Into the Midi-Pyrenees and to Mirepoix for a festival and a flat tyre
Trip miles 3,150
 |
| The ancient carved wooden beams |
After cycling more than 90 miles across four days it was
time to slow down and enjoy a couple of gentle days mooching about the medieval
town of Mirepoix.
This walled ‘bastide’ town was built in the 14th
century as part of a massive programme of settlements planned by the French
duchies in the South at that time.
It was never attacked and remains in
pristine condition with its centrepiece a gorgeous market square of timbered
houses and shops, situated around a covered and beamed walkway which boasts
gargoyle and ethnic human faces in its many carvings.
 |
| Il pleut |
On Saturday night under ominous skies we went to the
square at the advertised time of 6pm to enjoy the ‘fete des bandes’. As rain
started gently falling, the town Marie climbed up on a ladder to locate an
overhead fuse box and switched on the square’s lighting system. A megaphone in
hand he introduced the first of five brass swing bands which were all from the
surrounding area. The fete turned out to be a jovial musical competition in
what became a pelting thunderstorm.
 |
| A breakaway group at la fete des bandes |
Abandoning the stage set up in the market
square the various bands instead set up next to bars and restaurants under the
covered walkways. It was a noisily brilliant couple of hours as the thunder
crashed and the lighting forked above us as we all followed the music on its
impromptu procession around the square.
The skies remained ominous and ignoring them we set out
on a 30kms bike ride to see the walled village of Camon, famous for being “the
village of 100 roses”. The cycle along a former railroad track was passable
after the previous night’s storm. About 3kms from Camon Simon’s bike got a flat
tyre and it was then I discovered I hadn’t packed the pump. Ouch.
 |
| Beautiful Camon in the rain |
We arrived in Camon on foot pushing the bikes as it
started to rain. A charming Tabac owner chatted merrily away to us about who
might or might not be able to help us out with a pump or repair kit together
with gossip about the various villagers, which we partly made out and made up
the rest. She made us a baguette lunch stuffed with local ham and a hot coffee as
it was time for the French lunch and she was closing for the day.
We stood in
the shelter of a rampant rose bush which was climbing the abbey wall, and were
joined for a soggy lunch by a pretty cream Labrador who then dashed about with
us as we tried various houses, garages and the tourist office to find a bicycle
pump – it seems we were in the only French village without ‘le pump’.
 |
| 3hrs in heavy rain. Oh dear. |
Squelching our way back down the increasingly flooded and
muddy track we met a jolly French family cycling in the rain. They had a pump
but our tyres were the wrong fit so we waved them off with thanks for trying to
help. Half an hour later they overtook us on the track. An hour later we heard
them calling to us from below a railway bridge we were tramping across. Son and
dad gamely climbed up the steep banks drenched with rain sodden weeds and
produced a miraculous pump that fixed the tyre, before they both slithered
their way back down again.
We cycled 3kms at speed headlong into pelting rain
and not caring about covering our bikes and ourselves with muddy spray. At a
roadside junction a car hooted and it was our family once again who despite
being soaked through themselves were waiting to see how far we had got. We
waved a fond farewell just 6kms from Mirepoix. The air in the tyre lasted for another
4kms before we were once again forced to walk the final distance in the heavy
rain back to Bertha and a hot shower.
After throwing away clothes which were beyond a wash we
toasted our happy meeting with such a lovely and generous family. And then the sun came out.
 |
| The sunshine after the rain |
The next morning we watched our motorhome neighbour fuss
about his sleek mountain bike and inflate the tyres with exactly the make of
pump we had need of the day before. We both fixated on the pump which was lying
in full view just a couple of feet away from us.
It was tantalisingly close,
out of reach and ironic. Ah well.
