Ventoux

I’m just getting up when I hear a screeching noise. A mountain bike descends rapidly through the dawn light, head torch shining. It’s a sign of things to come - Mont Ventoux is clearly popular and it’s the weekend.

On the trail I’m passed by two gents jogging uphill. A couple of hours later they pass me again, running downhill. There are sections of loose rock, others that are a difficult scramble. Crazy!

From where I woke, it’s 1200m ascent to the summit of Mt Ventoux. The place is a magnet to cyclists and sports car enthusiasts. Each side of the summit a photographer takes photos of the cyclists struggling to the top. Lines of rented performance cars in red and yellow rumble throatily around the wide bends.

The wind at the top is extreme. The descent is through a desert of white rock. I pass a couple of ski lifts and enter high forest. And then the long descent to the valley below.

I arrive at Sault in late afternoon, dog tired. The campsite is on the other side of town, uphill. The last store on the way out is an organic place, so I buy beer, goats cheese, apples.