Today is a rest day, about 70% or 80% as long as the others. I sleep long, breakfast late, chat a little with my fellow guests, a group of retired french on a walking trip. Well-rested, I’m talkative. And hungry. Jean-Claude and Caroline are too hospitable, and I eat as if to revenge myself upon the skipped breakfasts of my whole life.
I had resolved to check my tire pressures after seeing a pump lying around before. Jean-Claude obliges. It turns out neither tire needs anything. It’s 10:30 when I start moving.
What starts as a perfect path at the foot of the city walls
with views of the valley
shortly turns into a very civilized hike-a-bike, somewhere around this turn. I think I have ridden about 600 meters when I dismount.
Rolling again. Some kind of castle. The town has pretty well-to-do environs, and so, ignorant as I am, I can’t rule out that this is some kind of vanity medieval fantasy château. But the lack of windows seems historically accurate rather than modern and functional. But it seems to be in really nice shape. I reserve judgment.
A quiet, smooth ribbon down the valley we were looking down before.
I haven’t ridden very long, but I’m ready for a snack.
The best-looking places (i.e. places that seem like they make and sell pains au chocolat) are closed. I stop instead at a bar-tabac. Kind of a time capsule. Gloriously dilapidated, in a hypothesized heyday it might have been called cozy. If memory serves: vinyl surfaces, lottery ads, tv, stools at the curved bar, chairs on the tables, a normal sight in any bar at this time of day, at 11 AM, but which adds to the sense of faded conviviality. My change will be the greasiest, most crumpled €5 note I have ever pressed flat, which makes me dwell for a moment on how I am now connected in the most trivial way to its last steward, a human who evidently tended to keep their hands in their pockets, perhaps a fidgeter.
The barkeep, ten years older than me, goateed, hunched at the neck, has, despite a nervous and conciliatory aspect, not much time but just enough politeness to serve me an espresso. My helmet and gloves announce me as an interloper, of course, but it doesn’t to be read, it’s known: everyone else, admittedly only three people, is a regular.
These three old-timers are red-faced and slow with their movements. Each has an elegant cupful of golden liquid. One of them is studying a local newspaper. As I’m waiting for my espresso to cool—I am a sensitive fellow—the twosome get up and leave. À plus, les garçons, chirps the barkeep.
First real climb of the day, the sort of climb that joins two towns as quickly as possible, a toughie.
CowCon 2023
Rolling along what feels like an elevated plateau. At any rate I’ll descend through what feels like neighborhoods to get to my next big town.
I stop for lunch in Aurillac. It’s the biggest town in a long time, the capital of the region. Quite cool, lots of young people. I could have used one of those umbrellas later.
I had a difficult lunch near the city hall. A formula, as always. First thing: a breaded cutlet floating in tomato sauce, surprisingly good. Second thing: a real project, a classic Aubrac pavé. It’s not my first so I am sure to put only pieces smaller than a cubic cm in the mouth at a time. Burned more calories chewing than gained eating. I felt a little rocky after such substantial fare.
As I said, a big town. Outskirts unattractive. Not a bad path, though.
That’s to say the speed limit on this road is > 40 mph. But everywhere I went I found most drivers to be going at sensible speeds.
Small woodsy section. The camera comes out when I’m going uphill, as you can see.
The route goes left here. It was full raining, so I took a breather under the trees’ leaves before slipping my way down.
At this point I was on the bike, I think–it’s a path. But eventually it faded to something more like the memory of a path. I dismount early, more risk-averse as my age advances. I get a stick stuck between the rear wheel and the fender, which I sort out once I’m back on the pavement. It’s still raining.
After unsticking myself and a wet descent. Climb time.
Another quiet, lovely one.
I’m looking for food now, but take a glance across the opening landscape as I come over the top of the climb.
Mur-de-Barrez is laid out mostly along this incredibly unbroken street. A steep hill to the left suppresses the demand for cross streets, I guess. On the left I find a boulangerie/tea room (“Les Gourmandises”). The person behind the counter is super nice. I walk out with a pain au chocolat, some sodas, and a slice of pizza.
Four cheeses. I love cold pizza. This hits the spot, perhaps more than any other road food this week. I realize I’ve forgotten to get water, go back into the tea room, and buy enough to fill my bottles.
A lotr-like ruin, love it.
Climbing up from the dammed lake.
I love a dirt-capped climb. I’m officially in the Aubrac now.
Don’t fall off, it’s a long way down.
Another perfect black ribbon. Some time around now I pass the best moment of every day, the moment when I know I will make it on time to have a bed and meal for the night. All residue of pressure evaporates, all stress, and I can embrace the ecstatic aspect of vacationing on a bicycle.
There was a sign here describing different legal scenarios involving the catching of fish.
I’m glad I left late so I could get this sky.
The cows are different here.
The clouds in transition. It rained today, it will rain tomorrow. I’m relaxed, feeling peaceful and unhurried, blissed out. Let’s do this again some time.
I wanted to end with that view of the beautiful Aubrac. This is another beautiful view of the Aubrac, though: aligot.
(…for more coverage of “france 2023”, click here…)
a cozy place for odd rats i guess 