Pouillon

Janet came back this morning a bit damp, a grey mist in the air, but after a day off the bike a little moisture wasn't going to stop either of us from enjoying the beautiful, rural country roads of Pouillon and the Landes region.

The Pyrenees' snow-covered peaks were peaking through the clouds as I started my ride just before noon. An hour to an hour and a half was all for today; perhaps a bit of intensity, but definitely nothing that would qualify as an endurance ride.

Our rental house for the next three days is located on the Route du Bosq, a semi-circular lane about 7 feet wide, perfectly smooth save for the bit in front of the house, that leaves the Route de Pouillon (D22) briefly just north of Labatut before returning about a mile later. I rolled down the tiny tarmac to the main road and turned towards Pouillan. Janet had warned me about the truck traffic she'd encountered earlier, and it was the same for me. People were heading back home for their lunch hour, or three hours, and I took the right turn on the Chemin de Coulet and cut off the centre ville. The road twisted north and south before diving down to meet the Route de Misson. The rain was falling steadily and I passed a woman riding with an umbrella, no small feat in the increasingly strong wind. 'Ca va?' I said as I rolled by. 'Oui.'

Misson was back towards our house, so I pedalled north towards Estibeaux, enjoying the long downhill into a marshy valley. The rain and mist added an ethereal quality to the hardwood forests set in the creases of rolling hills. Estibeaux appeared, a church on top of a hill and I let the road turn me to the east and a major crossing of roads headed to Dax, Labatut and Pouillon. Trucks rumbled, road spray rising from the pavement. A banana and a couple of moments to contemplate the homemade map of villages in its plastic baggy, and the D3 to Habas it is.

I stopped again in the Misson square, contemplating the statue of Jean d'Arc in front of the church. Someone is watching me and I turn to find several classrooms of children gazing out large plate glass windows at the lycra-clad stranger in their town square. I smile and wave and get a few waves back and Misson is behind me. I was telling people next door that this part of Landes is similar to Iowa, except that there are mountains and the wine is better and the roads are paved, otherwise it's very similar. As I navigate back to my house, I appreciate the intricate maze of perfectly smooth roads. I choose one that seems to head in the right direction and I recognize the Route du Bosq. A steep climb and I'm back home, the Trek and I both ready for a good bath.

1:17, 20.2, 1120ft