Thursday 31st May Toulouse (13) to Castelnaudary. (14)
40.37 miles. 3hrs 54 m riding time. Average speed: 10.3mph Total: 646miles
It started to rain last night as I ate my evening meal and it’s still raining now 24 hours later. I’m aware that it’s almost expected of the British to talk incessantly about the weather but I‘m beginning to obsess … Apparently, Eskimos have hundreds of words to describe snow. I’ve now expanded my vocabulary to have hundreds of words to describe rain; however they all begin with “effin!” Today I may as well have swum the Canal du Midi from end to end because I couldn’t have been any wetter or more chilled to the bone if I’d tried. As I left the graffiti-ed suburbs of Toulouse behind I saw a flash of lightning in the distance and remembered the advice never to seek shelter under trees during electrical storms. Unfortunately I was cycling underneath an avenue of plane trees that stretched all the way to the sea! So I just had to cycle on as thunder rumbled and crashed all around. The towpath ended for cyclists at an écluse (lock) just after Port-Lauragais according to my maps so I prepared to take to the road. The lock keeper saw me puzzling over my map and ‘helpfully’ directed me across to the towpath on the opposite bank telling me this was the best route to Castelnaudary. I thought it strange but who was I to question a man that lived here?
Within half a mile I was using some of my ‘rain adjectives’
with Tourettes-like gusto to describe the half-witted-effin-lock keeper’s
effin-directions as I slithered around like a greased weasel in a treacherously
slippery single clay rut. The bank became so overgrown with waist-high grass
that I couldn’t even see the canal’s edge anymore. I decided
to play safe and get off before I fell in. I dismounted and pushed the bike
to the next écluse as by now it was just as far to go back as it
was to go forward to the next. Castelnaudary was now a mere 13 kilometres
distant but the directions from monsieur-effin-demi-wit had left me with
no option but to take the main road I’d been trying to avoid, the
N113. It was battering down with rain, and the road spray all but obscured
the traffic’s headlights. I dug out my rear red led lights and rode
as closely into the right hand gutter as I could.
I eventually squelched to the door of the Hotel Centre et Lauragais with
feet wet enough to give a frog trench-foot. I was shivering, spattered in
mud and road filth, dripping water all over the tiled floor as the patron
unsuccessfully tried to look unconcerned about his flooded foyer.
Tonight I’m eating cassoulet in its birthplace in my hotel restaurant which probably justifiably claims to make the best in town The weather has sent my plans haywire; the two extra safety/rest days I built into my schedule have gone ‘AWOL’ due to my reduced daily mileages. I’ve booked ahead for tomorrow night again; it’s a comforting thought to know that however bad the weather is tomorrow (and the forecast is terrible) I know I’ll have a nice dry room at the end of it. As I crossed the foyer to the staircase to go to bed I stopped to look at the deluge through the open door, the patron said “It’s a long long day riding in the rain on your own”… He read my mind.
http://www.hotel-centre-lauragais.com/