18th Day 2018 Arudy to Lourdes

            I should amend my comparison of restaurants in France and Spain.  The restaurants in Spain are gathering places for the men of the village.  As another single male I fitted in nicely.

            My beloved daughter Charlie could not have designed a better biking road for her 74 year old father pulling an overweight trailer.  There was one steep ascent at the start that I pushed up.  After that it was a baby coaster ride that would have not scared a three year old.  The road rose, fell, and twisted through meadows, forests, and villages.  The church in one has a 12^th century crypt.  I am continually fascinated by the once deeply religious fervor that dominated this area.  Towns of less than 100 have churches that hold 500. 

            In Lourdes, I first checked the convent that I stayed at 3 years ago.  True to their word the Mother House had sold the property.  Next I went to the campground in the middle of town.

            After resting, I unhooked the trailer for the first time in days and cruised down to the sanctuary which was an absolute zoo of people.  The streets leading to the sanctuary were filled with people and shops selling religious artifacts.  This was not the peaceful experience that I enjoyed on my first visit.  The lines to fill water from the well were long delayed by people filling gallon containers.  Dante will have to design a suitable punishment for these people.

            The campground is filled with camper vans of every description.  There must be a rule by the manufacturers than like a fingerprint no two campers can be alike.  There is one other cyclist and one trekker who is French and placed his tent so close to mine that our pegs are overlapping.

            The heat eroded my stamina faster than the polar ice cap.  The heat is one variable that is difficult to take into account. 

            I turned north tomorrow.  I need to meet Isabelle and Marie-Line on the 28^th, only five days away.

            In “Calypso” David Sedaris shares his impressions of his family from the viewpoint of someone in their late 50’s. 

            In the campground, everyone except the other biker and trekker are my age or older.  All are quite short and walk hunched forward.  Some are so bent that their faces look to the ground.

            Tom is the other biker.  He is a Welsh carpenter from north of Cardiff.  I bicycled Wales in 1994 with my good friend Kiley.  He actually bailed on that portion and took the train down to Cardiff.  Still not refreshed, he boarded another train to Startford on the Avon.  From there he resumed riding with me through the Coxwolds, Oxford, and to the airport.  He would have loved to have electrical assistance.  He was 67 when he tried this.  Sadly he died last year.

            Yesterday in Arudy I parked my bike and trailer beneath the eaves of a very large garage with six doors.  Just after 8 on a Saturday morning a very polite young man asked me if I would not mind moving my bike and trailer.  They needed to move the fire engine out!

            I waited until 10:30 in the morning waiting to pay a fee but no one ever showed.