Travels in the Van 2023: Week 11

The cycling

I know I mention the cycling on an almost daily basis, but maybe I’ve not emphasised enough that it's central to the trip. I say this now, because much of it has been leading up to this week and the looming ride to the summit of Mont Ventoux. Its limestone white peak has been visible for days in the distance, as we've moved closer. And each day I’ve felt the tension rising. The issue is this: It's an iconic ride, it's part of the Tour de France (although they ride it at the end of a long day cycling, not just from the nearest village.) It's only 15 miles (24 km) distance, which doesn't sound bad, but 5200ft (1588m) of climbing. We've been doing routes of 30 to 35 miles that are 2,620 ft or 800m high - so this is the big one.

I have done it before, in July 2019, starting out at 4:30 am to avoid the heat wave that made it uncomfortable to even cycle after 11 am. The thing is, that was on my carbon road bike - lightweight, rides like a racehorse, easy to push if you have to get off. This time we only have a gravel bikes – great for riding on rough tracks and all kinds of surfices as well as the road but heavier. And mine is electric, heavier still. Great on the rides we've been doing, the extra oomph makes up for the extra weight.

So I've been trying to calculate how long before the battery runs out on a short but steep climb. I kind of know from the Orgiva ride in in Spain, back in February. 

It will run out before the top, 

It will be in the last few kilometres 

It could be 7, 9 or 11% gradient.

I may not be able to stay on my bike, pushing it would be horrible.

I calm this mounting anxiety by giving myself a gentle talking to, and reminding myself; 

1. I don't have to do it at all.
2. If I can't stay on my bike, I can walk. 
3. There is no shame in walking (and no shame in riding an electric bike) It's not cheating, it's not a race.

Another plus is that we don't need to set off at 4:30 am this time, and will actually be able to enjoy the scenery, and the café 2/3 of the way up at Château Reynard will be open this time.

Wednesday 26th April

There it is in the distance as we drive to the municipal campsite in Villeneuve-Les-Avignon, right under the ramparts of the Fort Saint-André. It's a lovely wooded site, with lovely trees. Plenty of visitors and plenty of room.

We have supper outside and it feels like summer. Tomorrow we'll have a rest day and explore Avignon.

The morning is perfect, and after a leisurely breakfast in the sun, we work our way through the Thursday market, where Richard replaces his old straw hat with a new one, and up to the Fort. We spend an hour or so in Jardins de L’Abbaye Saint André. It's beautifully designed and laid out, wildflower areas, pathways and terraces with a direct view with the Papal Palace across the river. They’re in a stand-off there in a perpetual stand-off with each other. Echoes of the two parts of Carcassonne here, both have their own history and charms. We have a lovely salad lunch in the busy Place Jean Jaure, full of restaurants, before heading across one of Les Ponts D’Avingon Avenue (nodding at the actual Pont D’Avignon of French nursery rhyme fame, taught to me by my Tante Annick). We explore the backstreets and cycle up to the Jardin des Doms and admire the view of the thought from the other side.

Thursday 27th April

The journey from Avignon to Bedoin, the village where everyone stays if they're cycling Ventoux, doesn't take long but the mountain never seems to get any closer.

Slowly the landscape changes to vineyards and charming rural farms and cottages.

The campsite is as we remember It, lovely terraces on a steep slope with a winding path. We pick a nice spot, there all nice spots, and settle in. There's a gentle busyness here. Everyone has bikes, even the little kids, and there's the usual bustle of cooking, eating and washing up. We pump up our tires and clean our chains. 

Friday 28th April

I surprise myself by sleeping quite well, and persuade Richard that getting up at 6:30 is too early and buy myself an extra three quarters of an hour sleep. We set off at a civilised 9:30 am, although my Garmin bike computer is playing up as are Richard’s derailleur gears. He'll only need the highest gear this morning and can take it to the bike shop when we're done. 

I set off with confidence, hit a steady rhythm, and finish off Labyrinth on audiobook and enjoy the podcast and downloads I've prepared. I’m only going to use the first level of electric assistance, as that will last the longest, and put off switching it on until I have to, about 2 km in. I'm going to be ahead of Richard most of the (which makes a change to our cycling relationship over the years), but not by much, and not when my battery dies. There's no point in delaying putting it on or my own legs will run out of power too quickly. After an hour and a half I'm feeling it,  sore knee, numb bum, but I'm determined not to stop before Chateau Renard.

The ascent has three distinct stages; the gentle climb through open fields to the forest section, the forest with twists and turns and variable gradient. You can feel it without looking at the bike computer, then a few switchbacks and the roadside starts to whiten for the last section which is from Château Reynard. This last section is dramatic. It’s white limestone makes it look snow-capped all year round, and as it’s name suggests it can be windy. The conditions today are perfect. 

Ventoux looms above, still as far away as a fairytale castle that you can never reach until you're there.

Were used to being passed by younger, fitter riders these days and we make a pact at the start that Richard will count how many people pass (32) and I will count how many people don't say ‘bonjour’ (1). There is a great sense of camaraderie and I have a laugh, in very poor French, with other people with electric bikes, some of which are much more powerful than mine, and those without.

