- 105600 km on the bike
I will rest a while on this lovely plot of land and
therefore have to do some shopping. Decazeville,
an old coal mining town 20 miles to the south is the nearest place
where I find all I need; supermarkets, bakeries and an internet cafe.
In the afternoon I sit outside the tent and enjoy the nice and warm
weather. What more can a man want to relax?
There is not much on this plot of land except the barn (which currently
is a building site) and two old caravans which Nick and Nouria use
for themselves and their guests while the barn is being renovated.
The next morning it starts to rain, so I just stay in my comfy tent
and read a book. I am pleased to note that the tent, bought for the
princely sum of 80 Swiss francs on e-bay, is performing very well
and keeps me warm and dry while the rain is hammering on the "roof".
Non-campers will never understand that it is actually good fun to
spend an entire rainy day in a tent or caravan. Doing absolutely nothing
is so relaxing - especially so if the day is a Thursday and one does
think of all the millions of ant-folks who do not have the choice
of looking out of the window in the morning, find that it is raining,
and as a consequence go back to bed and remain there all day.
- 105700 km on the bike
Sunshine all around today. In Decazeville I check
on the weather and my e-mail; another washout day tomorrow, then lots
of fine, though cool weather. Afterwards I decide to ride out to Clermont-Ferrand
where Nick and Nouria live, to see whether the two are at home. The
road to Aurillac
and onwards to Massiac is the N122. That road is sheer bliss. No potholes,
great curves which can still be biked at high speeds and ample straight
stretches to overtake anything that might be in the way - I can't
get enough of it. The last 40 miles to Clermont go through flat and
fairly boring land in comparison, so I take the A75 motorway - one
of the few motorways in France where no toll has to be paid.
Unfortunately no one is at home in Clermont, but that is no problem;
it just gives me an excuse to ride straight back to the barn and do
the N122 again in opposite direction.
In the evening I take the usual sundowner with a Gin-Tonic
and a pipe. What a relaxing, yet exciting way to live.
- 106150 km on the bike
Today is a washout, as predicted. Again I enjoy a
rest day here in the middle of nowhere.
In the evening the sun comes out again and I can at least have another
sundowner.
Next day the weather is cool but fine. There is just one thing on
my mind; doing that fantastic N122 all over again today. I could also
do with a shower, and as there is a large public swimming pool next
to Nick & Nouria's place in Clermont I can have a shower there
even if they are not at home.
The road is even better than before now that I already know it a little
bit. My friends however are not at home and the swimming pool is closed
for a water ball competition today, so that is a bit disappointing.
Thiezac is a village along the N122 about 25 km before Aurillac. On
my return ride to the barn I ride into the village for a coffee. There
is a bar in the village centre which servers an excellent cafe au lait.
The conversations of the locals are focused only on one thing; the
ever increasing price for fuel. To understand this, one has first
to know that the petrol
engine is practically extinct in France. The reason for this is
that the French government runs a policy of active discrimination
against any owner of a petrol-driven vehicle by levying a much higher
taxation rate on petrol than on diesel oil. This means that currently
a liter of petrol costs around 1.40 Euros, while a liter of diesel
goes for around 1.18 Euros.
The predictable result of this brain dead regulation is that 90 percent
of French vehicles are powered by a filthy diesel
engine, belching out copious amounts of soot and acrid smoke.
Particle filters have just been introduced for the very newest car
generation, but that is just a fraction of the vehicles on French
roads today. Needless to say that this also means that the air quality
along French roads is worse than in Mexico
City and any biker is covered in a layer of diesel soot just after
a single day of biking in France.
Another, rather less obvious result of that regulation is that France
is also the world champion for diesel spills. When the owner of a
petrol car forgets to put his fuel cap back on after refueling, then
the resulting spill in the next bend of the road is quite harmless.
