How To Sit 12 At A Table For 10

EXPERIMENTAL

THE SUPER TOURING Jean Giono

Tuesday, September 30. Waking me out of bed at five o'clock in the morning. It is pitch dark. I put the nose outside, the sky is starry, temperature, relatively mild. There is no wind. The weather has promised us two good days before the arrival of the mistral, and with it a cold winter. This time, no evasion. This is my last chance en 2008...
Peu avant six heures, je descends la côte des Parayons, chasuble sur le dos, frontale sur le bonnet de laine, un pull polaire par-dessus le maillot, des gants minces et des surchaussures protégeant les extrémités du froid: on est tout de même fin septembre. Spirit est muni des deux sacoches, contenant, l'une, un second pull polaire très fin, un coupe-vent, beaucoup de provisions et l'appareil photo; l'autre, un K-Way, une paire de moufles et une couverture de survie.
06h00: je quitte Carcès, dans le halo de ma dynamo. Au moins, je pars à l'heure. C'est déjà ça!
J'y crois à peine. J'essaie de ne pas penser à ce qui m'attend, de ne penser nothing. The rise in Cotignac, very sweet, spare me a brief warm-up. In the village still asleep, a few shopkeepers unloading their trucks at the street lamps. Then the slope stiffened. Above all, do not force. This is the first ascent, the first of many, an endless series ...

Here I am indeed part to try to accomplish a great hiking Provencal with a whopping 600 km to about 12,000 feet in altitude. I cherish this dream a long time, but I've had several failures, which I was plunged into doubt. Yet I still have not given up.
Although a purely personal challenge, I take the test seriously. I made myself a roadmap with schedules to meet, because my secret ambition is not only going to last, but to less than forty hours (time limit for a 600 normal).

Cotignac, I go in Sillans la Cascade, then Aups, then the Col de la Bigue (785m). Gradually the sun rises. At the top of the pass, the view across the Middle Var, which are staged countless hills and merge into the hazy dawn. The temperature has dropped: I put on the windbreaker. After a brief descent, is a ledge around the bush, dominated by arid mountains of Canjuers.
Continuing straight, you end up down by the lake of St. Croix, but I'm right direction Aiguines. Five miles to climb later, I enjoy a magnificent view over the lake, already sunny and the Valensole located on the other side, to the west. The horizon is very foggy, I can not distinguish the Montagne de Lure, let alone the Ventoux.

Dawn on Lake St. Croix (8:35)

I croise presque aucune voiture. L'air est piquant, néanmoins j'ôte le coupe-vent en prévision de la prochaine ascension: le Col de Vaumale, que j’ai surnommé Col du Taureau (1202m), première difficulté sérieuse de la journée. "Vas-y tranquille, passe sur la dernière couronne tout de suite, qu'est-ce que ça peut faire!"... Les jambes tournent bien. Mon petit braquet est confortable. Je savoure le paysage, qui est tout simplement grandiose.
Je connais cette route comme ma poche. Elle surplombe d'abord le lac et les toits bariolés du château d'Aiguines, puis s'élève au Col d'Illoire et trace deux lacets sous les arbres, avant de déboucher au-dessus du canyon, accrochée the side of the rock. This side is still in shadow, but a few rays of sunshine burst forth at every turn: their brilliance is untenable.

Source Vaumale, 9:08

Stop Vaumale source, located just before the pass (km48), to fill a container, put the wind, eat a banana and a biscuit chocolate, then I rushes to the cliffs of Bauchet. Contrary to what I feared, I'm not jelly. While it is not hot, but I'm well dressed. It is quite bearable.
The descent ends at the Hotel du Grand Canyon, where several climbers se rassemblent. Au loin tonne le canon du camp militaire. Je remonte aux Tunnels du Fayet, d'où j'aperçois la Route des Crêtes serpenter sur la montagne d'en face, bien au-dessus de ma tête. C'est toujours impressionnant de songer qu'on y pédalera bientôt.
Je redescends au pont de l'Artuby, puis je m'extrais lentement des Gorges, en remontant vers Saint-Maimes. Comme à chaque fois, j'éprouve un plaisir particulier à longer cette vaste prairie suspendue à presque mille mètres d'altitude. Après le relief tourmenté du canyon, elle donne une impression de paix, de sérénité. Puis je passe la côte 1004. De l’autre côté, la vue s’étend fort away on the Alpes de Haute Provence, Castellane to: a lot of peaks and unusual silhouettes, which compose a symphony of rich blue and gray.

