Noelene Magnusson & David Foster

After another climb we dropped down into Cazals, a bastide built by the English. The steepest climb of the day came just after the hamlet of Montcléra where we had stopped for lunch opposite the fifteenth century fortified entrance gates to the château. The climb was shown as a two-arrow climb on the map, a gradient of between 9 and 13 per cent. It certainly felt steep but thankfully, it wasn’t very long. We stopped for a while in the village of Frayssinet-le-Gélat. In front of the church there is a memorial to a massacre of villagers by the German army during World War Two. From Frayssinet we had a short climb before a long downhill towards Pùy-l'Evêque.

As we neared the town, the road divided with one branch heading downhill to the railway station and the other a long climb into the town. We didn’t know where the campground was and wanted to visit the tourist office to make enquiries. According to the guidebooks, the town has a number of old houses in the town centre but we didn’t see any of that. All of the main roads had been ripped up and were being rebuilt. By the time we managed to reach the Mairie and the tourist office, we had enough of the chaos and just wanted to get to the campground. We quickly dropped down to the River Lot, which we followed for three and a half kilometres through neatly trimmed vineyards to the pleasant campground on the river bank.

It had been a largely overcast and cloudy day and had been quite cool at times. The clouds built up until it looked as though it was going to rain at any time. Then they gave way to clear blue skies before starting to build up again. In the end, it didn’t rain.

The Lot follows a very winding course and our route followed the curves of the loops of the river. Luzech, our morning tea stop, has occupied its strategic site on one of the narrowest of these loops, only 100 metres wide at one point, since pre-historic times. The remains of the castle once controlled by Richard the Lion Heart, dominate the town. It was market day and after wandering around the stalls, we bought some pastries at the nearby patisserie. We sat in the café on the square and enjoyed coffee and hot chocolate with our pastries.

It wasn't too long before we reached the outskirts of Cahors and the traffic increased. It was quite a shock to have to deal with the heavy traffic after all the quiet roads we had been riding on. We made it into the city and stopped by the river near the fortified Pont Valentré for another pleasant picnic lunch. After lunch, we made our way to the attractive campground by the river.

Cahors seems to be very bustling and crowded city. Despite its long and glorious history, only a few interesting old buildings remain tucked in amongst lots of unattractive ones. Its most famous son, Léon Gambetta, who played a major role in French nineteenth century history, is honoured with a large statue and square adjacent to the mairie. Most French cities and large towns have streets and squares named after Gambetta. The one-way street system makes it a difficult place to get around in and the traffic in even the tiniest of streets is very busy. We really didn’t enjoy our time there.

At Arcambal we turned onto quiet back roads. There is a small road by the river shown on the map but we failed to find the turnoff onto it. We cycled four and a half kilometres up a steep hill to the hamlet of les Mazuts where we stopped for a break. The climb had been strenuous but we were rewarded for our efforts by wide expansive views in nearly every direction.  The countryside was quite dry. This was limestone country and the farms seemed quite poor compared to the rich lands of the river valley. While we rested at the crossroads at the top, we saw three young Americans climbing slowly up the road from Vers towards us. We waited for them to reach us and chatted for a while about their two-week hotel to hotel trip. They rode lightly loaded racing bikes and covered much greater daily distances than we were. We followed the rough, hand painted signs to the tiny village of Pasturat. The ride down to the river was superb and justified all the hard work involved in the climb. Beautiful views, fields of stunted oak trees boarded by rough limestone walls and attractive villages in the distance on the other side of the valley. Just after we left Pasturat, we passed steep, rugged limestone cliffs boarding the Lot. We crossed the river near St. Géry and stopped in the tiny campground on the edge of the river for lunch. It was a great place to stop.

We continued to follow the Lot to its junction with the Célé where we turned onto the D41 which followed the Célé River. For a few delightful kilometres the road was squeezed between the crystal clear; tree-lined river and the cliff face which rose above us like a huge wall. At times the cliffs hung heavily over the road and it was like riding through a tunnel. At Cabrerets we stopped at the town’s only hotel and café and enjoyed a cool drink and an ice cream on a terrace overlooking the river.

The road to Cabrerets on the banks of the River Célé

The campground was at the other end of the village and we pitched our tents on the banks of the river in a very pretty spot. An English couple who have a holiday house nearby and their New Zealand visitors were finishing their picnic lunch in the shade of a plum tree when we arrived. A Frenchman standing near his car seemed to be waiting for them to move so he could pitch his tent where they were picnicking. He hadn’t said anything to them but every time one of them went to the car or they looked as though they were finishing, the Frenchman would rush to start unloading his car. The campground was virtually empty and there were lots of places to camp but this guy was determined not to set up his tent anywhere else. Before the English had finished packing their car, he started taking over the spot. He was driving the car and carrying the heavy luggage for a small group of walkers. The next day was to be his turn to walk while someone else drove.

Cabrerets clings to the side of the cliffs with some of the houses seeming to grow from the cliff walls. The ruined Château du Diable (also known as the Château des Anglais - the words for devil and English were often interchanged in this part of the world) hangs from a tiny rock ledge overlooking the valley.

It was well worth the wait as the caves system and the drawings were quite spectacular. The guide was excellent. The tour was in French and we had been given some brief notes in English, but he tried to explain a number of things in English for us. By the time we had ridden down the hill again and were packed ready to leave, it was nearly midday.

The ride along the Célé was quite beautiful and easy. The road followed the river and climbed gently up the valley. We made a short detour into the village of Sauillac. This involved a steep climb up the hillside to the rather ordinary village. Above the village were the openings to the fortified caves once used as shelter during times of war. The more agile reached the caves by ladders while the invalids and the animals were hoisted up in baskets. On the way up and down through the village, we passed an English couple working in their garden. Each way we called out good morning but they studiously ignored us.

We stopped for lunch by the river at Marcilhac-sur-Célé. Before leaving the village, we spent a few minutes wandering around the ruins of the eleventh century abbey that was largely destroyed by bands of English and French mercenaries during the Hundred Years War. The road continued to wind along the river passing small villages that often clung to the sides of the cliffs. Espagnac-Ste. Eulalie is considered to be the most picturesque of the towns on the Célé. We crossed the river on the old stone bridge and stopped at a small café near the old priory for a drink. Parts of the priory have been converted into a gîte d’étape and it looked a very pleasant and reasonable place to stay. It was a delightful spot to stop for a break.

We made our way through the crowds to the tourist office where we collected a map that we followed to the post office and the bike shop. Lyn had to buy a new rear tyre as hers had worn through to the canvas. After having that fixed, we headed to the post office where we hoped we would be able to use the email facilities but the machine had a notice saying that it wouldn’t be operating for two months and the nearest available machine was about 60 kilometres away.

We spent a couple of hours wandering around the market and then had moules and frites in a small square while watching the remnants of the market pack up.

Another three Australians turned up at the campground. David noticed that the tent they were pitching was a Macpac tent, a brand mainly sold in New Zealand and Australia. When David wandered down to say hello, they looked at his New Zealand made jacket and said "Are you an Aussie or a Kiwi?" Bronwyn, Dave and Neil from New South Wales were riding one of the pilgrim routes to Santiago de Compostella. We spent a long time chatting.

For dinner this evening, Helen and David cooked some delicious omelettes with cèpes and girolle mushrooms.

To Part 3 - the Tarn

To Part 4 - the Corniche des Cevennes

Back to Part 1 - the Dordogne