Thunder and lightning crash around Rosie throughout the night, but the rain has stopped by 7:30 when I climb out to get myself organised for today’s ride. This will be the shortest ride of the whole journey, as we are going to be ending up at the house of our friends Mark and Harri, who live in a beautiful place at the upper end of the river Dordogne, just inside the departement of the Lot.
Last night’s storm has brought the temperature down considerably thankfully, and the forecast for today is cloudy and a maximum of 25°, so I actually contemplate putting on a long-sleeved jersey for the ride. As the sun rises a thick bank of cloud nestling in the valley beneath us starts to rise, and my journey down from the farm to the main road is through damp, misty and unfamiliar cold air. The heavy rain has washed a lot of gravel out of the sides of the road, so I have to pick my way down carefully to avoid skidding on the tight corners.
The D47 road picks its way through another one of the limestone gorges towards the East, and after a few miles I turn off left onto the D48, which turns out to be one of the most enjoyable stretches of cycling of the entire journey so far. Following a small river up through a wooded valley, there are some beautiful panoramic stretches, cool tree-lined gentle descents and almost no traffic. This lasts for about an hour, and I next arrive at the village of St Genies. This seems to be something of a popular village with tourists, as many people with cameras wander around an old, church-like building in the centre. I find the local boulangerie, score a croissant and pain aux raisins and settle down at the Bistrot de Louise for my morning coffee.
The road from the café drops down to a river, and then I take a back road route up through empty, forested countryside with a number of climbs and descents, past several foul-smelling pig farms until I reach a village called Gignac where I find a table and bench in front of the local church where I can eat my sandwich. Again, everything is shut and there is nobody around, although occasionally I hear a voice or a cough which indicates that there is life.
It is now just after 1 o’clock, and the end of this short day is coming into sight, so I set off and cycle through Cressenac and Hopital St Jean, from where there is a magnificent view to the east towards the Massif Central.
A poor piece of route planning means that I next follow a steep descent down into a river valley towards Cazillac, after which I then have to make an equally steep ascent up through Strenquels to get back to the contour line I had left an hour previously. But, this is my final destination, and with 47 miles and 6300 feet of climbing done I am more than happy to see my good friends coming out of their house to greet me.
I can now look forward to a few days of rest, of good conversation, and of a chance to catch up with the rest of my life. With 607 miles now completed, the final four day stretch will see me at the Spanish border.
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