file, as any of you can to me.

Have been riding in 33 deg temps all day, progress on French roads so slow to create a decent draught, I've dispensed with the jacket now, and its bf hot inside my helmet. There are hundreds of bikes on the road, the standard wave is the American point to the road with the left hand. The French also have a point with the right foot which means farque-oveur, I'm coming in, lane splitting is de rigour round here, but I'm happy to stay in the traffic queue, with all the ancient twists and turns in the streets you really need to know where youre going to be so bold, plus the traffic lights arent all that prominent hanging from all sorts of odd places, it'd be easy to miss a red light, touch wood, dont think I have yet. 

You'd think this was MotoGuzzi or Ducati country, but the most common bike I've seen is a cut down short-base Suzuki, cant see the capacity but its a naked in-line 4 with a bob tail and fat back wheel, an ideal choice for these small and sometimes winding roads. A girl on a Guzzi passed me today, tanned legs in shorts, blonde locks flowing out from under her helmet, and was followed by another woman on a yellow Daytona, auburn curls under the helmet and slim in full leathers, sat on my tail for so long I started to think she was following me home, but no such luck!

Found an open patisserie for lunch, another coffee cream covered in sliced almond, plus a bun sort of thing with a big arrowmint slab confection thing on top, that turned out to be a custard pie underneath. There's always a nearby doorstep to sit on to do the lunch justice, then an espresso in an across the street cafe.

Here at Lathuile, just south of Annecy, the Lac scene is spectacular, blue, blue water and towering masifs with rocky limestone bluffs, but its a Taupo on serious steroids, the traffic is horrendous, nose to tail all the way from town to here, somewhere between 5 & 10 km, hordes of people enjoying the sun and water, fair bit of boating too.

This B&B, La Grange de Julie, http://www.lagrangedejulie.com/ is a previous old barn renovated by proprietors Sylvie and Jean-Francois into a delightful place to spend a couple of nights or more. Actually the place is so good, a couple of nights dosent do it justice.

Out of my bedroom window I can see the peaks across the lake, and watch the parapentres glide down, the thermals must be pretty good, they seem to hover for ages in the one place, then swoop off to another hoverspot before spiralling down to the landing area in a nearby open green.

I lost my way to the recommended restaurant for dinner last night, finished up opting for a roadside canopied cafe's steak, chips and salad, and a tongue hanging out for a Heineken, normally I wouldnt drink the stuff, maybe its a different brew here. I was also drawn in by a sign saying only French beef used here, but quickly brought to recollected earth, the Charolais beef is stringy. Most continental European cattle descend from draught animals and no amount of generational breeding will ever rid of the beast of burden musculature, paticularly where cross-breeding isnt a clean word, although I'll concede the milking strains may have a difference.

My old  hosts years past told me blandness was also important so the French culinaires didnt have competition for their saucieiry and flavouring, they also mentioned travelling to USA and being blown away by the size, flavour, and juiciness of US feedlot steaks.

Today, on Sylvie's advice, I rode up the peak across the lake to Col de la Forclaz, where a view of the whole lac is ensured, and a further 20 min walk up to the top gets you to the launch spot for the parapents, fascinating, think I might get one and try jumping off the hill behind my house, notice a fair number of tanned of limb women engaged in the sport too.

A couple of motorcycle cops shot past me on the way out, resplendent in their blue short-sleeve shirts, just like the LA CHiPs in their khaki ones, so I dont feel so bad putting my jacket away in this heat.

Wended my way down the other side of the TdF type road from the Col, to the old-town part of Annecy, little streets winding beside a canal, a veritable cafe/restaurant alley, the town pops around 60-80,000 depending how far out one includes, and was grateful to find a free motorcycle park handy to the action.

Saw a cafe dishing out huge sundaes, so ordered myself an "Avalanche", was a bit disappointed at its size when it came, chocolate chartreuse the menu said, till I got up to leave and felt a bit unsteady, so 6 cafes further along, I had to go inside and order a salad, beef, bacon, cheese, tomato, egg, to shut the liqueur down.

This afternoon I had a swim in the lake, there's a beach just down the way from here and a fair bit of topless around, the water was great but the bottom a bit stoney on the feet. I rode down in my shorts, doing as the locals do, gassed up on the way home, its a big day tomorrow, 5-6 hours to Cannes.

Tonight I find the restaurant I missed last night, have to fill the hump for tomorrow, campari with olives aperitif, tournedos de beuf, a nice inch thick fillet, not stringy this one, wrapped in bacon, with fried potato and veg, with a glass of house red, and here in France you cant possibly get a bad one, topped off with a couple of scoops of menthe glace. Nice place, under parasols on a 9pm evening, Queen and some gentler French balladier in the music pipe, http://www.aubergedes4saisons.com/