Splendid

30 juillet

30 juillet
Tardets
A place of serenity and few distractions. Perfect for resting.
Please note that I will now start spelling the month correctly.

Moi emplacement pur moi tente.

Le Saison

Tardets

29 juillet

29 juillet
St. Etienne de Baigorry a Tardets, about 75 km.
Via Cols d'Iraty:
Col d'Haltza, 782 m
Col de Burdincurutcheta, 1135 m
Col d'Heguichouri, 1284 m
Col de Bagargi, 1327 m
Total ascent: 1794 my
Today was unexpectedly superb. While the sun shone brightly, and I was able to get off to a relatively early start, my legs felt thrashed. Rolling the 8 km into St. Jean de Pied a Port, I seriously considered checking into the camping municipale there, which looked tres inviting situated within the fortress walls. After a brief cruise through the ancient stronghold, my mind still not made up, it was clear that a cafe au lait was required.
Intellect now functioning much better, I took a thorough tour of the citadel, got my legs operational again, and meandered my way up to the Cols d'Iraty. On the Michelin map, this appears to be composed of four cols, three lesser ones leading to the big one. In reality, it's just two, Burdincurutcheta & Bagargui. And the first few km were the most demanding. 11% for a km. Then 11.5% for a half km. Then a long "easy" stretch at only 10.5%. The cafe au lait possessed magical properties, for I was slow, but undaunted. Breathtaking scenery pulled me skyward as if by asthetic cable. At Col d'Haltza, a troupe of four German fellows riding the Raid Pyreneen greeted me with the offer of a half banana. Danke, schön!
Climbing the last km to Col de Burdincurutcheta, enormous vultures riding the thermals, at times just a meter or two above the sloping roadway, brought me to an abrupt halt. Attempts to photograph their majesties were met with indifference. Creeeping up, hoping for another look, I came upon a couple in motorcycle leathers photographing and video recording the big birds. They were Jorge and Isabel, my new Spanish friends. Jorge hailed me. His English far surpassing my Spanish, we established that the vultures were waiting for me to die. Sharing our enthusiasm for the carrion eaters, Jorge showed me some of the excellent photos he had just taken. Then we photographed each other with both of our cameras, I gave him my email address, and promised to be in touch.
Which we were in less than an hour. There is a chalet at the bottom of the descent between Burdincurutcheta and Heguichoiri. Swooping down upon it with empty water bottles, a thirsty vulture was I. Before I could dismount my trusted steed, Jorge leapt up from his table, greeted me like a hero, and insisted on treating me to a cafe au lait. "Gracias, mi Amigo!". An hour with Jorge and his delightful wife, Isabel, sharing photos, stories and a love of birds followed. Both literally and figuratively the high point of a day of grand heights.
Bidding farewell with motorcycle toots and bicycle bells, the last bit of climbing was relatively easy. Only 8%. Then the jacket and helmet went on for the plunge down to Larrau. Some Norwegian cyclists coming the other way warned me about the cows in the road. BIG cows. And horses. And sheep. And goats. The brakes got a workout.
Rolled into Tardets, found a camping ground beside the river, and have decided to take tomorrow off. Must rest legs.

Larrau

I feel very welcome, Merci.

Pic d'Orhi enshrouded in clouds.

It's our road, Dammit. We LIVE here.

Looking down towards Larrau

Top o' th' 'ill.

Isabel and Jorge avec tres grand motovelo.

Jorge's photo of the vultures.

Jorge

Moi

Pic de Béhorléguy

Pic Mendibel.

Mon amis Allemande

Looking back towards St, Jean de Pied a Port.

Up.

Hook for the gate.

Moi velo through the arrow slit.

Way to the Citadel in St. Jean de Pied a Port

New use for a dry moat.

Defender of the Citadel.

A good deal of poitical division here.

28 juilliet

28 juilliet
St. Jean de Luz to St. Etienne de Baigorry
Via 3 official Cols, two unofficial momumental climbs, and the village of Etxalar, Spain (Basque).
86 km
Col de St. Ignace, 169 meters
Col de Lizarrieta, 441 meters
"Col of the Hungry Ponies," 544 meters
"Col de l'eau Potable," 564 meters
Col d'Ispeguy, 672 meters
Total ascent: 1980 meters
Je suis tres content et un peu fatigue aujourd'hui.
The first day in the Pyrenees exceeded all of my expectations. Mountains rising like giant ocean waves one upon the other, dense green foliage and expanisive sloping meadows, omnipresent clanking of bells on cows, sheep and ponies, quiet winding roads, engaging climbs. Heaven. I departed from the offical route when passing through Sare. Felt like getting off the beaten track. Got my wish. A gradual climb through the forest brought me to Col de Lizarrieta, from which the descent was pure unadulterated glee. Winding, fast, smooth pavement much like the descent from Leggett to the Pacific at the Northern end of Highway One in California. In fact, much of today felt like riding my favorite roads in Northern California, except that they went on & on & on. Tree and shrub covered hillsides brought to mind pleasant memories of running in the hills between Los Altos and the coast.
Having entered Spain, I became rapidly disoriented because the signage was in Basque and Spanish. It got exciting when I could not locate the tiny road that would lead me out of Etxalar and back into France. Summoning up my courage, I asked a woman wearing a bright green vest who was supervising two men in green vests who were repairing the curbs in the miniscule town square by meticulously applying mortar. It was admirable work. She spoke no English, I no Basque, we were able to converse poorly in French. At last she threw her hands high and spoke very loudly, "A gauche, a droite, tout droit!"
"A droite?"
"Non! A gauche!"
Remembering that the GPS attached to my handlebars might be useful, I was able to follow her excellent directions, and find the steepest hill I have ever climbed with a fully loaded touring bike. It was as steep as the steepest part of the climb up Mt Erie. Is that 12%? 15%? It took 100% of me. And it was completely satisfying savoring my lunch at the top, while the local pony population crowded around me begging.
From the remote "Col of the Hungry Ponies," it was a lovely descent and more reasonable climb to the official route. The roadside location de picque-nique had, Merci Dieu!, running water. I was down by a liter at least. A sweeping swift descent from le "Col de l'eau Potable" brought my bike, bags and me to the final climb. Perfectly graded, smooth as silk, the afternoon light bringing the mountains into sharp focus. Voila!
Camping tonight at a bend in the river, a la Camping Municipale St. Etienne de Baigorry.

