20-07-2014 Nootdorp – Rotterdam / Bergerac – Cadouin 15 + 39 km
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On Sunday Enya accompanies me to Rotterdam Airport, about 15 km cycling, and although there is some slight irritation of my weakest knee, I decide to board my bike. Having got rid of my bike plus bags, having passed the customs, outside on the sunny terrace (it feels like 30 degrees!) I meet a family who saw us, uniformly dressed, preparing one bike for the plane. They tell me they were wondering who would leave and who would stay on the ground. The trip goes smoothly and around 3 p.m., according to schedule, we land at Bergerac Airport (which compares to Rotterdam Airport as Rotterdam compares to Schiphol ;-)
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 A true conveyor belt ;-) |
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 Schrödingers bike |
Weatherwise Bergerac also compares inferior to Rotterdam: dark clouds cover the sky and my plastic bag containing my four bike panniers comes off the (only) conveyor belt (in that respect Bergerac is a 'real' airport) wet. Under twenty pairs of eyes, and while a heavy thunderstorm passes by, I readjust my bike, no damage done luckily, wash my hands and drink half a bottle of water to help swallow a pill (three times a day!), and a good half an hour later cautiously get rolling. There are still a few drops, but soon the rain stops. The wind is very much in my favour: strong and from the west. I immediately get onto a tiny track east along the south side of the airfield, slightly apprehensive it may end nowhere (it isn't a D-road), but it turns out right, connecting nicely to the D14. Albeit these favorable circumstances my knee feels a bit soar. Damn! The average speed (one of the extra features of my new odometer – it also contains a thermometer) shows a poor 14.5 km/h after half an hour with tail wind and hardly any climbing. Very poor indeed! However, I notice that the hurting doesn't get worse when I put some more pressure on the pedals, so gradually my confidence increases. I follow quiet roads over slightly hilly fields, fields with variegated agriculture: corn, grapes, tournesols, ....
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 It's so |
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 GOOD |
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 to be back |
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 IN FRANCE |
Later on I pass through some woods and the slopes get a bit longer. I've taken my old Michelin maps, the ones from before 1990, on which a lot of elevation information is given – essential information for a handicapped guy like me – and I learn I stay below 150 m. All the time the clouds are impressive – however, half of the time I'm riding in the sun. I 'save' time by eating two cereal bars from the pannier on my handlebar, and when I do stop to get some bread from another pannier am happily surprised to find three coconut cakes. It's a small miracle I reach Cadouin without any more rain – in just two and a half hours – for 39 km. Cadouin is a lively village with its abbayé and its jardins panoramiques. I 'check in' at the youth hostel, in the old monastery itself, around six-thirty.
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 Cadouin: main street |
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 The youth hostel/abbey | |
 My bed(room) |
21-07-2014 Cadouin – Gramat 91 km
Notwithstanding the quietness – or owing to the hard mattress (?) – I wake up early. Breakfast starts at eight, so precisely at this time I present myself in the breakfast room, synchronous with an English (possibly Australian) couple, whom I had some small talk with the evening before, and whom I change some words with again. The other two (French) couples completely ignore the other people around them. Breakfast is rather comprehensive, particularly to French standards: apart from coffee, bread (baguette) and jam there's also cereals and fresh fruits (a.o. apricots, presumably from the garden). Outside it's rather cloudy, but the lady who runs the place this morning tells me normally there shouldn't be much rain today. I settle the bill (€ 0,20 taxe de séjour – the rest I already paid in advance) and shortly after nine I'm on the road. Like yesterday I take the wrong direction out of town. The small road I've planned to follow starts with a climb with a nice view back onto the abbey. Alas my first selfie-while-riding fails. My doctor has advised me to ride at most 60 km per day, but the most direct route to Gramat (where I also have already booked a bed from Nootdorp) is 90 km (and as you can conclude from the distance mentioned above I've stuck to that route). Three weeks ago I still thought I could easily cover 130 – 150 km through this 'easy' terrain. Now I have all the time in the world to leisurely enjoy the quiet roads through slightly rolling fields, staying between 100 m and 350 m all day. My old Michelin map (from '85) still serves perfectly. Belves is one of the picturesque villages I pass through. If it goes up, which it does almost half of the time, I quickly change to very low gears; baby gears or rather: old man's gears. However, at least I do not slow down again to the pace of the first twenty km from Bergerac . . . . All around I see dark clouds again, but every now and then I ride in the sun as well; after a short climb I even pull of my long sleeved shirt. It's just lovely to let the road pass under me, just feel the wind, be one with my bike, feel the road go up, feel the road go down, look around me, notice the serene landscape, and let the time pass by. I feel great (and I don't feel my knee). In May and June I usually rode strokes of 50 to 70 km before having a break, today I have a break after some 30 km, in Saint-Laurent-le-Vallée, where I notice a small café with a sign ouvert right when it starts to rain.
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 First 'successful' selfie |
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 Lovely quiet roads | |
 One of these picturesque villages |
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 Coffee time |
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 France's granary | |
 Sunny lunch time |
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 Lovely, | |
 lovely, |
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 lovely, |
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 quiet roads |
In Couzou, halfway to Gramat, I cross my route from 1989, the last étape from Cahors to Souillac – the first Tour de France with my Koga Miyata! Normally, i.e. in better shape, I would have turned north to remake the picture(s) of Rocamadour, but today it is more sensible to stick to the shortest route. In Couzou a bar sign unjustly promises ouvert. Luckily I still have two last (sticky) coconut cakes. I don't have much fate in the shabby drinks machine, and I'm not that desperate; I still have some water. From Couzou the road stays quite even, and around five-thirty I reach Gramat and pass the gîte without noticing. From the tourist office I learn where to find it. It is a very nice gîte, run by three friendly people. Also laughably cheap, € 26,– for demi pension. With nine people it's almost complet, or is it? Dinner is lovely and lively, though 75 % of the talking is done by one of the three tenants (the exact status of whom stays unclear to me), who knows a lot about history, about the history/miracles of Rocamadour in particular. At the end almost all the guests are a bit fed up with all his sermons, but a (very pretty) Mum keeps him going by continuing to 'fuel' him with questions. During the infusions – for me verveine as usual – we present each other our favorite music via Youtube. Which is nice! Later on I call my Dad to congratulate him on his birthday. Which congratulations are returned (as usual!).