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eleven
Fuzzy felt cones, perfect triangles. How I would have drawn a mountain as a kid. Ancient volcano cores, rock millions of years old. This year of rides is nothing but a blink, a flash in comparison. Sun beats, kites soar, lizards scamper. Sixteen hundred metres. Bright red Coca-cola parasols fold inside out in the wind.…
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ten
The bow ramp clangs onto the slipway, or maybe the stern, it’s difficult to tell with the symmetry of the ferry, depositing me behind the Seine. Vanishing points strobe in the sunshine, a zoetrope flicker, rows of netted fruit trees pulling my eyes back to the river and the silver-white rock walls swathed in woodland…
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nine
Swallows and martins angle and glide overhead on the causse, moss slowly smothers crumbling chalk walls. The sacred city cascades down cliffs. I slip into the other canyon, the one behind where the l’Ouysse river appears from under the limestone. Skim the edge of the Dordogne, the road wedged up against leaning rock walls. Across…
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eight
Hop off the tram next to where the shiny brightly coloured logo splattered buses are parked up. Fans milling about as mechanics fettle. Expensive carbon fibre and fancy paint jobs reflect in windscreens. Accreditation badges hang round necks, television cameras sit on shoulders, microphones clutched in hands. Lotte Kopecky chats to a television crew before…
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seven
Intersecting lines, motorway overhead, railway below. Signs point to places in a different country. Bus stops, metro stations, tram lines. Severe concrete outskirts, roundabouts and conflicting angles, stripes and chequerboards painted on tarmac, kebab shops and tattoo parlours, chain hotels and car dealerships, fast food and deserted offices. Torn edges, scruffy urban collage, new parts…
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six
A strong tide pushed the ferry sideways up the channel last night, it docks later than usual. Through passport control a few minutes after 6am. Cinema ticket booked for 6pm. Two hundred kilometres, twelve hours. Or eleven if I want to wash and lie on a hotel bed for a bit first. Up on the…
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five
The Avenue Verte sparkles and crunches. Immediately retreat to the main road where hopefully it’s just damp and not frozen but fear lingers. Straight line every slight bend, dare not touch the brakes. Pockets of even colder air, frozen slush crusted in the verges, shattered ice cubes in gutters. Tempted by a PMU bar shining…
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four
The weather changed direction this last week, coldness drifting in from the east, the forecast a couple of days ago even threatened snow flurries. At least the wind has weakened. The sea has been smashing the beach at home for weeks and last month’s ferry crossing was quite rough. Deciding to do all the Randonneur…
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three
The call and response of owls fades. The bell of a church concealed in the blackness strikes seven and the incoming day is heralded by the abrupt dawn chorus of crowing cockerels. Almost and hour later the arrival of the sun lights the sky aflame, incandescent all around with all the hues of red and…
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two
The niggling anxiety of riding in the dark a long way from home knowing daylight is hours away countered by the comfort of familiarity with the hidden landscape, an invisible hand gently placed on my shoulder, you know this place, you’ve done this enough times. Quiet recognition of a bend in the road, a slight…
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