The courtyard of Hôtel Le Mosaïque promised a warm sunny day, but having exited the sheltered streets of Narbonne I was greeted by a strong cold wind against my side Accessible by a rough dirt track, or had I known of it, a road from the far side, three windmills sit on the ridge separating me from Nissan-lez-Enserune. That hardly a breeze blew up there felt something of a slight given the structures at hand and the cold sweeping through the valley below. Like windmills on a ridge, a medieval castle in the middle of a town warrants investigation. Visible over the tremendous ramparts, a handful of new windows have been installed on the top floor. Lights are lit within. There is no name, nor historical record, on any of its four sides, just a simple “PROPRIÉTÉ PRIVEE”. Above the roofline, a canon points over the village. Emerging from a patch of forest, a man stands smiling, eyes my panniers, and watches me pass. On my right: A fifteen foot tall fresco on the side of a barn depicts a woman and her cat.
Olive trees, cypress, almond blossoms and vineyards. I grabbed a handful of rosemary to enjoy the scent. A woman walked along the road with a handful of wild asparagus. I paused in Tautavel, near the bottom of the gorge for a coffee. I didn’t need the caffeine, but the cafe is lively and I could savor the morning a bit longer. The gorge is cold, but the sun here is warm Sunday is no day to arrive early to a French city. I spied a small road warning large vehicles to steer clear. My small vehicle would be fine. I’d gain 10km and the Col du Canteloup. Below, in the vineyards, the boar hunters in their orange vests and caps. They wave, I wish them “Bon chance!”. The Garmin will ensure I’m not lost, but I can turn off the screen and pretend. Approaching Narbonne, the village of Bages perches on a hill, small boats dragged ashore below, and just out of reach of my lens: Pink flamingos.
So yeah, I’m relocating from Instagram. It was all bike stuff over there anyway… I departed late this morning having visited the market for fruit, and a chicken thigh to pair with the chunk of bread my host had packaged as fortification. She also supplied a bit of sour jam made from the bright yellow Mimosa trees that dot the hillside, and are indeed related to acacia Cars, bikes, and medieval, are the bridge options for leaving Ceret. I chose the medieval bridge as it would take me under the bicycle bridge and into the hills. The snowy peaks would loom around every corner of the day. Three cols before lunch, though 2 unmarked as the dirt road passes are rarely signed. The road down from Col de Puig is steep, rocky and rutted as it ducks in and out of the forest. But it’s also quiet. It’s just me and the boar hunters out here today. I paused for lunch in the park at Montauriol. Unwrapping my still warm chicken made me exceptionally popular with the band of feral cats that had taken up residence behind the mairie. Another dirt spur took me through Col de La Roca, not far from Castelnou, one of France’s many “plus beaux villages”. And beaux it was, but as I’d neglected to change shoes, I chose not to wander too far up its steep, cobbled and cleat incompatible lanes.
Crossing the Pyrenees in February is perhaps a questionable idea, but the cyclist I flagged down on the way up said it was clear, save for a bit of mud after crossing the border. Stopped for a bacon sandwich at a cavernous, and empty, social hall, where they proceeded to play the entirety of my 7th grade school dance playlist. Mr Big, Lump, The Offspring. There were 4 deer today. That’s more deer than I think I’ve seen in Europe in my entire life. 3 Cols. 2 cats.
Days 57 & 58. 113mi out of France, via the citadel of Rodemack, across Luxembourg, and into the punishing hills and endless planted timber forests of Belgium.
Days 55 & 56. 120mi though Nancy to Thionenville. Rad bike collective in Nancy @atelier.dynamo.nancy. Cooler mornings, the occasional fallen leaf.
Day 54. 46mi and 4 cols as we exit the quiet and beautiful roads of Les Vosges, a region we would’ve ridden right past had Jenn not made small talk with the guy sheltering from the rain with us in Lamoura.
Day 53. 43mi into Les Montagnes des Vosges and its old mining towns. Cool, dry, feels like fall. Col de Ribeauville, Col de St Marie, Col de Raids and onto the former principality of Senones. Jenn made a camp friend.
Days 50, 51 & 52. Into Alsace. Vineyards, storks & wine. Once again we’ll detour from canals and head for the hills. This time into the Vosges mountain range. From there, our next stop is Belgium, some 300mi away through Germany and Luxembourg.
Days 48 & 49. 110mi to Cernay. Can’t have peaks without valleys I suppose, but I’m sure going to miss these mountains. A couple days along the canal to Alsace for wine and pretzels.
