Biking Weekend up Mont Ventoux

The Mont Ventoux area is pretty stunning, but you get to see not only some great views but also some unusual visitors. Take the people in this photo with their tiny little car. They had driven down all the way from somewhere like Leicester (can't remember exactly where) and their brave little Austin (or whatever, can't remember exactly what either...) had even made it up to the top of one of the cols (peaks).

The last time my DB went up Mont Ventoux, we took the road on the south side and went down on the north. This time, we did the opposite and rode up the north slope road. We were joined by hearty cyclists who mostly looked pretty fit and keen, niftily dressed as they were in sponsored lycra kit.

View from the top of Mont Ventoux looking east

 But there were other types of cyclist too, such as this lady who had to be in her late 50s, and carried all her belongings in saddle bags on the back. Her bike must have weighed a ton but she kept pedalling, slowly but surely, and made it, as you can see!

A hellish type of holiday activity...

 The routes (up and) down are very popular with cyclists and motorbikers because they give lots of opportunities to swerve dangerously round corners and risk life and limb in head to head confrontations with oncoming traffic...

On our way down, looking east

On our way down - slopes arid and nearly vegetation-free

Near the bottom - lovely shady twisting road

We stopped for refreshments half-way down which is at the bottom of the ski lift. On the other side of the road, a group of men were loading a herd of sheep into a lorry to be taken you-know-where... It was taking a while because there were a lot of sheep, and the sheep dogs were being kept busy trying to maintain control. They almost succeeded, but one desperate animal made a bid for freedom, and came clattering over to the café tables, dashed its way through and continued up into the mountain behind. We thought that a dog would be sent to bring back the runaway, but time was of the essence, and they called off the hunt as soon as the sheep disappeared. I cheered and egged it on!

"Freedom! gotta make it to freedom!"

I just hope the sheep wasn't subsequently eaten by foxes as it was all alone and unprotected by the herd or shepherd...

After coming down off Mont Ventoux, we continued our exploration of the area and went along the gorges de something which had this rather nifty tunnel in the rock.

The road was not too busy, but we did come across a group of British cyclists who'd done Mt V in the morning and were taking it easy in the afternoon with this route. They were certainly making the most of their trip! I was glad to be on a motorbike as it all sounded very exhausting. 

It's funny but the more I see of hearty cyclists, the less I want to do any cycling myself. Even more funnily enough, the bike rack I had that fitted on my Alfa Romeo does not fit on my (nearly) new Yaris. I'm gutted...

Plein les Yeux - Giant's Teeth Mountain

View from hotel room

 On Day 2 of our weekend to Mont Ventoux, we awoke to this view, a mountain of giant's teeth. Looking down, we could see this colourful blend of autumnal shades. The river was just on the side of the bushes on the right.

After an industrial breakfast (in quality not quantity), we set off to buy food for lunch so we wouldn't be restricted to dodgy sandwiches at vast expense. We popped into Buis les Baronnies for cheese at a fromagerie, fruit and butter at a little épicerie, and some cooked meat at the charcutier at the end of the road in this photo. I love the way the sun picks out the bright clean colours on the buildings on the right, and leaves the grubbier ones in the shade.

Buis les Baronnies

Content in the knowledge that we wouldn't starve, with 2 lots of bread, jambon sec, ham, cheese, pears, and apples, we headed off along the green roads. The scenery was stunning, but far from being 100% picturesque. From the bike, I managed to take a couple of photos of a dreamy hilltop village with the prosaic evidence of sewage and rubbish reality much in evidence.

 Even pretty villages have to deal with poo...

...and rubbish.

Our next stop was the Col de Perty, another favourite with cyclists. We passed several, but very few cars. It was lovely and peaceful. From the other side we could see over to the ever-present Mont Ventoux.

The road down turned and twisted, and put much pressure on the brakes, again. My TWDB had greatly enjoyed the wine the previous evening and took the challenge of the road with much care and attention.

