• 1194 km cycled (longest day 85 km, shortest day 40 km)
• 1 punctured rear inner tube (Emma’s bike, Emma helped Justin to fix)
• 1 punctured tent fly!
• 9 nights in campsites, 10 nights free camping, 6 nights in real beds
• 9 different varieties of French bread consumed (inc home made bread from Yves)
• 9 rainy days but plenty of the others were cold and/or windy
• 76 fresh French pastries consumed (estimated) including pain au chocolat, pain au raisin, pain au chocolat et raisin, almond croissant, blueberry tart, regular croissant
• 2 times the Rainbow Warrior bombing was mentioned
• 4 meals eaten at French restaurants/cafes
• 1 dishes washing kit lost (disappeared from back of bike in l’’Asse)
• 1 time we were chased by a dog
• 4 gorges we cycled the length of

Justin’s best day: Canoeing down the Gorges de l’Ardeche with brilliant blue skies, rapids to shoot and picnic lunch along the way.

Emma’s most memorable meals of France: Fish soup with boats with Ingrid and Yves tied with goats cheese, potatoes and beetroot in a mint-carpeted free camp.

After stretching our legs on the ride towards Gorges du Tarn (read realising we had lost some fitness in our six rest days) we were looking forward to a dinner of our remaining Roquefort cheese and a peaceful free camp spot. Emma quickly spotted a nice pitch beside the river in a disused rafting and rope climbing park. As we wheeled our bikes down a light rain began to fall and we both looked at one another thinking “Great back to wet free camping!”.

Friday dawned cold, grey and still raining and me in a miserable mood. I was beginning to wonder if France had something against us by seeming to rain almost every single day we had been on the road. I handed the camera over to Emma for the day to document our ride. Emma reports she enjoyed the tiny villages built on sheer cliffs across the river and the carpet of tiny flowers that lined the roads, but thought it would have been nicer if we hadn’t ridden it on a French holiday weekend.

We shared the busy road with motorcyclists and camper vans to the very touristy Saint Enimie. Stopping for supplies I decided to buy a baguette which was tiny, expensive and worst of all still partially frozen! After our cold-ish snack we continued on quieter roads until finding a dry spot to cook a hot lunch and dry the tent. The day ended in a nice campsite at Bedoues which had some of the home comforts I had missed plus a large rabbit enclosure filled with fat happy rabbits.

Saturday the sun shone and the birds sang as we cycled alongside the Tarn river for much of the day. The morning consisted of a gentle 24km climb uphill through the Cevennes stopping in Le Pont de Montvert for bakery and coffee top-ups. Here Emma picked up a flyer about a local bull fighting festival and we deliberated over whether to attend as a birthday treat for me. After determining that the bull would be hurt I decided it wasn’t something I wanted to see. That afternoon we descended past waterfalls and huge boulder fields with picnicking  families. After passing up a few windy and forested free camp spots we eventually settled on a place close to the road but hidden and surrounded by wild mint, both smelling lovely and giving us materials for warm cups of tea.

Sunday we set off towards the Gorges de L’Ardeche with a quiet morning other than an encounter with a friendly cat, finding clean public toilets with hot water for a wash in and my knee giving a few twinges after the 80km of the day before. We headed into the Gorge past a multitude of campsite and kayak hire places expecting a downhill ride along the river. After a few kilometres of flat riding, a spot of cave exploring and enjoying the river we were confronted with a steep uphill climb in a head wind to the edge of the gorge leaving the river far below. At the lookout point we got approving looks from a few very tired road cyclists on carbon fibre bikes with no luggage. We continued riding the edge of the gorge for the rest of the day, passing many viewpoints where we watched a parade of canoeists in the river far below. At lunch time we decided if we could find a campsite and the price was right we would canoe the river for my birthday using money donated as a leaving gift by my work colleagues. Reaching Sauze we found campsite and canoe hire and bedded down after an early evening swim, talking nervously about Eskimo rolls and shooting the rapids.

Monday morning we were ready to go bright and early drinking a quick espresso in our wetsuits before a short van ride back over the road we had cycled the previous day. Our hopes of a refresher canoe lesson were dashed when the driver opened the door of the van gestured us out and pointed towards the river, a few minutes later we were paddling downstream. The rest of our paddle down the gorge saw us alternate between believing we were in complete control of the canoe as we coasted through rapids and finding ourselves facing the wrong way up the river as we were spun backwards. Lunch was eaten on the riverside as we watched a lone paddle float by followed a short while later by a man attempting to swim his canoe down the river. The scenery along the river is awe inspiring, and in tandem with peaceful moments of coasting along, made you feel like you have discovered a secret lost land.

