Riding with Roger

Beauvoisin was interesting. A workers town for the factories of Nimes, the fields around and the big saline extraction facility to the South that uses a drilling rig to extract rocksalt deep under the vineyards by dissolving it in water and sucking up the saline solution to pump 30 miles to the company’s (Kem One – look ’em up, you’ ve probably got some things made of their product) PVC manufacturing plant on the coast.  Continue reading “Day 22 – Beauvoisin to Mallemort”

Woke with an inevitable sense of anti-climax. Even the weather seemed enivatably blue and sunny. Still there’s plenty more to do and see, and I haven’t got to the end of Canal du Midi yet (Sete)  Continue reading “Day 21 – Agde to Beauvoisin”

Well after that the last 10km to Agde passed like a dream through the coastal hinterland of scrub and dunes and holiday camps of chalets and caravans closed till next season and bits of farm with odd vineyards and animals including poneys (sic) put out to rest in scrappy enclosures until a new crop of riders appear and tatty looking amusement parks with tall rickety rides visible from afar and gocart and quad tracks delineated by mazes of tyres in the dusty scrub and, of course, the canal.  Continue reading “Day 20 bis – Downhill from here”

These pictures just arrived in the pigeon loft:

The man in the water has been identified as RogerCO, 65, of Lanson in CornWallLand. He was last seen three weeks ago when he left home saying “booger working, I’m off for a bathe. Boode be a bit parky though and still full of them bothersum emmets.” 

Madame Unitendifed German Tourist who took the main picture said something incomprehensible about a towel. 

The bicycle is believed to be called Genie, travelling in company with Miss OSM and a posse of French Tarts who have disappeared in mysterious circumstances. 

The other picture shows that Portiragnes-Plage does indeed have fewer emmets than Crooklets. 

 

Stayed in a nice small modern house on new estate with view of both the Medieval City and the football pitch where last night the local lads were playing to much cheers and boos from a small but dedicated crowd. Carcassonne is about the size of Truro in population, and has a similar connected feel once the emmets are mostly gone.  Continue reading “Day 20 – Carcassonne to Agde”

Woken frequently in the night by the wind in the willow outside my window thinking it sounds like rain. But daylight revealed a grey sky with a misty horizon. Loins were duly girded.  Continue reading “Day 19 – Baziège to Carcassonne”

Much as yesterday really but with the added attraction (or detraction) of crossing Toulouse. Definitely in The South now. Level with Santandar and Florence more or less.  Continue reading “Day 18 – Moissac to Baziège”

The sun has got his hat on, hip hip hip horray,

The sun has got his hat on and he’s coming out to play.  Continue reading “Day 17 – Fontet to Moissac”

Woken by heavy rain at 6am. Went back to sleep and woke to overcast day but no rain. And so it stayed, very warm and muggy, overcast with black rain clouds in every direction you looked, wet ground, but no rain on me as I moved onward. 

Continue reading “Day 16 – Andernos-les-Bains to Fontet”