Trigance, 10:40

Then I plunged into the valley of Jabron. A rapid descent, pleasant, but interrupted by a severe footpath, after which we discover Trigance. About eleven o'clock I mark a break from traditional laundry Suns, whose cock for all I know is fed summer and winter. I can finally take off the sweater, the overshoes, gloves, but I keep the windbreaker.
bridge crossed Suns (km85) j’attaque la rive droite du Verdon. J'en apprécie le calme, contrastant avec l'agitation touristique qui y règne au mois d'août.
Je remonte la clue de Carejuan, passe au-dessous de Rougon, redescends au pont du Bau, remonte jusqu'à l'Auberge des Crêtes. Là, si l'on va tout droit, on rejoint la Palud sur Verdon, un kilomètre plus loin; en revanche, si l'on prend à gauche, on s'engage sur la Route des Crêtes. Celle-ci mène également à la Palud, mais au terme d'une boucle de 23 kilomètres, qui vous emmène à 1320 mètres d’altitude et vous promène au-dessus de l'à-pic, en une succession de belvédères et de paysages époustouflants.



That day, I am not in a contemplative mood. If these mountains are a theater, I'm an actor, not a spectator. My whole being is turned toward one goal: go to the end of the race. This does not mean I'm insensitive to scenery around me. Fall colors, the eagle hovering, the vastness of the site fill my heart, without distracting me. I am immersed in this world like a fish in water. I breathe, I drink, I saw him physically, I've become an integral part.

Descent on Maline, 12:45

Crest Road is never innocent. The percentages are severe and I exhorts me to patience. "You must let nothing, nothing, not a crumb! This is just the beginning !»... At the top, I put the windbreaker, which I removed, down to the Maline, back to La Palud (km119). I am making my usual stop
to "auta could do" (the highest fountain), to eat some of my food and fill the cans. It is past 1:00 p.m.
. A woman enters the house opposite, three cats on his heels. I'm in a good state of preservation. On several occasions, received here, I decided to return à Carcès, me jugeant trop entamée pour continuer. Cette fois, tel n'est pas le cas. Je ne renoncerai pas!

Encore trois kilomètres de montée jusqu'au Col d'Ayen (1031m), puis c'est la longue descente sur Moustiers, au cours de laquelle on passe le Col de l’Olivier (711m). Un bref regard vers le mince filet d'eau verte qui miroite au fond des gorges, un salut au lac de Sainte-Croix, quelques lacets, et me voici en bas. Je m'arrête pour ôter coupe-vent, jambières, bonnet et chaussettes. Il fait désormais doux. Mes sacoches débordent, mais ce serait une erreur de garder ces habits sur moi. J'aurais beaucoup trop chaud. Manches courtes, cuissard court, pieds naked, bare head: I could almost believe in midsummer.
bigre But that Spirit is now heavy! Especially, do not say it is still possible to reach Carcès. Or it would be good in my bed tonight. Or that I'm going to meet great difficulties. Above all, keep hoping, keep envy. Do not forget that this is my last chance this year.
At this point, I realize that I forgot my mini Swiss Army knife that I use among other screwdrivers. If the bulb in my headlight grill, how to change it? This is typically the kind of detail that makes you give up, as long as you're already tired. Proof that I am not, I decree it would be damned if the bulb burns out, and I always find a solution.

