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A Tour de France

August - October 2019
In 2019 a group of riders from the Australian Ghostriders Cycling Group are travelling in France to complete a cycling adventure in Provence, followed by a four week ride along the Loire. You are invited to share the trip with us. Read more
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  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 11

    A Roman Sendoff from Caumont

    August 31, 2019 in France ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C

    Our week long stay in Caumont has all too quickly drawn to a close. It only seems such a short time ago that all we crowded into the taxi for our ride from Avignon. Now our week has flown by and it is time to bid farewell to this funny little community that has been our temporary home in Provence. Unfortunately the run of scorching weather has shown no sign of abating and that has somewhat restricted what we could actually do while we were here.

    On this, our final morning, we decided to forego our daily walk and just meet at the coffee shop instead. We had been aware that the village was planning to conduct its first ever Roman festival and we all wanted to see just what happened. While we enjoyed our coffees, the villagers gradually emerged from their homes dressed in a varied assortment of togas, bedsheets and improvised armour. It was a bit like a primary school pantomime, but we were really touched at the simple way they were enjoying themselves in such a harmless and unsophisticated way.

    At first they seemed a little reticent to emerge. I suspect each person was waiting to see if anyone actually turned up, before they potentially made a fool of themselves. Gradually the trickle of people became a stream as the assembly was swollen by whole family groups. Some had really gone overboard with their efforts, producing elaborate costumes, swords, helmets and such. One small guy came bedecked with a red beard, sword and shield. I thought they he looked like he had stepped straight out of the Lord of the Rings as he looked more like a hobbit than a fearsome Roman soldier.

    The real highlight of the morning came when a few horses were added into the mix. Two of these had been dressed in Roman type trappings and the proud riders were happy to ride back and forth. Apart from the cigarette hanging from the mouth of one of the riders, they could have almost looked genuine. It was an incredible finish to our stay in this town and we would have liked to stayed longer. Unfortunately we had to pack up and be ready for our taxi to take us back to Avignon.

    When we returned to the house we found that our landlady had already arrived and was busy toting up our bill. By the time she calculated the final total it was evident that a few more “extras” must have been added. We could have been upset, but we had really had such a great time here that it was just not worth fussing about the details.

    Our taxi arrived only ten minutes later than it was ordered and the driver somehow managed to crush all our luggage into the rear compartment, without resorting to crushing Gordon’s knee caps. About 30 minutes later we were back in Avignon and unloading our luggage onto the L’Estello. Although it was too early for us to board, they were happy for us to drop our luggage and return later in the afternoon. We asked the taxi driver to take us into the centre of the city so that we could have some lunch.

    We found ourselves back at the same café that we had eaten at when we were in Avignon a week earlier. Since we were right outside the Hotel de Ville we were entertained by a regular succession of newly married couples emerging from their civil ceremonies. A group of African drummers and ululating women made sure that the newlyweds were met with a noisy welcome. It was another fascinating insight into the local culture.

    As other team members joined us in the city the group grew steadily and by 5.30 pm we were ready to make our way to the boat. To our enormous relief we discovered that the boat was extremely well air conditioned and it was deliciously cool inside. It was the first time we had felt comfortably cool since leaving Australia. Not so welcome was the diminutive size of our cabins. Apart from Carol and Sam’s luxurious room, the rest of us were allocated rooms about the size of small dog kennels. It will be an interesting time, but that is all part of the challenge. We also found that there will be three Americans sharing the boat with 17 Ghostriders. We could only imagine how difficult that will be for them.

    Tomorrow morning we finally begin our cycling. We can’t wait to get underway.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 12

    On Our Bikes at Last

    September 1, 2019 in France ⋅ ☁️ 26 °C

    Although it has been wonderful to spend a restful week recovering from our long flight from Australia, the real reason we cam to France was to cycle, not to rest. For the next 5 weeks that is what we will be doing almost every day. Of course it is neither fun (or very smart) to cycle in extremely hot weather. When I planned this trip I was counting on the fact that the start of September would herald the end of the long hot days of the Provencal summer. It almost worked.

