At the Med
A beautiful morning riding in the mountains before dropping down to sea.
Some of you might have been wondering where the heck I’ve been since I last left you in Orange. Out on some bike rides is where, which largely have been uneventful, except a few days of ferocious wind. Two days ago, I was riding from Arles to Aix en Provence and the wind gusts were so bad at one point I couldn’t pedal forward. So, I stopped and was going to let the wind have its temper tantrum, and then I’d continue. I waited 30 seconds and realized the wind was so angry, it was likely to howl all day, so I carried on.
Not long after, I had to navigate a large roundabout. Cars on my left and a waist-level concrete barrier to my right. I needed nerves of steel to negotiate it with the wind threatening to push me into the barrier. On exiting the roundabout, I stopped for a few deep breaths.
For long stretches in the morning, I followed a quiet track above the main road.
Today, I left a speck on the map called Sillan le Cascade. For the most part, the 75km ride was downhill, which was good because I have two steep climbs over the next two days, which have been riding with me in my mind for a long time. Looking at the topographical chart, it looks like a wall. Straight up. And straight down the other side. But that’s for tomorrow.
Today’s route largely took me through woodland along what I imagined to be an old train line, or perhaps an old Roman road. Further on, I passed vineyard after vineyard after vineyard. It was all very scenic and quiet until I dropped down to a busy road, which took some time to cross and then I saw a Burger King. What happened to the bucolic French countryside. Thankfully, my map guided me off the busy road and through a rocky landscape that resembled the American west.
France is the world’s top wine producer.
I had noticed storm clouds building, but ever the optimist I was certain they were going the other way. Within minutes, I was looking for an exit strategy. A large tree or bridge to hide from the rain. Then, I found a small, abandoned building to take shelter in. I waited there for a few minutes, but the rain wasn’t too bad, and with only 15 km to go, I put on my rain jacket and told Marcus we we’re going to make a dash for it.
Five minutes after I took this photo, the sky was gray, angry, and full of water.
Once back on the road, the clouds opened on us, and we were soaked. Rolling into Frèjus. I saw our hotel, but instead of stopping, we continued a few blocks further to catch our first sight of the Mediterranean.
Marcus hanging out next to the Mediterranean