Day 7 { june 1st 2002 }
“Woods, rocks and hills ”
Hurtling down, propelled by gravity. Kids on skateboards with a deathwish. Sick!
An air-raid siren seriously disturbs the perfect silence in a desolate village, and it’s time to climb.
The owners of the camping have a surprise for me in store; I don’t have to pay anything. For free! Was it because I told them I was heading for Rome? Ah, I get it, they feel sorry for me :) Anyway. I head off with a smile on my face.
When I look at the map, the ‘Foret Domaniale de Fenetrange’ will shortly appear. I decice to cycle to the village of Mittersheim before I go any further. Time for breakfast/lunch. The bananas, water and the apple are eaten while sitting in the shade, in front of the local church. It’s almost 12 o’clock, and the small local store closes it’s doors. When the car of the owner has left, it becomes very quiet. Looks like a ghost village. That these places exist nowadays... There is nobody around. Well, almost. A local youngster arrives. He has to test the air-raid siren attached to the roof of the local kindergarten, but I am unaware of that. Dust and old leaves fly out of the horns as soon as the device is put to work. Wheeeeeeee!! Yep, it’s working (my eardrums aren’t anymore).
“...yes, I respect that little giant bug”
Anyhow, this is no place for youngsters. It’s actually pretty sad looking. Old, sun beaten and desolate. Oh well, its rural, that is one thing for sure. So, when you’re 65 and you robbed a bank 30 years ago,this is the area to grow old and keep a low profile.
When I cycle back to the canal where the cyclepath starts, I notice a beetle crossing the road. It’s funny, but this is an image I will never forget. A bit symbolic. Such a small life-form, crossing that proportionally huge road. And he made it! It had slowly stumbled over the asphalt, surviving 4 or 5 cars coming from both directions... Imagine, he has 50 more cm’s to go...and then there is me on the Condor heading straight for it. Evading it, because I respect that little giant bug (yes, I do respect bugs).
The road alongside the canal is very relaxing. It has been constructed on top of a dike. Just straight ahead for 15 km’s or so.
About every 2 km’s, the path goes upwards a bit, because of the lock gates (sluisdeuren).
I talk to a german couple who saw me
about an hour ago sitting in front of the church having lunch. We chit-chat for a while and split up eventually.
For me, it’s just 6 km’s to the first serious climb; the ‘Col du Donon’. “Gosh...26 degrees. Sufficiënt water? Yep. Food? Yep. Let’s rock and roll!”
The first 12 kilometers are a breeze. Well...the speed is down to 8 km’s an hour. I will do this step by step. No rush. Don’t know what to expect. There is hardly any traffic and cycling in between rocky slopes covered with pine-trees is awesome. If only the sun would... Oh well, take it as it is. Stop whining.
“Kids with a death wish”
After a while, quite a lot of motorcyclists whizz by at ‘kamikaze-like speed’. But that is nothing compared to two dudes on skateboards going downhill ! Do they have a death-wish or what?
I have to say that climbing the hill wasn’t that difficult (well, afterwards...) The thing that amazed me was that my knees were still in excellent shape after leaving the top of the Col du Donon. Going down is a pure feast for the eyes. Mindblowing views. I whizz by small villages and log cabins, rocky slopes and pastures.
“Several garden-gnomes keep me company that night”
It has gotten late in the afternoon (around six) and I have to find a place to sleep. The fact that I have 7 year old maps with me play havoc once more;
a camping in Rothau no longer exists. Darn. Well, a hotel then. Nope; the ones in Fouday and St. Blaise la Roche are all ‘full-house’.
There is no other option for me than to pitch my tent somewhere in a forest. But I don’t like that thought...
So I head on, running on empty, hoping to find a safe place to sleep.
When I’m almost out of the village of Colroy la Roche, I notice two people on a balcony of a small house. In my best french,
I explain the situation to them. The woman comes down and asks for my passport, agrees that I pitch my tent in their front garden, but she makes
clear that I should try no tricks whatsoever. Her husband is a policeman.
They guide me to one of their lawns. Very small, surrounded by a hedge
about 2 meters high. Several garden gnomes will keep me company tonight.
What is funny, is that Raymond, Marie-Clair’s husband,
first clears the lawn of dog-poo before I pitch my tent. After 15 minutes, all the suspicion has disappeard, and she even brings me lemonade and sandwiches!
Such sweet people.
Their cat, Poupette, inspects my tent from the inside before I turn in.
Am I tired? Yes, I’m happy, satisfied and tired (and that is a killer-combination).