    The local weather experts had been predicting that today would be the final of the almost endless sequence of hot days. From tomorrow onwards they are promising that the temperatures will hover around the mid 20s - absolutely perfect for riding. Unfortunately our first day on the bikes would also be the final day in the mid 30s. It was going to be a challenge, but that is what the life of a cyclist is all about.

    Maggie and I awoke at 6 am to the impatient sound of my phone alarm. Our first night in the confines of our cabin had been a bit of a challenge. It is not easy to sort your gear in a room the size of a small shoebox. It was one of those rooms where you had to go outside into the corridor in order to change your mind, let alone turn around to face the other way.

    The secret of survival is to find a place for everything and then pack away everything you will not be using. It is also a huge test of how well you really get along with your roomate. After all, there is absolutely no place to hide. You even have to take turns in taking a deep breath. Such is life on a river barge.

    After donning our cycling gear and enjoying a lovely breakfast, we each packed our lunch of baguettes, meat and salad. The bikes were unloaded unto the quai, ready for us to get them set up for each rider. Our cycling guy is a retired Dutchman called Arie. He is a 66 year old who has enjoyed a multifaceted career as a lawyer, journalist and diplomat. He now spends 10 weeks a year leading cycling groups in different parts of Europe.

    Arie began with a briefing explaining how the system of pointing the directions at each road junction would work. We then assembled outside for the obligatory group photo. Finally we headed off along the Rhone - our ride had begun.

    The early parts of the ride were along lovely, shaded pathways. The traffic was almost non existent and the temperature was comfortable. It was the perfect way for us to regain our cycling legs. We quickly found that the bikes were ideal for this type of riding. I was intrigued with the infinitely variable gearing. I had never ridden a bike like this before and it was absolutely amazing.

    The first 15 km or so was mostly flat and then we hit the hills. Arie explained that every other cycling group avoided this section, but they had heard that the Ghostriders were no ordinary group and thought that we would enjoy the challenge. They were partly correct. The seven riders on ebikes certainly had fun, myself - not so much.

    As the road headed up to the skies the ebike riders sailed past with huge smiles on their faces. The rest of us suffered in the hot sun. Soon I was off the bike and walking (and so was just about everyone else). In spite of this, we were all having huge fun. This was what we had come so far to do. Life can not get any better than this.

    At Pujaut we stopped to enjoy our baguettes and have a coffee. The afternoon tea stop was at the even more delightful town of Villeneuve les Avignon. This place was the home of the cardinals when the Popes were ruling from Avignon. The narrow streets and stone buildings were breathtakingly beautiful, as were the cakes from the boulangerie. It was a shame that the iced coffee was dreadful, but maybe you can't have everything.

    We completed the day's ride by about 4 pm and discovered that the group of American riders on our sister boat had only ridden about half the distance we had. That was the icing on a most delicious first day. Australians One - Americans - zero.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 13

    The Loop of Aramon

    September 2, 2019 in France ⋅ 🌙 24 °C

    Human beings are very adaptable creatures. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly we can adjust to circumstance which, even a couple of days earlier, seemed quite challenging. Coping with life on a river barge is a perfect example of this.

    When we first climbed on board the L'Estello, just two days ago, the first thing that everyone noticed was just how tiny the cabins are. For many of our group they are probably the smallest rooms they have ever had to live in. In addition to the small size you have the added challenges of (almost) no windows. This can be very hard to cope with if you suffer with claustrophobia.

    Of course the challenge of cabin living reaches its epitome when you enter the "en suite" bathroom. While every cabin is equipped with its own bathroom, they are not exactly of 5 star (or even 1,2 or 3 star) standard. I suspect that the bathrooms were fitted out at a time before most of us were even born, Considering the incredible age of our riders, that is really saying something.

    The tiles in the bathroom are liberally covered in a layer of black mould and a sign above the toilet warns the occupant not to put any type of waste in it. I had previously thought that that was toilets were there for, but now I know better. Each bathroom is also equipped with a hand held shower and tiny basin. Of course it requires the consummate skill of a master magician to be able to shower without saturating everything else in the room. This is a skill that Maggie has not yet mastered.

