Day 10A and Day 11: Of Sisteron, Castellane and Cancer

Our day was not over following our ascent of Mont Ventoux. Rather, it was just beginning. We enjoyed a beautiful descent into Sault, where we stopped for a beverage, then continued on into a much drier area of Provence. Our destination was a picnic site the tour company had set up.

Mark and I have remarked many times over the course of this tour how often one sees a lone tree in the middle of a field - in this case, a harvested lavender field. Even in agriculture, the French express art.

The lunch spot was the half-way mark, but the afternoon ride was pretty straightforward, on to Sisteron. Along the way, we passed the Chapel of St. Bernadette, pictured in the lead photo, and quaint houses. The countryside was dry. I told Mark it reminded me of central Oregon. 

Our total miles and vertical feet for the day: 82.5 miles (making our longest day of the tour) and 7513 feet.

Our overnight stay in Sisteron was unremarkable. The lobby of the hotel was quaint; our room was not. The dinner was probably the worst we've had on the trip. I gave up writing about food because, frankly, there hasn't been much to write about.

Me navigating the streets of Sisteron

Dinner in Sisteron

Yesterday was not a particularly good day. (It reminded me of a day on our Corsican tour two years ago that I wrote about here.) I didn't have much to eat for breakfast and forgot that I had some Quaker instant oatmeal that I had brought on the trip. Unfortunately, there's not a lot I can eat at the standard "Continental" breakfast that most of our hotels have provided. My braces are problematic, preventing me from eating anything hard (like bread crust), and other things upset my stomach. I have made do the best I can, and that has generally been sufficient.

Yesterday morning, however, we started with a long climb right immediately after leaving Sisteron, as the above graph shows: 2500 feet in about 17 miles. I started bonking. Then I realized - duh - that all I had had to eat the day before (when we climbed Ventoux in the morning) was a couple of pastries, a tomato and a few chips for lunch, very little for dinner (because I didn't like it), and almost nothing for breakfast.

I was grateful for the support van that met us at the top of the ascent, where I was able to get at least a little nourishment. 

Roman inscription chiseled into a rock on the ascent.

This is the scene that greeted us shortly after starting our descent. When we came around a curve very shortly after seeing the above, we were greeted with the scene pictured below.

Fortunately that long climb was followed by a long descent, where our lunch spot was waiting for us. After a salad and an omelet and some fries, I was feeling much better.

The afternoon was a slog. The landscape wasn't particularly inspiring and we had a climb right at the end of the ride. This was the closest I've come on the trip to mentally bonking. All the cars, trucks and motorcycles passing, the exhaust, my lack of nutrition, my sore knees and achey muscles, missing my family, and lingering frustration with the quality of some of the meals we have had and places we had stayed (as part of the tour) - all of this brought me to the edge. As I commented in my previous post, I really felt like getting off my bike, throwing it on the ground and stomping on it (after 67 miles and 5700 vertical feet).

Mark, as always, was very supportive. He has his own aches and pains, but he rarely if ever mentions them. I've often thought in this regard of a line from a British comedy, "As Time Goes By," when Lionel, a character about our age (played by Geoffrey Palmer), while referring to Mrs. Bayle, his fathers housekeeper who has known Lionel since he was a child, says, "Mrs. Bayle is a spartan. If I had a spear sticking through my chest, she'd say, 'Do pull that out, it's ruining your shirt.'" 

Mark is a Spartan in some respects. He's driven himself his whole life - professionally and athletically. He's always felt that he had to try harder to work harder. He accounts for some of it as overcompensating for the fact that he is gay. Now, I see him driving himself because he wants to prove to himself that he is stronger than his cancer. That he has to overcompensate. Where I would have the tendency to give up (or at least throttle back), he charges on. He always tries to take his daily cancer-fighting medication at the top of a climb. For him, I think, it's a silent sign of victory, of defiance, of hope.

I love him.

Day 10: Mont Ventoux

Cycling is very demanding. Sometimes, I just want to get off the bike and throw it to the ground and jump on it (which obviously could be very hazardous). Yesterday (Thursday) was such a day, a subject to which I will return in a subsequent post.

