I’ve just cracked open a San Miguel in an effort to take my mind away from the house fly that has been…ah hem…bugging me all afternoon. I broke my fly swatter a while back and I don’t have my old karate reflexes anymore, so I’m reduced to drinking and forgetting. Blogging helps, too…
Yesterday morning I decided to play hooky and drive to the Cevennes for a climb up Mont Aigoual (pronounced “Eggwall”). I chose the most gentle road from the village of Valleraugue, which never gets over 6%, I think, but I still had 1100 meters of climbing by the time I reached the top.
There was nobody on that road with me on the way up, except a truck transporting sheep to their high pastures, so other than a steady trickle of mouton poop on the 2nd part of the climb, it was idyllic. But not as perfect as the descent, which is fast and not very technical and on a wide, well-surfaced road.
I have a Ventoux client (our first since 2019) coming this weekend, so I’m trying to find my climbing legs again. Hopefully they will be easier to get back than my hopeless fly-swatting speed.