I turn now to a section more rolling: the coast of Moustiers, a few undulations Puimoisson up, and a nice trip down the White Bégude in the valley of the Asse, who scatters his thin gray water in a bed pebbles too big for him. This interlude
saves me a little time, so that until now I had my little ahead hourly forecasts. A-Arm
d'Asse (km 161) begins the climb to Col d'Espinouse (838m). Above the village, past the cemetery, is a very convenient tap, where I complete the two cans. Is that it is very hot now: I drink more. Everything is desert. The road is so narrow that two cars crossed at sentencing, which does not happen often.
is reached first, the few old stones of Saint Jeannet, then went up the ravine Cardaire. The town hall, away from the hamlet, has chosen peace of a clearing house for its walls, built with pebbles from the Asse, and grouted in a deep tan. Highest
, farm, cows. Higher still, fields of lavender hillside. This country is secretly a simple beauty, timeless. I based myself. The slope, very soft, accentuated only in the last kilometers.

Col d'Espinouse

4:10 p.m. At the top, I do a lot with my provisions, retaining, in anticipation of the next night, a few packets of biscuits, dried apricots and pulp of fruit. I win and some space in my bags, where many of my clothes fit with difficulty. I smiled, thinking that earlier, these bags are almost empty ...
The descent, as indicated on the map difficult, is actually excellent, because the coating was re: a real pool table. However, the many hairpin turns and narrow roadway for caution.
Once in the valley Bléone, I make a detour to the Chaffin, to cross the river, then a few meters on the Route Napoleon, before heading north back towards the passes of Hyssop (1236m) and Fontbelle (1304M), which form a whole, the latter is only three kilometers from the first.

Thoard (5:36 p.m.)

I'll look back in the bucolic valley the Duyes Thoard up, perched village that I leave to my right. Soon after, the real climb begins. The road, as narrow as that of Espinouse wanders between hills covered with pastures, which bask in the last rays. From far away, we pass under heavy shade, the chestnut trees laden with fruit in their finery blaze of autumn. Exudes serenity and sweetness of life. After
Mélan Scout camp and the "New Lights", I reach a ledge, near the woods to succeed, and this is the Col d'Hyssop, where I dominated the entire valley.

Evening Col of Hyssop (6:29 p.m.)

The sun has set and is suddenly cool feeling, but I decided to push up the Col de Fontbelle, located a little higher in the middle forest. It is an intimate, landscaped and maintained, which serves as a starting point for walkers.
I take the time to dress warmly. The altitude aiding, the cold increases more and more. Fortunately, there is still daylight. I have almost an hour ahead on my timetable. I'm relieved: I see light in the downhill and I can admire the landscape.

Pass Fontbelle, 6:42 p.m.

The road, dubbed "Drive Time" through a geological reserve where one can observe various sights, marked by signs teaching. Sometimes they are shale cliffs that wrinkle, sometimes huge boulders washed up on the grass like whales, sometimes the mountains ravaged by erosion, they look like piles of petrified lava, giant heaps crack, where s 'hang by a miracle some twisted pines.
The theme of this circuit is to read the rocks in the Earth's history, and this deserted road in the last light of day has something fascinating. Indeed, nothing matters more to me now that the completion of a challenge in less than forty hours, but my time is suddenly faced with time. My tiny moments and yet so intense cycling adventure, meet with centuries of history mineral. For several miles, being alongside ephemeral eternity.

Between Authon and St. Geniez, 19:00

Both slopes of the Col de Fontbelle have radically different landscapes. The first was vert, celui-ci est d’un gris tirant sur le noir. Là-bas, c’était la fertilité, la civilisation; ici, c’est un univers austère, aride, sauvage. Les courbes étaient souples et tendres; à présent, le relief est tourmenté, les cimes abruptes, les profondeurs vertigineuses. Tout est transfiguré.
Saint-Geniez. Plusieurs chats se réunissent à l’entrée du village. C’est le crépuscule, j’ai allumé mes feux. Je quitte le plateau pelé, couronné de crêtes brunes, et franchis le Défilé de Pierre-Ecrite. Il fait trop sombre pour que je puisse photographier les onciales latines gravées dans la paroi.
La végétation rebounding, the slip road on the shoulder of a hill and suddenly emerge, still very low and very distant, Sisteron and its citadel, beautifully lit, nestling in the bosom of the dark mountains, where the clue to the Durance already filled night. Hail, traveler, here are the step ...