Are you serious? You really want to go down this hill?

En route to St. Etienne de Baigorry.

The way down from Col d'Ispeguy

Approaching Col d'Ispeguy.

Spain

Hungry pony.

Say, what? The greeter at the Spanish border.

The first of many.

Combing the beach in the early morning.

27 juilliet

27 juilliet
Messanges a St. Jean de Luz via Bayonne et Biarritz
About 90 km.
The sun shone all day long! Left the land of "piste cyclable" just before crossing the bridge to Bayonne. Heading into the Centre Ville, I noticed that most folks were wearing white and red. Voila! Je arrivee en l'un ere jour de la Fete de Bayonne!
The crowds were immense and rowdy. Lots of drinking and singing and bragging about bulls & rugby. The citizenry were enjoying themselves in grand style. Wandering the pedestrian streets of downtown, several times encountered complete bipedal gridlock. Then the singing and clapping started. It was intoxicating.
Located a "French Coffee Shop" with WiFi. After absorbing a much needed macchiatto, I, too, felt like singing and dancing. When the baristas turned the music up to "11," all of us started dancing jubilantly. We were shaking the place down!
With dancing shoes intact, headed south to Biarritz. Wow! A spectacle best seen on a bike, unless you drive a Jaguar, Mercedes or, best of all, Ferrarri. After the third red Ferrarri rumbled throatily by me, I had had my fill.
The coastline reminds me of the California coast. Cruising south, the road plays tag with the sea, the bluffs and the beach, gaily knitting together the resort towns. Glancing eastward, my breath caught in my chest. There were the Pyrenees rising into the clouds! I did not realize how starved for a view of mountains I was. I admit to feeling seriously intimidated.

View from my camping spot in St. Jean de Luz.

The best spot in Biarritz.

Rugby is tres grand en Bayonne.

Fete de Bayonne

Learning to ride en le piste cyclable

Gluten Free Feast. Merci, Bio Marche!

26 juilliet

26 juilliet
Cazeaux a Messanges
145 km, all on piste cyclable
Left in the rain. At least the tent is now dry. The day was a pleasant 19 degrees celsius, and eventually dried up. Contemplative riding. Moi Francais is improving a little. I can now count to 100 and recite the days of the week, ask for a few things and understand more. Feels like a dream in many respects. Hope to make it to Hendaye tomorrow, and begin the Raid Pyreneen the day after. It is raining again now. Building character!

Fantastic salsa music while watching rugby.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Campground laundry. So thoughtful!

So many piste cyclables, it is almost like Holland!

25 juilliet

25 juilliet
Le Parc Ornithologic du Le Teich
Cazeau
Woke to a penetrating and omnipresent rain. After sharing oatmeal and tea with Max under an overhang beside toilettes, we parted ways.
Spent the better part of the day at the bird refuge just east of Arcachon. Very much like Reifel in B.C. In the early part of last century it was a wetland diked off to raise fish. The birds loved it. Sometime in the 1950's it became a refuge, with the water levels still controlled in order to make life easy for le oiseaux. Although the rain continued, at least the tide was high. When it's low, most of the birds are out on the large mud flats foraging.
It was pretty much the birds and me. White Storks, Black headed gulls, coots, mallards, little egrets, buff backed herons, Water rails, dunlin, Cormorants, black winged stilts, Swallows, Mute swans, Sand martins, A nightingale, a yellow wag-tail, and, of course, crows, pidgeons, magpies and unidentifiable (to moi) seagulls.
The black winded stilts were most striking, standing on one leg in the rugged breeze preening themselves.
While peering out from one of the many superbly placed and outfitted blinds, the two sand martins that I saw flew in on the wind, banked like tiny fighter jets over a small berry bush beside the blind and perched within a meter of my face. One seemed to be chewing on a twig for a minute or so before fluffing up its feathers and settling in for a siesta.
Walking out of another blind the nightingale flew right up to a neighboring branch, gave me a good examination, apparently decided that I was just a wet human wearing a red cap, and flitted away before I could take my second breath.
Futily attempting to silently creep down a wooded trail (my left shoe squeaks in the most annoying fashion) I kept glimpsing brown and black flashes darting across and back about 10 meters ahead. Finally, able to silence my shoe for five steps, I got to spend a precious 8 minutes communing through my rented binoculars with the illustrious yellow wag-tail.
Now I am envisioning a bicycle tour that goes from one bird sanctuary to another. In North America, in Europe, in Asia, in Africa, in Central America, in South America, New Zealand, Australia....
By the time that I finally dragged myself away, it looks as thouh the rain was dissipating. Ah, but when I mounted my trusted velocipede, the heavens opened. It was Le Deluge. Met yet another bicyle touring family taking shelter in the entrance to a Super Marche. Mom, Dad, three boys, touring in a big circuit from Bordeaux. They were hoping to get better weather than back home in Brittany. Oh, well.
With their guidance I found the piste cyclable to the little town Cazeau, where I myself found shelter in a cheap hotel. It continues to dump chats et chiens.

Little Egret

A problem with frogs and its solution.

The parc.

Parc Ornithologic du Teich

My next vehicle?