Narbonne

The medmen have made it to Narbonne.

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Day 10: Carcasonne to Narbonne, medmen get ugly

The medmen were overcome with the beauty of Carcasonne and had a great feast of food and wine, including: ducks gizzards, goats cheese and duck pate. James of course had the vegetarian option of cheesy pasta and a plate of salad. The French really know how to look after the veggies!!

They are now heading to the sea on their last day of cycling. The sky is blue, the wind is behind us and the crickets are rattling.

James is taking pictures of people, snakes, frogs, horses, houses, cafes, cactus, graves, Cyprus tree, kiwi fruit, the place where Van Gogh put up his easel.

We also met Alex, a young french velocetist who was traveling from Bezier to the north coast of Spain and for the first time on our journey he was the only other cyclist except for James who wasn't wearing Lycra. There he was, top off, wearing a fluorescent builders bib.Pretty cool. Not.

He looked pretty fit, but had taken two days to travel around 40 miles from the coast due to the headwind. Good news for us, until we have to come back anyway!

Later in the day things got a bit hot with my fellow med men tempers frayed, it was all going to end in tears!!

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Day 9: Toulouse to Carcasonne

On a bright and cloudy morning the medmen are working our merry way to Carcasonne. Jeff got lost in Toulouse following the sat nav. The ciccerone guide advises not to cycle under the bridges in and around Toulouse and we can see why. Lots of homeless people have set up what almost look like homes under many, complete with chests of drawers, beds and personal effects. Mike celebrated us finding the canal again with pain raisin and peche for breakfast.

The cafe in Laval, 20 miles out from Toulouse, is a typically austere affair, with a pool table and ancient space invaders machine in the corner. James determines that the owner is a former Toulouse scrum half from the photo's on the walls, and, being a keen union man, has his photo taken with the highly undemonstrative patron. Mike locates a Pharmacy and stocks up on some huge back warming pads to help with a spasm engendered by a an eight foot drop and sudden rise on the towpath out of Toulouse. Mike is also having trouble map reading, but has found a solution.

James was now in charge of the midi guide book and the map, meanwhile Mike quoted from the guide about the steeped history of the area - did you know that our cafe we are having our morning coffee was visited by Wellingtons men in 1807? Great entertainment is had when Jeff, reaching for a pan au chocolat from his back pannier manages to slide from the steeply banked towpath into the undergrowth. he disappeared so rapidly from view that Mike and James thought he'd been snagged by the sauvage cochon (wild boar) of the midi.

Not long after, we cycled past this car that had also been savaged by the boar, these are dangerous times for the Med men! As the rain settles in again, we entertain ourselves with some
singing. James is certainly the King of the Balladeers, with his robust welsh anthems. Mike chips in with a fairly depressing 'My dreams have withered and died' and Jeff is eventualy moved to contribute a line or two from 'Tambourine man'. To keep our spirits up/stop thinking about the rain, we devise a game whereby we have to elicit the best reponse fromthe numerous french boating holiday makers via the medium of song. It's hard to describe why you'd find this kind of thing entertaining, but when your underpants are wetter than they'd be in a washing machine, and your feet have taken on the texture - and colour - of tripe, you do. Even two to one, James is the hands down favourite with the natives.













After the canal gets slow, narrow and bumpy beyond Castelnaudary, we hit the main D33 road and make brilliant time into Carcassonne. With the wind behind us on flat ground we maintain speeds of up to 28 mph. A quick trip to the office de tourisme in the new town and we we're on our way to the 'Camping de la Cite' site on the south of the Aude, less than a mile from the imposing walled Cite Medievale, which Jeff explains was built by Walt Disney in 1647. It certainly looks that way.

Day 8 - Agen to Toulouse

Had a bad nights sleep with the wild boar grunting in the tent after tasting a unmarked bottle of red from the camp site owner, video to follow! woke up to the sound of heavy rain which stayed with us till lunch time. Met this bloke in picture from the local police who asked Mike for his papers!

Mike was in good form today, but thinking about his cousin Mark, who died suddenly in Liverpool last week and whose funeral takes place today. He took over the map reading duties and didn't get lost once, mind you we were on the canal all day. Did the usual med men racing on the canal, first to the bridge, lock, deer, etc. We all have our own strategies. Mike favours the longer sustained burn, James the quick sprint and Jeff getting a sneaky head start before declaring a race! Rules have been introduced to make sure the contest is legal only when called from behind and agreed by at least one of the others. We all received winning cake as prizes - provided by Mike after his failure to secure bread or a pain au raisin in Valance.

Three grand cafe au laits for three wet medmen at our morning stop in Valance. We are going to Toulouse today.

Good, if wet days riding today, which we weren't really expecting this far down. We entertain ourselves with songs, a bit of racing and banter. James takes the chance to act the innkeeper in a cafe section of a huge canalside street mock up, to be used in the towns carnival festivities next week. Video clip to follow....





























