col de pas de peyrol
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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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Monts et Rivieres
Turn left out of the drive and start climbing. Ten kilometres of up. Not steep but constant. Compared to home these hills are mountains, up through the trees to the grass plateau, real mountains jagged against the skyline ahead forty miles distant. The sticky hum of tyres on sun molten tarmac. A snack on a…
the man from icon 