← PreviousOn the Tarn gorges cycle route, between Gaillac and AmbialetMonday 6 May 2024: Day 3
The weather was still gloomy that morning. We put off leaving, but at 10 we had to adapt to the rainy weather of early May. We had no choice but to stop delaying the inevitable. With a bin bag covering the Riverside Touring's panniers, Clémence snug in her trailer and armed with our rain jackets, we set off to tackle the little road along the Tarn.
The few drops at the start must have invited their friends, because it began to rain so hard that we had to stop in Trébas, under a makeshift bus shelter, where we nibbled some supermarket food. Somewhat frozen, we'd planned to stop at the village café for a hot drink, but a cyclist took the time to stop beside us despite the rain.
With a wry grin, he explained that the owner had treated him like dirt and strongly advised us against the place. After a look at its catastrophic Google page, we decided to ride straight on. Coffee could wait. We were riding at a good pace, a solid 16.5 km/h, which let us reach our stop for the day in the early afternoon. In this low season our room was already ready, and after stowing the bikes in a dusty, damp garage we could set off to explore Brousse-le-Château.
In the Aveyron, this little village had four buildings listed as historic monuments. They were in fact all in the same place, in a sort of old cobbled quarter you had to climb up to appreciate in all its splendour. This kind of place breathed history, but small, local history, not the history of great national wars. You could feel that Brousse had once mattered locally, as its old walls bore witness. Sadly, only a hundred or so souls still lived in the hamlet today.
After exploring the sloping streets and admiring the pretty rose bushes, we put Clémence down for her nap in the room and then went down to finally have that coffee. Sitting over hot drinks were two young cyclists we'd overtaken several times during the day, depending on our stops. We easily struck up a conversation with Alice and Florence, two cousins in their twenties, who were treating themselves to a bike trip from Toulouse to Millau to attend their grandmother's birthday.
Where we slept: we spent the night at the Relays du Chasteau. A very nice place at a reasonable price. The restaurant on site is good.
Tuesday 7 May 2024: Day 4
It was still raining the next morning, which explained our slowness at breakfast. We preferred to savour our hot drinks quietly before facing the harsh weather of early May. Bike touring was an unfiltered immersion in nature, a vulnerability you accepted but sometimes had to endure. There was no magic escape, no sleight of hand to beat bad weather.
There was only one real solution: summon up your courage and hold out as long as possible. Just before 10 we got our bikes and our morale ready. We had to protect them from the rain as much as possible, literally and figuratively. But barely an hour after leaving, our clothes were already beaded with rain, completely soaked. We made a first stop at a small, rustic-looking country supermarket. No meticulous organisation here, rather a serious jumble, but it still offered a welcome refuge. We bought some supplies and set off again, as wet as ever.
Barely 10 kilometres further on, we were forced to stop again, in Le Truel. Under a bus shelter, we settled down to eat, as we weren't at all sure we'd find another shelter like it further on. After a few dozen minutes, our two friends from the day before appeared and stopped too when they saw us. We shared our lunch, and they set off a little before us.
When we set off too, we were surprised to find them less than a kilometre further on, doing major repairs to a derailleur. Not having the skills to help them, and seeing they had it under control, we wished them luck before tackling the end of our ride.
Fortunately for us, the sun decided to join the party, and it was in T-shirts that we arrived in Saint-Rome-de-Tarn, a charming little village perched slightly above the river. That night we were staying at a campsite that slightly stretched the term. Camping La Cascade was really just a long row of mobile homes, so much so that from the air it would have looked like a housing estate.
The place was dreadfully empty at this time of year, and we got into our accommodation without any trouble. The inside was small but more than enough, and we were a stone's throw from the playground, no small bonus in the arduous task of keeping a two-year-old busy every day. We played there after her nap, then went up to the heart of the village for a bite at the brasserie.
Sitting on the terrace, we found our two friends, who had indeed managed to fix the bike and arrive safely. We sat down together and spent the meal swapping stories of our bike travels while Clémence had fun building Lego towers. Despite the rain, we'd had an excellent day.
Where we slept: we spent the night at Camping La Cascade. More holiday park than campsite, but very nice nonetheless, with lots of facilities.
Wednesday 8 May 2024: Day 5
That morning, a bright yellow disc appeared in the sky. We hadn't seen it for almost ten days and had almost forgotten its name: the sun!
The almost summery atmosphere made pedalling more than pleasant. Since it was fine and Clémence had waited patiently in her trailer on the rainy days, she happily climbed onto the Shotgun seat on the front of the Touring. From there she could enjoy the wonders of bike travel just like us. Because of the recent rain, the Tarn was very high and filled the whole valley with a beautiful blue.
Enjoying the scenery didn't seem to be a priority for the van that overtook us at high speed, skimming past and cutting in right in front of Cassandre and Clémence. Despite our protests, it didn't stop, and we could only curse it and keep our anger to ourselves. After all, that was the sad reality for cyclists in France too: it was impossible to ride ten kilometres without being endangered by a driver.
We still looked for the vehicle in the village of Peyre, to see whether it was parked in the municipal car park. To get there you had to climb a very steep ramp, and we arrived at the top drenched in sweat. Already listed among France's most beautiful villages for its troglodyte houses tucked under the cliff, Peyre had enjoyed renewed interest since the Millau Viaduct was built. From its terraced streets, the panorama offered stunning views of one of the tallest bridges in the world.
After wandering through all the picturesque lanes, we quickly reached Millau, where we stopped at a bakery so we could have lunch at a playground. Millau made a lovely setting on the banks of the Tarn, with a long promenade fully laid out for walking and cycling. It was part of the Tarn cycle route, and we followed it through the town to continue on our way.
Crossing Millau wasn't the most pleasant, and we thought we were finally out of it when we found ourselves on a trunk road with a 110 sign. What planner, what decision-maker could possibly think that was a good idea? Completely flabbergasted, we pulled over to check our route. Yes, we were on the track. Not being suicidal, we turned back to reach the other bank and its much quieter little road. From that side we could hear the din of cars racing along, and we could only congratulate ourselves on our choice.
After 25 kilometres, the road wound down into a little village called Le Rozier, where we made a much-needed stop. Clémence woke from her nap and we enjoyed a waffle on a terrace. This charming little village was drowning in cars, the air filled with honking. The streets were too narrow for vehicles to pass each other, which caused monstrous frustration among drivers, who were also fighting over parking spaces.
We were quite happy to extricate ourselves from this mass of cars by riding up what was the real start of the Tarn gorges. There, the road began to reveal all its beauty. The forest grew denser and the cliffs gave the whole a very special character, especially when going through tunnels carved into the rock. From her trailer, Clémence shouted "oh, a tunnel" every time, which amused us a lot.
We reached our B&B for the night, the Moulin de Pareyre, at 6:30 pm. It was rare for us to arrive so late, and we went almost straight to the table. Our room was upstairs, and oddly, a birthday party was taking place in the big corridor right next to our door. After dinner we had to put on white noise in the room to get to sleep. That was also part of the experience of never sleeping in the same place: surprises multiplied, good and bad.
Where we slept: the Moulin de Pareyre is very well located on the Tarn gorges cycle route. The rooms are big and the restaurant food is very good.
On the road