As we did yesterday, our group met in an intimate garden courtyard for breakfast sitting at small iron tables with white tablecloths and iron chairs.  The food is the same everywhere we go, and I have grown very fond of fresh fruit, cheese, smoked meats, baguettes and espresso to start my day.  One of our companions, Gil, has a close encounter with an egg – cracking on the edge of his plate what he thought was a hard boiled egg but what turned out to be a very soft boiled egg.  This is one of the funniest breakfast scenes I have witnessed in a long time and certainly gives new meaning to having egg on your face.

The briefing today promises “a rider’s day of touring” as we head south for Spain.  Raye is eager for what lies ahead, and it does not disappoint.  We spend the next nine hours covering only about 150-160 miles of incredibly challenging roads, which averages out to less than 20 mph.  I’m surprised we made such good time.

We start off leaving Cavenac on a small country road that winds through several vineyards.  After a few more turns, we begin climbing some fairly steep hills headed toward Villebazy, Missegre and Arques.  Here things get interesting as the road narrows considerably down to what Raye declares must be goat paths.  Aptly named, they are only between six and eight feet wide in some places, very bumpy and extremely curvy.  Literally carved into the side of the mountains, these unforgettable roads demand drivers maneuver their bikes with great skill and concentration through countless tight turns.  This area is so remote that, thankfully, we have the roads to ourselves almost everywhere, which is quite different from the Alps.  Only occasionally do we meet other riders or cars – and sometimes an occasional cyclist.

We stop to rest our legs in a tiny village called Rennes, which as so many other towns do, runs alongside a small mountain stream.  This is yet another picture-perfect setting with a small hotel, beautiful windows and doorways, and even lovelier people.  I am lucky enough to photograph some children as they are headed home from school for lunch, and two elderly ladies who appeared to be dear friends visiting in the town square.  With little French to help me, I am still able to communicate to these ladies that I would like to take their picture.  Smiling and nodding, they lean together and pose briefly for me to capture their images.  Once again, I am delighted with how approachable and congenial the French seem.  And even though I have heard the French are not fond of Americans, my individual experience has been quite different.

We continue on to the highlight of the day, a ride through Gorges de Galamus This gorge is well know for its dramatic drop-offs – some as much as 1,000 feet down to the river below — and steep mountains, but also for the lone road that runs through it, which is so narrow only one bike or car can ride through at a time.  If you meet someone coming the other way, you have to back your vehicle until you find a wider spot to allow them to pass.  After driving through the narrowest part of the gorge, we park our bikes at the edge and are welcomed by a picnic lunch.  Two of our tour guides have gone ahead in the van to set everything up.  We devour the buffet of salads, meats and cheeses, fresh fruit and bread.  A welcome feast and break for us to admire the incredible scenery around us.

It was an effort to get back on the bikes, but once going we find ourselves now descending out of the highest peaks, where it has been fairly chilly all day.  The hills are greening up a lot and the afternoon sun warms our faces.  The countryside becomes more rolling, and we begin to see vineyards around nearly every turn.  I am surprised by this as I didn’t realize we would find French wine country this far south.  It makes sense, however, since Spain also has many vineyards even further south.  I discover later we have entered the hilly terrain of the Corbie’res, which is known for its wine and castles. You can learn more about this region at www.lezignan-corbieres.fr/tourisme.

The French towns we pass through – Belcaire, Quillan, Couiza, Limoux and Pomas – and all the tiny villages in between are all quintessentially European like those you have seen in postcards.  Lace curtained windows, narrow streets, flower boxes, scooters, weathered shutters and wooden doorways.  It’s all here in abundance.  Since I am so taken by doors and windows, I find myself eager to photograph as many of these particularly picturesque settings as soon as we hop off somewhere.

Finally we pull into Cavanac, a tiny town just five kilometers outside of Carcassonne, which is a major city in the Languedoc-Roussillon region.  With just a few small buildings and of course a church, the town is dominated by a large stone chateau, which turns out to be our lodging for the next two nights.  It is an awesome place with ivy covered stone walls, iron gates, a gravel courtyard, a spiral stone staircase with a banister carved from a single tree trunk, a game room with a snooker table — there is even a knight’s armor standing in the corner of the reception area.  The rooms have no numbers, just names of flowers.  Ours is the Belle de Nuit and the key to the room comes attached to a very heavy round metal fob with the name of the room inscribed on it.  Everything about this place seems authentic and amazing.  Our canopied bed never looked so good, though, as we peel off our riding attire and kick back for a little while.  The only drawback for me: no Internet.  So for the next several days, I won’t be connected.  Raye is delighted with this development, and with no other real option, I decide this was meant to be and just go with it.  Whatever there is can wait.

On the grounds of the chateau is a pool and pool house, which most of us find our way to.  We’re still hot from the afternoon ride, and a dip sounds just perfect.  Since nearly all of us are here, we spread the map out on a poolside table and plot the trip for the next day.  Today whet my appetite for France, so I am really looking forward to seeing more of it.

We gather in the courtyard after showers and fresh clothes for a pre-dinner visit and to wait for the restaurant to open about 8:30.  Apparently it is well known throughout the area, and we are joined at this time by many locals.  The show kitchen is well stocked, lined with colorful tiles and copper cookware, and centered around an open-flame grill.  It looks as though it has been in operation for hundreds of years.  This is a four-course meal, and we have the difficult task of choosing from a wide variety of items for nearly every course.  A charming young waitress with short dark hair and an interesting tattoo on her shoulder takes on our table of about 25 people and recites in thickly French-accented English the many options to choose from.  Everyone begins with a surprise on the house – a sweet peach liqueur served in a small sugar-crusted cup.  For my first course, I select chilled foix gras on crushed ice with truffles, seafood bisque, filet of beef, and finally crème brulee with espresso.  Raye enjoys escargot, hot foix gras with a fixed sauce, beef kidney and an apple tart.

Our conversation with our friends is stimulating and engaging.  There are so many interesting sides to our companions.  I learn much more about high finance and investment banking, the political and economic challenges facing South Africa, and what it was like to serve as an intern for some of our country’s highest ranking elected officials.  Wonderful experiences that are made all the better with each storyteller’s unique perspective and learning.

Several of us linger easily past midnight for more conversation and stories.  Eventually, we head for bed still in awe that we are sleeping in a French chateau.