Surf, Pine, and Wine

Another uneventful border-crossing brought us into France. We celebrated in Saint Jean de la Luz with café au lait and omelettes (first chance at ordering eggs on this trip).  A nicely-paved bike trail took us north up the coast.  We finally found our fellow bike-packers.  We saw more in an hour than in all of Spain.

The beaches were long, wide and empty: a surfer’s paradise.  Our path (EuroVelo 1 again) cut through endless miles of municipal pine plantations. Pine must be all that sandy soil (actual sand—basically grown-over dunes) could support.  It started to rain.

We camped in the sand, the beach ours alone. And twice at a “campground” that was mostly little huts, and often included additions like a pool, a bar, even an amusement park. We conceded when in need of a hot shower or laundry.  We have had nonluck with the Warm Showers app for bike tourists. This is not the sunny coast, but even the locals were complaining about the rain. One night, the rain drummed so hard on our little tent, I was certain it would cave.  Thankfully it didn’t, and we were warm if not totally dry.

 John had been adjusting his brakes for days.  They still whistled and moaned.  Turns out, those Portugal hills had ground down his new disc brake pads to the metal. The diagnosis and solution took us to four different bike shops in Biarritz.

We headed east through miles of trimmed, harvested, re-planted or burned-over pine forests.  It was flat, a relief for all, as you dear reader are no doubt tired of me complaining about hills.  

After four days of pine and rain, I had visions of sun-soaked vineyards and their dry tasting rooms. It was not to be. The sun did show, on cue, just as we saw our first vineyard. But, alas, we had arrived to the Bordeaux region on a Sunday. All tasting rooms were closed. We settled for wine at lunch.  And dinner.  Our next heading is Toulouse, a rest day (and chance to dry out), and the Canal du Midi.