June 16, 2012
Some days are simply perfect: Lacapelle Marival - Jussau
SOME DAYS are simply perfect.
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Or, if not that, they are days to be forgiven their imperfections. For instance, we had a headwind. And we rode straight into a five-kilometre climb. But forget all that: today was simply lip-bitingly beautiful.
We rode up hills which smiled at us and laid horizon-wide vistas at our feet. We climbed a lot - 1 018 metres - but never with cruel purpose and always with a reward at the end.
Brown cows did what cows were supposed to do, perfectly spaced, arranged like an artist's sketch. They twisted their head as we whirred by and watched us without once forgetting to munch the grass between their teeth. Now and then they shook their heads in despair and set off a dull but rounded clunk of the bell hanging below their collar. Honey-tinted villages with interesting names drifted by, their blue wooden shutters open to the flowers of discreet window boxes.
We stopped for a photo of sheep which knew they were perfectly placed for a photo of the valley beyond, and its lone house in a fold of green.
I wished bonjour to an old man in carpet slippers and blue overalls who stood patiently in the shadow of his shabby brown doorway rather than break into our picture. The sheep panicked and scattered. And then, curious and desperate not to miss what little might be about to happen, crept awkwardly back on tiny hoofs to stare at us once more.
We are now in the Cantal, for me the most beautiful region of a beautiful country. The scenery hints at Switzerland, with impossibly green hillsides and tumbling valleys and sumptuous horizons.
We are on the edge of the Massif Central, France's third mountain range, and specifically on the boundaries of Volcania, the land of round-domed extinct volcanos. They stand on the horizon, ready to belittle our efforts.
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Tomorrow we cross the heftiest volcano of them all, the Puy Mary, the highest in Europe. We are apprehensive but we are excited. Just as we ought to be.
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