today started off, and remained, on a bad note. e and i had the customary breakfast of some bread with jam [the sound of music just came to mind! ~a drink with jam and bread...~] strong coffee, yoghurt with muesli, etc. with the group. after we brought our luggage down and grabbed our bikes i aired up the tired that i told guide p last night was going flat. would someone please invent a self-patching tire for bikes?!
so when the group set off on our bikes at 9:30 sharp, my tire had gone flat in the space of about 5 minutes, so i had to wait with guide c to change out the back wheel. when that was over, the group was nowhere to be seen and guide c didn't know which direction to go. some sacajawea* he's turned out to be. so after he called to guide e, the most knowledgeable one, we were off. he told me that in order to catch up i needed to draft behind him and we needed to peddle as fast as possible. right...on this p.o.s peugeot with bald tires and a bent wheel in the back? um, okay.
by the time we made it to the beginning of the first hill my energy was gone from drafting behind sacajawea, and i was quickly shifting down to the granny gears. when i say that this hill was tough, i mean it was more of a mountain foothill than a normal hill. of course, guide c couldn't be bothered waiting for me so he left me behind.
it took me a full thirty minutes to reach the top, winding back and forth. of course by mid-hill there was a continuous stream of curse words were spewing forth across my lips out-loud. i was drenched in sweat already and not even close to the top. at one point there was an opening in the stone barrier wall and i seriously considered hurling myself and the wretched bike over the edge to end both, my pain, and the bike's suffering.
once i got to the top the whole group was there and resting, their bikes dropped along side the road. i put my bike down for about 2 minutes and then suddenly i heard guide e say, "everyone ready to go? to your bikes!" at this point the curse words were still coming, though more muted now for fear of making others blush. we stopped about an hour later in a tiny hamlet called st. brugière to have a rest in the town square. i layed down on the first park bench i saw, even though it was in the sun, the breeze felt great on my sweaty chest.
my dear husband e tried to get me to move to the shade but i wasn't moving. i was fine right there. everyone asked me if i was okay, as i suppose the loook of hatred was written clearly across my face, as is often the case with me. can't a guy rest on a park bench without being hounded by everyone?
when we left st. brugière, we rode another hour or so until we came to a small town called lussan, perched up on a hill like a medieval castle. in fact it was a medieval town and the castle was now the city hall. we biked up the steep hill and parked our bikes to have a stroll around. cute town, nice and quiet. until the clock tower began to ring. i'm not sure why, but so far all of the bells ring out the hour twice- once on the hour, and once several minutes later. sort of like a snooze button, perhaps.
after a short break i was good to go, and the group headed out again, stopping after another couple of hours in a small town - a beautiful town - called la roque sur ceze. it's main street was lined with huge sycamore trees and a small stream. we all gathered at one restaurant for lunch. e and i had pizza and a salad. what a nice way to relax.
after lunch we headed out at a nice pace until we came to the mother of all hills. it was blazing hot and by now i am dripping with sweat. [side note: when reading a map, if the road shows alot of twisting turns, like a serpent, it most likely indicates a steep hill!] after each curve you could only ever see the next surve, all heading up. eventually there was no one around me- some had gone ahead, and some had fallen behind; i could only focus on me at the time, though i tried to keep visual track of e, who was ahead of me a short distance. after about an hour of climbing, and probably just half-way up the mountain, i was losing it. i saw that ahead of me, across a ravine, e had stopped and was waiting for me, or taking a break. he was 2 curves ahead of where i was. i couldn't go on much longer. i tried to walk my bike up but it was more difficult that riding up. how long could i keep pedaling in my granny gear? after what seemed like an eternity, i reach e and i stopped, by now i was sobbing telling e, "how i couldn't go on? that i was sorry to be a disappointment, but that this is not a vacation for me, this is not fun, and i am not an athlete. i couldn't go on."
that face that he just stood there and held me meant more to me than anything else. being the best husband in the world, he just whispered to me how great i was doing and how difficult it is and how much he loved me, that i will make it, and it's okay not to like this sort of vacation. i felt like the british marathon runner from the olympics this year that just stopped with only about 6 km left to run. she stopped in tears and sat down on the side of the road and cried.
after about 10 minutes of resting, e still whispering how much he loves me and i telling him how much i loved him, and thanks for supporting me and thanks for helping me, we got back on our bikes and continued the ride up the mountain.
at long last, after about another hour, we reached the top, or at least the road leveled out and there was a village there. a tiny village, scattered houses, and no clear center. we rode on until we saw the valley before us, which meant a long coast down hill to the town of aigueze where our hotel was. at last, at long last. i stopped, took a couple of pictures, put on some lip balm [e calls it lip gloss!] kissed e and down we went.
we found our way into aigueze but finding the hotel was a little bit of a hunt. aigueze thirty eyars ago was nothing but ruins of an old castle. today it is a tourist resort sort of place, an quaint little, picturesque village. we checked into our rooms, luckily they were poolside, and headed out for a beer. dinner that night was in the cellar of the old castle. a gourmet dinner served by a beautiful woman who was not only cook, but also waitress and hostess. i had the magret of duck.
* - sacajawea being the indian maiden that was a guide for lewis and clarke as they explored the louisiana purchase
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