18th Day

18^th Day

            A veil of gray descended over the valley forcing the sun from its starring role the last few days.  The attendant came by exactly at eight.  She looked around, refused by offer to pay, bid me bon voyage, and left.

            I was rewarded for the torturous ride of yesterday with the most magnificent ride so far, a perfect ride for the semi serious cyclist.   It was a long ski run starting with a Black Diamond run through twisty moguls and ending on a bunny hill.  At the bottom, the road chased a stream through a wide valley.  The luscious green valley narrowed wedging the road and river between the towering walls of a canyon.

            A bald headed motorcyclist was leaning against his Harley in the shadow of the cliff.  He had on the requisite leather chaps and jacket while sporting an outlandishly wide handlebar moustache that would have made Wyatt Earp proud.

            Further along there was a lovely little town.  On the bridge I could see a ridge of apartments with outdoor patios overlooking the river.  In one, a slight woman in a dark blue smock was serving a man sitting at a round table wearing green trousers and a white wife beater t-shirt.  At the limit of the town I met a couple of Dutch tourists.  They have been on the road for three weeks.  They had those very expensive Dutch bikes.  Holland has a great traditional of cycling.  I have heard that there are 2.5 bikes for every man, woman, and child in Amsterdam.  At the train station, you will see a flood of bikes, half without locks.

            In Cahors, it was déjà vu all over again as Yogi Berra first muttered.  I had the same problem finding the Office of Tourism.  I went to the same Hotel de Ville, asked the same lady, and received the same simple directions.

            The people at the Office de Tourisme were new but still very helpful.  The perky young lady went the extra mile mapping out the afternoon journey.  You might hear God guffawing in the background and you would be right.

            The clock struck noon, like striking midnight for Cinderella and my chariot did indeed turn into a pumpkin, Dr. Jekyll turned into Mr. Hyde.  What could go wrong went immensely wrong.  Even the long-suffering Job would have complained loudly.

            First, the owner of a Turkish restaurant quoted 7 euros but charged 11 and another 4 for a small beer.  Then my treasured St. John’s cap was blown and crushed by the tires of several cars.  I was able to retrieve it but the trademarks are clearly visible.

            Out of town I found myself on a super busy highway that I could not exit for several kilometers.  On the off ramp I could not find my location, D 8, anywhere on the map to the south of Cahors.  Finally, I found it north of town.  I had cycled a busy road with a steep ascent in the wrong direction.  During the descent my speed was such that biking jacket was blown off the back of the bike like losing the sandals last year.  This time I did not go back looking. 

Back through town, I tried again.  I started on the right road but was again sidetracked.  Came back and tried again.  After several kilometers I was up in the hills and totally lost.  Two ladies in a car tried to help but to no avail.  Another lady in a car directed me down a particular path.  There was a hotel-restaurant in the middle of nowhere with a French trekker from Lyon having lunch. 

He was vey helpful making several suggestions.  I tried the second option but that road was little more than a dirt cart path.  I turned around to try the third choice and met him walking with my water bottle.  He had graciously filled it.

The third option was a serpentine route with more curves that Brigitte Bardot and more ups and downs than the stock market.  I was getting nowhere fast.  At a Church I asked a man hanging posters on an already filled billboard for help.  He suggested a route with lots of ups and downs.  The first descent was treacherously fast.  From the front bag all the maps flew in every direction.  I scrambled back to find all of them.  All the way down I was thinking about the ensuing ascent.  For the first time I considered rough camping if I could find a shelter with water.  The weather was humid and hot, which in Minnesota threatens thunderstorms.

At the bottom, the crossroads indicated the town I was looking forward.  Ahead of me was the ascent, kilometer after kilometer of bone weary spinning of the gears.  I did stop at a lavorie, which is a place where clothes were washed in the outdoors in olden times.  The shelter was well covered with water to bathe in but no drinking water. I put it in the back of mind as a possibility.

Within two kilometers I came across a campground.  After renting a space I took an extra long hot shower.  At the camp store I bought half of carafe of red wine and three pieces of slice cheese. 

About nine I hear the sounds of shells exploding.  It could only be the thunder that I as expecting.  I quickly moved everything beneath the slim overhang of the restroom-shower area.  Not a moment too soon before the heavens opened and a deluge of biblical proportions fell.  Sheets of rain were driven into the ground.  A Dutch woman who had been using the restroom soon joined me.  She was less than 50 feet from their camper but she would have been drenched if she tried for it.  Instead she and I waited the storm, lightening, thunder, and rain for over 30 minutes.  Her husband came to rescue her with one of those red and white umbrellas over the tables.

They and a large group of Dutch campers have been coming to this campground for the last 13 years.

After the storm I moved all myself to a larger shelter and settled in for the night.  Now for the last bothersome thing of the day; there is a sound coming out of the darkness like a wind chime.  I looked for the source but discovered that it is coming from several spots.

A day like today reminds me that this is adventure.  The ride in the morning will be long remembered but not with the same intensity of the afternoon.   As demanding as it was physically, the emotional and mental toll was even more tiring.  But I survived.  I did problem solving with severe consequences on the line.  This my friends is way better than 9 to 5.

Au revoir!!