Our expedition had reached another level by this stage: this fateful morning the alarm roused us from deep slumber at 5 o clock. Matt promptly declared, "I can´t see a thing. We can´t possibly do anything. It´s too dark. Lets snooze." Claire was having none of it and dragged him out into the gathering light, eager to make the most of the cool early morning.
The obvious problem here, of course, was that the boulangeries would not be open for another two hours...
Unfazed, and with ample biscuits(purchasd in forsight the day before) in our ravenous bellies, we set off. Climbing our first hill out of the river valley, we were bathed in glorious red, then brightening to orange as the sun rose - a great shimmering orb - from its bed of hills.
Having reached level ground, we sped across the plateau, the still coolness of the mornin allowing our legs to achieve a steady rhythm. The sun ascended into a flawless, pale blue sky, illuminating an imposing mass rising up before us: the Black Mountain of the Haut-Languedoc National Park.
Fuelled by pains aux raisins and very good baguette, the first stage of the ascent surprised both of us as we easily glided up the foot of the mountain, leaving the Tarn valley below. We soon realised there was much harder climbing to come, and the previous hills seemed suddenly insignificant as we watched them sink into the blanket of the valley.
After spiralling repeatedly upwards around the mountain, we finally clawed ourselves, exhausted, over the top. We stood on the ridge overlooking the next part of our epic journey, and caught a tantalising glimpse of the Pyrenees in the hazy distance. In the resulting rush of excitement, we sped down the mountain. a fierce headwind rushed up from the Med to meet us...
