Standing Stones

Menhir, or standing stone, at Cham de Bondons

Departing Ste. Enimie immediately after breakfast was served at 8:30, my route took me only a short distance up the Gorges du Tarn, which I had previously visited in 2010. But I couldn't resist this photo of Castelbouc, nestled between the river and the cliffs.

Castelbouc

At Molines, I turned north to climb out of the Gorge du Tarn  to Col de Montmirat. For me, loaded, it was a tough climb up to the Causse, frequently steep, climbing about 1900 feet in about 4 miles. Here's a view looking back down the road, then one looking ahead. Once out of the gorge, up on the causse, the climb is far more gentle. I never did find a col sign, though there are some spectacular views back to the gorge on the way up.

This is about where I decided it was steep, and took a look back towards where I started.

The switchbacks climbing out of the gorge.

Once on top, I crossed the Causse on this little road, again with almost no traffic, where I passed by these horses, just waiting for a few friends of mine to arrive for some exploring on horseback. Ummm, maybe the horses had something else in mind.

D35 crossing the Causse. The signs warning cars of loose gravel are equally helpful for bikes.

I saw horse tracks later on the path around the field of menhirs.  Maybe these horses.

The reason for climbing back to the top of the Causse was to visit a field of standing stones, near Bondons. I only learned of this historic site because Double J told me about it, and planned my route today ... thanks! He has written an article about these menhirs (standing stones, in French) that you can read on Velo en Cevennes. Named Le Cham de Bondons, these stones date from 2500 - 1800 BC, the late neolithic and is the largest and most important sites of standing stones in southern France. There is a marked walking path of about 5k, which traverses the area. I walked about half of it, before getting nervous about my locked bike, and about having enough time to finish the day's ride, so returned to the road. I would have like to stay longer.

If I were to guess, I'd say the largest is about 8 feet tall. Before this, I'd only read about menhirs and dolmens ... it was impressive to see them in situ and imagine what the landscape must have been like when they were erected. I think it was not forested, and they would have been visible from some distance. Of course, their meaning and intent is lost to history ... whether they gain in power by that mystery or not is an open question. There are many good photos included in this article called Les Menhirs de la Cham de Bondons.

One of the largest standing stones, in the middle of a high open field.

Smaller standing stone

There were these two isolated hills quite close by, both seemed odd geologic features, and both seemed almost man-made.

A hill, called a pech, or was it puech?. One of two, it looks to me something like a child would make in sand.

The other hill. They are right next to each other and so unlike anything else in the surroundings.

The climbing had taken a toll on my legs, and I'd stayed for more than two hours at the neolithic site, so decided to cut my route short. When I arrived at the intersection, instead of a big loop, I rode across the middle of the planned loop on a small, steep road with virtually no traffic. Guess I was enjoying the descent, and paying attention to staying on the road, because I don't have many photos.

I hardly ever see signs like this in France, so pay attention when I do. It wasn't so steep for a bike.

Valleys, with the Gorge du Tarn in the distance.

After recrossing the Tarn River, dinner was at my bed and breakfast in Florac. I had been through Florac on my way to Col de Perjuret in 2010. After I return, I'll put together a list of places I stayed, with contact info, so am no longer including them in text here. 

The Tarn, I think, near Florac

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Cycle Touring

As my masthead implies, there are a thousand ways to enjoy a bicycle. Probably most of us who love touring, that is to say traveling, on two wheels share some mindsets in common. I believe we think that pretty much whatever happens, there is something new to be experienced, something new to be appreciated, perhaps even understood, something new to be learned, some fun to be had. I believe we would agree that there is a big, complex, varied, fascinating world out there beyond the confines of our daily lives that, if we are fortunate, we may have a chance to engage with.

The view climbing up and away from St. Geniez d'Olt 

This morning started in the low 50s, grey, damp. The city I began in today is, I'm sure, a fine little city to live in, but I don't live there, and I wanted to get moving. As it has for the last three days, my road climbed immediately, but not with difficultly. It was grey, the forecast promising rain. I was looking forward to riding across the Causse de Sauveterre today, and after that to rediscovering a little of the Gorges du Tarn.

Everything was lovely, a good day on a bike. Actually, for me pretty much all days on either of my bikes are good days. Today started as, well, not overwhelmingly anything. Pretty, starting to climb into the Cévennes mountains. Chilly, in and out of jackets. Like many of you know, I detest being cold, and won't tolerate it for very long. I am a wimp that way.

Sign painted on the side of an old building, right at the edge of the road.

I was descending a long, gentle descent. Enjoyable. No traffic. Rounded a corner to find this. Now, how cool is this, anyway? No one puts my nickname on the side of a building in my home country.

Before too long I saw another sign. It also made me smile. And that smile made me think: I hadn't realized how much I was looking forward to seeing the Languedoc again, but there it is. And almost immediately the sun came out. That made me smile even more.

The Languedoc: Promises of Sunny Southern France (SFF)

Near la Canourgue, I stopped at a store to buy food for lunch, and the owner and I got to talking. She helped me pick ripe fruit and vegetables, asked where I was riding. I told her, mentioned that we have nothing like the medieval villages of the Dordogne in the States. Turns out she has a nephew who lives in New Jersey she had visited, maybe a dozen years ago. We visited a bit more, then I left and sat at the picnic table outside to eat. She came over, brought me the photo album from her visit to NYC and New Jersey,and we shared memories about the places she had been, since I know many of them. The castiron building. Le fer a repasser. How fun is that for lunch?

Vival is a chain of small grocery shops that I frequently see in France. The food has been fresh.

Scrapbook of a visit to New York, with the flatiron building top right.

And just how handsome are these cows, and this chicken?

Wish I knew the names of these pretty cows. They are not the same as the white cows of the Aquitaine.

I believe this chicken inspected me, inspecting him.

The road climbed gently up to Causse Sauveterre, a ride I've been wanting to do since first nearby in 2010. This Causse is mostly forested, green, I saw tall oaks and pine trees. There is clearly some agriculture, now in cover crop, and how about this little road. I saw perhaps a half dozen cars in two hours.

Rocky cliffs appearing above the forest

The open Causse, not flat, more very gently undulating

All too soon (I didn't want to lose this day) I started seeing signs of my destination, the Gorges du Tarn.

The Gorge du Tarn in the distance

My descent began, into the canyon floor.

The route dropped, and dropped, sometimes steeply

The river, still far below.

It was sometimes steep.

One of the switchbacks

And, I am sure you have noticed how the vegetation is changing.

Different plants, different geology

I arrived in town about 3:30, which was good for me.

Roofs of Ste. Enimie. The rounded slate roofing tiles are typical of the area.

Road with drainage stones in the side and middle

Good, because the last time I was in Ste. Enimie this austere 12th century church, with its famous carved statues was closed. I wanted to see them.

So sometimes, I don't know quite what it is: the mindset; the people along the way; the bike; the legs and lungs; the terrain, the climbs, flats, descents; the insects, and animals; the road surface; the weather, sun, rain, wind; the history, the architecture ... somehow, magically, everything meshes into an extraordinary, not-to-be-forgotten experience.

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