Castelnaud (Dordogne) to Les Vingnes (Tarn) on a bicycle

La Bastit Murat - preparation of the vin d'honneur after the ceremony at the war memorial.

On the Causse, Soulomes in the distance.

Arguments in the Church of England over biblical interpretation as forseen by the monks of the Abbey of St Peter c 12th Century.

Ruined Abbey of St Pierre at Marcillac sur Celle, sacked by the Hugenots 1568/9.

This is what the tympanum over the doorway at the Abbey of St Peter may have looked like before it was destroyed. This is to be seen at the Abbey of Beaulieu sur Dordogne. Click to enlarge.

These are notes on a cycle ride from Castelnaud to Les Vignes to meet Dormouse Droad and Brigadier Hal (Colet's 1st Hussars) via the upper Lot valley, a distance of over 300 Km completed in three and a half days.





A start was made, at 06:40 to avoid the heat, up the Ceou valley, an easy long up hill for three hours to Breakfast at St Germain les Belles, but having brought the croissant at the bakery there was no cafe open. One was firmly shut, the other had its doors open but no one had cleared up from the preceding (Saturday) night and glasses and plates were scattered everywhere as if it was all the owner could do to rise and open the doors to let out the smell of alcohol from the previous night and returned to bed. So breakfast of water and croissants was taken in the shade of a walnut tree up a side road. An attempt to use chemin rural - basically rough farm tracks, but the map was not large enough scale and ended up pushing the bike up a very steep footpath but serendipitously reached La Bastit Murat to find it en fete, so lunch was accompanied by a brass band with the musicians in red hats as they serenaded the participants at the vin d'honneur provided by the Relais du Roi de Naples following a ceremony at the war memorial.





After lunch a gentle pedal across the causse. The causse are dry limestone heathlands, steeply dissected plateaus, characteristic of this part of France. The tops are used to graze livestock, sheep or cattle and there are some fields of barley and wheat and for hay. There are woodlands everywhere but the steep sides of the causse are often entirely woodlands but old terracing , huts and sheep folds suggests the thin soil has been deserted by farmers and pastoralists alike over the past two hundred years so that the area has been recolonised by trees, mostly oak with blackthorn and dogwood.

The chemin rural had taken thier toll so a few miles down the road a leisurely replacement of an inner tube in the shade of a plane tree using a stone plinth around the tree as a workbench outside a beautiful Romanesque church (Soulomes) was the highlight of the afternoon. Then off again along the dry causse and down at evening to the beautiful valley of the Celle with more medieval villages and an ancient ruined abbey at Marcilhac sur Celle. The Abbey was sacked by the Hugenots in 1568 or 1569 and much of the fine Romanesque carving that must have decorated the church, like those at Moissac and Beaulieu, was destroyed. There was however a carving on a capital depicting strife in the Church of England over gays- those medieval monks really saw far into the future.





Onward up the south side of the valley and searched for a place to spend the night, first finding level ground of an old pasture with sheep folds but the ground had several piles of dust dry sticks which had lain there for perhaps then, twenty or thirty years, as if the gathering of the firewood had been someone's last act after which they had gone home and passed queitly away. This made the place feel very creepy so I refected it and eventually found a disused terrace garden to spend the night under the stars to be quietly awoken by rain just before dawn and then, after falling asleep again, by the fright of the angry grunting bark of a wild boar. It must have walked up really close to the unsuspecting sleeper, before it realised he was unpleasantly human. It barked like an angry sow three times and then further barks could be heard every ten seconds or so each set of barks coming from further off as it retreated as fast as it could. Unfortunately was zipped into a heavy bivvy bag (borrowed without her permission from Our Lady of the Fermentations at that time on death row in Kampala) and it could not be unzipped fast enough to see, let alone photograph, the boar! Having been thoroughly woken up, got up in a break in the rain packed and cycled in the increasingly heavy rain with a leaky weatherproof to the nearest village, mostly downhill, into the Valley of the (lower) Lot to get warm with croissants and coffee at Cjarac. Fortunately the rain stopped and cycling continued east up the valley and then up steep hills to the next plateau of farmland which gradually gave way to steep hills where all the uphill gradients seemed long and steep and the declines very steep and short getting one nowhere but to the bottom of the hill. Eventually after having to walk up a very steep hill for nearly an hour, ended up at the ancient fortress village of Peyrusse le Roc which has a ruined chateau with square towers but also a good restaurant which appeared to contain a substantial portion of the contributors to radio France Culture. After refilling both stomach and water bottle, set off along more causse but with more cattle farms and there was enough sun in the afternoon to dry clothes and sleeping bag on a barb wire fence and hay bales whilst taking a nap. From there the road ran along a plateau top and there made good progress. At evening once more in the rain, this time at Marcillac Vallon yet another medieval village with a fine church but this time made of red granite rather than golden and grey limestone. There were no rooms available at this large village and fortunately the rain stopped and so took the opportunity, girded up beard and cycled up yet another steep hill on to the next set of Causse and just as it was getting dark spotted some stone covered sheep grazed heathland and there found a shallow bowl with about thirty oak and pseudoacacia (Robinia psuedo-acacia) trees growing in it. It was covered in soft earth with no stones and grass and felt really friendly and there the night was spent under an oak completely sheltered from the showers of rain. Why are some places so welcoming and others so full of unease? The odometer read 185km after two days.



