by Liz

A rest day is a chance for reflection. Three months ago we spent ages deliberating where to stay in this area, 80 miles south-west of Bordeaux. No spectacular view of the ocean this time, but as I write I’m looking out over a small garden with six flourishing banana trees, a tree fern and an olive, and a drying rack in the sun with clean laundry for the coming days. The house sparrows that live under next door’s eaves are chirping and a cockerel is crowing, far enough away to be pleasantly evocative of French country life rather than annoying. The uncomfortable sofa has been generously supplied with cushions so I feel like I’m leaning back in a cloud. Totally relaxed on this cool, sunny afternoon. 

We went out to breakfast this morning at the local bakery in Biscarrosse, half an hour’s walk away, looking out over the petrol forecourt of SuperU. Afterwards we sat beside the beautiful Biscarrosse and Parentis lake close to where we’re staying. A small sea plane landed on the water as we watched and a kayaker was towing a yacht, which looked like hard work. For lunch in the garden we sampled a Biscarrossaise baguette (made with local flour and semolina – crunchier) with a tomato salad and pavé ocre cheese. I’ve checked the weather for the next three days which will take us to the Spanish border. Warm but less sunny. We’ve been lucky. 

The differences between this trip and our Canada-Mexico ride last year are evident. I’m sleeping much better on this tour, long and deep, despite leg cramps in the night. I don’t feel wrecked on rest days as I did last year. Everything is cheaper in France, from accommodation to food to inner tubes. It’s been warmer. People are less inclined to be curious about us: so far one person has approached us for a conversation where in America strangers engaged us in conversation multiple times a day. We’re getting to swim more often. It’s beautiful here but there are fewer astonishing vistas; there were so many down the Pacific coast it was hard to take them all in. In America there was some new sight or experience every single day. Yesterday’s ride past the Dune du Pilat had my jaw hanging open. I’m having a lovely trip but I realised that was the first time in three weeks I have marvelled in that way. 

I’d wanted to ride from Canada to Mexico for 38 years and doubted I ever would, so I spent eight weeks in a state of disbelief and euphoria that I was actually doing it. That can’t be matched, and it cast a golden light over everything. But this trip is overall less stressful and as a result there’s an ease between us which is worth a million dollars (or Euros).

We’ve tried to make a reservation for a meal this evening at a hotel on the lake front but we don’t think we’ve managed. So dinner is in the balance and we may have to stir our stumps and walk over there soon to be sure. A wedding convoy has just driven past the house, horns blaring – a French thing. A lizard is sunning itself on the deck. Some TLC has been carried out on the bikes and now there is oil on our hands and less grunge on our chains. 

Dinner booking safely secured, we have some reviews to write for the last few Airbnbs and some preparatory packing for tomorrow’s ride, set to be 51 miles. It should be easy after a restful day but one never really knows. We’ll be up before dawn in any case.