We cycled on from the Gorges de L’Ardeche towards the flat vine covered terrain of the Rhone Valley with a feeling of disbelief that the prehistoric gorge landscapes we had cycled through over the previous days were truly in France.

Breakfast

Croissants (we’re in France, you’ve got to have them…), apple and pear porridge with rhubarb jam on top.

Snack

Very long sugary pastry with nuts on top, espressos with biscuits.

Lunch

Baguettes, potatoe tartlet and sprits (giant shortbreads).

Dinner

Boiled potatoes with salad and two types of grilled goats cheese (prepared on dusk at a minty free-camp), pain aux chocolat, pain aux raisin

When we arrived we discovered that Yves had contacted Hilleberg and ordered some seam sealer which would fix our tent problems, however due to French public holidays it became clear this might be delayed in reaching us. Much to the disappointment of Yves and Ingrid we decided that we would need to leave after six nights to stay on our schedule for meeting Emma’s parents in Italy.

From the very beginning we were made to feel welcome in their home with a guided tour of the house and the many cellars below each holding a new surprise, not least of which was a fully functioning home bakery. On our second day we were entertained with a visit to the Roquefort cheese factory where we saw the caves used to give the different cheeses their unique flavours. On the return journey we visited Millau and the world’s tallest suspension bridge. Over the following days we walked around the local village with lessons on how to identify wild strawberries and which other plants were edible (or at least interesting to taste).

Our days seemed to pass by rapidly with cups of coffee, conversation and wonderful regional food prepared by Yves each dish with a special story, leading to evenings where we rarely made it to bed before midnight. We worked on our bikes a little and I helped Ingrid with some network problems, learning a little Windows OS German along the way. We took over cooking duties for one evening making a range of different Indian curries after we had struggled to devise a traditional New Zealand menu and learning Yves and Ingrid liked Indian food.

The day before we left Yves had planned a BBQ and bread making lesson for us. The bread making was awesome watching Yves do something that he obviously enjoys and has put so much time and energy into he made it look effortless. When he handed the dough rolling over to Emma and I we quickly saw how hard it was. We talked as usual for hours over the BBQ lunch and finally went to bed late at night sad to be leaving and joking with one another that we could give up our cycle tour and stay with our new friends Yves and Ingrid for the summer.

We thought we’d had a lot of snow fall on our secluded hilltop camp, but the torrential rain to follow melted it away. With rain easing, we decided to pack up Bessie, our Hilleberg Allak tent, and seek lower ground. As we cycled on we discovered that we hadn’t born the brunt of the storm, just a valley away several feet of snow carpeted the ground.

Cycling uphill into the whiteness (me with shorts on, both with cotton socks), we decided that it would just be the highest reaches of the pass that were blanketed, so we’d be in a valley and out of the cold soon enough. There was tree debris all over the roads and we reached areas where snow ploughs hadn’t cleared properly, leaving only two small paths for us in the middle of the road. The roads were quiet apart from the occasional car, probably surprised to see two cyclists coming towards them. The novelty of snow cycling wore off as the low cloud obscured any view ahead and the descents didn’t reduce the snow cover. We calculated that the nearest town was 30 kilometres from our campsite. Travelling at a snails pace it was three hours before we got out of the snow, fingers and toes freezing.

Back on dry land we put Bessie over a fence to dry in ferocious winds while we ate reheated paella which we’d brought (unknowingly cold) from a market stall in the first town we came to. Over mint tea later in the afternoon I decided finding a campsite was a priority. Unfortunately the one we picked had pretty poor facilities: I managed to stand under a cold shower which felt like being hit by a fire hydrant and Justin wisely decided against having one. We both felt a bit cold, weary and despondent.

Lying down in the tent out of the wind, Justin noticed a glimpse of light through Bessie’s skin. We don’t know how it had happened, but she had been torn. It was hard to deal with our home being broken, and we didn’t know if it had been something caught in the snow and winds or if we had ripped her by trying to dry her out. We came up with worse case scenarios and wondered how much it would cost us, and how long we might have to be without a tent for. Worse still, it was late enough that we couldn’t call the tent manufacturers for advice. After the trials by snow and hard cycling the tent damage somehow assumed a lot more importance than it deserved to, and the day ended with some frazzled tempers and hair pulling.

The next day we made a few calls and sent a few emails to Hilleberg. After asking if we had a sewing machine with us, they looked at photos we had emailed and advised that the tears were minor enough that they could be fixed with seam sealer. We didn’t have that, but no major repairs needed so maybe not such a crisis. At the same time we received an email from Ingrid and Yves offering a place to stay if we were passing their place. With warm showers and not being outside in the cold and wet in mind, we calculated it would be two days ride from where we were and rapidly accepted.

