Finding the Canals from near the airport was the easy bit easy; gaining access to was the hard part. Then I accessed it on the wrong bank for the first 5km, travelling along overgrown stinging nettle infested jungle path.
Once I’d found a place to cross onto the other bank there was an improvement in that the nettles had been cut back. Once the towpath improved a little moreit became a languid day and I was tempted to dive in.
I reached Castelnaudery late in day in the gloom and rain. Almost everyone I asked directions from turned out to be English and lost themselves.
As I cycled past the Canal du Midi basin I spotted an English flag on a boat and called in to say hello. Roland & Jill are a retired couple who’d had a business selling heaters to greenhouse owners and the army. They had two sons both in Australia. I left after their generous supply of three glasses of wine to fortify me against the drizzle.
After farewelling them I went in search of a hotel. Had I had any credit on my voraciously hungry French SIM I would have located a local camping site but I was too dispirited.
It checked into the first hotel I found but apart from the clean sheets and double bed the other advantages of TV etc were lost on me given my mood. And why can’t the French come to grips with fitting the shower head onto the wall rather than dangling in the bath. The comedown from travelling by car was taking its toll.
The next morning dawned with more drizzle. As I checked out I fell into conversation with an English couple form Ongar: On the London Central Line near where I once lived. She told me she’d been to Ayers Rock but not to France and spoke no French. Odd I thought since I’d never been to Ayers Rock. Her husband nodded confirmation with her every word but had nothing to contribute on his own account. Years of happy docility I expect.
As I continued my journey along the Canal Du Midi I was struck by how many happy baby boomers I was coming across on boats, some just couples but most in small groups sharing a canal boat, all having a great time tucking into drinks and snacks at any given hour. My own Canal Du Midi journey alas was being blighted by my solitary travel mode and the drizzle.
At one stage I took a wrong turn and found myself on the upper of two tracks running alongside the canal. The upper track turned out to be the worse and so muddy I had trouble keeping upright and on course. It was then that I saw my first long distances cyclists in over 800km, laden down with large panniers. Two of them – a man of my tricky age and his wife (probably – who else would follow a man in such dreary weather). Alas I was far above them and they wouldn’t even have seen me had I waved. I just wanted to stop and say hello and compare notes but they passed below me in the drizzle and gloom like ships in the night. My heart sank.Not long after that my bike seized with mud in the rear derailleurs, demanding a pit stop. A local house provide me with a hose to carry out a high pressure hose down of the everything. In the process I noticed the new rear wheel I’d bought in Spain now had a very slack bearing. In the rain I tried my best to tighten it but my tools and mood were just not up to the task, so I applied some oil and blessed it and headed off. It seemed to make an improvement.
Later on in the day I came across a lycra clad Frenchman on mountain travelling light from Bordeaux to Carcassonne staying at Gites etc. We had a nice chat long and went our separate ways and wished me ‘courage.’ I’d need it.
It was then I met my alter ego: A Belgian my age, just retired; bound for Perpignan from Lisle to meet up with friends there with a boat. We compared notes on bikes, cargo and camping and he recommended I use Maisons d’Hotes which he said were very cosy and cheap. I’d seen them but hadn’t thought to check any out. I will.
He said he’d been in the communications industry. He confessed however he had neither smartphone nor laptop with him.
Interestingly he had the exact tyres I had promised myself to buy but penny pinched at the last moment – slick in the middle for minimum rolling resistance – knobbly on the rim for the odd mud patch: TravelContact - no other model on the market. Next shop I see with them and they’re on.
As we set off in opposite went in opposite I thought I’d never asked him if he found the going lonely. Maybe it was a subject we’d both subconsciously steered clear of.
Later on I came to a Boat Hire yard with lots of Americans seeking attention. The shop sold flags so that every boat could identify its occupants. I decided to buy an Australian one then realised I had nowhere to really fly it from plus who’d care anyway.
One American lady told me how one of the3 men in their party had withdrawn had wads of Euros earlier that day in Toulouse then lost his wallet to a pickpocket. The French shop lady warned the thong canal boats and their occupants were high profile targets.
I finally reached Toulouse navigation mostly by asking directions. One charming and distinguished looking man my age (why can’t I do that) was very interested in my journey and gave me excellent directions and we chatted for while in French. As I left he wished me a safe journey in faultless unaccented English.
Navigating through Toulouse via the canal led me straight to the road to Montauban and the North. Two cyclists drew alongside me and we chatted. They warned me of the foul weather forecast for the next four days and recommended I travel north via Bordeaux and onto the ferry from St Malo rather than via Limoges and its hills. I pondered this for a while thinking that I had nothing to prove to anyone on this trip (least of all myself): And I didn’t actually have to visit every village and hilltop in France en route because they would still be there for future car + bike excursions (or even just car let’s face it).
I pushed on in the drizzle along the canal out of Toulouse heading north to Montauban, certain in the knowledge a campsite lay not far ahead. As I did I noticed the many squatter tents part hidden alongside the canal and pondered the large immigrant population I’d noticed earlier in Toulouse. I got the impression Toulouse is a staging post for all stations north.
Being 5km short of my 100kms today and wanting to pass the 900km point today, I decided to call into the campsite to ask where the next campsite lay along the canal. An Australian couple Mike and Lea were checking in at the same time in their campervan. I immediately decided to stay and sod the pedalling off into the dark. After I’d set up camp and removed several layers of mud and had a hot shower we all headed off for the nearest steak restaurant.