Petrol evaporates quickly and has no lubricating effect. If the same
is done by the driver of one of these sodded diesel belcher's, then
the ensuing spill is a deadly trap for any other unsuspecting driver
that comes along. Diesel oil is a fine lubricant, and particularly
any motorbike that comes along has absolutely no chance to prevent
a serious accident once the bike's tyres are running on diesel instead
of tarmac.
A biker always has to look at the road ahead. But in France one has
to be especially aware that the wet spot in the bend ahead may not
be water!
My Triumph Tiger is a fairly restrictive consumer of petrol. Even
fully loaded the consumption is normally less than 5 liters per 100
km (55 mpg), but buying fuel is actually my greatest expense. Filling
up the bike costs easily up to 30 Euros
- for the same money one can find a decent hotel room in France. And
on long trips I may have to refuel twice a day.
I arrive back at the barn around 6 pm, where a nice glass of Chardonnay
and a well-deserved pipe are already waiting for me.
- 106550 km on the bike
There is a four-star luxury campsite at Flagnac on
the banks of the river Lot, a few miles south of the barn. For five
Euros the owner has no problem to allow me the use of their washing
and shower facilities for as long as I like. Ah, it feels good to
shower all that grime and diesel soot off. Afterwards I ride on to
Decazeville. The guy in the Internet cafe equally has no problem with
me hooking my notebook into his network. The Internet telephone on
it rings as soon as I am online. I spend a while chatting with a few
people who really ought to be at work at this hour instead of chatting
with me via Skype.
I also have plenty of cafe
au lait and by sheer coincidence meet a push bike rider from a
village 25 miles south of Hamburg
in Germany. His name is Guntram
and he is doing a pilgrimage to Santiago
de Compostela in Spain.
He quite likes my electronics equipment and even uses my notebook
to call a few of his mates and relatives back in Germany. He has passed
Switzerland on his way out and has about 25
Swiss francs left over. When he tried to change them back into
Euros in France near Geneva
all the banks and post offices wanted ludicrous fees for their services.
I change them for him at the current rate of CHF 1.58 per Euro. I
always enjoyed screwing banks out of their rip-off fees. We have an
interesting chat about the differences of travelling with a push
bike as compared to a motorbike.
Guntram can actually do more than 100 km per day given a reasonably
flat countryside. Considering his 30 kilos of baggage I would probably
drop dead after a quarter mile if I attempted that.
I also manage to get Nick on the phone and we agree that I come up
to his place tomorrow - great, another ride on the N122!
I say goodbye to Guntram and ride back up the mountains to my little
tent in the middle of nowhere - it's time for the sundowner.
- 106600 km on the bike
On my way out to Clermont I take a break on the far
side of the Lioran pass and have lunch at the "Auberge de Lioran".
Excellent food, I put them immediately as a waypoint into my navigation
unit. That place is a nice break while thundering over the N122.
Great welcome at Nick & Nouria's place. My bike is put into their
garage, next to Nick's Harley-Davidson.
They have a big place on the fourth floor, right in the centre of
Clermont. I like the place - they even get all the UK television programs.
We talk about old times and the two decide to come out to the barn
the day after tomorrow. I am invited to stay overnight and we spend
the rest of the evening happily chatting about their plans for the
conversion of the old barn into a habitable cottage which is supposed
to seriously get under way this year.
- 106800 km on the bike
On my way back I pass through Aurillac at 5.15 pm.
Obviously Diesel prices in France are still far too low, because nobody
uses public transport and the rush hour is murder. With a car it might
easily take up to 45 minutes to get through town. Luckily my Cat can
bypass the lot on the footway - which is empty as no one goes anywhere
on foot in this town. Not even the cops raise an eye when I bypass
their patrol car on the sidewalk.
Back at the barn I get the mains water and electricity going. Now
that Nick has given me a key for the place I can turn on the juice
and in no time have my notebook set up in the guest caravan. As I
took off at noon from Clermont it is already 3 pm by the time I am
back at the barn and after getting it all set up, the obligatory sundowner
is already well overdue.
I am already so used to my little tent that I decide
to continue sleeping in it - even if most of these late May nights
are unusually cold. There has been a widespread frost in many of the
higher locations around here last night. After the hard winter the
summer is really very sluggish to get cracking this year.
