8-Wind

Dear Friends,

Wind--the most vile of a cyclist's four-letter words. Spat out with the vehemence to match that of nature. Spoken with clenched teeth, with exasperation, with the exhaustion that comes from hours of battling the invisible monster.

Did we begin our day out of Carcassone against such a wind? Oh no. We had the wind at our backs and were merrily flying along the  countryside roads with silly grins on our faces. But that fickle wind.  It was saying "You think this is fun? Just wait until you change directions. Or maybe I'll change directions on you!"

In the meantime, we corrected a minor map-reading error (mine, I admit) and stopped in the lovely city of Narbonne to visit a remarkable cathedral and to view a few Roman ruins, of which we were to see many in the coming weeks. There was a campground not far south out of the town, but we'd been lured by the wind. "Let's go a few more kilometers, to the coast, where the Tourist Information brochure lists several seaside campgrounds." Hmm. This was harder work with the wind coming at us from  the side. And not so many trees to block that wind here near the sea. Hmm again. One campground closed. And, oops, the next ones were about 5  kms. further along.

Dang! Now it feels as if the wind is out of the north. Stronger, too, and gusty. Push on. Now, where were all the tourist amenities when you really needed them? Aha. At least a gas station was open. We bought  crackers, tuna, yogurt, and wine, so at least we wouldn't starve. On we  pushed, along the practically deserted coast, to an assemblage of holiday accommodations. Next to the road there was a handy map posted, albeit a little faded, which noted the sites of camping. But the way felt like a back alley, and gates were locked, or at least closed. We  turned around at the end, and then I spotted a car park area, beyond  which was a building signed "Reception." Voila! Open, with camping spots available, and, like frosting on the cake, free internet!

The only thing they couldn't do was to turn off the wind. We nestled the tent between hedges and a neighboring camper van, pegged it  down as best we could in the sand, and sat in it to have a cold supper  to keep it from blowing out to sea! Bless our wonderful North Face tent. Though I laid awake much of the night, through the sound of the nylon flapping wildly and the aluminum poles creaking against the ferocious  gusts, we all, Lowell, me, and the tent, made it safely through the night.

The wind did not abate for days. In fact, it is so common that it has a name: mistral. And it made us work hard for our pleasure of cycling in southern France along the shore of the Mediterranean Sea. Are we having fun yet? You  bet. Remember the last message, about coffee, bread, and wine? Well,  just keep that in mind if you ever think we're paying too high a price for this adventure.

Love, Ellen & Lowell