After getting our fill, four of us decide to hike through part of the canyon to a nearby monastery we have spotted clinging to the side of the mountain.  Minutes before we had driven right over where these small buildings were attached just below the road, and we would never have seen them if we had not stopped for a better view of the gorge.  The hike is down a steep rocky path, and we definitely break a sweat as the trail also turns sharply upward.

Our short but challenging trek is rewarded as we step inside a doorway leading to the residence.  We are surprised to see a small cathedral carved into the side of a cave, which actually continues further on into the mountain.  A few benches are here as well as a stone altar.  A bit of light is streaming in through several small archways above our heads.  Otherwise, it is dimly lit by a few candles.  This is a serene place, and clearly most visitors are content to view it from afar.

One of our fellow hikers had learned its story.  Centuries ago, monks in training for higher positions in the church would live here one at a time, in seclusion from the rest of the world, to draw closer to God.  It would be easy to do in this spectacular setting.  I wondered aloud what would one of us do for a year alone here.  “Try to bring honor to this beautiful place,” said one of my companions.  An amazingly insightful answer that summed up what we were thinking but could not express as well.  As we left, we looked at each other and without saying a word knew we had witnessed something very special together.  I may have left the monastery behind, but I absolutely took the memory with me.

The ride ahead finds us climbing even higher into the mountains.  The roads are still as twisty and tight as the afternoon wears on.  We wind through olive orchards and more vineyards.  We stretch our legs for a few minutes in Bouleternere, a small town where we find wild blackberries growing within our reach along a stone bridge.  They are sweet and plump.  I sneak a quick peek inside the town church along with two of my friends.  Once again, another beautiful house of worship.

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.