Sisteron (km237) marks the end of the first third of this hike. That's where I threw in the towel during the attempt of August 28. I return to the institution that is familiar. In August, I had dined on the terrace, opposite the Rocher de la Baume, but tonight, around 20:00, He's already dark and cold. I sit inside, there are few people I served pretty quickly.
appetite with which I devoured my noodles "chicken marinated" seems a good omen. Similarly, I have clear ideas. I stay focused, I monitor my thoughts carefully, so none deviates. I feel attacked. This time is right. I do not ask for room, but a piece of pie to go, the waitress obligingly turn me on in aluminum foil.
A large coffee, then I dress: shoe covers, gloves, fleece sweater, windbreaker, jumper, hat, frontal. The Other customers throw me looks bewildered. I left the restaurant shortly before 21:00.
Will I be cold? This is my big concern. For now, relief: the thrill experienced when leaving the room heated fades, I see it is rather sweet. But the night is long, with stretches a thousand yards. It's risky. "Well, if I do not go, I'll never know. Confidence! I am equipped as for a Vélocio ... and then, I'm a hiker, yes or no ?»... I leave
Sisteron and surrender to the joy of cycling through the night sky, while the rest of humanity is confined shivering. After a brief stint on the N85, I borrow a peaceful county, which gently ascends the foothills of the country Lure. It is a moonless night with no wind. Chateauneuf Mallefougasse, Cruis. Thirty terminals to St. Stephen's Organ, at the foot of this mysterious mountain that attracts me and scares me at times.

Saint-Etienne-les-Organs, 10:35 p.m.

The Lure mountain is the little sister of the Ventoux. As it is more discreet and less known than his elder brother, we tend to underestimate it. Wrongly. It is the backbone of my ordeal, not only because once on the other hand, I'll be at the halfway mark, but because it represents to me the biggest psychological obstacle. More than anything, I dread the long descent into the cold, on a narrow road in the heart of a massive game country.
I recall the stories of Unlimited Miles the Raid Provence Extreme, where the passage of this mountain is also done at night. For other than me, the little sister was a justice.
Rise, frankly, no problem. Having made in 2003, I recognize the laces successive easy and hardening of the slope after the St. Joseph Oratory. Occasionally, I hear whistles shrill: They are creatures that compete ... this does not concern us. Towers draw red lines on top of the mountain. Plus I climb, the colder it. At the shelter, an icy wind wraps me. I put the second sweater and I look forward to reaching the summit.
Tar rises to 1747m, I believe, the final kilometers are almost flat, then goes down to the No Graille (1597m). Before the first run, I put a cautious windbreaker and K-Way over the hood of canvas tight around the cap. I must also change the batteries in the front. It must send a maximum of lumens to guide me.
I remember when I did not take my little knife-screwdriver. In addition, there is no street light up there, obviously. "Oh, that's clever! How you gonna do ?»... the solution is found quickly. I use a coin to unlock the case screws, and rear LED light to perform the operation. "Phew! And now, in Pas de la Graille without delay! I'm just in time !»...

No Graille, 0:45

The night of September became October night, seems suddenly colder. I swapped the gloves against the mittens. With my equipment, I managed to keep warm. Good thing, because the descent is long, twenty miles, and the lack of markings does not facilitate tracking. I'm going slowly. In the forest, I am sure to meet the animals. But nothing except a few pairs of eyes glowing in the bushes at ground level.
Patience. Better to put a quarter of an hour, and get right. "Go easy, not get excited ... Soon everything will be better ...». But the raid did not end. I feel my way between two walls of vegetation that threatens at every moment of closing on me. Patience! Finally, I come out of the woods. Lights Valbelle mark the return to civilization. Victory!
I pass the bridge over the Jabron (km 311) and stop in front, to eat my piece of pie. I'm numb, I catch cold. Only remedy pedaling. I am warm in the false flat amounts of this small valley at the end of which await me two new bottles.
Eleven miles away at St. Vincent on Jabron, I decided to swallow a stick of coffee powder. Once the mountain Lure completed, the pressure fall and alertness, drowsiness threat. I found the parade a month ago, on the Route du Sud: caffeine permanently removes the sandman.