    The diminutive size of the cabins would not be such a problem if you were only going to be in France for a week or two. If that was the case you could probably get by with a small case or backpack. The problem is that we will be travelling in France for two months and therefore have come with "beaucoup de baggage". By the time we crammed the two suitcases into our cabin, there was virually no room for either of us to enter.

    In case you are thinking that we must be crazy to embark upon such a cruise, I can assure you that we are in fact all having an absolute ball. Although the cabins are small, they are well air conditioned and the beds are actually quite comfortable, even if you have to sleep with your knees under your chin.

    The other key point to mention is that the cabins are only for sleeping, bathing and using the toilet. The life on the barge centres in the lounge and dining rooms. That is where the group members spend virtually all their spare time. It is this type of shared camaraderie that is not felt on the huge modern river boats.

    Today began with a 60 minute cruise out of Avignon to the village of Aramon. That os where we unloaded the bikes and started our ride. The forecast was for a much more comfortable temperature of around 26C, however we did find that this estimate was exceeded my middle afternoon. Although the extreme high temperature was missing, its place had been taken by the arrival of the Mistral - the howling wind that is a feature of the region. It is the Mistral wind that had destroyed many a peloton in the Tour de France and we felt its full force during today's ride.

    The ride took the form of a loop ride, starting and finishing in Aramon. The main highlight was the towering Roman viaduct at Pont de Gard. I had seen pictures of this engineering wonder in many books, but nothing can prepare you for seeing it in the flesh. The scale is incredible and it is mind boggling to think that something that was constructed 2000 years ago can still stand so proudly and securely. It had survived the dark ages, the Renaissance, numerous wars and revolutions and untold numbers of governments. You cannot help but wonder at the brilliance of the designers and builders.

    The outward ride to the Pont de Gard had been a real struggle into the head wind, but we were relieved to experience that most rare of all cycling phenomena on the return leg - a raging tail wind. Even with the assistance of the tail wind, it was still a long and tiring day in the saddle and we were all very happy when we finally reached the welcome sanctuary of our boat.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 14

    Vallabregues Loop Ride

    September 3, 2019 in France ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C

    I awoke this morning to a quite astounding sight. At first I thought that I must have been delirious, but the image persisted, even after I opened and closed my eyes several times. Over the first few days of the cruise I had been used to being the first one to climb the stairs and reach the lounge room. Over the next hour or so I am gradually joined by a sleepy assortment of other Ghostriders as they are attracted by the prospect of breakfast.

    There is one person that I NEVER would have expected to be in the lounge before me. Carol has already established herself as the undisputed sleeping champion. She has perfected the art of falling asleep in seconds and at every available opportunity. And yet, here she was, the very first person awake. My reputation was in tatters.

    After the hot and windy ride of the previous day, we were pleased to be looking forward to a more modest day today. After an initial sail to Vallabegues, we unloaded the bikes and then rode back along the river bank to Aramon. Our first stop of the day was at the lovely village of Barbentane. When I spied a shop selling "Delices", I just had to see what these delices actually were. A short time later I was sitting under a shady tree, drinking coffee and eating my very first vanilla slice of the trip so far. Life really can be good some times.

    We then began a sustained climb up to the extensive Abbaye Saint Michel de Frigolet. The morning cool had been replaced with hot sunshine and I could feel it burning my face as I slowly worked my up to the summit. I discovered that the abbaye contained a cafe and decided to order a proper lunch instead of eating the sandwich that was squashed in my pannier. It was a wise decision and the French fries were glorious.

    We then enjoyed an exhilerating descent to the medieval village of Boulbon. Maggie and I climbed up part way to the castle to look down on the town, but the heat was becoming oppressive and we decided to return and rest in the shade instead. The centre of the town was dominated by a large cafe/bar. It was an ideal place to relax while some of the others joined a guided tour of the old city.

