After quite an adventure in the dunes below P-l-N, we heaved the bikes up onto the stub of a road that showed up on the GPS and this took us to Leucate village and on down the coast to Le Barcares. 97km is our longest day yet and this means that Cath has managed a 60-mile day before her 60th birthday. The old village is a down to earth Catalan seaside place but is overwhelmed by the new marina and flat developments. Such highly seasonal places are invariably soulless, whereas Port-la-Nouvelle seems to have a strong retired/permanent population. The Hotel De La Mer, in Le Barcares, where we ended the day, was fine - black curtains but not a black toilet pan, as in Hourtin in the Gironde. Sadly the cursed Tuesday night closing meant that eating options were severely restricted but we had a decent meal.
And so we have gone from sea to shining sea, the English Channel (la Manche) to the Atlantic and then to the Mediterranean, as the photos show. That beard needs a damn good hacking.
Wednesday morning brought a cloudless sky and, finally, the wind had dropped but it was already pretty hot at 9:00 am. The excellent Tarmac cycle route along the River Agly took us swiftly to Rivesaltes but this wheeze to avoid the traffic of Perpignan proved not such a good idea. We struggled to find a way round the airport and lost some time but ploughed on through the wine villages on the north bank of the Têt - Saint-Estève, Pézilla-la-Rivière - and on through Millas and Ille-sur-Têt, all familiar but never previously cycled through. So far pretty level but there followed a steady and punishing climb up to Prades (average height 357m) along the busy main road in the very strong sun. We cycled up to our front door and the interior cool that was very welcome. The walls are substantial and shutters work well to keep out unwanted heat. Home at last! as Kenneth Grahame's mole would have thought. Adventures are all very well but it is nice when they come to an end.
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