Pass Macuègne, 4:14

Les Cols of Pigière (968m) and Macuègne (1068m), which are taken in succession, are neither long nor difficult. They are very pleasant to ride at night, and I once again hot.
Then it's a long descent to Montbrun les Bains (km355), when I started singing, partly to keep in mind vif, en partie parce que cette aventure nocturne me met en joie. La route passe en contrebas du village et c’est encore un spectacle magnifique que toutes ces lumières sur le rocher, au-dessus de moi.
Pas d’erreur de parcours, cette fois! Je m’oriente correctement: d’abord la route de Buis, puis à droite, vers le Col des Aires (644m). Dans ce sens, la montée est insignifiante. Il en va de même pour le Col de Fontaube (635m), trois bornes plus loin.

Col de Fontaube, 05h28

La tendance générale est à la descente; je gagne du temps. Mollans sur Ouvèze, le Pas du Voltigeur (une bump peaking at 328 meters above sea level!), everything goes fine, but I am bothered by two large dogs crossing Entrechaux. It's just if they could not get me a piece of leg. Between their barking and my shouts, there's plenty wake the whole village.
The first cars appeared. About seven o'clock in the morning, I reach Malaucène (km398), which marks the end of the second third of my hike. It is still dark. I advise a bakery which was filled with delicious smell of fresh bread.
It seems to me that I could eat a cow. I ask for a pain au chocolate, croissant Almond, a croque-monsieur, two crisp. If I listened, I would buy the business. In addition, I want to win enough to hold up Falls.
One of the many cafes course just opened, but I'm rather not installed, the boss is going to buy the newspaper: "I'm back now." C'mon! Since the time I dream, my milk tea ...
Meanwhile, three men chatter in my back with big voices. They speak of a girl. I feel that I become more misanthropic than usual, too lonely, too proud, too thorough in my challenge, to support those that I can not at this moment, consider my peers, whose discussions of thick stupidity annoy me deeply.
Ultimately, I do not have a big appetite: the chocolate bread, accompanied by a crunchy enough to satisfy me. I'm worried. Earlier, after leaving the bakery, I sowed my mitts, I had forgotten on the top of the bag back. I put a good five minutes to find them in the dark. It is a sign of fatigue is there. In the past 24 hours, I gave a lot. Inevitably, the backlash is watching me.
The big question is: how Ventoux will he go after a sleepless night with 400 terminals in the legs? I've never tried it. I expect the worst.

Yet, as soon as I walk away from the village and I began to pedal toward the Groseau in the cool and quiet of dawn, I feel better. I deep breath, my fear is gone and I climb the first ramp with a serenity that I am surprised myself.
I appreciate the exclusive beauty of Mont Ventoux as much as if I had a fresh body and mind refreshed. The sky is pale, very pure. The huge mass of the mountain I still hides the sun. North Slope sleeping under veils of mist. Coming
courting the giant shot after 400km, 8000m of vertical climbing and spent the night on the bike is, on balance, a great proof of love. It makes me, by being as gentle as possible under my wheels, and this suspicion of sending me mistral caresses my back ...

Early morning at Mont Serein, 9:12

Only the top that I agree with the sun, which bathes the entire south side already. Up there, the place is almost deserted The gift shop is closed. Yet it is 10:00, but we are in October. A cold wind blows relentlessly.
I am the first rider of the day, two promenaders come congratulate me. I eat my croque-monsieur, I slipped over hot and starts Spirit in the downhill, where I finally crossed the first colleagues. That's right! The Ventoux without his faithful, that's funny ...

summit of Mont Ventoux, 10:07

At Sainte Colombe j'oblique left to join Flassan (km440). I put myself in short, my bags are packed in new clothes: he hot now. I begin the ascent of the Col Bees. By Flassan is a small quiet road, through the woods. Sometimes you can see Mont Ventoux, at every turn. The slope is very steep. All the ingredients for an enjoyable climb, but I do not feel at ease. I am bored. I become irritable. The shocks due to uneven coating make me curse. This time, fatigue is launching a major offensive.

