Change plans, slow down

Dear friends and family,

As we closed in on the end of the canals ride, we were enjoying the small towns and slowed even more. We booked a room at a Bnb that we saw on a video of Roland and Julia’s ride along the canal.

We met  Catherine, the owner, who let us and our loaded bikes into her front hallway as she had no other rooms booked that night. We stayed in the Shanghai room, decorated with treasures she brought back from her 20 year stay there. 

She hosts very few Americans in her little town of Ouveillan . It was great for us as she spoke perfect English and we could ask about places to explore near here.

We made reservations at the resort town of Cap D’Agde, but at breakfast heard about the National park filled with pink flamingos, long open beaches and tiny town of Gruissan. That sure seemed to suit us better, especially as we were interested in a longer stay once we accomplished our first challenge of crossing France, Ocean to the Sea. 

It seemed worth the forfeiture of the hotel to change plans, and we did.

The ride for the day was a short twenty odd miles only and included the final stretch of “sportif” riding, and not recommended with our packed touring bikes from  a mountain biker I questioned. 

Of course that only increased our curiosity and we rode and walked the Sportif section in between the salt marsh ponds and we were greeted by pink flamingos as well, so it made it worth the extra effort.

Gruissan has an old town, from the tenth century and also dredged marinas with slips in front of vacation condos outside the town.

Catharine drove down to join us for dinner in one of the few restaurants still open this time of year, and we learned a lot about small town living and more on the abandonment of the small towns for big city excitement and jobs for the youth. This keeps property prices low, but some villages are hanging on by a thread. Even though the real estate still seemed low, we learned it almost doubled since before Covid.

To make sure I kept my perfect record of exploring marinas everywhere I go, the next day we hiked out past the hundreds of moored boats on our way to the sea for a coldish water swim. There was only one other swimmer as it was winter season for the locals and the water was quite cold.

On Saturday there was a big open market of loads of food stalls selling prepared foods like Spanish paella and fruits, vegetables, olives, oil, and sweets. Also lots of used and discount clothing booths if we needed more stuff to carry.

Complete with a marching band, the locals and visitors all came out on this sunny November Saturday.

After we foraged our lunch at the market, we rode our temporarily  packless bikes out to the salt flats for a guided tour. The young woman conducting it warned us that it would be in all French, but we could ask questions afterwards in English and she would do her best to answer.

The piles of salt were like our version of this weekend’s snows in the northern US. They even pushed the salt around with snow machines.

On the tour were six women from Barcelona who spoke only some French and it was fun to hear our guide explain some terms in French, Spanish and English. With her showing us the drying and gathering operation, it wasn’t necessary to understand all the language and still understand what was going on here. The importance of salt for food preservation has slowed with the advent of refrigeration and this plant now is more tourist site and sales of anything related to salt in their store. We even gathered a small sack of salt for travel, careful to keep the weight to a minimum for bike hauling.

Our next “day off” we hiked into the canyon in the national park above the town. The trees and plants here resemble the dry areas of California, but our plant identifier let us know they had different names. Legs were not used to walking or climbing the hills and I felt more sore than I would like afterwards.

Plans for travel the next few days were hatched and upon waking the first travel day I noticed ” lazy Charley” waking as well.

” This bed is so comfy and you really like drinking coffee and reading and writing here. Why don’t you just stay put for a few more days” he coaxed.

” And did you realize that it’s only about 40 degrees F out and the wind is gusting up to 25 again?” he questioned me.

He had a convincing argument. I did like it here in this little village of Gruissan and I liked drinking coffee in bed even more. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea, what’s my hurry?” Thoughts crossed my mind.

“Someday you won’t be able to get on a bike and ride and you want to make sure you take advantage of that, right?” I answered to lazy Charley.

And again, lazy Charley was beat as I went through my pre-ride routine of packing and preparing. I love the routine: everything has a place on the bike- same place every day. All in the same order, each day for over a month now.

Funny, once riding, even if hard ( hills or headwind), that lazy guy never shows up. I’m still learning about him.

Yesterday I learned of a risk I didn’t even know about prior. Turns out that it is illegal to dress like a clown in several small towns in southern France. With how I dress to ride I’m hoping I don’t get arrested. I’ll keep a low profile of my 6’7″ self, dressed in my yellow outfit if that’s even possible.

The law is real and came about in year 2014 when gangs of young kids dressed as clowns terrorized people in some small towns so they passed a law against it.

Sending love,

Charley