spring 23 périgueux to millau

Wednesday 15:   The Ibis blackbird rests until 0400 hours then resumes its joyous song. The oiseau has discovered how to use the buildings around to amplify his mellifluousness: during the day he can easily outclass the traffic underneath his beaky gaze. At 0700 when the cathedral summons the populace to shift themselves, twice as is traditional in the S of F, our blackbird has gone off for his petit dej,  so when we ride out of town we are not serenaded further. 

I don't know why we can't bring ourselves to have a lie-in, when luxuriating at hotels en route: never a problem back at Chateau Bullsmead I can tell you… In no rush today, its only about 180 miles to our next hotel. Nevertheless we are away at 0730 amidst the jobsworths dashing to their various depots, repositories and retail outlets. 

By the time we stop at Le Buge the roads are quietening down. A cheery coffee et croissants are taken in a busy bar just there on the roundabout (see view below, bar is behind me so does not get in on the scene). I note that my attempts to remove the traces of chocolate sauce from my strides have not been altogether successful; I continue to try to tie my right shoe with a telescoped shoe lace, sustained at Amboise. The cut and thrust! You think I am going to skip this sort of detail? The hell I will…

After Le Buge the weather perks up. The roads quieten further and the motor fair hums along. France Musique is on strike as is normal. There is fun and games when the traffic in both directions come onto a bridge coned off for resurfacing, a cock-up on the automatic traffic light arrangements. And true, Les Gendarmes stand in for our expected daily quota of Routes Barrées further along, shutting off our direct route forward, in two places no less, so we have to drop right down into the defile that is the location of Figeac, then by various minor but pretty roads, recover our plan to pass through Decazeville. 

We do not make a single false turn as we execute this variation, and  easily have time to take another look at D's splendid town war memorial dedicated essentially to the local Miners, and a quick shufty in the adjacent church, which is open on this occasion. 

                                  

I assume the altar to be under the influence

of some malign spirit (or the deity itself) as it certainly was not showing this ultra-violet colour that my camera has detected (see above!) …

Our onward journey is familiar once again. It is almost a shock to find oneself, in relative short order,  coming down to Rodez. When we passed through R last year we did so in an intense thunderstorm which the senior sibling who was travelling with us completely slept through! 

Shockingly (this time) we are in the Millau hinterland at or around 1300. There is some wild talk of driving on, finding overnight lodging closer to our final destination (no idea where) only to be utterly dismissed when we realise that we would lose the cost of the hotel booking in Millau. 

So instead we go off on an excursion, into the Tarn gorges and over the hills on twisting and precipitous roads. Glorious weather for it! We don't stop off to snap vistas in the gorge (we are hoping for refreshment but identify no bar, open at least). Instead we take a couple or five general landscapes (see below) to rub in the salt for those of my public who read this under glowering skies, rain, snow and general inclemencies……

The trouble is we are wedded to the principle of not overdoing the hours-at-a-time spent in the motor: we could not quite do this transit comfortably in two hotel overnighters but three is one too many. 

I'll get round to dropping into this post the actual route we do up there* in the hills to the east of Millau but I am in the Campanile now, waiting to frequent their restaurant: neither party feel like dropping back down into Millau to seek sustenance this evening. Up to now, my consumption for the day has been just one croissant. 

*OK– this is it: skip this unless you have your Michelin by your side…

Coming into Millau from the north-west, on the yellow D911, we cross over A75. Then we take the D168, a very minor road, glorious views,  through St Germain to Aguessec. There we adopt the valley D907, by-passing Cresse, passing through Mostuéjouls, to La Muse. We go North a bit towards the gorges proper, but turn round  to cross the Tarn to Le Le Rozier, and climb steeply on the D29 ‘Corniche du Causse Noir'. We turn right onto your D110 (we visit honey-pot Cité de Pierres Montpellier-le-Vieux for those who want to pay for more rocky bastions: it is closed and deserted when we pass by). We follow the D110 right down into Millau, cross the Tarn bridge thereat, and extensive roadworks,  and turn up the hill to our overnight billet at the Millau Campanile.

We've not used this particular hotel before. This time it was competitive with the one up the road last used here. Sadly it is of the battery-farm style of hotels, you know – rooms that open up onto an exterior walkway, not into a building as such. Very yesterday and only supplying two tea bags to refresh… it does run to a bath tub but it is for persons who are less than four feet tall: one can either sit in it or lie in it with one's legs and feet in the air. I shall, nevertheless, avail myself of it it this evening to soothe my aching back… if I manage to choke down a campanile steak-and-it or whatever we turn our attention to culinary-wise. We've done this before… thrown ourselves on the mercy of the hotel's kitchen: will we ever learn? Hope springs eternal. I am holding out for at least an eight out of ten. Hah! Dream on…

Well, a good seven out of ten! So, not bad. I have a roast pigeon with acceptable vegetables et roux, and Mme Melling had something else – I hadn't the time to notice just what, she did say, but my mind was elsewhere. 

So quite a passable day, all in all. Now we have to decide our concluding day's route as Mary is not in favour of popping into Nîmes en route as I proposed… wants a day out there, from Sablet instead. 

So far, seen no snow roadside or on distant slopes.