Col Bees, 12:06

The road leads to the big D1, two kilometers before the summit. Always grumpy, I find the end of the neck pain. I bees Col Bees! Even the descent repulses me, although it offers a superb panorama of the Sault, where meadows, woods and lavender in a fleecy blue horizon.
Falls (km465). The small hill leading to the village center enough to make me sore legs. I suddenly feel lousy. I did most certainly, but the return will be hard. I stopped a few minutes to eat my almond croissant and a ham croissant I buy just before the closure of the bakery. I filled my water bottles and go back.
I'm late for half an hour my forecast. I happen to Carcès before 22:00? I doubt it. I no longer feel the strength to move on. Too bad. Finish the hike is well. The goal was perhaps too ambitious. I thought I think it does I feel a certain bitterness. I gave everything. I stopped as little as possible. I can hardly do better.

The road climbs gradually at first until the Revest Bion at 904m above sea level, then the trend reversed. I sail a few miles on the sea of gently undulating hills, then I dive in Banon. From there, the descent continues, interspersed with short ribs, and by Forcalquier Brillanne up the valley of the Durance.
Fatigue made me pessimistic. In fact, the 67 kilometers between Sault Prayer is the most section of the rolling path, if not the only one. In addition, the small mistral helped me on the Ventoux, has strengthened and now impels me to the east, so that, despite the exhaustion, I arrived at Prayer (km532) with one hour advance on my timetable. I filled my water bottles
and decides to return by the expected path au départ, c’est-à-dire par Valensole et Allemagne en Provence.
Je pourrais aussi bien passer par Vinon sur Verdon et Ginasservis, l’itinéraire habituel, qui est plus facile. La tentation est présente, d’autant plus que j’estime avoir mon compte. D’un autre côté, c’est bête d’être parvenue jusqu’ici et de ne pas terminer cette randonnée comme elle le mérite. Mon avance me rassure. Enfin, j’ai besoin de calme. La circulation me pèse à tel point que je préfère affronter un terrain accidenté, plutôt qu’un gros trafic.
Je me hisse donc tant bien que mal sur le plateau de Valensole. La première côte is by far the longest (about four miles). Then came a succession of roller coasters. Each time, the same scenario: one leaves a cultivated plateau, we descended into a wooded valley, we pass a bridge and go back on the shelf below.
I just bumps in the course, but more troublesome are the tremors caused by the poor quality of the mix. My whole body is sore, especially the soles of the feet. Despite the heat, I'm thirsty. Appetite also disappeared. I swallow hard and some cookies from time to time, a dried apricot.
"You did it, damn, you did! Almost done! Give up account "... I try to draw a remnant energy in comforting thoughts. Yet I can hardly realize that I am currently finalizing a great test. He later we measure the magnitude of the path; instantly, utterly exhausted, there is little further than his front wheel.

Between Valensole Germany (17:05)

The terrain is widening the portion of Germany, in the valley of Colostre (km562). Once Quinson, which is reached after a beautiful descent cross the Verdon, and the landscape changes. The space widens. I found the familiar hills of the Haut Var. The rise in
Montmeyan is sweet. I see a poster on a telephone pole. In big black letters on an orange background, she said: "Courage." I marvel. Then I realize that it is "squash" should read the placard announcing the celebration of this traditional vegetable at village Rians. "You're the pumpkin! My old, you start going nuts "...
Night falls. I stopped to put leggings, socks, sweater, wind breaker, the cap, the chasuble ... glad it is not for another night. There are only 25 pins. I do not even change the batteries.
There is more than to slide. The sky is pink above the Logis and is dark blue above Cotignac, which nestles in the hollow of his rock, already shining with all its lights, and when I reach Carcès, it is filled with stars. I go up the coast Parayons as I descended at night, in the light of my dynamo. It is 20:30. I put 38:30. I managed ...

During this hike twice, I saw the sunrise, the sunset. I was always on the bike. Looking back, it's just wonderful.
Perform such a trial is to live for real. Living the dream, live life, live with the violence of passions. Every moment is a challenge to the absurd. Each landscape reveals its essential beauty. Each event is transformed into a memory as pure as a diamond. It is true alchemy. It all makes sense.


NOTE

For more information on my first failures and Jean Giono, read the full report on Rando Spirit:
http://randospirit.blogspot.com/2008/10/la-super-randonnee- jean-giono.html