As we approached "Route Des Crêtes", the coastal road we had intended on riding this morning, we saw a sign that read "Route Barrée a 1000 m"-- the road was closed in one kilometer due to road work. In typical Provence fashion, the work was supposed to have been completed two months ago. As usual when faced with a sign telling him not to do something, Tyler promptly disregarded it and decided we should go investigate, hoping to find a way to continue on our route as planned anyway. I obliged, and to my dismay, the path turned steep early on. Soon we were pushing our bikes up a 30% grade hill in the face of signs every hundred meters warning that the road ahead was blocked and impassable.

Needless to say, I was doubtful of our little adventure, and less than thrilled with our now massive and possibly fruitless climb which would take up the better part of the morning. Skeptical, I followed Tyler as somehow he always makes these things worth the effort in the end. After a few hundred meters of riding/pushing straight up on faith, I decided to stop. I told Tyler he could push the last 200 meters himself and let me know what he found. A few minutes later as I was catching my breath I heard him yelling for me. He was very high on the road above saying we could continue.

I sighed and heaved my bike up the remaining two hundred meters to find, unsurprisingly, the route barrée. A huge metal gate had been shut across the pavement, preventing cars from passing. Luckily for us, there was plenty of room for a bicycle to go around. I was wary, of course. What if we climbed all this way only to be faced with massive road work, large construction vehicles and people angry at us for disregarding their signs? There was only one way to find out.

As we wheeled our bicycles around the gate and began pedaling on the closed road, we passed a local couple who were nonchalantly walking their dog. Tyler laughed and I finally had all the reassurance I needed that we were "ok". The Route Des Crêtes turned out to be an incredible ride. We spent the entire morning climbing beautiful winding mountain roads with stunning views of the coast at every turn.

There was nothing wrong with the road at all! It was perfectly paved! There was absolutely no reason we could see why it should be closed. We weren't complaining though, it was wonderful to have it all to ourselves. This was the kind of road people in sports cars would enjoy driving fast on and I was glad we didn't have to squeeze to the shoulder (the edge of the mountain) so they could pass.

When we reached the top (360m) the wind was blowing with a vengeance. It felt great to have some relief from the heat, but it was also a little unnerving being buffetted about by gale force winds on the way down. At one point during our descent, a Park Ranger's truck drove by and I was instantly nervous he was going to pull over and yell at us. Tyler predicted correctly that he would drive right by as if we weren't even there. We then coasted (and braked) the rest of the way down into the next town where we wheeled our bikes around their big metal gate too. People in cars are missing out on a really scenic ride!

Soon after leaving our private coastal road Tyler spotted a grocery store so we hopped off our bikes to refuel. We couldn't decide what to make and we were feeling pretty lazy so we ended up saying to hell with it, and buying a large tin can of pre-made chili (our first canned meal). After our purchases were complete, I ran over to the bakery across the street to pick up some bread. I ended up coming back with two almond tarts as well!

Panniers filled with food, we set off again, munching on our tarts. We biked beside the coast for a long time, often stopping to admire the Mediterranean views and their increasingly posh cities.

At a relatively empty beach we decided to stop for a swim and have some lunch. We leaned our bikes against a tree and set up our walkstools in the shade. While we ate, we noticed another cycle tourist a little further down on the beach!

After lunch we made our way out to the water wading in calf-high before chickening out in the face of the arctic-ly cold sea. Heading back towards our bikes we stopped to say hello to our fellow cyclist. We met Stephanie, a badass German girl on her first cycle tour ever, a solo six-month route through France and Austria. We don't speak German and she didn't think her English was very good, but we managed in French just fine.

This was her very first cycle tour (and first experience doing anything sporty) and she was doing it all by herself! Instead of camping she asks local families if she can pitch her tent on their lawns. Two months and she has found a place to stay every night. She, like me, dreams of ice cream and dreads climbing mountains. Tyler told her if she was brave enough to set off on her own she needn't be afraid of hills. I told her to go slowly and use easy gears; it can suck, but you get through it and the views are worth it!

With lots of smiles and waves we left Stephanie, inspired by her journey, and followed a fantastic bike path leading to our camp for the night. Along the way we were passing through yet another super-touristy beach town when we heard a voice come on an unseen loudspeaker announcing an airshow! Yet again, as is so often the case on our trip, we were in the right place at the right time! Fighter jets came roaring into the sky in perfect formation. Cars parked haphazardly and the passengers left their seats to crane their necks and look in awe at the high-speed acrobatics. Tyler hopped off, excitedly running to the beach to take pictures of this modern marvel. It was so cool!