As it was still freezing outside we treated ourselves to a hot lunch in Lamilou les Bains which we paid for with 20 euros from Emma’s leaving work present. Thanks all at Money Advice Trust, we needed a little bit of comfort at the end of a few very cold days.

Stopping for bike chores and washing for a day at a 3 euro campsite in St Marsal, I ran about in shorts and a singlet, Justin left our Ortlieb water carrier in the sun to warm up for outdoor showering and we basked in the sun like lizards waking up from hibernation. We had reached France and an endless summer utopia lay before us, or so we thought.

Thursday morning, as we packed up from the campsite thunder rumbled in the distance and dark clouds rolled towards us. Our plan was to climb into the mountains up a tiny forest track just past La Bastide so we could stay at a Refugio for a night before heading into less mountainous areas. The small roads through the gorge were covered by low clouds which obscured any view, it was wet and hard climbing and at the turn off to the track we decided it would be pointless to cycle up two more passes to get to a high place in the clouds and headed North towards the village of Vinca instead. On the way out of the valley, the rain let up and clouds dispersed enough to show some snow capped mountains, just a hint of the views we were missing out on. The miserable weather did bring out the wildlife, including two salamanders and a scattering of deer standing by the side of the road. We made a sodden camp in a vineyard just outside a town called St Paul de Fenouillet.

Friday morning the pattern repeated – clouds as dark as mountains crawled towards us, bringing rain as we stopped to look at the church built into the rocks within Gorges de Galamus. The wetness only eased when we stopped for coffee at Rennes les Bains, where a spiritual festival was underway. Starting to cotton onto the pattern of French place names, we noticed old roman thermal baths as we left the village and jumped off our bikes to have a look at these cool stand alone tubs. They were empty but we could see warm steam and hear water rushing through the rocks underneath us. After some investigation we found accessible water – three people were bathing on the edge of the river using water from a pipe which must have led from the same source. We were determined to soak in some warm water and found our way down to the waters edge. Two things scuppered our plans to get warm and wet – a large group from the festival down the road arrived and filled the tiny space before we had organised ourselves and at the same time the skies opened again meaning anything we weren’t wearing under rain gear was going to get soaked.

Wanting warm showers at least, we tried a campsite about 10 km further on in Arques. The reception was very closed, and drenched, I sheltered from the rain in the doorway while Justin wandered the holiday village site attached to it. He came back with news of some door-less cabins which were out of view of the holiday homes down the road and just big enough to fit two bicycles, a tent and two sodden cyclists. We spent the afternoon concocting reasons for these buildings to exist (maybe they’re just built for wet cyclists?) and enjoyed a roof over our heads.

It was still cold on Sunday but we did manage some rain free cycling as we headed into Carcassone. Back in Bilbao our city break treat was to stay in a hostel, here I was happy enough with a campsite with showers. We wandered around the turrets of the old city, decided against spending treat money to eat within the old walls and retired to our tents early.

Late out of Carcassone on a grey Monday afternoon we headed towards a mountain range called Montagne Noir via a quick look at the Canal Midi as we left town. We cycled for a flat (and dry) hour or so before stopping for a coffee. Some locals suggested it might be particularly cold, but we headed on finding a secluded free camp spot up a walking track leading towards Castans. We had managed to have a quick wash before the rain started again, cooking in light rain, then putting the tent up early as the rain really started to pound down around us.

As we hunkered down for the night we decided if it was still raining in the morning we wouldn’t rush to get on the road. It was a really cold night and rain was still bucketing down when we woke up turning to snow showers by 8am.

We both put a few more layers of clothes on, and watched the snow build up on the outside of the tent. Justin braved the outdoors to put out guy ropes and bring in food supplies. In between card games and napping we poked our heads out during the day and watched the clouds move and streams of water form under our tent. The snow turned into heavy rain and wind and we decided we could afford the day off. We spent the day cocoon-like in our sleeping bags, feeling like proper hardy adventurers but wondering when exactly we had been robbed of summer.

Em and I have spent some of the weekend planning our next bike trip which is a 6 day route around Normandy in France. Its going to be a pretty much circular route starting at Dieppe heading west along the coast, back inland to follow the seine to Rouen and then north along the avenue verte to Dieppe

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Ive also been watching the TV coverage of the London leg of the 2008 Olympic torch relay with all of the associated protests. Its a fairly highly charged event and the police presence gives it a fairly ominous overtone I think. I think the very high level of media attention will hopefully raise the profile of the Free Tibet movement and bring the issues around China’s occupation of Tibet out into the open.

On a somewhat different note I’ve been investigating the new .Net MVC framework and am really impressed with how flexible and easy it is to work with. I’m still in the early stages of using this but combining it with the ADO.Net Entity Framework Tools as per the instructions on Brad Abrams tutorial.