There are also signs in the forest where we have been running that say  “Prudence Loups” apparently that means “Caution Wolves” I haven’t seen any yet and to be honest a loup doesn’t sound as scary as an orage, I bet if a  loup and an Orage had a fight the Loup would win hands down, or should that be paws?    

It’s not the real world up here but I like it.

Just before I left the U.K I was talking to my 10 year old Niece and her best friend, The best friend thought I was hilarious, “so when my dad goes to work in the morning what do you” a little hurt at how funny a 10 year old girl considered me to be  I searched desperately for a response that might make me sound cool and interesting, but my niece got in there first, “well he goes swimming before we get up then eats then goes back to bed then he eats then he goes riding his bike then he eats again then sleeps then goes running then he eats  then he goes back to bed and then goes swimming again.  “Your stupid” said my niece’s friend and they both broke into a fit of giggles.

I find it funny as well sometimes; being a triathlete isn’t being part of the real world, especially up in the mountains. You don’t see the rush hour up here; you don’t see people in suits and school uniforms desperately racing to get to the next part of their real world lives on time. It’s just train and sleep. I’m 25 years old, my mates are sat in offices in London discussing the credit crunch, pay bonuses and how they are going to use the last few days of holiday they’ve got carried over. I’m sat in the mountains its two in the afternoon and I’ve swum ridden and been back to bed already today. I’m writing about who would win in a hypothetical fight between a wolf and a French storm. It’s not the real world, but I like it.  

Back to the U.K on Friday and then off to Windsor. If the mountains have worked there will be a post Sunday night, if they haven’t expect some feeble excuse sometime in the middle of next week.

p.s. For those of you who need a manadou update I said “bonjour” she said bonjour back (as did her boyfriend who isn’t allowed to be more than 5m away from her at anytime) I couldn’t form a coherent sentence in English or French as a reply. So she walked off and now she’s left the mountains… I believe the French expression is  Ce’st la vie” or even, Il ya beacoup de poisson dan le mer” besides the girl in the supermarket up here has got really pretty eyes.   

Back up the mountain I went cursing every extra centimetre my front wheel gave me as it wobbled like a jelly. Bright an early the next morning (I wasn’t hitting siesta again) I took my life in my hands and descended sans break back to Spain. Into the shop and no sign of my amigo from yesterday who tengo’d,  just the owner who provided me with the most impressive dog do on shoe look I’ve ever been given. This guy actually made service in U.K bike shops look good as he made me wait 20 minutes to inform me that he certainly didn’t tengo. At this stage I was starting to get a bit desperate so gave up my last modicum of dignity and tried to explain using the medium of mime that it was dangerous to ride with the wheel and could he order me a new spoke  or let me rent another wheel. NO TENGO he told me. Before I took said snapped spoke and made a hole in his valour tracksuit bottoms with it I though I would have one last go. “Parle vous francais” Oui he tells me with a prefect French accent and a little grin, but I only sell bikes in Spanish” My little brother would know what to call this chap!

Dejected I rode back into France and past a tiny little bike shop that I hadn’t noticed before, In I went and gave the amply moustached man behind the counter a spin of my wheel.  In return he used all the energy he could muster to show me possibly the biggest French shrug I had ever seen, before firing off with something about the terrible global shortage of bladed spokes. I could tell by the rat on his upper lip that this was a good man, so I tried again with the story about having been to every bike shop in a 50 mile radius, how evil the Spanish were and the potential risk of death when riding in the Pyrenees with no front break. He got his own bike, removed one of his ksyrium spokes and slotted it into my wheel, telling me he was sure the new spokes would arrive next week and charging me 3 euros for the pleasure.

I rode off with a grin from ear to ear, next stop the supermarket and back to bed, pulling up outside Super U I found a soiree going on they had a whole cow on a spit in the middle of the car park and were all sipping wine from little cups and talking animatedly with the use of plastic cutlery. Another nice French fellow this time without standard issue moustache asked if I wanted “some cow”  next thing I’ve got the plastic cutlery a bit of French bread and half a rib cage on my plate and the guy is telling me how he is a cyclist and knows Mark Mckay the B.TA cycling coach, He works in the shop and wants me to look at the picture of the bike team he sponsors, the he’s given me his phone number and says if I want to do any riding while I’m up here to give him a shout. I’ve given the French a bit of bad press in my time, but even with their endless strikes and incredible shrugs today Vie La France! As for the Catalans give them their own country and put a fence around it.