The Strange Incident of the Horse in the Night.

September 11, 2011

The horse came back in the night, scurrying noisily through the undergrowth up to the tent and halted. After a pregnant silence, the horse began stamping it's hooves. I took a deep breath in and momentary held my breath, while fearfully contemplating being trampled, then resolutely breathe-out a great sh-whoo, which had the intended effect: all of a sudden, I heard the thundering stampede as it took off in a mad gallop reverberating off in the night.

All then was quiet. Of course, I don't know one hundred per cent that it was a horse. I didn't look out and see if, as I suspected, it was a horse, but I'm surmising. It was a big beast whatever it was.

I woke much earlier this morning and for the third morning breakfast was cake and water. It was a misty morning, but it wasn't such a problem on the road as I could see far enough ahead. I worried though, what with only a rear-brake, because the way ahead dropped dramatically down through a gorge, but the gradient remained ever so gradual and before long anyway, the road leveled out in a wide river valley. The mist was retreating and the sun shone through, and either side of the road had row upon row of wine grapes running off at right angles to the hills.

I was stopped taking photographs where the road passed between the riverbank and a big house. I could hear French babble from the veranda of this house as I pointed the camera toward the river. I stepped down steps to get closer to the river, past a wooden sign which had Alain in white emulsion. I took a photo and returned up the steps back to the bike at the roadside, where a man, the man of the house had come out and stood scrutinizing my bike. He looked especially at the trailer. He pointed at the sign and said Alain, he was Alain, I think he meant. "C'est bon....." he said, "oui.." I agreed and he went on to ask usual questions. I said I was on my way to Spain but whether he didn't hear or understand me, he asked again exclaiming "Les Alps?" Non, I said firmly, as one mountain range, the Pyrenees, was enough and anyway, the Alps were well out of my way on the way to Spain.

I reached the town of Bagnols Sur Ceze sometime after nine thirty and stopped at the boulangerie, which also served coffee and had outside seating. I bough two meat filled pastries, a pain au raison and coffee which came in a little shot size cup. It all cost six Euros forty, whereas I would've normally expected to pay somewhere between three and four Euros. Seemingly so, now I am in the South of France, tourist-land, businesses charge whatever price they like.

The road onwards from Bagnol Sur Ceze was dual-carriageway through increasingly built-up areas: houses sprawled over the hills, streams were polluted and were strewn with domestic rubbish. With the city of Avignon in sight, the shoulder, which had till then been generous, came to an abrupt end and Is left cycling tight against a concrete barrier the last few kilometres into the city-centre, though luckily it being a Sunday morning, the traffic was light and it passed giving me a wide berth.

The campsite was big and a plan was necessary to find my way round inasmuch as a city-plan was necessary to find my way round town. I was allocated a plot for non motorized campers. Each plot, for each individual tent, was large and was separated from the next plot by a hedge and there were trees providing shade from the warm midday sun, but the ground was dry dust.

Later, on a walk into town, I tried unsuccessfully to withdrawn cash. The ATM issued a receipt though, so Is thinking, nay hoping, I wouldn't be charged for a transaction in which the machine didn't pay-out cash. The problem, it had been a problem for me withdrawing cash in France and I hoped when I got to Spain there wouldn't be any problem. In any case it made me anxious and I had to resort to paying by credit card for little things like a meal, something I would never normally do. And of course it was Sunday, I couldn't do anything about it but sit and worry about it. One reason I came to Avignon was to sort out my front-brake, but I supposed there wouldn't be a bike-shop open till Tuesday. I foresaw therefore a few days wait in Avignon and it was as well I'd plenty reading to catch up on. Aye, I thought I'd mention a good read "The strange incident of the dog in the night" by Mark Hadden. Absolutely brilliant and an apology is due if I partly took the title for this page.

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