Cycling from La Palud sur Verdon, France to Manosque, France

The stay in La Palud-sur-Verdon didn't help much to avoid riding in the rain, as the second morning looked just like the first, with a cold rain and snow on the peaks. After a long day sitting in the only cafe in town, I just had to go. Talking with the most agreeable hosts at the hostel, it seemed that my plan to try some of the cols in Haute Provence was completely crazy, with most of them closed until July. Even the easier route north through Castellane to Allos looked like more cold than I could stand.

It was in the low 40s as I climbed out of the village and retraced the route of 2 days ago, mostly down with a short climb out of Moustiers-Ste-Marie. It had been raining fairly hard off and on the whole way, but on the downstroke to Riez and Greoux-les-Bains it just poured, with sheets of rain across the road. My shoes got squishy quickly. At Greoux-les-Bains the rain lightened for the climb up the D82, but started hard again the rest of the way into Manosque. I was tempted to quit there, get a hotel room, and hit the hot springs. I must have looked pretty grim as I stopped to check a restaurant menu. An older woman (one who appeared older than I) in the shelter of a bus stop told me where to find the headquarters of the local bike club. She said there was a flatter, but longer way to Manosque, but, remembering the nuns, I chose the climb. At the Super U cafeteria, a sopping-wet cyclist got to take off his Gore-Tex and wet shoes, dry out a little and have a salade nicoise with a quarter of rouge. The hostel was, of course high up on the far side of town, but easy enough to find. There was a feeble heater here and drying the shoes was a slow process. The second day of rain ended after getting the shoes soaking again after a walk for a Vietnamese dinner. Oh, well.

The third day of rain in Manosque wasn't so bad, with the market taking over the road ringing the town's old walls and a chance to replace the moccasins I left under the bed in Lyon. They weren't missed until my sopping bike shoes were all I had. The rain was light and spotty and the clothes drying was almost finished. On the return to the hostel, a group of six had arrived and there was the possibility of a repas there. My dinner companions turned out to be avid bikers from St. Etienne, retired and using the hostel as a base for some short tours around Manosque. They were very amiable and we had made many of the same trips. Serge seemed to know every col in France. After dinner they showed me their fine riding machines, only the best road bikes, not rigged for touring. They had insisted that the heat be turned up in the dining room and my new mocs were comfy, even if the socks smelled a little musty. We caught just the briefest glimpse of the moon and Venus before bed.