    The final section of the ride was assisted by a gentle tail wind and it was a welcome contrast to the challenging conditions of the previous day. Around 5 pm we were back at the Estello. In most respects it had been the best day so far.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    1
    Day 15

    Les Carrieres de Lumieres

    September 4, 2019 in France ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C

    We always expected that today was going to be a hard day at the office, and that is exactly how it turned out to be. Ever since we arrived in Provence about 12 days ago, we have been subjected to an unbroken run of hot weather. Considering we had arrived directly from the middle of a cold Melbourne winter, the weather has certainly been our biggest challenge.

    To make matters even worse, the forecast keeps changing every day. After our hot stay in Caumont Sur Durance, we were led to believe that the hot weather would cease as soon as we begun the bike and boat section. It didn't. In fact the sequence keeps being extended every time we read a new forecast. It is now appearing that we will not get any real relief until we travel up to Nevers next Monday.

    Today's ride was not only going to be the longest day so far, but it also had the toughest climb of the entire week. Our cycling guide had tried to encourage us by telling us that he once had a 92 year old complete the climb, however he failed to mention what sort of weather conditions the cycling Methuselah had completed his epic ride in. He also did not say exactly how long it took them,

    Of course, before we reached the climb we stopped at the town of St Remy de Provence. To our delight, we arrived right in the middle of an enormous market. The women in particular squealed with delight at the prospect of being able to buy even more stuff that they didn't need. I bought a leather belt for 5 Euro. The vendor truthfully told me that it "was not made in France". "Ce n'est pas possible" he explained.

    The market spread out over a huge area, and we never did manage to fully explore it. I managed to lose Maggie in the first 3 minutes, but I was happy to find an ice cream seller and a fruit vendor selling punnets of wonderful raspberries and blackberries. That meant that lunch was taken care of.

    Although it was only shortly after noon, the sun was already beating down relentlessly and the temperature was soaring back into the 30s. I should also be honest in pointing out that I am not a climber. In fact I am not precisely sure of exactly what I am, but climbing does not come naturally for me. It may be due to the fact that I am a rolly polly sort of guy who has to work about 60% harder that the tiny fly weight riders like Russell, Vicki and Kay.

    As we began the much anticipated climb I could feel the sun beating on my face. I slid the gear selector down to the lowest ratio and hoped I could find some lower ones. The sweat started flowing and my breath started huffing. I tried not to look at the road ahead and to just keep the pedals turning.

    I thought I was doing all right until a tiny shadow flew past on my left. At first I thought that it might have been just a speck on my glasses or a little dragonfly, but that would not have explained where the singing was coming from. It turned out to be Russell - apparently a tiny puff of wind had collected him and blown him straight to the top of the mountain,

    At the half way point the group assembled to decide whether or not to take the option of a lift to the summit. I am sure that several were sorely tempted, but the Ghostriders are built of exceptional stuff and the entire group decided to keep pedalling. The expectant van driver had to leave without a single fare. We later were told by the guide that this was the first time that had happened.

    About a kilometre further on I became aware that my nose had started bleeding. This is something that I have suffered intermittently from for over 40 years, but the timing could not have been worse. I had no choice but to pull over and wait for the bleeding to stop. The rest of the group left me haemorrhaging and continued their slow grind to the top.

    I won't labour over the rest of the details of the climb, suffice to say that I did finally make the top. The crest of the mountain is marked by the medieval village of Les Beaux de Provence. This has now become a huge tourist mecca, complete with a succession of tour buses and thousands of tourists. Not exactly my type of place.

    The main reason we had chosen to ride to this spot was not to see the thousands of tourists cramming in the village, but to experience Les Carrieres de Lumieres. This is an amazing sound and light display that has been set up in an unused Bauxite mine. I was just glad that it was cool inside. I took a seat and pressed my back against the cold rock. It turned out to be a bad idea. The sudden change of temperature caused my back to spasm and left me in agony. It took all my resolve to hobble to the cafetaria to get a coffee (actually two). The young assistant took pity on me and filled my drink bottle with ice and water. There are some advantages to looking about 92 years of age after all.