Wednesday, however, presented one of those fleeting moments when I actually experienced euphoria. It was the second time on this cycling trip that I have experienced; the first was the day we rode to the Col de la Croix de Fer in the French Alps a couple of weeks ago. It is a feeling Mark has often described, primarily associated with perfect days on the slopes, as a feeling that he could just leave (die) right then and there, he feels so happy, content and alive. That may sound like a paradox, but I have come to understand what he means.

I experienced such a feeling as we descended from the Col de la Croix de Fer, and I experienced it again at the top of Mont Ventoux.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We left our hotel in Vaison around 7:15 and got on the road toward Malaucène, about 10 kilometers away. Just before we arrived, we passed through this alley of trees. The morning light was so beautiful. This is one of the benefits of cycling - one has the opportunity to see and experience how lighting creates such beautiful tableaux.

Since we hadn't had breakfast before leaving, we stopped in Malaucène for pastries. They were preparing for market day, and we watched them set up as we sat outside the bakery and ate our breakfast that consisted of a chocolate almond croissant - something I had never seen before. It had the typical two little bars of chocolate inside along with some almond paste, the top sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. It was so delicious that we bought a couple more to save for later in the day.

It was a gloriously beautiful morning. After several days of very windy conditions, there was hardly any wind. The sky was cloudless. As we turned to start the ascent, the church bell in Malaucène rang the hour - 8:00 a.m.

Nearly half-way into the ascent, I started taking pictures of these kilometer markers that indicated the average grade ("pente") for the next kilometer and how far it was to the top. After taking the picture of the marker, I took another picture of what I saw at the marker.

This was my second ascent of Mont Ventoux. The first time was two years ago, when Mark and I ascended via the Bedoin route. The third route up is from Sault.

I was thrilled the first time the Alps came into view. The jagged peaks in the distance are near Bourg d'Oisans, where we spent our first few days in France before joining the cycling tour. This means that we had at least 30 miles visibility. I could hardly believe we were so fortunate to have such beautiful conditions.

The scenery was part of what contributed to the growing sense of euphoria I felt as we neared the summit. 5,000 feet of climbing in 20 miles. I was doing what would have been impossible for me several years ago. The conditions were perfect. I was with my husband. Though my children were not present, I thought of them and felt their love for me and mine for them. Life was absolutely beautiful. 

Day 9: Market Day in Vaison-la-Romaine

Today was a rest day, both for the tour and for me/us. I've felt a bit fatigued the last couple of days, so I knew a day off the bike would do me good. 

Mark and I (along with many others from our group) went down this morning to the weekly market in Vaison. Once again, it was a feast for the eyes as stalls spread out in several directions from the main square, down narrow streets and around corners. I think we eventually covered all of it, but I'm not sure; we may have missed a side street.

As we walked the streets, I was impressed by something that I have taken note of on several occasions these past days. If I had to put a word or two on it, it would be the aliveness and coziness of French village/small town life. I was struck a few days ago when we had lunch in a village up in the Vercors of the conviviality of the village center. Boys skateboarding in front of the town hall. Mothers sitting talking with other young mothers, their strollers close by. People engaged in conversation as they sat on a stone wall or a park bench. Others sitting outdoors at a café.

Then there was the day that we rolled into a town last Saturday morning, where we stopped at a bakery. There were parents with children, teenagers, seniors; talking, shopping, etc. This morning, as we strolled, we noticed older couples greeting each other, chatting. Market day.

We ran into our friend Michelle and others from our group

I suppose this same phenomena exists throughout Europe. A culture of community and communality that often contrasts so sharply with American life. Perhaps there is this sense in areas of large American cities. I don't know, as I've never lived in someplace like New York City or Philadelphia or Boston or Chicago, etc. Small town American life, I think, captures some of this; but the American emphasis on individuality runs counter to it. And small towns today certainly aren't like small towns of 40-50 years ago.

Anyway, I've enjoyed taking it in, including the hawkers at the market this morning. One guy with a strong clear voice was sitting at his booth, extolling the virtues of "magic shoelaces," popping his, demonstrating their elasticity.

Then there was the man who was selling something or other. As we walked by, I heard him call out to passersby in French, "I speak all languages [so I can help you]." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Even Dutch." [That's for you, Koen, Theo and Greetje. ;)]

These strawberries looked amazing. I wish I had bought some.