I arrive at Château Reynard, the roadside coffee stop, a few minutes before Richard. It's such a relief to get off the bike but I recover really quickly, especially with a slice of apricot tart and a coffee. We watch people come and go and have a chat with a 76-year-old who is committed to riding Ventoux once a year until he can't anymore. At this point I'm thinking I never want to ride it again. I'm keen to get going and get on. My bike battery is 3/4 spent all ready, with 2/3 of the ride done. Sure enough, with about 3 km to go, I feel the battery die. It could be the momentum, but I seem to be able to keep peddling. I play cat and mouse with a couple who must be 10 years older than me, and then, surprisingly, I notice a teenager who is definitely struggling. We exchange a few words of commiseration and encouragement as I pass him. There are now riders who have reached the summit coming down smiling broadly, shouting encouragement to those of us still on the ascent and then three more teenagers come back to round up their buddy. It's lovely to see him rally and he shouts to me ‘we can do it’ as he passes me with only 500 m to go. Completing it feels good. They're scores of people on all kinds of bikes, all ages celebrating at the top, lots of coming and going. It's too chilly to hang about, so we put on extra layers, take a picture, and start the fantastic descent. Richard heads to the bike shop I head to the new cycling café and order our lunch.

News from home is pretty momentus too. Hannah has passed her big pre-consultant medical exams. And I can now share the news that was shared with us three weeks ago at the family meal in Bristol the day we left. There will be a new generation of Moseley-Webbs in October. Will and Felicia are expecting! Anglo/Welsh/Swedish relationships are at an all time high! there are two sets of very exited grandparents-to-be.

Saturday 29th April

The big ride done, it’s all downhill from here. We leave Bedoin and make the journey to Aix-en-Provence. There’s a quirky sounding campsite that has space for 10 campervans, run by a husband and wife on a small piece of land, in the outskirts. We’ve said we’ll arrive at 12 midday and do. They are waiting for us at the gate. Hubert is a charming frenchman, about 70, in a wheelchair on the gravel drive, one leg amputated at the knee. Jennifer is 20 years his junior, a patti smith look alike - they both have a faded 70’s rockstar look. It’s a tiny scrap of land and we’re shoehorned by Michel, who is their site manager we think, into a narrow spake right up against a fence. He looks to be in his late 70s too. He has a small trailer/daybed covered with a mosquito net, with a table and chair and cooking facility. Once we’re in place and hooked up to electric, and have paid cash I ask where the toilet is. There isn’t one, but there is an 4 inch diameter waste disposal pipe by Michels bivouak, that we can empty our cassette into. We don’t have an on board toilet, just a bucket and a ‘Portable Urinal Travel Camping Car Toilet Pee Bottle Emergency Kit’. This is not good news. Michel we notice waters the plants liberally, frequently. We have a bit of lunch and decide to cycle into Aix. More Vans arrive and the place must surely be full. There is much discussion and arm waving between Jennifer who is talking to some late arrivals on the mobile and Michel 

who is shaking his head and doing a lot of gallic shrugging. 

Aix is Saturday-Bank Holiday-weekend-busy. We sit in a Cafe in a square after the backstreet tour and watch the world go by. Making sure to use the toilet before we go. Back at camp more vand have arrived. We decide on an early night, determined to get the hell out of there first thing. The last van arrives at 11.30 which involves much maneuvering right next to us, lots of door opening and closing. I resist doing the same as we make our escape just after 7am.

Sunday 30th April 

Our nod to Cezanne’s city comes in the planned bike ride around Mont Sainte Victoire. It’s not properly raining to start and there’s a rather fancy public toilet in the park where we we leave the van. It is raining properly in an hour though and the mountain is totally obscured by cloud. We fuel up in a lovely little cafe before bracing ourselves. It’s been a while since we’ve been soaked through and there’s something quite invigorating about it. It feels like an achievement when we get back to the Van, dry off, warm up and set off for the luxurious facilities awaiting in Lourmarin.

The sun is shining here, there’s a swimming pool, lots of cute kids (now that we’re seeing through prospective grandparents’ eyes), and superduper washing machines - a highlight of my week. A stroll into the very provencal town for supper makes me reflect on how long and varied the day has been.

MayDay Monday

Country roads, poppies and other wild flowers  in abundance, the first faint purple haze in the lavender fields. It’s an classic french experience. We’ve been to these parts before, and enjoy an ice-cream in Cucuron next to the shady square village pond. Some towns are quiet, one village has a Mayday feast in full swing as we cycle through. It’s proof that these villages are actually inhabited! So often they seem deserted. It’s windy and the air is full of pollen, gritty eyes and everyone sneezing. After a shower and a snooze, the wind has died down a bit as we head back to the restaurant we ate at last night, on a lovely sheltered terrace. We see people from the campsite, in particular a dutch family we met in Bedoin campsite with three children, enjoying ice-cream in the warm evening air before we head off to bed.