No pictures from the first leg of the day as it was strictly business. Well, as strict as friends saying “yeah yeah, we got the bbq ready, show up whenever for lunch”.
Still jet lagged (or lazy, one of the two) I opted to sleep in and head for Toulouse via the main road. Quick-ish, but not as lame as the Autoroute.

Sounds boring? I thought It would be as well! Turned out there was a classic car rally underway, so I spent half of the trip watching a gentleman rip through roundabouts in a 30s Delage, overtaking Bugattis 35 and Rolls Phantoms II. Many nice cars. Everyone was having a good time.
I then took a wrong turn, turned out to be a very pretty departementale lined with centuries old tree and the Canal du Midi. And it still got me where I wanted to be.

Lunch was had. Toulouse sausage on the barbecue … can’t go wrong with that! Watched a bit of the F1 Grand Prix too. Enough to laugh at Schumi having a good look at the sky and splattering the nose of his car in the guardrail. Ah! No bike 24h of Le Mans could be found on the television though.

Next leg was the interesting one. Going back to Carcassonne via St Girons and the mountainy bits. Which turned out not all that mountainy.

However they have flying deer. The sign is pretty clear on the matter.

Going into St Girons is a beautiful beautiful beautiful small road going up and down hills that reminded me of Tuscany. That’s a compliment, in case you weren’t sure.

At some point, I again had the rear end step out for no good reason. I’ll say it again, I hate the Michelin Power Pure. I was poking around some very mild twisties and it just slid out, not by much but enough to ensure I’d be taking a very slow pace the rest of the day questioning its integrity and grip. I’m on holiday goddamit, not out there to break stuff! What a shit tire, I’m tempted to do burn it out once and for all before I crash for real.
Anyways. I digress.

Once in town, I headed full steam on the correct road … in the wrong direction. Only took me 30min to realize nothing matched. Ahem. Turn around. It was pretty though.

Back on the right track, I was soon headed up the Col de Port, the highest I’d be going today at 1250m. As usual the road is narrow and technical, with views of deep valleys at every turn. I’m liking this.

And there was no better place to tick over 15,000km on the odometer. Yeah. I stopped just as the odometer displayed 15,000 and took pictures. That’s a random spot on the road. And that’s how nice a random spot looks.

I also stopped at the top. The view was awesome, only enhanced by early evening sunlight.
I was very amused by the cows, until one looked at me. I ran for my life.

As it was getting late in the day, I pretty much dashed for Carcassonne. Got home, had dinner, took a shower. Nothing special there. Move along.

Next up … err, I don’t know. Still want more mountainier scenery. Might head to Andorra soon, as it’s still 30 degrees at sea level.

Not sure why they’re called the Black Mountains. They’re not black, and they’re barely mountains. They should’ve called them the Nice Gorges. Or something to that effect.

Anyways. In an effort to get familiar with the riding here, I went for a brief afternoon stint.
This is the route I followed.

I didn’t take any pictures, I couldn’t be bothered. I did film with the GoPro a bit.

Going to St Pons was fantastic. Typical Black Mountains scenery, hillside road in the woods, popping out on to fields. I stopped at a viewpoint. Not sure what it’s called. Or why I didn’t take a picture or 2. It was nice though! I spent a good bit of time just sitting on the rocks looking around.

Then headed for Mazamet and back down via Lastours. The first part of this, right out of Mazamet was a pita. The road was covered in gravel for kms and kms. That’s already unpleasant on normal roads … but when you’re alongside a rather deep gorge, wondering if you’re going to go straight at every corner … fuck that shit. I didn’t like it one bit. Shame, because it was beautiful, but seriously, fuck gravel. Ruined everything.

Oh! I got chased by a dog at some point. In a village, General Dumbass (that’s how the dog shall henceforth be known) crosses the road right in front me … I brake, swerve and shout “AAHHHHH DOOOOOG!” (not necessarily in that order), avoid le pooch of course (that’s how talented I am) and go on my merry way, putting about. As I’m exiting the village … a glance in the mirror reveals General Dumbass running after me, in the ditch. Who runs in a ditch instead of … oh I dunno, the goddam road?! Stupid dog.

The following part, going back down onto Lastours was absolutely terrific. No more gravel and just kms and kms of tight downhill road, spotted with medieval villages hanging on the hillside. Like in the postcards, but for real. They also have people living there, somehow.

Arriving in Carcassonne revealed quite some traffic. After a brief “wtf traffic? it’s not even a real city!” moment … I feel like Noah as cars move over slightly to the right to let me through. A common practice over here. Sweet stuff.

I PICKED UP THE BIKE!!!!!!!

It was as smooth as ever. Got to Air France Cargo in Blagnac (Toulouse Airport thing) in the morning, paid some 60 euros fee because it was over 200kgs, went across the parking lot to customs, where they made a copy of my registration, and rode out. And everyone was super pleasant.
They didn’t check shit, not even insurance. Can’t believe I stressed all that much about it.
And the bike is in perfect shape.

Didn’t get lost getting out of the city and headed straight for Carcassonne to unload some unnecessary items.

In the evening I went for a quick ride since … well shit. Do I need a reason? I’m in southern France, and I have a 1098 sitting right there. What else am I gonna do?

Headed for the first small departementale I could find, 5 mins away.

Aaaand it was spectacular. Wide views going all the way to the Pyrenees, winding little roads.

Must be mushroom hunting season too, there were more than a few cars parked on the side of the road, and old men looking belliquously, for fear I’d snitch on their secret spot. Fear not old man, I don’t even know where I am, I was lost 30min ago and I haven’t stopped or asked where the hell I was since. I could be on the moon, for all I know. Except prettier.

Managed to hit a main road to Limoux and headed back to Carcassonne via some more small roads. Paused at Gaja et Villedieu. My grandparents used to have a house there. Kid memories and stuff.

Unpleasantly enough, on some innocuous corner I had the rear tire slide out a bit. Not enough to call it a highside, but unpleasant. Blame it on my body positioning, on the odd coagulated gravel road surface, or on the shitty Michelin Power Pure that I hate with a vengeance … the end result is that I’m a bit wary. That’s good I presume, will keep me from riding fast. I might get overtaken by grandmas on their Vespas though.

Made it to the Cite before sunset. It’s still there!!! And it’s still quite imposing. I’ll have to actually walk in it again at some point.