On cycling in the Luberon

If there is one sound that marks the arrival of Spring in Provence more than any other, it’s the beefy bark of cyclists calling to each other as they criss-cross the Luberon valley. In a moment of absolute quiet; still wind and spotless blue skies, a sudden volley of shouts will punctuate the silence, and sure enough a gaggle of 20 or so cyclists will come spinning down the lane. I like to think their barks translate as ‘nice ass; you in the yellow’ though I expect it is something more mundane: advice on gears or chains or whether to go left or right at the next junction.

Cycling in the Luberon is much loved. There are the serious lycra-lovers on wheels so thin I don’t know how they stay upright. There are nut-brown, breezy couples on sturdy bicycles weighed down like pack-horses. And then there’s a handful of mothers from the local village; set free by the morning school bell, freewheeling down a bumpy track past fields of wild mint and early poppies, yelping with delight. I think this is what we moved to Provence for.