You are as hot as a volcano

We are traveling through France for I don't know how many times, and yet the country continually surprises us with new wonders.

The Kangoo bravely drives through the narrow streets, tight curves, and steep mountains against the Mistral. Then we reach the Col de Finiels at an altitude of 1541 meters and marvel at a breathtaking, fascinating, overwhelming view.

In front of us lies a vast mountain landscape, dotted with large round, small square, huge oval, medium-sized semi-round, sand-colored stones, like sprinkles on a Saxon crumble cake. Unimaginable amounts of granite and slate are stacked, scattered, or simply thrown across the rugged highlands.

The hero would say that the farmers in this region are rich in stones. They seem to barely survive on cattle farming, and here and there we see goats and sheep wandering through the stone forests.
But the view is simply fabulous; we stand stunned and speechless, reverently marveling at the wonders of the world.

For a few nice snapshots, we climb the next hill. The icy north wind whistles around our ears, but no sacrifice is too great for the attempt to capture this stunning natural spectacle in a picture.
Even maliciously and cunningly installed electric fences cannot hinder us. The hero leads the way for me, as my movement is significantly restricted at the moment.

Suddenly, a piercing, heartbreaking scream breaks through the howling wind! I see Monsieur in front of me on his knees, holding an injured arm with pain-filled, tearful eyes. I want to hurry to him, help him, save him—but my silly, old, sick bones prevent me from intervening quickly.

Desperately, I must watch as my hero valiantly holds me back, only to realize in shock that his selfless effort prevents me from getting caught in the barrier and suffering the same fate as he: being knocked down by an incredibly painful electric shock intended to keep the bull from copulating with the cow.

But now we conquer the storm-battered summit and can better assess the obstacle on our way back. This time, the hero is wise and foresighted and immediately gets down on his knees to crawl under without injury. He narrowly avoids a nasty, toxic-looking spider with bristly, coiled legs and a terrifyingly spooky red round body. He quickly pulls his hand out of reach of the threatening arthropod. The insect takes a run and aims to attack the hero with sharp venomous fangs.

My blood freezes in my veins, but Monsieur rolls under the sparking electric wire at the very last moment, instinctively pulls all endangered limbs close to his body, and barely escapes the devilish attack of the arachnid.

The creature slinks away, defeated, and I can escape the danger without hindrance.
By golly, what a risk, adventure, and scare one has to avoid on seemingly harmless hiking paths!

Of course, we inform ourselves thoroughly about the misfortune we narrowly escaped.
It is the male specimen of a Ring-legged Tube Spider, which is highly endangered due to the decrease of its habitat. And yes, it can also injure humans with its bite, but this only results in pain in the bite area, fever, and headache. But one doesn't need that, especially not while traveling.
Luckily, the hero did not completely squish the little red guy and does not have to feel guilty for contributing to the extinction of the species.

In the meantime, we have arrived in the Ardèche mountains and are heading towards Mont Mezenc. I am accompanied by a queasy feeling. On my last visit to this region, the robber cave gave out, and we had to end the trip prematurely under dramatic circumstances:

https://vakantio.de/chateaugeschichten/und-taeglich-gruesst-das-murmeltier

But the hero brushes my fears aside, and we enjoy the ride through the impressive volcanic landscape. The sharp peaks of the former fire-breathing mountains are clearly visible, and one can easily imagine how thousands of years ago, hot magma, red embers, scorching heat, and huge columns of flames raged and shaped the landscape.

We marvel at modern art in the style of the prehistoric megalith culture like in Carnac and at a village where an iron ring is attached to almost every house wall. Are Stevenson's disciples expected here, who have to tie up their stubborn donkeys?

We search for porcini mushrooms and find chestnuts, which we will turn into fine chestnut cream à l'ardèchoise at home.

The nights at over 1000 meters are indescribably clear. After I am speechless for minutes at the sight of the almost daytime, intoxicatingly bright Milky Way in temperatures around a chilling 2°C, I am rewarded for my brave defiance against the biting cold with a shooting star that grants me a wish.

After countless volcanic peaks, thousands of narrow serpentine roads, hundreds of steep elevation gains, secluded mountain villages, and cows leisurely strolling on the road, we return to civilization, only to be surprised by a roadblock in Valence.

We can drive to HereThereIsReallyEverythingPlace and then it’s over. Squadrons armed with folding chairs, sunshades, coolers, and bunting march in long lines across a steep path through the vineyard to the summit high up, almost at the end of the world.

Now we understand the significance of the signs at every roundabout for the past 50 kilometers. The Elite Men's Road Cycling European Championship is taking place here and now, and half of France is in a frenzy. A few cycling enthusiasts from the rest of Europe are also joining, and everyone is climbing the vineyard, as the cycling heroes will have to complete several laps there.

I can't hike that high right now; my aching leg won't allow it. So we stay on the almost completely empty D86 and walk to the next roundabout to wait for the arrival of Europe’s top cyclists.
A lot of police monitor the event’s proper proceedings from motorcycles and by the roadside. No protests like the last Vuelta in Spain should cause a race interruption today.

So we are stopped by a very dutiful and eager Mademoiselle Police blowing her shrill whistles and urged to leave the—just deserted and probably peaceful street for years—! Acute, extreme, unprecedented danger of accidents! We must not step onto the asphalt! FOR-BIDDEN!

Well, we don't even want to go to the dangerous pavement; we just want to sit on the beautiful green grass next to the lovely colorful bicycle of the municipal elementary school at the roundabout and wait for the arrival of the peloton.
She lets this pass for now, and we can observe for the next half hour how well the young woman does her job and how seriously she takes it.

Just like us, her slightly corpulent colleague, who cannot take his lunch break and enjoys the well-stuffed baguette while Mademoiselle’s eagerness visibly confuses him.
No minor infringement of the curb escapes her; no hobby cyclist avoids her stern admonition; no cheerful family outing can sneak past her. Here, there is whistling and tooting; there is no access; stepping here is FOR-BIDDEN!

As the peloton approaches, we understand her excitement. The team support vehicles race down the track with tremendous speed, through the roundabout, into the next village, leaving no eyes dry! Thankfully, no one gets in the way here; braking is no longer an option.

And then, the stars zoom past us. Zzzzziiiisch - and they are gone, at a breakneck speed, we only see their colorful backs.
We wait a little longer, but spotting the peloton on the mountain road above us is almost hopeless; the distance is just too great. A last straggler passes us after 10 minutes and turns around in surprise because I am applauding for him in total excitement. What he deserves, I think.

We retreat to the Mistral. The race will continue for some time in several laps around Valence through the mountains. This is not the Tour de France today; there is no promotional caravan, and besides, it’s already time for my nap.

We find a nice spot on a small side road by the Rhône river. We understand why cycling is prohibited on this path on Monday morning when the first gravel truck starts its shift and thunders past our bedroom, shaking the wall and making the coffee cup vibrate off the table. Perhaps a cyclist or two has been pulled out of the thick dual tires?

But the owl lulled us into a quiet sleep at night, which we have rightly earned after so much excitement.