When the airshow was over, we made our way to "Camping les Mimosas" where we set up camp next to the Boulodrome (the terrain for playing boules, or as it is called in the US: bocce ball). While Tyler made camp I set about making dinner. I pulled a tab on our can of chili, poured it into a pan and heated it up with our whisperlight and I was done! Surprisingly, the chili was delicious (after a few additions of course). Though we love to cook, it was so delightfully easy to have canned food that we both decided we should add it to our repertoire more often. After an easy clean-up, we settled in bed for an early night, amazed yet again by all we'd experienced in less than 12 hours.

Since I was feeling fine, we decided to take advantage of our perfect weather and beautiful location on the Riviera to do some site-seeing. Setting the alarm for 8AM, the plan was to wander around town and go hiking in the famous Calanques, or Mediterranean fjords that stretch between Marseilles and Cassis.

We left camp on foot around 9, hoping to make our way to Calanque D'En Vau, about 5km from our campsite. We were waylaid in Cassis by a Patisserie serving the lightest, flakiest, richest, almond croissants I have ever had the pleasure of eating. While meandering around with our morning snack Tara spotted a Biscuiterie (a cookie shop) and we stopped to stare in awe at the vast array of unique cookies available for purchase. This very French concept of dedicating an entire shop to selling countless varieties of a single food is really starting to grow on me.

Curious to see what else was available in Cassis we continued our walk through the coastal town enjoying the brisk morning air. Being next to the sea, we were treated to cool winds, a refreshing change from the oppressive stagnant heat we experienced a little further north. Hundreds of yachts and fishing boats were moored in the sparkling water, and the port was lined with inviting cafes, restaurants, and ice cream shops.

Satisfied with our exploration we headed out of town in the direction of the "Calanque d'en Vau". Just outside the city we found a huge sign informing us that the Calanques were fermé (closed). In typical fashion I completely ignored the sign and convinced Tara to come with me. It was my hope that we could find a path in anyway. Sadly, when we reached the entrance to the trail we were thwarted by two park rangers/security guards. They stopped us and explained at length (to Tara) why we weren't allowed any further: fire.

I would've happily turned over any materials we had for lighting a fire (we had none) if the concern was that we would start one. As it turned out they were protecting us from being burned to death in a summer forest fire by the ocean. As an added bonus, if you were capable of taking responsibility for your own life and decided to venture in anyway there was a hefty €135 fine per person to help you reconsider.

While they were explaining how to interpret the color coded danger system for the terrorists Calanques, several people appeared from the trail and walked by nonchalantly as though the guards weren't there. Apparently if you dock a boat in the Calanque the grave risk of fire is lowered to acceptable levels. When the guards had finished their speech we left and made our way to a trail we thought might lead to another Calanque, hoping for better luck.

Our second hike was steep, rocky and ultimately fruitless. The trail ended in a large outcropping which overlooked the Calanque we'd been turned away from earlier. Undeterred, I spotted several ways that we could climb down, and, in my estimation easily, make it to our intended inlet unnoticed. Tara wisely put her foot down and said no, citing our lack of food, water, fines, and my terminally optimistic view of distances and time. When I said "oh it's fine, I don't need water, you can have the whole bottle" she kindly reminded me that I'd just had a kidney stone, and maybe drinking more water instead of less would be a good idea.

We left the Calanque behind us and returned to Cassis. I was a very dejected by our experience but Tara didn't seem to mind, instead leading us to the ocean near town where we could both do some cooling off. Avoiding the overcrowded sand beach we headed towards an outcropping of rocks where only a few people were sunning themselves.

After climbing around the rocks for a bit, we waded into the icy cold water for a few seconds before returning to the safety and warmth of the rocks. A short while later I spotted a large outcropping perfect for leaping into the sea. Tara ignored my prodding to jump and stayed to take pictures.

I returned exhilarated and spent the next few minutes gently encouraging Tara to overcome her many fears and join me in jumping. It took a lot of patient coaxing (very similar to the coaxing that convinced her to come on this trip in the first place!) but as I knew she would love it, I didn't mind a bit :D

I finally convinced her to "just walk up and look" with me (hahaha). Then I held her hand and said I would count to five and we would jump. Everything would be fine! She laughingly refused several times but eventually agreed. We jumped in the air, hand in hand, and fell, splashing into the cold water! When we came to the surface, she was smiling.