One may wonder if we purchased anything. Not much. I bought two items that I intend to use as ornaments for our Christmas tree as well as a couple of items to use as stocking stuffers at Christmas.

The first item is actually a Santon, which are handmade provençal Christmas crèche figurines. I was first introduced to them when I was on my Mormon mission in France 30 years ago. My sister started sending us large-sized figurines when she lived in Geneva 20-25 years ago. More recently she gave Mark and me her collection of small-sized figurines which we put out at Christmas. The above classic figurine represents a man fighting a mistral on his way to the crèche, and I will use it as an ornament rather than a member of the crèche community.

The second item consists of lavender and wheat bound together. I'll see if I can get it home in reasonable shape. 

After eating wonderful salads for lunch, we headed up to the old city to look around. 

View from the top

Mont Ventoux in the distance.

Tomorrow, we head out again. First, Mont Ventoux in the morning, then on to our destination at the end of the day, Sisteron.

Day 8: Le Mistral

The big story about today's ride was the mistral. I had always assumed that it - an extremely strong wind that blows down out of the mountains and has long been associated with Provence - occurs only in the winter. I was wrong. Granted, when I asked the young woman at the reception desk of our hotel whether the wind we were experiencing was truly a mistral, she thought for a moment, then said, "Oui, un petit mistral." "Normally," she went on to say, "the wind blows much stronger in a mistral.

This was after Mark and I had gone for an "easy" ride through wine country near here, looping around some jagged peaks called the "Dentelles de Montmirail," and nearly getting blown off our bikes more times than I can count. 

The first part of the ride wasn't bad because we had the wind at our backs. We went through vineyards, up to the village of Séguret, where the above picture was taken, then passing by Sablet and Gigondes. There is apparently lots of good wine-tasting in the area, but we weren't interested. 

It was when we started heading back north and east - and uphill - that we encountered the full force of the winds. We kept riding up and up (and I kept swearing) until we reached the spot from which the above photograph was taken. It really doesn't do justice to what we saw, but one can clearly see the dentelles - teeth - on the right.

We descended down into the town of Malaucène, which is one of the three traditional starting points for the ascent of Mont Ventoux. There, we had lunch, and were nearly clobbered as I ate my salad Niçoise and Mark his pasta carbonara by a large patio umbrella that came crashing down a few inches from our table. Yes, it was windy.

The wind is supposed to die down quite a bit by tomorrow morning, which is when a number of members of the tour are planning to do Mont Ventoux. Mark and I ascended from Bedoin a couple of years ago, then descended into Malaucène, from which point he plans to ride up tomorrow, then possibly descend to Bedoin before climbing back up and zipping down to Malaucène. Others are going to try to earn the distinction of doing each of the three ascents.

I, meanwhile, will be enjoying the Vaison Market in the morning, followed by some shopping in the afternoon, perhaps then followed by a nap.

Day 7: Into Provence

The days are starting to run together now. We are on the move, and it's sometimes hard to remember even where we were the night before. The tour is now over half over, and one already senses the end coming - but not until Saturday. 

Meanwhile, we arrived in Provence yesterday, ascending some small mountains and big hills, then experiencing a wonderful 20-mile descent with the wind at our backs. Along the way, we passed sunflower fields that must be approaching harvest time, walnut groves and, increasingly, olive tree groves. I mourned that we again missed the peak of the lavender, it having been already harvested. I still have hopes of seeing at least one field in bloom before we finish the trip at Nice.

We are staying in Vaison-la-Romaine. We arrived yesterday afternoon and depart Wednesday morning. It's quite windy right now (Monday morning), but the skies are a beautiful shade of blue. We saw Mont Ventoux clearly yesterday as we approached Vaison. The winds up there are predicted to be up to 45 mph today, so we won't attempt that legendary ride today. Instead, we will head out for a shorter 32-mile ride around the Dentelles de Montmirail that apparently passes through a number of vineyards.

A number of us had dinner together last night in a restaurant up in the old section of Vaison, which dates back to Roman times - not the restaurant, the city. It was lovely to sit on a terrace overlooking the newer city below, drinking local wines, then moving inside to an interior courtyard for a memorable meal.