Two things disturb the peace of the Dordogne night: the chain of howling dogs which starts when one dog starts to bark, and an almighty crash when a car somehow manages to skid off the straight road beside the aire and slide down the bank into the toilet building. So when I wake up in the morning it is to the sound of a tractor and various men offering advice about how to pull the wrecked vehicle back onto the road. A different way to start the day.
The weather forecast for today suggests that it may be the hottest day yet, at 33°, so I try to drink about a litre of water before I start. To take advantage of the coolest part of the day I leave at just after 9:00 and follow a small road running alongside a small stream for nearly 15 miles, during which time I do not see a single person. The planned route for the day does not offer any obvious opportunities for coffee and croissants, so I plan a slight detour through the small town of St Astier, and I am relieved that when I get there I find a boulangerie where I can pick up a croissant and a pain aux raisins just around the corner from a very pleasant cafĂ© overlooking the town square. As always, working behind the bar is a woman, and sitting outside on the terrace with his group of old friends drinking espressos and smoking cigarettes is the husband.
St Astier lies in the valley of the river Isle, and when I leave it I find myself on a long, 4 mile, climb of about 5% which takes me to the highest point of the day so far. Everyone around me is woodland, empty and beautiful. Then there is a long, steady descent down to the village of Manzac and then along the D43 up a wide valley towards Vergt. Still the landscape is almost empty, apart from beautiful little houses, often with swimming pools, nestling amongst groves of trees, looking like quintessential “little places in the Dordogne”.
By now it is 1:30, and I need to stop for my sandwich and to work out where I will go next, so spot a beautiful oak tree growing on top of a conical roundabout island, so cross the road to the island and climb to its summit where I lie under the tree while the few cars circulate around me. I now take the D8 which starts to climb slowly for several miles, and am suddenly surprised by a cyclist pulling up alongside me, a much fitter, 40 something, who engages me in French and asks me about where I am going, where I am coming from, and so on, and we spend 10 minutes of steady climbing talking about how beautiful the area is, how many English people live in the area, and how completely crazy Brexit is. I feel quite pleased that I have been able to maintain a reasonably good level of conversation, climbing a hill and in French all at the same time.
Our paths then diverge, and I turn eastwards along the D42 and cruise along a level road with views over the forested landscape for quite a few miles. However, it is by now extremely hot, and I have run out of water so my thoughts turned to where I can find a tap or similar. I now need to turn south and follow a very steep and bumpy road down a narrow valley to join the D710 which drops gently and quickly to the small town of Le Bugue where I am very grateful to see an open bar tabac by the roadside. I pull in and order a lemonade, which is possibly the most delicious lemonade I have ever tasted in my life, and I start to feel human again. The lady serving behind the bar agrees to refill my water bottles once she has been assured by the waitress that I have been a paying customer, and then off again.
This area offers a completely different landscape. The roads around here wind their way through limestone gorges, and dotted throughout the hillsides are cave systems, often visible as black holes high up on the cliff face. Just to the north is the cave of Lascaux, famous for its neolithic cave paintings. The area is something like Derbyshire’s Stoney Middleton but on steroids. The road winds around the valley of the river Vezere, and I cycle up through the gorge towards Les Eyzies de Tayac the tourist centre for this particular area, being at the centre of many different cave systems open to the public.
Helen and I have worked out that we will spend the night at the Ferme de Legal, just outside Les Eyzies, but when I find the turn to the farm I realise that there are several hundred yards of 20% climbing to be done. I push. Fortunately most of the remaining mile to the farm is not quite so steep, and I can pedal most of the rest of the way, although having completed 58 miles with 5000 feet of ascending I am just about at the end of my capacity for riding a bicycle.
However, our place for the night is beautiful. A farm producing its own honey and jam, and with a magnificent view to the east across the limestone landscape. Later in the evening beautiful cloud formations develop, including a thunderhead, and by 8 o’clock we can see lightning illuminating the eastern sky. I cover up the bicycle in anticipation of the coming storm.
562 miles now done.
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