cycling Canal du Midi - Days One and Two
No sane human would get bored of cycling under the majestic canopy of century-old plane trees. Right?
But after 20,000 of the green and mighty blighters, it was nice to arrive in Toulouse where humans outnumbered falling leaves.
This morning, we cycled to the meeting point of the Canal du Garonne and Canal du Midi to say one last farewell to the Garonne and to officially begin the Canal du Midi journey at the correct location.
We share the path with rushing commuters and quite a lot of homeless people sleeping and living under the canal bridges.
By mid-morning, we're back in the rural landscape and have the canal path largely to ourselves, save for the occasional couple out cycling, sans panniers.
The scenery is spectacular. Unlike the Garonne, the Canal du Midi feels much more like a slow-flowing river, with regular bends, overgrown trees and creepers and lovely views from the bank to the vineyards and rolling hills planted with wheat.
But, I'm shocked by the state of the canal path. After lunch in Villefranche, we dodge mud, potholes, tree branches, overgrown grass and wheel ruts. It's an obstacle course and my bicycle, Craig is not happy. He's only offering me three gears instead of the usual seven and no matter how much fiddling I do with his equipment, he refuses to yield.
No matter.
At Castelnaudary, an old man in a Peugeot shop gives Craig a new gear cable, although as I wheel my faithful friend out of the shop, he does grumble that the old bloke has given him black cable bind, rather than his customary white.
This village is the home of cassoulet, so I indulge at dinner. I've never been a big fan of the dish. It's always a little too... claggy (that's a sophisticated food term!). But, the chef at La Belle Epoque is an Honourary Member of the Castelnaudary Cassoulet Chef Union and his version is rich and hearty and full of duck confit. I sleep soundly, although the bed springs sag from all the extra weight.
The next day, the path gets even worse. The scenery is spectacular with the hills looming ever closer, the plane trees casting longer shadows and Craig changing gears with the efficiency of a Tour de France racing bike.
But after 20,000 of the green and mighty blighters, it was nice to arrive in Toulouse where humans outnumbered falling leaves.
We share the path with rushing commuters and quite a lot of homeless people sleeping and living under the canal bridges.
By mid-morning, we're back in the rural landscape and have the canal path largely to ourselves, save for the occasional couple out cycling, sans panniers.
The scenery is spectacular. Unlike the Garonne, the Canal du Midi feels much more like a slow-flowing river, with regular bends, overgrown trees and creepers and lovely views from the bank to the vineyards and rolling hills planted with wheat.
But, I'm shocked by the state of the canal path. After lunch in Villefranche, we dodge mud, potholes, tree branches, overgrown grass and wheel ruts. It's an obstacle course and my bicycle, Craig is not happy. He's only offering me three gears instead of the usual seven and no matter how much fiddling I do with his equipment, he refuses to yield.
No matter.
At Castelnaudary, an old man in a Peugeot shop gives Craig a new gear cable, although as I wheel my faithful friend out of the shop, he does grumble that the old bloke has given him black cable bind, rather than his customary white.
This village is the home of cassoulet, so I indulge at dinner. I've never been a big fan of the dish. It's always a little too... claggy (that's a sophisticated food term!). But, the chef at La Belle Epoque is an Honourary Member of the Castelnaudary Cassoulet Chef Union and his version is rich and hearty and full of duck confit. I sleep soundly, although the bed springs sag from all the extra weight.
The next day, the path gets even worse. The scenery is spectacular with the hills looming ever closer, the plane trees casting longer shadows and Craig changing gears with the efficiency of a Tour de France racing bike.
A kilometre before Carcassonne, the path gives up entirely and we retreat to the backroads to find our way into town. I've been to Carcassonne three times in the past thirty years and I'm always thrilled and horrified in equal measures. The Cite Medieval is a fantastic indulgence of towers and turrets and, located on a hill, has a commanding presence for miles around. Once I enter the Cite however, I'm always a little overwhelmed with the number of tacky tourist shops selling plastic swords and armour alongside fruit jellies (at $80 a kilo, no less!) and the ubiquitous tins of cassoulet. I keep my eyes up, looking at the towers and turrets and, secretly hoping a cabal of knights will one night storm the citadel and raze the tourist shops. Until then, we have a beer and enjoy the view.
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