    We still had a long and hot ride of around 30 km to get to our boat at Arles. The final few km through the busy centre of the city were particularly stressful. By the time we arrived, we were all exhausted and spent the first twenty minutes rehydrating and trying to recover from the heat. Fortunately the evening meal was easily the best of the cruise so far. That was a popular end to a very tiring day.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 16

    A Sticky Problem in Arles

    September 5, 2019 in France ⋅ 🌙 20 °C

    We have known Carol for long enough to know that her brain works on a completely wavelength to the rest of the human species. Somewhere in the tortured process of human evolution, it is obvious that Carol's branch of the tree went in the opposite direction to the rest of humanity. This morning we discovered that she has passed this unique way of thinking to her daughter Samantha.

    Samantha apparently enjoys chewing gum. The only things that she has not yet grasped is that it has to be disposed of in a logical fashion. Unfortunately the words "logical" and "Yates" can never be combined in the same sentence. Following the ride yesterday, Samantha decided that the best place to leave her left over gum was on the handlebar of her bike. Although I have been sometimes known to bend the truth just slightly, in this case that is precisely and exactly what she did. I cannot understand what her reasoning was - maybe she planned to reintroduce it to her mouth and continue the chewing. All I know is that was were her lump of gum spent the night.

    Unfortunately Arie (our cyclimg guide) was not privy to this key information. When he proceeded to unload Sam's bike onto the shore, he immediately found himself entangled in a disgusting, sticky web of stale chewing gum. Of course he was both surprised and furious in equal measures. Carol and Samantha still thought that it was an entirely sensible place to leave such a foul booby trap.

    About 20 minutes later Arrie had managed to remove some of the sticky mess from his fingers and the front of his shirt, and we were ready to finally get underway. Our first stop of the day was the centre of Arles. This town is one of the best preserved Roman towns in Europe and is also well known as being the place where Van Gogh lived and produced some of his most famous masterpieces.

    Although I normally hate guided tours, I did try to behave myself and follow our appointed guide as she led us through the narrow streets and pointed out the most interesting sights. It might have been even more educational if I could have understood some of what she was saying. In spite of the language problem, it did give a fascinating insight into just how extensive and advanced was the Roman constructions in this region. The central arena is very similar to the famous Colloseum in Rome and it is still used for regular bull fights and other performances.

    Van Gogh was apparently mesmerised by the colours and light of Arles and this provided the inspiration for many of his remarkable artworks. Unfortunately genius and madness are often closely intertwined and his tortured soul finally found peace at the extremely young age of only 37 years . In his entire working life as a painter he only sold one painting.

    After exploring the city for the morning, we climbed on the bikes for a glorious ride to Saint Gilles. The day was significantly cooler than the previous days and this made the cycling absolutely delightful. We even enjoyed a helpful tailwind for some of the way. The group were all in high spirits, demonstrating just why we had come so far to do this.

    Around 3 pm we reached the boat and then settled down for an extended cruise along the canals to the town of Aigues Mortes (dead waters). That will be our final mooring as tomorrow's ride will be a loop ride starting and finishing in the same place.

    The cruise also gave us our first glimpses of the famous white horses that the Camargue region is famous for. To our surprise we also discovered that there were fish in the canals that were obviously attracted by the wake of the boat and seemed happy to surf along with us. Another magic moment.

    For me the time on the boat also gave me a chance to tune into the fourth test match, currentlty being played in Manchester. When Smith scored his epic 200th run, I was listening in the dining room of the Estello. That will be something I will remember for a long, long time.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 17

    In the City of the Crusaders

    September 6, 2019 in France ⋅ 🌙 20 °C

    Now that we have arrived in Aigues Mortes, we are officially no longer in Provence, but have entered the region of the Occitanie. The long hot days in Avignon already seem like a distant memory as each day has been filled with so many experiences and activities that we are danger of sensory overload. One of the reasons I take the time to put some daily information into the blog is that, if I don't record it straight away, there is a very real danger of it quickly all becoming jumbled up into a rapidly fading kaleidoscope of impressions.

    Our plan for today was quite simple - to explore the region around Aigues Mortes by undertaking a loop ride that would take us as far as the small villages of Le Cailar and Marsillargues. The common theme of this region is the bull. This animal is obviously of great impoprtance in the local culture and this is one of the few regions of France where there are regular bull fights conducted. To our relief we learnt that, on most occasions, the life of the bull is spared.

