21st Day

21^st Day

Bonjour!!!

            “Up and at them,” shouted the drill sergeant or the football coach.  The sun is a glimmer of hope in the eastern horizon.  I had a nice breakfast and set off.  The night could not have gone better, no lights, no noise.  I greased up like I was going to swim the English Channel.

I turned north out of Monbalen.  Within two kilometers I see signs for a campground, a combination equestrian center and campground.  Two kilometers farther on I hit N 21 with cars streaming by line canal boats linked together.

Choosing wisely, I did a one-eighty back to Laroque-Timbaut.  There I took the less travelled, thank you Robert Frost, and safer road to Penne-d’Agenais.  Words are insufficient to describe this wonder.  It rises magically from the carpet floor like a rocket at Cape Canaveral.  Like a pilgrim, I walked the incline, 1.5 km, to the top.  At the Office de Tourisme, the two ladies were off the charts helpful.  This is a point on the Walk.  In fact, there is a Hotel La Compostella for the walkers that also offer meals.

I was able to access the Internet in the Tourist Office.  The older of the two ladies handed over a code that stretched across a page, 26 characters, 20 numbers and 6 letters.  If you care to calculate this, it is 26 to the sixth power times 10 to the twentieth power, you will come up with a number slightly less than the likeability factor of Carol and Ron Zeppa.   

From this wonder I was off to Villeneuve-sur-Lot, a much bigger with many of its medieval buildings still intact. The Cathedral is new by comparison having been built in the 19^th century and constructed entirely of red bricks.  Its tower rises high above the town.  Equally tall are the two remaining city towers that guarded the entrances.  I

The young lady at the tourist office showed the way to Cassenull by a bike path.  She also sold me a small jar of honey and a can of canard (duck) pate.  The products unique to an area are sold at the various Offices de Tourisme.

The bike path went well except for a series of gates at every intersection, like a shalom run on a bunny hill.  The path was on the bed for a former railroad.  Where once the trains took precedence now the cars were the high and mighty.  I was apprehensive because in the past the bike paths have ranged from super to gravelly farm roads.  It was nice to be free from traffic and it actually cut off 1.4 km from the announced highway route.

According to the tourist map, there was supposed to be a campground in Saint-Pastour, my hopeful target.  But once again nada!  As I bicycled on I hoped that one my appeared like the day before.  Not until Cancon, 12 km away, did a sign indicate a campground off to right.

Cycling out of town toward the campground I was given a taste of French humor.  Bone weary, I asked a tall thin man leaning on the fence in his front yard if this was the way to camping.  He nodded and hollered, “Yes, another 8 km.”  With brakes screeching, I turned and stared back dumb foundling at him.  With a smile stretching from ear to ear he shouted, “Only kidding.  It’s just ahead.”  I am not sure what I would have done if he were not.  Would my legs or spirit have lasted another 8 km? 

The campground was in an idyll location near a tiny lake and surrounded by woods, a nice tidy package carved from the farmland.  A bar-restaurant and pool stretched on one side of the lake while the campground was situated on the other side.  Several fishermen had their long poles in the water.  After setting up camp, I cycled back to the bar for a cold beer to have with dinner, 

As I was eating a wolf-like dog came racing in, howling and growling, looking like a Jack London creature.  He had that lean and hungry look and I was on his menu.  He sniffed every inch of my camp space.  His curly hair was a mottled black-brown.  His owner soon appeared and I am sure saying in French that the dog was harmless.  He was as scruffy as the dog, wearing dirty fatigues and smelling like a shower was a distant memory.  He finally got the hint that I did not want either him or his dog around.  He marched out of camp huffing and puffing on his cigar, the dog hugging his legs.

I had another night in my 1000 star hotel!

Au revoir!!!