About hunters, deer, and sheep of the Provençal maquis

The TransVerdon definitely exceeded my expectations. The scenery was absolutely grand and very varied. The trails were consistently top-notch as well. The only downside is that the spectacle in Moustiers ends way too early. The tour continues to Manosque, but the character changes fundamentally from there on. No more trails, just gravel roads in the lowlands. I pondered how I could avoid this part. However, if I wanted to continue further south to the sea, I had no choice but to go ahead. There were alternatives, like a quick visit to the Grand Luberon, for instance, or back north to the Alps. But I felt the urge to complete the tour at the sea. That just feels more complete and right.

So, it was about 100 kilometers of gravel roads and country roads to shred before reaching the coastal mountains. At first, I continued along the TransVerdon, following the river. Or rather, the bathtub. The Verdon seemed to consist only of azure-blue lakes, lined up one after the other. It wasn't as flat as I imagined. First, it went up to a plateau, which forced a steep incline of gravel. It should have been lined with lavender fields, but according to the season, they were more like bare fields. Then it became really hilly, a constant up and down. I felt like I was on the Swabian Jura, just with the Mediterranean scents of Provence in my nose. Thyme and rosemary became more dominant with every kilometer. The finale was another small gorge, where the Verdon finally said goodbye to me. From now on, it was just about going south, following the route planner, but surprisingly the route was varied through forest and scrubland.

What confused me repeatedly were closures of gravel roads with the notice that it was private property. Was there a public right of way here in France? Could I just ride through with my bike, or would I be declared a free-for-all? I didn't know, but I just did it anyway. My biggest worry was the dogs that might be unsupervised by their owners, convinced they had to defend their territory or private property.

Who I did indeed encounter were hunters. Armed with impressively large shotguns, and probably depending on their activity mode in camouflage clothing or bright orange jackets, I passed several of them. They were all friendly and greeted nicely. They probably wouldn't have been too thrilled about our encounter, knowing their potential prey was likely fleeing because of me. But at least it seemed okay for me to be out there.

In the very late afternoon, I reached Rians. A nice, medieval-styled little town with an disproportionately large cathedral, where I surely would have never ended up without a route planner. I needed to refill my water supplies, as I had firmly resolved to camp wild again, even though the conditions here weren't quite optimal. I wouldn't get too far today, and most gravel roads in the area led to buildings. That would probably all be private property again. Only one road led to nowhere. I put all my hope in that. Once again, I was greeted with a sign or prohibition notice. I wasn't quite sure. Something about firefighters and fire protection. Mmmh. Since there was no forest fire blazing anywhere nearby, and I didn't plan to start one, I continued on. It looked like a firebreak. A lot had been deforested. Certainly not the most beautiful camping spot, but behind a few bushes, I found a nice and sheltered little spot. Better, however, to remain a bit undercover and set everything up so that it wasn't visible from the outside.

I thought I would be undisturbed there. But in the middle of twilight, I heard a vehicle on the nearby gravel road. What’s going on now? So, lights off and be still. Early in the morning, shortly after six, another one was already out and about. It slowly dawned on me - they must be the hunters out there. On one hand, I certainly didn't want to be found by them, but I didn't want to hide so much that they thought I was a wild boar sneaking through the underbrush either. I quickly packed up and made sure to leave. At first, I thought it was good that I had my jacket, as its color distinguished me from the underbrush. Upon closer inspection, I had some doubts. It was indeed a kind of deer fur yellow. Mmmh. If I start doing bunny hops with the bike now, I would probably be free game in the truest sense. So, it was a good thing I didn't master that technique and would rather roll out of the bushland quickly. Meanwhile, I kept hearing the popping sounds of shotguns around me. I really hoped they all knew what they were doing and looked carefully before pulling the trigger.

I was now only 30 kilometers away from the first coastal mountains. Quickly, I reached a few trails that took me down to Abriol. However, it was devilishly technical stuff. Some rock steps were so steep that I barely dared to walk down them. Here, a different wind was blowing trail-wise.

Abriol was another place that would likely never have made it onto my to-do list without this tour. A nice small town, nothing special though. But wonderfully nestled between three coastal mountains, each with a huge trail network. In particular, the Regional Park Saint Baume was a true gem. Technical trails galore. Every one I rode was absolutely worth it. It was almost comparable to Finale Ligure, just without shuttles and the other bikers. So, I settled in Abriol for three nights for more intensive exploration.

What was alarming were the deeper insights into my calorie consumption and expenditure that became clear to me. I already knew that I had reached a level of eating comparable to cow, horse, and sheep – I could celebrate that all day long without interruption. In the supermarket, I then found a paella to heat up. It was meant for three people with a weight of 1.3 kilos. At first, I thought that was way too much for dinner; I would surely throw half of it away. I then devoured it all, and to make sure I wouldn’t go to bed hungry, I followed it with a plate of muesli. That's how far it has come after four weeks of biking non-stop.