    Although the terrain was mostly flat, the raging Mistral wind certainly is a fearsome adversary when it blows straight in your face. Although Arie had instructed us not to draft close behind the rider in front, I had to admit that his instructions were soon forgotten as our riders sought out every opportunity to get even a little shielding from the raging onslaught.

    The only silver linings in our clouds occured when the ride took us downwind. On those rare times, the wind swept us along like a jet engine. The smiles returned and the speed of the peloton increased dramatically. Although the sun still felt quite hot at times, it was nothing like the searing heat that was a feature of the first few days of our ride.

    On several occasions we encountered the group of American cyclists that were completing the same ride that we were. They certainly looked like a rabble when compared to the well disciplined Ghostrider group. With their mottley collection of clothing and erratic cycling behaviour, they looked like a huge accident was about to happen at any moment. A significant proportion of their riders apparently chose to abandon the group on the first day and thereafter just "do their own thing" for the rest of the week. They certainly did not seem to be a happy group.

    We were pleased that three of the Americans had been allocated to our boat to fill up the empty cabin spaces. Although they probably felt at first that they had been sent to purgatory, I think they quickly realised that the Australians were actually more fun to be with. We were just pleased that the three Americans we had been allocated were just as anti Trump and anti gun as we all are. It turned out very well for them and us. Maybe one day there will be a Ghostrider chapter in Portland Oregon.

    We arrived back at the Estello at around 3.30 pm and unloaded our bikes for the final time. The bikes had performed really well and were ideal for this type of riding, however after 6 days of riding, my backside was ready for a break. I also had another important task to complete - to catch up on the big backlog of laundry.

    We had learnt from the Internet that there was a coin laundry in Aigues Mortes. Google maps clearly showed us where to go and we were just about to leave when Captain Claude asked us if we needed help. I felt like I had to tell him that we were off to the laundromat. What happened next was both touching and time wasting.

    The Captain asked for the phone, looked at it intently and rotated it back and forth. You would swear that he had never seen a map before. He scratched his ponytail, zoomed the image in and out and looked confused. He looked like he was sitting a three hour exam for his captain's certificate. I could even swear that he examined the back of the phone to see if it had any information on it.

    About twenty minutes later he was still fumbling around and decided that he would need to phone a friend for help. Another ten minutes were spent on the phone. The mystery deepened. We did not have the heart to tell him that we already knew the way (and we had never been to this town before). Although he came here every week, he was obviously completely and utterly lost.

    The problem was it was now a matter of French honour. He could not admit that he had no idea where the laundromat was, so he insisted on coming with us. We formed a chain of laundry carrying Ghostriders, following a French sea captain to God only knows where. It reminded me of the famous Pied Piper of Hamlyn leading the rats out of the city.

    Captain Claude actually led us through the city gates and into the old city. He was getting more confused by the minute. Those minutes were passing by quickly and we were worried that the laundromat would soon be closing. Our odyssey continued until finally the captain spied someone he thought he might have once known. He chatted away in French and was told what we already knew - that the laundromat was actually in the opposite direction to the one we had been walking.

    Captain Claude beamed as if he had received a revelation. He waved his hands, told us to "turn right, turn left" (or something like that) and then finally set us free to go in the direction we wanted to go in at the start. It was a bit frustrating, but it gave a wonderful insight into the French way of thinking. It was another example of why I love France and the French people so much.

    We finally found the laundromat, washed and dried our clothes, and returned to the boat with huge smiles. Later that evening we enjoyed another wonderful meal and said our final thank you's to the staff who had looked after us for the past week.

    Tomorrow David and Joan will leave to make their own way back to Australia while the rest of us will have another two nights in a hotel in Aigues Mortes, before catching the train to Nevers.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 18

    A Terrible Crime is Discovered

    September 7, 2019 in France ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    After 8 days on the boat, I would be lying a little if I said that we were sorry to be leaving the confines of our cabin. It is not exactly easy to live in a space about the same size as a dwarf's coffin. Although each person evolves their own survival strategies for storing their gear, washing themselves and doing their laundry, as the week progresses it is normal for each person to start fantasizing about what they are going to do when they get to a hotel room. "I can't wait to see inside my case again", "I am going to spend an entire hour under the shower", "I will wash my socks and undies for the first time in a week"," I haven't brushed my teeth since leaving Melbourne", and so on.

