Statues, by their very nature, are stationary; they don’t move; right? Well, unless that statue  is the Giant of the Tourmalet! The giant in question is a massive, steel statue of a cyclist. For some reason, it’s removed from the mountain and put into store over winter; it’s re-erection in early summer is something of a “must be there” event for cyclists all over the south west of France. The col de Tourmalet is one of the toughest climbs that regularly feature in the Tour de France. It’s a gruelling 18.6km climb with an average gradient of 7.4% and some sections up to 10.2% on the side we did on Saturday.

It was an early start; at 5o’clock on Saturday morning, when the alarm went off, I really did question my sanity, but we set off at 6 and headed into the mountains. I dropped Nick off just south of Lourdes so that he could ride the 16km from there on the Voie verte, a tarmacked, disused railway track, to Pierrefitte-Nestalas, the starting point of the statue’s journey. By the time I arrived in Pierrefitte, it was already hot, but the atmosphere was great, with about a thousand cyclists milling around the lorry containing the statue and a Bandas (a popular local type of band that play the most horrendous music!). Because I knew I’d be slow, Nick and I set off , with others, a bit before the official departure time. We rode the first part of the route, the 14km to Luz St. Sauveur, together and separated at the start of the col de Tourmalet itself. Nick rode the remaining 18.6km to the top comfortably, with enough breath left to chat to various people as he overtook them on the way, and arrived before the lorry and statue so he saw its installation. I, on the other hand, got to within 9km of the summit and just couldn’t make the pedals go round any more, so I turned round and went down, very disappointed with my performance, though I suppose a 24km climb isn’t bad really.

When we got home there was time for a quick shower and a bite to eat, before heading out to the Caupenne music festival, at which our friend Adrian’s band, Mister Teatime,  was playing. We tucked into magret and chips hungrily during the evening, as we listened to the various bands, until it started to rain and everyone had to run for cover. Ade, his wife Julie and the  band members were staying at our house for the night and I was most peeved that, having pushed myself too hard on the climb, I had a migraine and had to go straight to bed, instead of sitting up till the wee small hours with the rest of them, playing guitars and singing. But the following evening I spent a few hours learning a few new songs from Adrian, some of which Kieran recorded and if you really want, you can follow the links below to hear the result. The sharp eyed amongst you will notice that the Cawthray kitchen remains as chaotic as ever; the only difference being that now I don’t care what people think! 🙂

Kieran arrived home on Sunday afternoon, just in time for a barbecue, tired but happy, having thoroughly enjoyed his ride down from Harrogate on his shiny new motorbike. He, Nick and Adrian spent a long time admiring and discussing the new steed. The general consensus seemed to be that it’ll do nicely, thank you.

I’m beginning to understand the people who say that they only do DIY in the winter and spend the whole summer working on the garden. We decided it was time to cut the grass in the field behind the house this week, as it was nearly as tall as me; it’s taken most of the week, Nick strimming, me raking and taking it to the compost bins. We’re getting up early to do the gardening before it gets too hot, but usually work straight through to midday which has been pretty hot this week, about 30ºC in the shade. The back garden could hardly be described as a lawn, but it’s tidier now than it was.

We’ve also done a lot of work on the potager; we’d been rather enthusiastic in planting rocket and had to pull most of it out today as it had gone to flower. We’ll know next time! The same could be said of the spinach, which we’re eating in huge quantities; we’ll start looking like Popeye soon! Our visitors this weekend will be treated to a spinach quiche, I think.

We’re now getting two eggs a day from our adult hens, Sage and Onion; Sage’s are a normal size, but Onion’s are humungous! I weighed them today, just for interest; Sage’s eggs weigh an average 51g, whereas Onion’s are 82g!

Nick’s been watching the local bird life and has found that a family of Redstarts are nesting  nearby; it’s fascinating to watch the parents find food for the babies and deliver it.

We’ve got a very early start tomorrow and a hectic weekend, so watch this space on Sunday or Monday. That’s all folks!

Each Pentecost Sunday, in St. Jean de Luz, there’s a big bike ride, known as the ride of the quiet valleys, done by the best part of 1000 cyclists each year. The Nogaro club had booked to do this many months ago, before we joined, but a fortnight ago a couple of people dropped out and we were invited to take their places.

We set off by car, in convoy, from Nogaro on Saturday morning, arriving in Ascain, near St. Jean de Luz in time for lunch at the hotel where most of our party were staying; we were lucky enough to be one of the three couples for whom there wasn’t space, and who had to stay at a nearby chambres d’hotes, a far better option! We had lunch at the hotel, a pretty meagre affair; they were obviously not geared up to feed hungry cyclists, then eight of us decided to go for a ride.

I only intended to do about 40km, in view of the ride the following day, but got talked into going “just to the top of the first col”, at which point they told me that we were at the halfway point now, so I might as well continue. I don’t think maths is a French cyclist’s forté; since when has 28 been half of 72,?, the distance we covered that afternoon. I’ve never descended a mountain road in a group before and certainly not at the speeds we did on Saturday; it was quite scary and although I thought I did fairly well, I was given a masterclass in descending hills before the next col! It was a beautiful ride, though, along tiny roads, lined with overhanging trees, beside bubbling streams, over the border into Spain then back into France to tackle the last two cols.

