I often peruse the ubiquitous little free libraries of small villages. It's 1982. The internet is more than a decade away. You're a kid in the village of Banon, France and this is what they're driving around in across the Atlantic.
Through Sault and over dead man’s pass, aka Col de l'Homme Mort. It’s Sunday, so everything feels deserted, but Sisteron had the obligatory degenerates drinking tall cans of Desperado. Rolled into Forcalquier mercifully ahead of the weather
You can tell there's no one out here because the road is littered with rock fall. Made it all the way to the top of the climb without seeing a car, just two lone motorcycles. Down into Sault to sit on the steps in the sun drenched square, eating sandwiches with the rest of the cyclists. I don't know who trims that hedge into a tiny house, but I love them for it.
Over the Col de la Croix Rouge into Drome. I'd sort of forgotten about this one, but coming down off Col d'Ey, through les Baronnies provençales, is a good time.
Into the pines on the D1. Sandwich outside the church in Monieux and coffee in Gordes. The descent through Venasque bests the climb, but it's good both directions.