    By 8 am our riders were dragging their cases up the winding stairs from the cabins to the main deck. With so little room to move , it was a miracle that no one was crushed under the weight of a falling suitcase. Three men helped Carol and Sam manouevre their bulging bags to the deck. It was obvious that our time on the boat had drawn to a close.

    I advised everyone to do a double check of their rooms to make sure that no tiny item had been overlooked. A few minutes later Sam poked her head up the staircase to announce that she had found that Carol had left about half of her belongings in the drawer under the bed. That was the reason her case only weighed 19 kg. Some time later Carol had retrieved several kg more of her (nearly) lost luggage and we started saying our final goodbyes to our new American friends.

    The strange thing is that, after a few days, we will all forget the difficult aspects of boat living, and then only recall all the laughs and fun we shared together. Next year we will back on another bike and barge along the Moselle.

    It was only as we were starting to drag our cases to the shore that things took a dark turn. Arie appeared with a look of shock and anger on his face. "Three of the ebike locks are missing", he shouted. We looked at each other, wondering why anyone would want to add a 3 kg chain and lock to their already heavy suitcases. "This has never happened before", he added. It was apparently a very serious matter. In Europe wars have apparently started over less serious issues.

    We all then embarked on a hue and cry to look for the missing chains. Panniers were stripped, cupboards were opened, guilty ebike riders were questioned under a bright light. Locks were counted and recounted, but the total was still three short. I thought that the brilliant Inspector Clouseau might be rushed from Paris to help crack the infamous case of the stolen locks. After all, this had all the makings of an international incident involving France, Australia, the USA and Holland. Although Donald Trump would probably downplay it as "fake news", it was becoming quite stressful for us.

    After an interminable period of searching and hypothesizing about the location of the missing locks, I came to the conclusion that they were probably somewhere on the bottom of the canal. Arie had no choice other than to admit that they had truly disappeared and he reluctantly allowed us to leave the boat. It was a slightly disappointing end to a fun ride, but I am sure that they will turn up somewhere and the tarnished reputation of the Ghostriders will be rightfully restored.

    We then formed a luggage peloton to drag our bags across the city to the hotel we had booked for the next two nights. In spite of a few rough cobblestoned sections, we all managed to reach the Hotel Chez Carriere without suffering a serious castor malfunction. The hotel is situated in an ideal location, right near the centre of the old walled city. It will make a lovely temporary base of operations while we explore the town.

    The name Aigues Mortes means "Dead Waters" and the swampy region has been used as a place to harvest salt since Roman times. The large areas of marshland also make it an ideal breeding ground for hungry mosquitoes. The recorded history of the town dates back thousands of years and the huge fortified city wall that now stands here played a significant role in the Crusades of the 13th century.

    The pilgrims and penitents that helped establish the city must have been a very colourful bunch. Over the past few days we have discovered chapels for the "White Penitents", the "Black Penitents" and even the "Grey Penitents". I am not sure exactly what a "grey penitent" is, but perhaps they were a sort of medieval fence sitter. The only thing missing was a chapel for the rainbow penitents, but I guess they came several centuries later.

    Maggie and I spent most of the afternoon wandering the narrow streets of the old city. The town has an inordinate number of cafes and art galleries, obviously catering largely for tourism. In the cool of the evening these outdoor cafes are packed with diners, and the streets echo with the sounds from numerous buskers. I am sure we will all return to Australia with amazing memories of our time spent here. The name might mean dead waters, but the place ceratinly seems full of life to me.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA Tour de France
    Day 19

    Very Unwelcome News from Home

    September 8, 2019 in France ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C

    It is not easy travelling on an extended overseas holiday when you have pets at home. After all, they don’t seem to be able to look after themselves. Not only do they require feeding, dogs also need daily walks and cats need to have their every wish catered for. Fortunately there exists a particular kind of nomad called the “housesitter”. These people have adopted a gypsy lifestyle, whereby they exchange free accommodation and utilities in return for caring for pets that have been deserted by their globetrotting owners.

