Checking in on internet feeds, watching a friend ebb closer. Kilometres of mountains between us wither as I walk the aisles of the supermarche gathering a breakfast for a silent champion. 8000cal a day equating to all you can eat croissants.
The travelleur arriviste. And showers. And puts a wash on. And shaves. And sits in a chair not attached to a post for the first time in three days. Hint of thousand yard stare is diluted by coffee, the warm human smile underneath rebuilt gently by fresh baked madeleines.
Talk and type intertwines as pasta is cooked. Posts go up and get liked. Comments reflect around the table to understanding faces in awe of the achievement being unpacked in front of them, the luxury of other people’s ears to make sense of it all exploited.
A clear autumnal sky backdrops an early night for our guest. Riding again tomorrow, for fun this time, but for now, the night of a thousand sleeps.
Panniers and brackets off. A bike stripped of it’s toughness reveals a machine that wants to have fun after all. Climb out of the village into the valley and up the winding turns between the pine trees all the time overlooking the barrier to an ever deepening gorge. Roads, empty of cars, the sky a perfect warm sea blue umbrella as far as the eye can see from this vantage point high in the Corbieres. Old times reflected on, the curiosity of catching up little and often, in between tasks, in foreign places and now here in a new home far from home, briefly but deeply connected neatly partitioning two sections of a country navigated.
A rest day ride making possible photo opportunities, making possible foraging, solidifying friendship. Ever a pleasure to ride with this friend, today, on this day, an honour to turn pedals together. His achievement only half fulfilled, to be even a tiny part of the story is a proud inclusion.
Pleasure taken in guiding fresh senses through these familiar routes. Eyes and ears that can still look after all these miles. Taste buds that yearn to hunt out almond and fig and pomegranite. Ripe offerings that will never see a plastic bag. Free. Free to those that are free. Tim years fresh grapes at every field of vines. Welcome bounty. Nature appreciated.
Villages strolled through in easy gears, taking it all in. Even re-recorded over and over, the quality doesn’t fade. A little changing but content place. Boundaries pushed become new comfort zones extended, to be extended again before complacency creeps. Downhill to the end. Cafes passed. Chasseurs passed. Out of season tourist’s pictures photobombed in the big ring. Apologies whoosh by confused sun hats. Low barriers mirror overhanging cliffs adjacent. Moped overtake. Dinner will be cassoulet, will be reason enough for pace this late in the day.
Our guest eats later than he needed to make the most of a proper bed. Early it begins once more. This home from home leave nearly over. Back to the front. Depleted energy reserves refusing to succumb, charm full charge to the end of the batteries as the waitress brings a late plate.
8am we ride the first 75 of his daily 200k together. Ideas and experiences fluent. Opinions similar, a bond of friendship strengthened more by the switchback. Carcassonne old Cite once more, 10hrs ago seems like weeks. One day with this hero of the solo ride not really enough. Pictures are taken, a hurried goodbye dispatched and he is gone into the traffic and onto the flat lands headed home. Likewise I turn and climb back into the hills under the Pyrenees that line future adventures and watch over a new home. The vendange has begun. Tractors ferry grapes and pickers to and fro. I stop at spillage. Photograph a season represented here and now on this tarmac. Think of my friend echoing in the opposite direction, eating grapes by the side of the road somewhere before dark. His stop brief, a stamp left nonetheless. He will be missed by this house of friends and bicyclists.
Click here to see more from Tim Wiggins and his travels on two wheels.