Another reason for choosing the tent is that the guest caravan is
slightly leaky at one end. At that end some creepy-crawleys have moved
in and are apparently feeling quite comfortable there. But I do enjoy
the luxury of watching a movie
on my laptop in the guest caravan - the first such luxury in two weeks.
Having running water next morning to shave and brush the teeth is
also a pleasant change, though I didn't mind having to do this previously
using bottled water. At 15 cents per liter bottled water is making
a significantly lower demand on my budget than petrol does.
On Thursday Nick arrives around noon on the Harley. We start tackling
the jungle around the two caravans using a strimmer.
I haven't eaten anything for two days and after the work is done my
battery suddenly shows "empty". I have to sit down and eat
the majority of the cheese, ham and bread that Nick has brought along
for his supper. There you have it: us office guys are just pansies.
Two hours of real work and we just crap out. When I was a plant mechanic
for Hewden Stuart Group in England in the 1990's (update 2021; the company is now long
defunct, though most likely not because I resigned from it in 1996...)
many years ago I could have done this for 10 hours non-stop, then
go on the piss with the boys until 4 in the morning and do it all
over again at 7 am next day. My old foreman would take the mickey
out of me if he'd see into what a whimp 13 years behind a desk have
turned myself.
But luckily for me I happen to have the only medicine in my tent that
really helps in such a - Gin and Tonic. After a double application
of Papas house-medicine I feel right as rain again.
After the work we first sit outside, enjoying the sundowner. But again
the wind is from the North and it gets fairly nippy, so we relocate
to the caravan.
The original plan for tomorrow was to go on a bike trip together.
For this purpose I have already uploaded a very nice 300 km round
trip through the Auvergne into my navigation system. But it is not
to be - Nick and Nouria have to see a contractor regarding the renovation
of the barn tomorrow afternoon.
Next morning we continue tidying up the place. At around 11 am Nouria
arrives with the Land
Rover. We all get on board and drive the 20 miles into Figeac.
I have been here before, but the beauty of the old town centre is
again striking, even for myself, though normally fine art and even
finer architecture are virtually invisible for me.
La Puce à l'Oreille in the Rue St. Thomas is one of the finest
eating places in town. The best day for lunch there really is Sunday
- because on that day the restaurant is closed for diner. So one can
come for lunch at noon and stay until 5 in the afternoon. Today is
Friday, so the the staff has to prepare for diner later on. Thus we
have to interrupt indulging ourselves after just three hours.
We take a stroll through the town and Nick points out one of the really
ingenious features of the local architecture; on most houses the top
floor has no outer walls. This means that one can sit "outside"
on the top floor while still being in the shade and look down onto
the ongoings in the streets below.
On our return to the barn all our strimming and raking is taking a
heavy toll on Nouria's hay
fever. The poor girl suffers badly. Unfortunately this is one
of the rare instances where my "house-medicine" has absolutely
no effect.
My two hosts plan to go and visit Nouria's parents tomorrow and to
leave quite early. I have asked Nick if it is OK with him if I stay
at his place in Clermont for a day to update the list of youth hostels
in France and Spain. This is a time-consuming business, transferring
the addresses of the hostels from the IHF
homepage onto my navigation software. His response is to hand
me a set of keys for his place in Clermont and he suggests I may well
use the flat tomorrow while he and Nouria are away. I suggest that
he should be more careful as to whom he hands the keys for his property.
Alas, I am not the Pete from the olden times anymore. I am now really
an unemployed, homeless gipsy
who can easily load all his worldly possessions on his motorbike -
but Nick insists.
Next morning at 9 am Nick & Nouria leave the barn. I have a lay-in
and get my stuff together around noon. The weather forecast for tomorrow
predicts rain. What better day to sit in front of my notebook and
transfer the remaining youth hostel entries from the Web.