    We have used the services of several different housesitters in the past and have found that the arrangement was mutually beneficial to all parties concerned. We had assumed the same thing would apply this time, after all we had driven all the way down to Geelong to meet the potential sitter, many months before we were due to leave. We even introduced her to the dog that she would be looking after. We had no reason to believe that things would not go well.

    As it turned out the arrangements seemed to be going well for the two and a half weeks we have been travelling for. For the first few days we even got sent emailed “happy snaps” showing how well the cat and dog were being looked after. Even when the communications started to slow down, we assumed that all was going well. You can therefore imagine my surprise when I got a short message saying that the housesitter had decided to immediately pack up and leave. No warning, no opportunity to make other plans – she had just packed her bags and gone, leaving the pets in an empty house. Even more surprising was the way she ended her message with “have a happy holiday”.

    To say that this constituted something of a curveball would be an understatement. We then spent much of the morning on the phone trying to put alternate makeshift plans into operation. We have never heard of a sitter acting in such an irresponsible way before, but there was little we could do about it when we were on the other side of the planet. When Maggie’s sister arrived at our house to see what had happened, she found that not only were the animals left unattended, but the front door had been left damaged, the airconditioner was broken, the washing machine had been moved and some towels had been taken. I suppose under such circumstances we should have been glad that she had not stayed for the full two months as I don’t think the house would have survived. I guess we have learned to be far more selective in our choice of any future potential house sitters. In the meantime we will have to somehow get by with “Plan B” for the next 6 weeks.

    Since today was going to be our final full day in Aigues Mortes, I did not want the entire time there to be spoilt by the unwelcome news we had received. We had already decided that we should all visit the ramparts that surround the city. These fortified walls extend around the full 1.7 km perimeter of the old city and certainly would have posed a significant obstacle for any would be medieval invader.

    If we had been aged between 18 to 25 years of age we would have been able to get access for free. For some reason the ticket seller would not believe that I fell in that age range and charged me the full price of 8 Euro. There was no concession for old Australians at all, even if our ancestors had helped rescue France from destruction in both world wars.

    Once we climbed the stairs to the top of the imposing main tower I had to admit that it was worth every cent of the admission charge. The views out over the surrounding flat marshes were magnificent. In front of us we could see the long canal that our boat had followed to reach the city. I then spent the next 90 minutes walking the entire length of the ramparts. At irregular intervals the walls are punctuated by a succession of larger constructions. These were used for various functions, including chapels, prisons, forts, etc. The sheer amount of material and effort that had gone into the construction must have been incredible.

    By the middle of the afternoon I was feeling tired and returned to my room at the Chez Carriere. Our room was situated next door to Gael and Gerry’s. For some reason Gerry seemed to have an inordinate amount of difficulty unlocking their door. Every 30 minutes or so we would hear a prolonged ritual of clanking, banging, key turning, often punctuated by a period of loud cursing. Just when you thought that they had finally opened the door, it would start all over again. I am sure that it would have been easier to make a hole through the 5 metres thick stone ramparts, than to turn the key in Gerry’s lock. Although I tried to instruct him on the correct technique for opening this sort of lock, it was obviously a skill that he never managed to master. To the contrary, he actually seemed to get noisier with each successive opening and closing.

    Although we had no such difficulty with our lock, we did manage to almost shake the building from its foundations several times when we accidentally let the door slam shut. On such occasions I think the resultant bang would have been audible in Paris. In spite of these minor hiccups, the hotel really was a fantastic place to stay. The rooms were clean and comfortable, the air conditioners worked well, the location was perfect and the manager was delightful.

    Tomorrow we will be bidding adieu to Aigues Mortes as we undertake a gruelling all day train odyssey to take us to Nevers to begin the second part of our cycling adventure. After a three day break, I am sure that all our team is very eager to get rolling again.    Read more

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