We were soon thinking of lunch, what with seeing bikers picnicking...

and decided to look out for a suitable spot. A quick inspection of the map gave us the idea to go to the Gorges de la Méouge where we afterwards separate from our friends who would head back east while we would continue west. On the way there, we passed through a village where the cliff sides were dotted with lines of little figures in red. The local climbing association is evidently well-supported.

At last we found the ideal spot, next to the river, with views across to the other side and the dramatic  formations of tortured limestone...

...and angles of rock strata that are best avoided looking at after a heavy night if you're not too sure which way is up.

The sandwiches we made, with lovely fresh bread, delicious ham and tender tender cheeses were vastly superior to the muck we'd endured the previous day. We even had as much butter as we wanted. The river burbled happily next to us, and all was peaceful under the shade of a handy tree. We had crossed to the other side of the river to get to the shade, balancing precariously on wobbly stones and jumping from one to another hoping they were solid enough not to topple over. The river was nice and shallow, but wet feet in boots are not much fun. After assuming we had a knife, we discovered that it was of the emergency, 4cm blade type, so our sarnies were suitably rustic and appropriate for the adventurous biker.

After lunch we hopped over the river again, not without accident, said good-bye to our friends and roared off, revived, along the rest of the gorges. We decided to take the autoroute at Avignon, so made our way towards Gordes. On the way, we came across a pretty little village, Murs where a large number of smart German cars were parked and the owners were having lunch sprawled on sheets under some trees. We wondered if they were the owners of the dinky houses and had converted the village into a German enclave.

Also on our way was one of the Plus Beaux Villages, Venasque which we popped into to have a quick look. It was perched on a cliff top and was pretty impressive. At last we reached Avignon, and, by this time it was baking and we were rather tired, so were happy to pound our way back home, and collapse onto the sofa.

A fabulous weekend, plein les yeux.

Plein les Yeux - Mont Ventoux

There are people who have faith in public transport (usually those who do not use it, like politicians), and those who would rather put their hand in a mixer than rely on it utterly because they use it and know that, basically, shit happens (often). It happened to me while taking the boys by tram to the station to catch the train to Paris.  Normally you get on the tram at Occitanie and it deposits you without fuss 20 minutes later at la gare. On Friday, instead of turning right towards the station, it carried straight on, without a by your leave, announcement or any other indication of unusual behaviour.

We were not the only ones to be surprised. As we watched the line to the station disappear before our eyes, several panic-stricken folk, who probably also had a train to catch, started getting a little agitated. The tram was not going to the station, but luckily it stopped a couple of hundred metres later, and we were all able to jump out, charge across the tracks to the other platform and wait a minute for the next one back. Once we'd retraced our steps, we nearly made the same mistake twice, but a kindly lad called out that the one we were just about to jump on was not going to the station either. The next one was, however. The boys made it onto the train with 5 minutes to spare.

Public transport? Assume shit happens.

That was the start of my weekend motorbiking. The shit did not continue to happen, thankfully, because we were nowhere near any item that could possibly be deemed as public transportation. On Saturday morning, my TWDB and I loaded up the bike and set off to meet some friends at Cadenet.

Ready to go

The autoroute is not pleasant on a bike, so we took it as far as Nimes and then cut across through Beaucaire to Aix-en-Provence, and then up to Cadenet. It looks a picturesque village on a hill, and had a pleasant place where we stopped at a bar to wait for our friends. The (mature) lady doing the service looked like an old lush what with her long dyed blond hair, tight leopard skin tunic over purple knee-length leggings with frilly bottoms, and belt loosely flirting with the region formerly recognisable as her waist. She clip clopped about in mules and I suppose had a fag on the go in the bar.

Our friends arrived, and we set off for Apt, capital of glacé fruit. It was incredibly busy what with being market day, so although it was nearly lunch time, we just filled up with petrol and no glacé fruit, and carried on north to Sault. On the way there, we passed the Légion Etrangère base of St Christol which was enormous. I looked out for some hunky Légionnaires but apparently they are all in Afghanistan, so it was pretty deserted. The giant satellite dishes looked like they were working hard though.