By now I know the N122 just as well as most local people do. About
10 miles before reaching Massiac while concentrating on keeping the
best possible angle through one of those many fantastic curves in
the road I see in the corner of my eyes a scooter with two people
waving at me. I halt the bike and turn around. The Scooter is an X-reg
Piaggio
from England and the two riders are a couple from York
on vacation, destination Spain. They have run out of Petrol, though
the fuel gauge still shows one-third full. Their Fiat
camper-van is located in Massiac - because it also broke down with
a fault in the engine management system. I make a mental note that
Italian vehicles are obviously as temperamental as their makers.
We leave the lady to guard the scooter while myself and the Yorkie
ride into Massiac where he buys a jerry-can and puts in a gallon of
petrol. He insists on filling up my Cat as well - very courteous of
him. However, I suspect that he had no idea that my Kittie has a 24-litre
tank. His bill for his gallon in the jerry-can and topping up Kittie
is 22 Euros.
We return to the Scooter and after refueling her Mrs. Piaggio is happy
again.
The Yorkie tells me that the Swiss are exceptionally
unpopular where he comes from - because Nestlé bought the ancient
Roundtree chocolate factory in York and once they had it they shut
it down. So no more Roundtree chocolates and good-bye to the one and
only original "Yorkie-Bar".
Hopefully I was able to restore at least a little bit of faith into
the Confederatio Helvetica by rescuing these two Yorkies.
At Nick's place in Clermont I make myself at home. A shower, washing
my laundry and uploading my latest journey update onto the Web. There
is a turkish
Kebab place right opposite, where they do some types of Kebab
entirely alien to Turkey,
e. g. "Kebab au moutarde". Tastes interesting, to say the
least.
- 107100 km on the bike
Sunday afternoon Nick returns - alone. Nouria has
decided to stay with her family, because neither herself nor their
little daughter Sofia are feeling too well. Nick works for the Michelin
tyre company, which has its world headquarters in Clermont. The boss,
Edouard
Michelin, whom Nick knew, has apparently drowned in a boating
disaster off the coast of Bretagne this weekend. Nick has to go to
work tomorrow, but tonight we have one more evening to ourselves.
Nick has brought his Mini
Cooper car from his in-laws place and we take it to get some pizza
from a nearby pizza-place. It is great fun to drive with that little
car through town - especially as there is a giant Union
Jack painted on its roof.
Next day I have finished updating the waypoints for my navigation
unit and return to the barn - and of course it did not rain as predicted
on Sunday. Instead today, on Monday, I encounter for the first time
some showers while riding south on the A75 motorway. Of course I have
left my serious rain gear at the barn, but luckily the showers are
not too bad, so my normal biker kit can cope and I arrive dry, though
somewhat frozen stiff - it is still far too cold for this time of
the year.
- 107300 km on the bike
Again the weather is fine but cold today. A good
day to do a little bit to repay Nick & Nouria for their generosity
- I take out the strimmer and cut down the grass jungle around the
swimming pool. That is the only place where the local farmer who normally
does the job can't get to with his tractor. Cutting and raking the
stuff takes about four hours and I manage to do it without another
"low battery" warning. Maybe there is still some life left
in my old bones?
I have a hair clipping machine with me. I have no idea what made me
dragging that thing along, especially as it has a British
plug. Luckily for me Nick has the same low opinion regarding the
safety of continental
plugs, so he has equipped the barn everywhere with British sockets.
So I also have a haircut
The rest of the day I update my travel log on the notebook. A navy
standard make-and-mend day this was, but very enjoyable.
The following day is sunny, but the north-easterly
wind is bitterly cold. Except on the day when I arrived here at the
barn the wind has not once come from another direction than North.
I still have that 300 km tour through the Auvergne that originally
Nick and myself wanted to do in my navigation computer. It's about
time to see a bit more of the local countryside, so I'll do that ride
today.