Probably as a result of the miniscule lunch we’d had, (my excuse and I’m sticking to it!) by the time we reached the last col, I was struggling to keep up, but they refused to leave me behind, and as soon as the road started to rise, I started to drop off the back of the group. A short way up the hill I felt a hand in the middle of my back and Gilles pushed me the whole of the 3km to the summit, in the process leaving the rest of them behind! When someone’s pushing you, you have to give everything you’ve got and ride as hard as you can, so consequently, by the time we got to the top, I was nearly on my knees! But the last few km were easy enough and soon I was able to soak in a bath at the B&B.

The following morning we all set off to do the main ride; there were four routes to choose from, 34km, 67km, 90km or 130km. Nick and most of the rest of the men opted for the long route, but I chose the 67km; the hotel was 10km from the start/finish, so we had to add another 20km to the distance.

All the rides started along the same route, splitting up further down the road, so I stayed with the Nogaro group for the first few km, before following the yellow arrows through pretty villages built in the typical Basque style; terracotta roofs, white walls and Basque red shutters and balconies. Loads of the hedging in the area is a type of mock orange and the perfume was amazing as we cycled along in the warm sunshine. One of the cols was the one I’d been helped up on the previous day, so it was a great relief to get to the top with no assistance and no difficulty on Sunday.

Nick completed his ride with no problem, having ridden about 650km during the previous 10 days, while his friend was visiting. His total for the weekend was 220km, while I notched up a mere 160km.

Sunday evening’s dinner was turned into a sort of stag & hen do by Maithée, one of the club members; JB and Claudine, two of our number, are getting married next Saturday, so Maithée bought them Pierrot and Pierrette costumes to wear for dinner on Sunday evening. The meal was no better than the rest we’d eaten there, but the atmosphere was very convivial.

All in all, a good weekend;-)

After 6 days of dodging rain to get some miles in, eating and drinking well and visiting an armagnac distillery it was time to test the fitness in the hills. Tuesday had been a long ride in a head wind, then wednesday was time to swap Glyn for Jackie but since the flight was 10 pm there was time for a ride in the Basque hills. We parked at Cambo les bains, a thermal spa then made our way to the start of the first climb col d’ ispeguy and entry into spain. The scenery changes with the architecture on the spanish side in the warm sunshine,good roads for the descent then we are soon heading up the next col.Over the top and a drop into Dancharia, one of the shopping meccas just on the Spanish side of the border, then afternoon tea in Ainhoa one of the best Basque villages (all painted red), a large steak finished off the week well before the flight home.

I hope everyone’s enjoyed Nick’s posts; but not too much as you’ve got me again now!

I had a fantastic week back in Harrogate; Izzy and I are now both word perfect in “Sneezles” and “The King’s Breakfast”, two of my favourite childhood poems, a love I’ve delighted in passing on. It was great to catch up with lots of friends while I was back, as well as being able to see Kieran pass his motorcycle test and buy a bike. He should be heading back to France in the next few days.

It’s late now and I’m tired after a very busy weekend, so I’ll do part 2 of “Tour of the Basque Country” tomorrow – watch this space;-)

For the next week there will be a change in focus on this site, blog will now be  B(ike) LOG having swapped Jackie for Glyn at Biaritz airport we arrived home at midnight. Up at seven as we had the offer of a ride with the club, thursday was a bank holiday a sunny 88km then back for apperos before lunch. A slow tour of the area in the afternoon.

Friday dawned and the forcast was for possible rain most of the day so we decided to go out and play it by ear, there was a black cloud in the north so we went south!. after Termes we hit the beaumarche  ridge and rolled into the bastide of Bassous having been passed (just) by a long prosession of antique cars. To early for lunch we pushed on to montesquiou where the only possibility of food was an very ordinary bar, yes we can eat but not untill midday (it was 11.50). We were then shown the resturant down a passage and ate like kings, soup, salad compose, duck breast potatoes courgette au gratin, creme brule, wine, coffee and a “canard” to finish (armagnac served in the warm coffee cup).  The next few miles were a bit of a blur, I missed the turning for Tillac so we visited Mielan in stead, then it seemed like a good plan to visit the house that started the dream, it was onluy 5 miles.  16.30 and still heading south, a quick look at Montegut then head for coffee in Marciac before a flatish ride home arriving 19.30 for food and shower after 98 miles.

nice little pad

the house that started the dream

I’m off to sunny  Harrogate tomorrow, to see Alex, Izzy and Graham; and to catch up with lots of other friends too. The house is all cleaned, my packing done and I’ve just got to make some quiche and flapjack; then I’ll be ready to don the three thick sweaters I can’t fit in my Ryanair-sized bag, but which I’m assured I will need when I get back to the UK.

