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Ancient Périgord

By Steve Jack

The French have a special relationship with their bikes – some might even call it an obsession – and I was intrigued to find out why. Although I have loved France for as long as I can remember, I am very much what you might call a ‘fair weather’ cyclist. I have admired from afar the exploits of the peleton slogging their way up l’Alpe d’Huez in the Tour de France, just as I have kept my own bike firmly ensconced in the outhouse at home, apart from the odd foray into York on a Saturday afternoon.

It therefore felt quite exciting – and perhaps a little daunting – to be contemplating a week’s journey on two wheels, and there were a few questions that came immediately to mind. Fortunately, the comprehensive Inntravel notes and guidance seemed to answer most of these, although one remained: what if I get a puncture (‘une crevaison’)?!…

Anyway, casting such doubts firmly to the back of my mind, I packed my newly-purchased cycle helmet, and embark on my trip. Arrival at la Vieille Auberge in Souillac was a beguilingly pleasant beginning, and gave no indication of what adventures and pitfalls might lie ahead. In fact, after a few courses of Robert Véril’s renowned local cooking and half a bottle of powerful Cahors red, I decided that cycling holidays were easy – forgetting, of course, that I hadn’t so much as seen my bike by this stage.

Christine from the hotel soon saw to such practicalities the following morning, equipping me with my bike and sending me on my way with a cheery “à bientôt!” My luggage left behind to be transported separately, I stored my few essentials in the ample panniers – my waterproofs, camera, sun cream and mobile phone. My map and repair kit were safely stowed somewhere around the handlebars, to combat the dual perils of route-finding and the dreaded crevaison.

It took me around two minutes of cycling to be thoroughly converted to this mode of holiday transport. As much as I have loved walking across the North York Moors and several unspoiled corners of Europe, this suddenly seemed so, well, effortless. My easy pedalling motion swept me swiftly out of the relative bustle of Souillac, and into the tranquil surrounding countryside, following the gurgling Borrèze stream in a north-westerly direction. Meandering breezily along quiet country roads as I took in the views, the cold English spring felt a very long way away indeed, as did all the cares and responsibilities I had left behind at home.

The first route (I had had to omit the day of cycling around Souillac due to time constraints) took me to the sleepy village of Salignac, just in time for a late lunch at Café de la Poste on the main square. If I remember correctly (and I won’t easily forget), I feasted on a ‘menu du jour’ of soup, terrine de campagne, fresh swordfish, a cheese platter and tarte aux pommes – a full five courses for a measly 10 euros, and that included a delicious half-carafe of local red to wash it all down! Suitably fortified, I headed to the beautiful Jardins d’Eyrignac, where I had time for an hour’s wander around the carefully manicured grounds. From here, I free-wheeled downhill through woodland to the strung-out settlement of Prats de Carlux, before continuing to my next hotel – the tastefully restored la Garrigue Haute, a working ferme auberge where I was treated to home-made pâté and foie gras by the proud owners, Joëlle and Daniel Boucherie.

One of the highlights of Périgord Noir is a visit to Sarlat-la-Canéda and, although this handsome town can get very busy at the height of summer, it’s not difficult to seek out its quiet corners at any time of year. Arriving by bike, as I did on the next day’s circuit, I entered the very heart of town and set out on foot to explore the twisting alleyways and cobbled streets, before another lazy lunch and a spot of shopping for local specialities. The steady climb out of Sarlat worked off any remnants of my Bergerac rosé, and steadied me for the lovely long descent into the adjoining valley to Sainte-Nathalène and its beautiful church. Here was an ideal spot to relax for a while, contemplating the slow pace of life in this part of the world, before my short return to la Garrigue Haute.

This is all very well, I thought, and extremely pleasant… but where was the mighty Dordogne? I was not to be kept in suspense for long, as the next day’s route took me south through several sleepy hamlets to join this famous river along a fantastic piste cyclable near the village of Aillac. Cycle tracks like this one are being extended right along the river’s banks and it makes for an especially relaxing way to travel, admiring the views as you eat up the kilometres on flat and smooth terrain. Arriving at the town of Carsac, I found, to my delight (and just a stone’s throw from the river itself), the elegant and luxurious Villa Romaine – my base for the next two nights.

While the authenticity of the previous ferme auberge was enchanting, la Villa Romaine really is hard to beat. Beautifully converted to a very high standard, it occupies an enviable position by the river, and boasts touches of luxury (an infinity pool, an outside dining terrace and bar, and a high-class restaurant, to name but a few) which made me want to stay forever.

The memorable circuit to la Roque-Gageac tested my stamina a little – and even my leg muscles on a couple of climbs – but the views were stupendous as I uncovered the famous Périgord landscape at my own pace. Passing the famous viewpoint of le Cingle de Montfort, I approached la Roque-Gageac from the east, and could just make out its camouflaged stone buildings, nestling neatly under a formidable cliff on the banks of the Dordogne. Lunch and then some brief sightseeing saw me back on my bike for my first crossing of the river beneath the spectacularly sited bastide (fortified) town of Domme. Let’s be honest – this climb was a beast, making me wonder why I hadn’t simply stayed at la Villa Romaine and relaxed, but it was great exercise (or a chance perhaps to push!), and the views at the top were marvellous. Unfolding below me was a full loop of the river as it forged its way westwards through the landscape I had explored, and onto Bordeaux and the Gironde estuary far beyond. What better place to stop, luxuriate with an ice cream and recuperate, while relishing the prospect of a swift and exhilarating descent back to the valley floor? Eventually relaxing with a beer back on the terrace at la Villa Romaine, I reflected on a great day’s cycling and felt that I had truly earned my feast in the restaurant that evening.

With some reluctance, I pulled away from my latest ‘home’ to begin the last leg of my circular tour back to Souillac. Back on the piste cyclable, I then took a delightfully flat route along the south (or ‘left’) bank of the Dordogne through open meadows and along riverside tracks. Just as I was beginning to congratulate myself on my impending safe return… VOILÀ!.. it happened – the dreaded crevaison. Seemingly miles from anywhere, on a winding lane up to le Château de Fenelon, my front tyre became instantaneously flat and forlorn. I was going nowhere fast. Still, after wrestling with an inner tube and pump for slightly longer than I care to admit (and under the curious gaze of madame fermière from a nearby cottage), I’d done it – I’d fixed the puncture and my sense of self-fulfilment was complete!

Having recovered from this trauma by a thorough washing of oily hands and by taking on board a couple of cold Kronenbourg 1664s, I continued along another charmingly tranquil section, offering no hint that I was approaching the bustle of Souillac once again. At the beginning of my holiday, this thriving market town had seemed like a village – it now took on the proportions of a buzzing metropolis after what I had encountered. Still, it was nice to be back… to be welcomed by Christine’s beaming face, to lock the bike away safely, and to walk (yes, walk) to the shops to pick up a few bottles of wine for the journey home. All that remained was for me to enjoy another delicious meal at the hands of M. Véril, and to contemplate – now I had finally fallen in love with cycling in true French style – where to take my next two-wheeled adventure.

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