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With only two panniers to hang on my luggage carrier and only a saddle and handlebars to set back to their proper height/position I'm on the road before the bus has turned to find its way back to the A7.
The only other passenger for Suze takes the D94 to the east, my opposite direction.
Quiet morning, well-known road, quiet on this time of the day, slightly downhill (you don't see it, but you do feel it) to Bollène. It's rather cool still; I'm glad I'm wearing my socks (in my sandals). My neighbour in the bus had spotted a boulangerie ouvert, and that's where I have my first stop. As far as covid-19 is concerned, France is still quite strict; stricter than the Netherlands, as to number of customers in shops and wearing face masks. The last (masque obligatoire) will become a recurring annoyance this tour. Anyway, a coffee, a pain au chocolat, a croissant, and let's go! So nice to be surrounded by the chirping of the cicadas, nice to be back in my beloved France. But how busy this road already is, at this early hour! In Pont Saint-Esprit - nice bridge! - I deviate from my 2019 route and choose the D23 to Saint-Paulet-de-Caisson. And change from my bus attire to cycling shorts and cycling shoes. Almost eyed by an Indian looking man from behind a gate - presumably his gate. And I put on my helmet (order from my general practitioner, after my accident in April). Anyway, the D23 is slightly undulating road, less undulating than the road I started with in 2019, but I am not really looking for too many hills on this starter. I hit the D901 near Saint-Julies-de-Peyrolas, which road I will follow till Barjac. The environment is quite open, with vineyards and lavender fields.
Back in the Cévennes
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Homme heureux
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In Barjac, around 10:30h, with already 50 km on the odometer, a second bakery stop with caffeine and pastry (millefeuille) there, as well as a short encounter with two Belgians on e-bikes that have a second home in Gagnières. They tell me the previous week has brought an awful lot of rain (it seems they even have a precipitation measuring device in their garden), so: lucky me! (The forecast as far as I could see it at home was quite favorable for the oncoming week.) I decide to make a short sidestep including some climbing and a descent via Gagnières before I have lunch in Bessèges. As far as I remember I only passed this town during my longest Tour de France ever in 1987. Bessèges is a strange town; a very elongated one-way 'main street' and a roundabout way parallel to it. And that seems about it. I ride around twice before I decide about a place to sit (and eat), but have to change plans twice. The roquefort pizza is okay, but I certainly hope to hit upon more interesting plats du jour during the sequel. I cross the Cèze, and then the road becomes really nice. There's a saying in Dutch: Living like God in France, and that is definitely how I feel: Dieu à vélo en France. The road goes up and down, I cross the Cèze several times. A climb and then quite a steep 500 m down, with a storage lake in the said river to the right, to another bridge over the Cèze. As I fear the climb at the end a bit I don't make any further sidesteps
(e.g. via Sénéchas, or via Chamborigaud), though all these tiny roads on my map look VERY tempting. Even so, after a last uphill part I reach Génolhac in need of some drinks and some rest. Which I find in a supermarket just 100 m before the junction with the final section. During the break I succeed - with help from the helpdesk in Holland - to establish an internet connection (for the fist time I'll not be dependent on wifi; and I don't know whether that's really such a good thing). The road to the Col de la Pré de la Dame is barrée! What the .... ! The owner of the gîte reassures me: the blockage is further up on the road.
Barrage in the Cèze
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Oops!
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The five km (to get up some 400 m) take quite a while (and that there is another gîte after three km is quite confusing!), but I take it easy, in very low gears, and without severe effort reach the wonderfully situated first accommodation. An old farmstead (more than 300 years old, as I will learn the next morning), completely isolated. And seemingly uninhabited, but behind the third door I try I get a reaction to my yell 'Bonjour!?' I'm welcomed with lemonade and four interested ears at the picnic table with five-star view. After this welcome a quick shower and a short nap, and when I wake up for some moments I have really no idea where I am. A minor setback: I'm the only guest tonight, and the elder tenants have years ago decided not to join their guests anymore during the meals (long evenings, with always the same stories; I can well sympathize with that).
Gîte de Tourevès
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Dinner table with a view
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Anyway, good dinner, good first stage, gorgeous views (onto the Mont-Ventoux, though that one is rather hazy today), the sound of small currents, and the lovely sweet smell of the ever present chestnut trees. I'm informed that tomorrow I will share the table with a group of Belgians that sounded panicky on the telephone ("and they speak English better than French"). Around 9 p.m., sitting on 'my' porch my pen falls from my hand, sleepy as I am. Early to bed in my tiny dorm, and a very good (from shortly after 9 p.m. till 7 a.m. with only a short waking moment) and DARK (I notice when during that waking moment I have to p) night.
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