Nick has a cycling-mad friend coming to stay, but has promised to do a blog from time to time, so keep checking; I’ll do a report on my trip (if anything exciting happens), when I get back.

The sun was just rising over Nogaro, shortly after 6o’clock this morning, when 60 walkers piled onto the coach that was to take us to Bidart, on the west coast, to walk a section of the Sentier Littoral, the coastal path. The weather forecasters got it wrong; instead of blue skies and sunshine, there was quite a bit of high cloud, but that kept it to a perfect temperature for walking.

On arrival, we split into 3 groups, doing different distances and I joined 23 others to do the 25km between Bidart and Hendaye, on the Spanish border. It was by no means a flat route as you climb up and down the undulating coastline, between meadows full of wild flowers, rocky outcrops, forests heavy with the scent of acacia and occasionally a bit of beach walking. We were never out of earshot of the sea and could hear the waves washing onto the shore, as well as the sound of countless cicadas in the fields and birds singing in the trees.

By the time we reached St. Jean de Luz, the halfway point, we were all hungry, particularly since we walked the length of the bay, past all the restaurants serving delicious-smelling food; so we found some benches and stopped to eat our picnic. Not for us a restaurant meal; we didn’t have time to hang about.

After lunch we set off once more, stopping briefly to look at the ancient fort and the lighthouse, before heading out of town along the well trodden path. By mid afternoon the sun had finally shown his face; as we walked through a beautiful deciduous forest, the dappled light through the trees, along with the sound of birdsong, gave the place quite a magical feel. We stopped to admire a Victorian era chateau before the descent into Hendaye, where the final kilometre of the route went along the beach; so we all took off boots and socks and paddled our way to where the coach was waiting for us. Everyone agreed it had been a grand day out!

Sadly, my camera stopped working part way through the morning; but Christian is going to send me his photos, so I’ll put them on this page when I receive them (probably not for a couple of weeks).

When Kate, our neighbour, told us how long she’d spent cleaning roof tiles to reuse them, I must confess that I did wonder if the poor girl had ever so slightly taken leave of her senses. Until yesterday, that is, when I saw the state of the tiles Nick had taken off the cabanon roof; they were totally encrusted with decades worth of moss and lichen. So we set to, to scrape and scrub them clean(ish).I

It was another hot day, 30ºC in the shade, not that there was a lot of shade where we were working; but there was rain forecast for the night, so we decided to push on till we finished. We would both clean several heaps of tiles,  pile them onto the scaffolding tower, then I would pass them from there to Nick, on the roof, who’d put them in place.

By 9o’clock, shortly before the sun disappeared behind the trees, we finished;, having worked a straight 12 hours. We were filthy, hungry, mozzie-bitten and exhausted, but with a tremendous sense of achievement. I just hope the promise of good food, good wine and job satisfaction is enough for those two mad – sorry, I mean brave – souls who have offered to help us replace the main roof this summer!

Somebody, who shall remain nameless (he knows who he is!), has had the temerity to suggest that I don’t do any real work around here! I’m mortally wounded; cut to the quick! Ahhh, the plight of women the world over; who perform their day-to-day tasks with such quiet efficiency that the male of the species is blissfully unaware of how molly-coddled an existence he leads. Some even still believe it’s the pants fairy who does the washing!

Today was a different sort of day, though; with Kieran back in England, Nick needed some help to replace the cabanon roof. Having spent the morning finishing the task of moving the firewood from the terrace to the woodpile (by barrow or by hand since the trailer no longer fits through the gap since Nick filled it with roof tiles), I then became roofer’s labourer for the afternoon, helping lift beams and lats, position the tarpaulin and nail them in place.

That done, Nick sat down to a three course dinner which included home made bread, home made paté, a choice of quiche, made with home grown eggs and walnuts, salad with home grown lettuce, rocket and radish, all rounded off by a choice of crumble or lemon cake.

Not much time for painting my toenails today then ! 😉

It’s taken a long time, but today, one of the big hens, we don’t know which one, produced an egg! A beautiful, perfect, brown egg, which we hope will contain a deep yellow yolk. So a reprieve is in order and we won’t turn them into casserole or curry, not just yet, anyway.

On this morning’s club bike ride, I ended up riding with Maurice and another guy whose name I don’t know; they form the slower contingent, both being well into their sixties, I should think. Maurice was apologising for not having had time to shave this morning, to which I replied that it didn’t matter; I hadn’t washed my hair either. We had a good laugh as we rode along and although I’m not quite sure how much of the conversation I understood correctly,  I think it was suggested that in future I should ride in full make up and stockings, while they claim that they’re taking English lessons! Perhaps it was as well that I had to come home early. When he saw Nick after the ride, Maurice told Nick I’d gone home early to make him his favourite cake.

After what was a cool, wet start to the day, the sun came out at lunchtime and the afternoon and evening were lovely. Nick continued to dig out the soil at the side of the house and fill the hole with rubble while I started shifting the wood pile from the terrace to the wood pile in the field. Nick’s already removed the bricks and other building materials off the terrace, which will have to be broken up and removed – yes, producing a load more rubble!