At the gates of the Misty Mountains 25th September
As I traveled along the Velodysee from Mimizan to Vielle Saint Girons the vegetation became significantly more Mediterranean, typified by this cork oak tree, of which there were increasing numbers.
I stayed in Vielle with Ian and Sylvie for two days, being thoroughly spoiled and re charging my batteries.
We went to an awesome Atlantic beach with a powerful surf, and explored a local fresh water lake. It's a very beautiful part of the world. We also had several discussions about the best route into Spain. In my twenties I'd visited St Jean pied de port and done some walking in the Pyrénées nearby and I have wanted to return there ever since. So on Saturday morning I set off towards Bayonne, an easy ride of about 50ks. It's a good job it was an easy ride as it rained most of the way.
The further south I traveled the more noticeable was the graffiti. And I had to take a photo of this one 'cos it encapsulated for me, not only the dilemmas of my own personal journey to North Africa, but our situation in the world by and large.
Every day at every moment we are faced with this dilemma. My solution to this question of which way to go, is to find the middle way. By the time I got to Bayonne the graffiti had become fully fledged artwork.
Culminating in this enormous mural on a block of flats in a northern suburb.
The rain had just about stopped, but I discovered that there was a big rugby match going on in town and the youth hostel I was hoping to stay in was already full. It seemed like there was nowhere at all to stay in town so I called up the campsite in Cambo les Bains to make sure they were open and reserved a place for the night. This was another 20km further on into the foothills of the Pyrénées. There was some more rain on the way and although I had good waterproof clothing I was getting soaked with perspiration from the effort of all the hill climbing. By the grace of God the rain stopped when I got to the campsite and I was able to put the tent up without getting everything soaked. Then a nice hot shower just as I was starting to get really chilly, and a change into some warm dry clothes. I was starving hungry but there was no food at the campsite so I took a walk into the village and spent some money at an auberge on a delicious plate of polenta with lamb and peas. Just as I got back into the tent it started raining with a vengeance and I thanked my lucky stars that everything appeared to be water tight. I was woken up several times in the night by thunder and lightning and the rain didn't stop until noon the next day. I was resigned to spending two nights at the campsite, and put all my wet clothes through their tumble dryer, €5 for 30 minutes which I thought was a bit rich. I felt like I was abandoning all fiscal responsibility, but I really had to get my clothes dry. Then the manager of the campsite appeared and told me that I'd have to move my tent because the woman who'd checked me in the night before had put me on a plot that had been booked by someone else for tonight. I didn't rush, but took my time to pack everything up. They offered me another pitch in a different part of the camp, but the sun had started shining and all of a sudden it seemed like a good idea to make the best of it and do some more miles.
My dear Czecki Mapi took me on a very rural and beautiful route, but with no regard at all for contours. Just as I was starting to think I was doing really well at all the climbing I had to get off and push several times. I didn't pass a single car in either direction for about 3 hours, then "we" joined a main road. The road had a cycle lane, followed the valley of a river and was nice and flat, and I determined that I would have to keep a closer eye on Czecki Mapi, having just started to trust her again!
The scenery was getting more and more spectacular and I was starting to unwind from my worry about the mountains ahead of me.
It was the season for sweet chestnuts and now and then there would be scatterings of them all over the road. Seeing that they were enormous I gathered up a few to have with supper later on.
The weather stayed bright until I arrived at St Etienne de Baigorry where I quickly located the camping municipal. This one was a beauty, located in a bend of the river in woodland with a brand new sanitary block and next door to a supermarket. Once the tent was up I got straight down to cooking a meal, now that it had been raining so heavily there was no chance of starting a wild fire. I emptied the contents of my "kitchen" panier on to the deck and just cooked up what I had; bulgur wheat, French beans, chestnuts, tinned chopped tomatoes and olives. It tasted amazing, and I was pleased that the bike would also be lighter tomorrow! The campsite was surrounded by the peaks of the Western Pyrénées and was a centre for walkers, cyclists and other travelers to explore the surrounding countryside. One of them, a Dutchman named Mike, came over to introduce himself and we discussed our journeys. Mike had been traveling for two years, initially on a bike, but he was currently walking the GR10, a footpath that runs the entire length of the Pyrénées from Hendaye on the Atlantic to Portbou on the Mediterranean. He gave me a lot of encouragement but also warned me that some very bad weather was forecast to arrive on Thursday.
The next town into the mountains was Banca, only 9km away and 250m above sea level, and after that Aldudes, a further 9km away at 450m altitude. The pass into Spain is around 950m, so I would be half way up by then. If I could make it that far I would know if I had a realistic chance of getting to the other side. If not I could just come back down and get the coach into Spain from St Jean de pied de port, presuming they would carry my bike!
Getting closer to the mountains they looked more like some of the Welsh peaks that I've cycle through before, and things began to feel a little more manageable. But then again suffering from delusions is the primary reason I had to become a Buddhist.
