Coffee outside. Work started early on the house opposite. Too early. Adventures are brought forward. Autumn crept in over the weekend, sun now reaching deep into the terrace warming grateful paws. Clip clop cleats up and down marble stairs echo sentiments of intent all round.
Not quite arm warmers weather yet, but maybe before the next village market. Car horn blasts enter the valley. Incoming bread. Slippers and workboots emerge and queue, shuffle, chat. Christine declares no pastries. The last village eats well this breakfast. The boon of being the tail end of the run. The makeshift shop counter dashboard of this old Citroen van so coated in years of crumbs most information below the glass line is obscured.
Pump, tube, tool, Clif bar stuffed. Wheels turn, freewheels clack, brake rub reminds of truing needs. A last Summer blast is a first Autumnal gulp. Gilet under saddle might well be needed. Leaves have migrated south. Birds have migrated south. Colours change by the day. A place so beautiful under blue sky of dry summer concentrates, boils down it’s riches into pockets of crisp clear intensity, colours reaching out to be tasted. Eyes on the road, but it’s so hard not to look up and absorb, be absorbed into this tapestry.
Pass and be passed. Climbing col one of three sees an old lady smiling on flat pedals and a basket of baguettes, but no cars. ‘Bon Courage‘ smiled all round, lunch is imminent for someone. Wind up, corners cut out the wind noise, glimpse the Pyrenees to the left. How long no snow up there? Weeks will change views. Clouds stay away, cling to mountains for company. Wind blows in from the sea, just out of shot over the next set of hills. Warm breeze, but only on every other turn.
Down 15k before up. Wind through villages scented with potatoes and garlic and herbs. Meat cooks slowly in corners for hard working hands and tails will get scraps. Route sections with names. The first places we rode here. ‘God ‘n’ Goats’, ‘Little Arizona‘, ‘Fitzcarraldo‘ – they all mean something to someone in one guise or another, a lot to me.
Col two lost in long conversation. About things trivial but somehow relevant here. Simplicity rules. Pretty much it’s all about bread isn’t it? Conclusions drawn for the morning’s third up. Stopping to take photos, always stopping. Too much stopping. Always with the #baaw. Intentions reminded of a more basic phone to preclude this faff. #faffarazzi.
Numbers split by ability. Climbing talent shows it’s hand, fitness shows it’s hand, light bikes and humans ebb away. Views over a drop to the right, a sight. Hidden pillbox. Ruined fort. Bullet holed church walls. Three eras of defence span centuries. All sitting side by side with their silent history through stories in different dialects. Catalan stickers on cars. The border not so far away here. Drop down through the chateau, the dog always on one side of the road of the other dozing looks up then drops it’s head, no threat, more sleep.
Tourists are gone. Replaced by miniature tractors towing open trailers filled with grapes. Guess the quantity piles bumble to and fro through the emptied streets. Giving way gives way to waves of thanks. Caps and helmets nodded. Off to the cave. Whole villages smell of wine. Running taps, down from the mountains pour into the gutter diluting the red overflow. Torrents of rouge. Eau Non Potable. Sunflowers dry in a doorway, the long low sun casting one last function before season change is complete. Picture taking awakens the hunting dogs of this household. Their pen rattles to barks and grabbing claws. Quiet little villages like tiny bubbles of life, cocooned sounds and smells and howls and meows.
Home spin home. Good cadence no talking. Wind push makes for feeling like gods. Leaves drop and scatter. Sun is bright but the air is crisp. Summer is wonderful, but it is just the starter. Autumn is the preferred ride here.
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Soundtrack for this ride? Don’t mock.. I’m in Europe now remember! https://youtu.be/srPJ-s5uMbI