We encountered this plastic wrapped lady on the Canal du Garonne aquaduct near Moissac.
James enjoyed throwing his last piece of fruitcake into the water at this point.. as an offering to
the ancient water gods. It must have worked as it stopped raining about two hours later.

James is pictured above, arriving on the outskirts of sunny Toulouse, where we fetched up at a budget hotel, desperate to dry some of our clothes, which were by now on the 'high' side. After we'd used up every available door top and rail in the tiny room, we left for dinner. The aroma which met our return was manly, damp and dire. James's gloves alone- which he'd not worn once, but had slowly festered in his pannier bag - were enough to make you gag.

Agen

Finally made it to canal du midi, after long 75 mile day, starting and ending in rain.

James now has a new chain, sprocket and crank and intends to regain his crown as king of mountains - except there are no hills on the canal. So let's see ...


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Day 7: St Foy to Agen

The med boys got rained on this morning and now have wet feet, wet t-shirts and wet shorts. It was so wet that Mike's sun tan cream was being washed out of his helmet lining and into his eyes on the steep climb out of St Foy.

We always knew this would be a hard day, with climbing at both ends. in the event, we followed master navigator Jeff's advise and headed further west and onto the canal du midi earlier. It meant a 79 mile day but avoided hills.

After 18 miles of sodden climbing, chef Kelly insisted we stopped at a nettle and bramble infested rural bus stop and impressed the locals with noodle san thistle and over saw Penny horlicks and Parker cous-cous en tomate. We then got back on our fine steeds into the pouring rain and plodded on to Tonneins, where we joined the Canal du Midi. After 10 miles or so, with Jeff out in front by 200 metres and James way behind, he calls to Mike to stop and come back. Mike in turn calls Jeff and they pedal back to help with the presumed first pucture of the trip....but No!
james has spotted a wild snake in the undergrowth near the canals edge and starts to uncover it with his water-bottle. Mike is just about to yell stop, knowing that a snake can strike from feet away when James reveals the creature as the packet of Jeff's beanfeast we've been carrying since St Malo. It's revenge for the non nudist lake ruse. Mike is disappointed at not seeing a creature to add to his nature notes. Jeff is fed up with the extra half a miles cycling incurred and grumbles "I don't even want to see a bloody snake..."


















Kelly also wishes to claim king of the mountains at Puymiclan - and the first man to spot limons, figs, vanilla, peach, nectarin, walnuts and pepper. James ran over a toad and spotted a preying mantis. Later on, close to Agen, we pass some strange and huge vines. James clambers down eight feet to our left to discover kiwi fruit. Another exotic first, so we have to all join him for a photo opp. Minutes later we're collared by the weathered fellow below. After a bit of pointing at our pannier bags, he seems to accept that we're 'bon hommes' and tells us the fruit won't be ready till September, which is odd as they already seem twice as big as the ones in the supermarkets back home.


















This was Jeffs hardest day. He didn't enjoy the canal to much and felt tired towards Agen, while Mike felt flat out exhausted when we got there. Both rested up and re-fuelled while James got his back block, chain and dodgy crank replaced in the city centre bike shop. The campsite, 3 miles or so outside town was full but the French owners generously allowed us in and gave great advice on the next days riding. A sweet couple who'd jacked in their former careers to run what was one of the friendliest and nicest sites we visited.




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Day 6: Barbezieux to St Foy

Another long day finds us near St Foy in the Bergerac region. At lunch, after a steep forest climb, Mike claims to be king of the mountains, which led to feverish mechanical adjustments by James to sort out his slipping gears and chain. Mike and Jeff went swimming in a lake, popular with locals as an alternative beach resort. Poor James swims out to the other side of the lake after reports from Mike and Jeff that there is a nudist section beyond the pedalo's. On returning, James, who doesn't even like swimming, uses a word very similar to 'Bustards'. Jeff claims a disputed King of the Mountains climb after Mike gets off to walk with James whose chain is still slipping. Jeff rubs it in by attempting to record the uphill trudge of the old comrades on his blackberry, but the blogability of the clip is ruined by a tirade of highly personal/offensive/funny language from Mike and James.

On the way to the campsite we were finally attacked by a rabid dog, which Jeff dodged, left James to hit with his pump and Mike to stare down and kick. jeff has been traumatised by a dog attack in his youth, which every dog in France brings back by charging at us along the length of their gardens and chains. At one point we're climbing uphill and see a rhodesian ridgeback going nuts inside its fence and as we approach the gate...it's wide open. We all try a Mark Cavendish sprint uphill but the dog has a tag which gives it an electric shock if it tries to get past the entrance. Big relief all round.

We also visited a cave where we bought, after much debate, a bottle of fine wine for £3.

We finally arrived at the campsite at seven pm, and being unable to face Jeff's beanfeast, tried out campsite frites, fish, steak, apple pie and of course water.

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