When the rain wasn’t falling from the sky, it was thrown up by the masses of mudguard-less riders. The damp hung in the air, blew across the peaks and swept through the trees. The fog would stick around until late afternoon. I think I changed gloves twenty times. We’d ridden part of the route on a sunny day earlier in the month, so the contrast was interesting if not exactly pleasant. This is the only French brevet I’ve ridden aside from PBP. I expected better food along the route, though the club did serve a three course meal with drinks upon arrival. We scarfed that down and rode the five miles to catch the train to Carpentras under clear skies.
