clairedavieswriter

Bernard and I put in a proper shift today – Dolly Parton could accurately have described it as pedalling from 9 to 5. We also passed the 1,000 kilometre mark for the tour overall.

Unlike the nice French couple I chatted to on the voie verte yesterday, who were spending what sounded like a very pleasant fortnight cycling along the Lot, I was voluntarily opting to leave the valley, and that could only mean one thing. We took a last look at the vignobles de Cahors at Prayssac, and the river at Castelfranc, and headed for the hills.

In the blink-and-you-miss-it hamlet of Bastide du Vert, I learned that saffron is grown around here: truly, every day on a bike is a school day.

I loved the fact that this little river – barely the width of a double bed at this point – still warranted a sign, and that the chestnut tree in the background had been artfully sculpted to avoid the telephone wires.

I was to become quite familiar with the Vert, as I followed it gently upstream for the next two hours.

Across water meadows scattered with buttercups, crickets chirruped as loudly as birds. The hillsides on both sides of the little valley were densely wooded, with oak, elder, chestnut and hawthorn all vying for space. The oaks weren’t the blousy, broad skirted variety we have at home, but their French country cousins – lean and gnarled from a lifetime of striving to survive in the bone dry soil.

After two hours of pedalling steadily uphill, and only a paltry 22k from Puy, I reached the surprisingly substantial town of Catus. Aside from some useful public amenities…

Its Mairie also boasted a couple of uncompromising reminders of the past:

By midday, I was glad of any shade, but even in the heat it was a lovely ride:

However, things were about to take a turn for the worse. Perhaps Guillaume was just distracted…

Whatever the reason, he first failed to alert me when I took the wrong turn, which caused me an unnecessary climb in the blazing sun, and then directed me (not for the last time today) down a rough farmer’s track. On the plus side, there was zero traffic, and, when I wasn’t looking out for sharp rocks in front of my wheel, it was quite scenic.

The sting in the tail was a set of gritty hairpin bends at the end of the valley that eventually brought me, in virtually liquid form, to the plateau above. Here I am at the top, gently perspiring, and enjoying the leek quiche I’d bought in the boulangerie in Puy: there were no vegetarian sandwiches.

Bernard and I pedalled easily along the ridge for over 10k, during which we officially entered the old province of Quercy, famous for its limestone cliffs, caves and plateaux.

From the hilltop town of Labastide Murat, we enjoyed a lovely descent through open woodlands…

But then after lulling us with an easy section of straight, flat, wide main road for a few miles, Guillaume played his joker du jour. He really excelled himself this time. Aside from being overgrown, entirely deserted and in the middle of nowhere..

… the track was very much of the bone-shaking, tyre-slashing, spoke-busting variety – don’t be fooled by the apparently benign surface in the photos – there were rocks as big as my fist and as sharp as razors. In parts I was forced to walk for fear of doing Bernard a mischief. This went on for some time…

But Bernard was thoroughly stoic, and by the time we reached our destination seemed none the worse for the experience, though his chain may need some more attention soon. As I write, his somewhat dusty frame is gracing the hotel’s entrance lounge.

Lacapelle Marival has an impressive castle…

And some fine historic buildings…

But I was more struck by these plaques on the castle wall – particularly the stridently imperative tone of the one on the left, and the tragically topical nature of the one on the right:

But to end on a lighter note, this was the sign that made me smile today, advertising a goat-led Christmas tree recycling business:

Tomorrow, I continue north east, heading for my second night with Warmshowers hosts, in Arpajon sur Cère, near Aurillac.