Sault, - unpromising bar on the right

We entered an unpromising bar for a sandwich which turned out to have a delightful terrasse on the other side, in a shady place. The surroundings were delightful, shame the sandwiches were so crap - industrial baguette and tiny amount of filling. If you wanted butter you had to order the jambon beurre otherwise you got dry bread and cheese or pork for €4. It must be a highly popular centre for them to get away with such a rubbish offering. The other eateries were teaming with bikers and cyclists. It's a popular starting point for visiting Mont Ventoux and is well-known to keen and eager cyclists who emulate the Tour de France by actually cycling all 1912m to the top (mad fools).

Road up to Mt Ventoux

We were not going to do anything as energetic as cycle, but set off for the top by motorbike. Mont Ventoux is an incredible place. Topped by bare limestone scree, it looks, from a distance, like a snow-capped mountain. From Sault, it's a 26km haul up the 'easy' side of the mountain. The Tour de France, which has included the climb in 15 Tours, takes the more gruelling way up from Bédoin.

The yellow and black poles are there to measure winter snow depth. It gets so windy up there that they sometimes close the pass. At the summit, 1912m up, the cyclists were congratulating each other on the success of their challenge. They can even validate their achievement with a stamp in a special box.

Hardy cyclists at the top

Also at the top there's a meteorological station and a huge tour installed by France Television plus a radar station for aviation navigation.

The views from the top are stunning. On a really clear day you can apparently see as far as Marseille and the sea. It was very hazy the day we were there, but we were still amazed at the splendour of the panorama. It leaves you dazed, the sheer immensity of what you can see, and from such a height looking down around at the beauty of the rugged landscape.

You can walk up too, the path indicated by lines of red and blue poles to keep you on the right track and away from the treacherous scree. I wouldn't like to think in what state you'd arrive if you lost your footing and went hurtling down the mountain. The sharp limestone rocks are a more perilous surface to skid down uncontrollably than grass or snow.

We made our way down on the other side of the mountain, me hoping and praying that the brakes would not fail and wondering if I could jump off before the bike went plunging over the edge. I have such an over-active imagination. I decided that I couldn't as I wouldn't be able to clear top case which would push me over too, so I just had to rely on my TWDB not losing control of the situation. Of course, I shared none of these doom-laden thoughts with the driver, not wishing to distract him from the task in hand... The bike performed brilliantly, as always, it's an incredible piece of precision engineering and computer-enhanced controls.

Back down at the bottom, we passed various picturesque villages set on hillsides, the odd one I managed to snap from the bike, which explains the prominence of the lamp post in the picture below. I was rather taken with the ruins of this one, my youngest would love them.

Mont Ventoux is a prominent landmark, visible for miles around. Looking back towards the woody side of the mountain, it doesn't look quite as dramatic, but it certainly stands out.

By this time, we were starting to wonder about where we would spend the night. One delightful-looking place, in the Guide du Routard for the last 6 years or so, was full, unsurprisingly as it was in one of the hill-side villages and had panoramic views from the bedrooms. The food was recommended in the Gault Millau guide too, so we will have to return...

We continued on to Buis les Baronnies where much frantic telephoning from the Tourist Office resulted in finding two rooms which were available at the Hotel Sous l'Olivier. Other places would doubtless have been more charming, but this one was within ten minutes of dinner by foot whereas the others meant taking the bikes and thus limiting the delights of the local wines. We finished off a perfect day at the Brasserie l'Escale where we were agreeably surprised by the quality of the cooking. It was recommended to us by the young proprietress and she was spot on. I had a tender, tasty lamb chop, my TWDB had a sumptuous 5-cheese calzone, and the steak of our friends was fantastic too. The rosé was excellent, although the red and white wines were somewhat average.


The hotel was located next to a burbling stream, which made delightful music all night. I would have slept better had not my extra blanket that I'd fortuitously taken from the cupboard to keep me warm as my TWDB wanted the door to stay open, was nicked during the night by said TWDB, so I ended up as cold as I thought I would be if I hadn't taken the extra blanket.

He was not popular.

Back of the booklet from the Tourist Office at B le B