STAGE 9 (Day 11): Avignon to Agde
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One of the oldest towns in France, Agde is a Mediterranean port on the Canal du Midi situated on an ancient basalt volcano.
DAILY DEBRIEF: Every life should have a little deviationYou left us at the end of stage eight resting our weary heads in Avignon, with both of our bikes in need of attention. Last night, while the support crew prepared dinner, Paul and Richard both addressed pressing velo issues.
Having sent Jacqui to Decathlon to buy a new chain (other sports outlets are available), a task she carried out perfectly, Paul set about changing this critical piece of equipment. Unfortunately, when fitted it became apparent that the problem was in the cog rather than the chain. This meant that Paul (by now greasy handed) had to reverse engineer the process and prepare for two final days of either no standing up and pedalling or losing copious amounts of skin to chain slippage.
Richard discovered the joy that electronic shifting has glitches. At one point it looked as though he would have to ride the rest of the journey using a maximum of two gears: one on each of the front cogs. Miraculously much fiddling and a borrow of Teresa’s tweezers resulted in a fix based more on intuition than engineering knowledge.
Keeping our promise to Teresa, we made a slight deviation from the route at the outset to view the famous Pont D’Avignon. Until yesterday we certainly did not know that it was only half a bridge - not sure that’s much to dance about folks.
Twisting and turning our way out of town, our nostrils were filled with the early morning scent of pine trees and aged plumbing.
Another pretty village, whose name is lost to the history of the day, gave Paul a chance to excitedly exclaim “Pavé”. For the uninitiated this means cobblestones or other paving blocks that, for any normal person, would indicate an uncomfortable ride. For Paul, however, they’re a source of endless fascination and perhaps some form of perverse frisson (read about his 2024 Flandrien Challenge.)
Komoot’s usually reliable routing was still in holiday mode after yesterday‘s jour ferie. This meant that our early morning coffee stop did not happen until 33 miles into the ride, setting a pattern for the day.
Cliches arise in part at least because there’s an element of truth at their heart. Today this was reflected in the relaxed attitude to café service and the somewhat devil-may-care driving of the people of the South
Venturing through the narrow streets of Tarascan and the riverside marinas of its twin Beaucaure, we saw history both mediaeval and later. Fortified towns demonstrated the tribal and violent nature of Europe over many centuries.
We were by now skirting the Camargue, a region famous for its travelling people and their horses. At this stage of the ride it was increasingly tempting to seek out equine transportation options as a straight swap for our bicycles.
Then things became slightly more interesting (frustrating) as we happened upon what we shall now call Avenue de John Boshier. Not only were we sent off road, but we were put on trails that either consisted of hardcore, perhaps in anticipation of a proper surface in the future, or simply huge stones.
After a little bit of this nonsense we decided that, as well as not being particularly fun, there was a distinct risk that our bikes would resign in protest.
Unfortunately to avoid the rubble trouble we had to make a 10-mile diversion! Yes, it was on decent road surface but it still added another decade to our ride. Both riders did well not to have a full Les Tourette’s.
So the lunch stop, which should’ve been at the 50-mile mark, actually happened after 60 miles of riding. Additionally the wind, who yesterday had lulled us into a false sense of security, decided to take the piss and blow full on into our faces again.
Rounding the bullring to enter another well-appointed car park where we finally met the support crew, who told us we were earlier than they had expected. With our cycling jerseys now looking like 1970s fly paper we planted ourselves in as much shade as we could muster to ingest isotonic baguettes.
By this time we had of course seen and reached the Mediterranean. Frankly, a much better looking body of water than the Channel we crossed to start the ride. And with Barcelona now appearing on roadsigns, the enomity of our achievement hit home.
Setting off again after lunch, our bodies quietly complaining, we moved relentlessly into the land between the Med and its accompanying wetlands.
We know that nature lovers wait with eager anticipation for updates on our spotting along the way. Today’s bird of choice was the wonderful flamingo. Standing in the shallows, stamping their feet to stir up their lunch on the mudflats, the flamingos danced for us as we cycled by.
No good deed goes unpunished and so it was when we deviated very slightly from the trail to make way for an older woman who told Richard: “There’s a route for a reason you know”. Richard acknowledged this with his usual good grace.
This was turning into one of our longer rides and the sheer duration increased the hazards. Car indicators appear to be an optional extra in the Mediterranean as more than one driver doing a loop around the roundabout demonstrated. Richard also had a close call with a baby Bentley.
Our delayed afternoon coffee and Coke (Pepsi today) stop took place around the 90-mile mark. Whilst appreciative of the cold beverages and the chilled water with which the barman refilled our bidons, we couldn’t help notice that the soundtrack was very much a tribute to a school mums’ night out.
As we entered the final few miles of our extended ride, Paul ingested what might have been pure steroids and put a kick in for the finish line. Richard did his best to hang on to Paul’s vapour trail.
On entering our destination town of Agde, we were greeted by the bare backside of an old gentleman who had either recently answered a call of nature or was the designated official greeter appointed by the town council.
Finally, after 111 miles, we arrived at our endpoint subdued but quietly jubilant to have completed our penultimate stage in 30° heat.
Only one more stage to go as we head to the foothills of the Pyrenees and the Spanish border…see you all tomorrow!
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Chapeau lads, nearly there! If you have any more problems with your steeds I suggest you catch one of these beauties https://archive.org/details/white-mane?
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