I leave about 11 am and first ride into Aurillac for some shopping
and the cheap petrol of the local Géant supermarket. By noon
I am under way. Directly after Le Rouget there are roadworks. The
silly buggers have covered a stretch of about one mile with 5 inches
of uncompacted rough grit. Each stone is about the size of a walnut
and the lot is very loose. As a result that mile of road is extremely
dangerous to navigate with a bike that has a kerb weight of well over
a quarter ton. It's like riding through quicksand and the Cat is skidding
left and right. That must be hilarious to watch and a crash is a very
likely outcome. But I manage to get through that crap in one piece.
Half an hour later my three pistons are at rest again; a country restaurant
in the Hamlet of Laroquebrou looks too inviting. By that I do not
mean that it looks especially nice on the inside or outside. I mean
that lot's of local cars, vans and trucks are parked around it - a
sure sign that the chef in there knows his trade.
I like posh restaurants like the one we went to in Figeac. But I also
like these rural places; one comes in, is seated on a table were there
happens to be an empty chair, while the two locals who share the table
with me are already forking away with a vengeance.
There is no carte or different menus to choose from, there is just
a billboard outside giving the details of today's "plat de jour"
- you either like it or you have to go somewhere else.
First soup as much as one likes, the wine is also included with a
liter bottle placed in the middle of each table - everyone just helps
himself. Next a salad with beetroot and saucisson, then chicken and
potatoes for the main dish. Afterwards a selection of cheeses (with
of course the "Bleu
d'Auvergne" as the centerpiece). Finally a delicious apple
cake followed by a coffee - and all that for 11 Euros. Vive la France,
in Switzerland I'd be lucky to get a bowl of soup for that money,
but never in a lifetime a five-course meal.
After that splendid interlude I ride on the D2 road north over a rolling
plateau, about 2000 feet AMSL. Then very suddenly comes the deep-cut
valley of the Maronne river. In a frenzy of hairpins the road winds
down 1000 feet, a narrow bridge spans the river and up it goes in
the same manner on the other side back up to the plateau. On towards
Mauriac
and onto the D678 towards Trizac. Unfortunately this road is blocked
between Trizac and Valette, so I am forced to do a 20 mile diversion
via Menet on the D36. The road gets up to over 4000 feet and it is
freezing cold in spite of me wearing every warm piece of kit I have
on board. A hailstorm and a few icy showers are also not designed
to warm me up. A thermometer outside a pharmacy shows 5 degrees centigrade,
and that was a reading at the valley floor. Tomorrow is June 1st -
oh Lords of the Universe, will this sodded winter ever end? It can't
be normal to have these kind of temperatures in the south of France
this late in spring and that for weeks and weeks.
It is certainly one very frozen Biketraveller that rides through the
beautiful mountain town of Riom-es-Montagnes. The next stretch of
road is the D3 heading south-east. The road is biker's bliss; new
surface, great bends. But my frozen feet and hands are spoiling the
fun. At Murat the route crosses the N122 and would then continue towards
St. Flour. But I raise the white flag when looking at the new range
of mountains that lies in the way - I turn westwards onto the N122
and ride the 30 miles to Aurillac. I just manage to slip through town
before the onset of that monster-rush hour at 5 pm sharp. Down here
the temperature makes it to about 13 degrees centigrade. I stop at
a cash machine and replenish my stock of Euros. Hmmh, thinking that
in three weeks on the road I have just spent 750 Euros, the lion share
of it on petrol - life on the road as an unemployed, homeless gipsy
is cheaper than an ordinary life in Switzerland.
By 5.30 pm I am back at the barn. I have decided that I will leave
the place tomorrow and ride south - and continue doing so until it
either gets warmer or I reach the Equator.
It is obvious that we will have a clear night tonight - and the very
real chance of a sharp frost. No chance of me being warm and comfy
in my tent, the previous nights have already been borderline cases.
So I de-rig the tent, as it is bone-dry at the moment (tomorrow dew
or frozen dew might otherwise force me to wait a long time for it
to dry out). I am spending my so far last night on this lovely spot
in the caravan.
- 107650 km on the bike
Below is the usual map with my GPS tracklog and some trip markers.