The changing of the seasons are facinating.
Sure, it’s obvious with the leaves changing colours from green to orange to brown, or because of the gravitational drop. Or is it pull? Same with walnuts and chestnuts. Grapes are being harvested because they have bulged to their firmest, and here in France, we haven’t seen wineries use netting to protect them from alcoholic birdlife. In fact, bird life has been extremely sparse cycling across the continent. Bees too. They say it’s because it’s the type of insecticides contamination. A change in the extinction of life season!
This morning though, it was still dark at 7.00am. Just like that. Although the ball of yellow would have gradually gotten lazy and we have been too pre-occupied with our daily preening and packing up routines. And, there was an autumn coolness feel when we exited the warmth of the hotel.
I remember discarding my long-sleeved polyprop top in the heat of the moment when the heat was in the mid-thirties way back at the beginning, believing the short sleeved one will suffice. I missed it this morning. BClaire looked warm in hers, pffffft!
Yep, it was a sure seasonal change observation this morning.
The shadows from the building we navigated through didn’t help the goose bumps much neither. A fellow cyclist over took us as we searched the screen for some directional assistance. She looked warm, and also 14 years of age! We walked through a Saturday market. Jeez the produce looked so fresh and succulent. No room to add anything to the stolen buns from breakfast taking up room in the panniers.
We missed the sign to turn right after crossing the bridge over the Loire and after backtracking, had added an additional 4kms to the days total. Even before we started. We were going towards the sun and our cock up excuse, we were getting closer to the natural heater! Eventually when the sun did crawl higher, it did radiate some heat which was welcomed in between the shade shared.
The riding was a combination of hub and spoke away from the Loire with quite a heap of undulation over pasture and vineyards. Lot’s of “Bonjours” were extended along a tributary as there was a fishing competition on. It was also cool to see young anglers out flicking their spinners into the flow hunting for the gilled thing below the surface.
We arrived at Amboise high above the city and as we rode down the road to sea level (albeit we have no idea how high above the sea level we actually are), the hillside was inhabited with cave type houses built into the sides of the cliff. They too were unique. And perhaps were where the yesteryear peasants once lived because when we pulled up, we were at the base of the towering Chateau Royal d’Amboise. It was heaving with tourists already seated at the many restaurants along its fortification.
We stopped and had our rolls people watching. Kind of felt we didn’t fit in wearing what were guarding our chariots. We saw the 14 year old cyclist we saw as we were departing Blois and exchanged a few words. She made feel included. And then it was back on the seats and off to ride the next part that would take us to Tours.
The 14 year old wasn’t actually 14. Clore is 25. We shared the cycle way for some of the last part. She was also riding with a couple who weren’t wearing the cyclists lycra but jeans and jackets and had also ridden from Blois. Either tough as nails or extremely novice and were stopping more frequently. Time on bike seat do that, from experience. And hence why we have our Brooks seats that are moulded to our arse cheeks. We may see Clore down under, another invitation extended.
Another bunch of day riders wearing casual apparel passed us. When they learnt we were from New Zealand, another impromptu haka was echoed amongst the grape vines to send them into a frenzy. The day riders that is. Hard to make a firm grape shudder! They were added some wit and laughter.
And then as we rode into Tours and followed our blue dot on google maps, we entered a part that was setting up for a marathon taking place tomorrow. It too was teeming with people with a buzz of atmosphere. We pulled over to watch a protest match walk by yelling and screaming, someone banging a pot lid with spoon to keep the chant in chord. At one part, it sounded like the word “Otago” was being voiced.
And I couldn’t help myself. “Ooooootttttttaaaaaaaaaaggggggggooooooo.” Looks my way had us shuffle along. Smartly. Not making anymore eye contact!
Our hotel was certainly in the downtown part of the old town, wow, it was just brilliant. And we located it after taking pictures of what was the remains of a cathedral where parts of the collapsed building space has had melded into it shops. So one part was there, another over there, and another part over there. And then retail connecting the bits. Now that was well done.
By the time we tuned into the South African and Irish rugby game, the sun had sunk. Saturday night in down town Tours was ramping up and when we ventured out before the game to get some dinner in our shorts and tee-shirts wearing jandals and sandals – the season has definitely migrated to autumn.
The warmth coming from the pizza box felt wonderful, holding it close to the skin.
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