On the road again before dawn, and after a map reading error down a frightful main road, more like a motorway - more than 20km from the oak tree, reached the village of Bouzols which is remarkable because it is divided in half by a deep and wide gorge! How do you efficiently administer a village divided in this way? There was breakfast and Olympic kayaking including the French Olympian wo had first learnt to kayak on the Dordogne at Castelnaud. There was time to gaz at and photographed the gorge and the Romanesque church of St Faust ! on the other side of it. Yet more hills, but good progress and realising he would arrive a day early at Le Vignes, he decided to take a diversion to the upper Lot valley with lunch at St Eulalie d'olt.


Olt is the local, l'occitan, pronunciation of Lot, ie the original pronunciation, if you were a Parisian map making official hearing everywhere being called d'olt you would hear it as Lot. L'Occitan is the linguistic link between French and Spanish and Portuguese. The village had a wonderful Romanesque church as well as a good restaurant, but the river there is over-managed and has little flow, dead looking. Took a road along the north side of the river which had become alive with white water over grey rocks peopled by kaykers and their colourful boats. The road was desperately hilly and with a terrible surface so there was no real benefit from the declines either, just brake wear! It rained heavily and shelter had to be found for an hour, but eventually reached the Village of St Laurent d'olt. On the bridge was a shuttered hotel with broken windows; the bar appeared to be open but it was of such doleful appearance could not face asking for a room. Unfortunately most of the village and its grim Chateau was at the top of another steep hill. There was to be found a Pizzaria which also did rooms and ringing the bell was greeted by the owner saying "Pourquoi?" to which the greybeard replied "Pour quoi "pourquoi"?" Clearly he was not going yield a room even if he had any, to such a bedraggled arrival. He said something at the end which was probably rude but when questioned claimed he at said Bon Soir. Ralised a split second too late he had missed the opportunity to say "Paraiment" which would have completely outwitted the owner! Anyway looked pretty bedraggled by then and much like a tramp - so as Jesus advised he wiped the dust of the place off his sandals (actually it was really mud by then) but before he could complete this act a passing youth belched loudly and God in a still small voice renamed the village "St Laurant du Dolts" and the rain came down even harder but found a trail of Chambre d'hotes notices and followed this for five kilometers back into pasture land and then up a steadily increasing gradient through woodland until arrived on foot outside a farm and a really warm welcome. He first took the precaution of taking off rain clothes and combing hair and beard before going to say hello! (well bon soir!). The farm made a lot of its own jams and teas, sausage, and aperatifs. There was really good dinner in a huge kitchen with a fire (in August) and the company of a couple from Sauternes as well as the farmer and his wife and child, and there was talk of wine and farming and cycling just like in all the best stories about all the best journeys. Slept like a child with the window open to hear the rain.



The next day cycled up the longest, steepest hills have ever cycled up and marvelled how the human body just modifies itself to cope with whatever is needed. Very pleased to navigate by the shortest route to Les Vignes, including finding a route to cross a motorway (A75), just using a compass in the old fashion way, as the map was of too large a scale to show the smaller roads. Anyway at 13:30 was cycling down the amazing gorge road to Les Vignes and could see The Droad's the Brigadier's tent by the river hudreds of meters below. A meeting followed as celebrated as that between Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt, and The bicycle odometer, thoughtfully provided before he set out by the Brigadier and the Droad , read 305Km but I think it was really a little less.



The overall impression was of huge rurality, overwhelming woodland and poverty, flavoured with medieval villages, churches and castles all neatened up slightly for tourists. The history of the villages, it was only the hundred years war and plague and religious strife, and the history of making cheese from sheeps' milk and cows' milk and hunting wild boar and roe deer in the woods.