After our jump, we were just about ready to go when I suggested that Tara go back up to the rock by herself so I could take pictures. She replied a very firm "no" stating that it was fun, but once was enough. Then she saw three macho dude-bros loitering on the rock nervously contemplating a jump. Without saying a word she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and marched straight up there to show them what was what. I was so proud.

Triumphant, we headed back to our campsite to make dinner. When we realized it was only 2:30, I spent several hours working while Tara did laundry. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and when it was dinner time I fired up the oven and baked a delicious no-longer frozen pizza and some homemade garlic bread that Tara had prepared. Dinner complete, we spent a nice evening watching Lost and preparing to leave in the morning.

I am feeling 100% fine now, and honestly, it feels a little anticlimactic! I must've passed the stone while I was on painkillers at the hospital because haven't felt any more pain since then. Outside of some general tenderness, everything seems to be okay.

If it isn't gone, I guess round two of the worst pain ever is looming. Assuming that is the case, I hope that knowing what it is will make it easier to manage. Either way, I have the best, most caring woman in the world at my side to make sure I am okay.

I was thinking about tossing the prescription they gave me but Tara convinced me to fill it anyway. On the off chance I need the medication, it seemed prudent to be prepared. This needs to be said again: the French health care system is incredible! The prescription which included codeine, opiates and steroids cost only 17 euro, something that would surely run well into the hundreds in the USA.

I am awakened at three o'clock this morning to Tyler's persistent nudging. It takes a minute to cut through the haze of sleep and gain consciousness enough to realize what is happening. My beloved partner, who is always in perfect health and generally completely stoic in the face of pain, is shivering and doubled over in agony. "I think I need to go to the hospital", he says.

I am wide awake now; it must be serious. He is shaking in the fetal position, forcefully inhaling and exhaling, trying to control some unknown pain. Very worried but clearly focused on taking care of him, I quickly make my way in the dark between tents full of sleeping campers in search of help. Normally the reception office is closed at night, but I go there anyway, hoping to find some emergency information posted somewhere. In my mind I am running through various scenarios of what might happen and what I'll do next: I'll have to wake someone up. Maybe a camper will let me use their cell phone to call for help? Ours isn't charged.

Thankfully I see a dim light glowing from the welcome office. "Please let there be someone there, please let there be someone there," I repeat over and over in my head. Hopeful, I round the corner and find the door open and a security guard on duty! I have never been so relieved in my life. I don't know what I would do without this security guard, and thankfully I don't have time to think about alternatives. By the look on my face he already knows something is very wrong. I tell him the situation and he is immediately concerned, picking up the phone to call a doctor. No doctor will come at this hour, so he calls for an ambulance.

I run back to Tyler and tell him the situation while packing my backpack with the essentials-- wallet, IDs, passports, insurance information, etc. Even through his pain, Tyler manages to grab the laptop, the cell phone and all of the charging equipment just in case we run across an outlet. Together we wind our way in the dark to the reception area. Tyler falls to his knees on the concrete, continuing to focus on his breathing. I help him sit down and squeeze his hand reassuringly as we wait for the emergency vehicle to take us to the hospital in Aubagne.

Lights flashing, but without a blaring siren, the ambulance arrives and I explain the whole situation again, translating between Tyler and the EMTs. He can't pee. He feels like he's going to explode. He is in excruciating pain. We mount the ambulance and I hold his hand tightly. He feels like he's going to vomit and the EMTs give him a very inadequate cardboard tray. Thankfully he doesn't end up using it. The ambulance trundles along, everything shaking like a plane in turbulent skies. It is the bumpiest ride I've ever been on.

Twenty intense minutes have passed when we finally arrive at the hospital in Aubagne. They wheel him in, and again I explain the situation to the nurses. They take blood samples and start him on an IV of pain killers and anti-inflammatory medication. There is no paperwork and they only ask for is his name, age, and address.

The doctor arrives, a young woman not much older than us, with disheveled hair and glasses askew. Squinting and rubbing her eyes, she says grumpily, "I'm your doctor. What's wrong?" She has clearly just rolled out of bed. I am a little nervous, and her name tag says "intern." Despite my initial fears, once she wakes up a little more, our doctor is kind, helpful, and thankfully, very knowledgeable. Finally Tyler's pain begins to subside and they are able to collect a urine sample before wheeling him away for x-rays.

X-rays examined and urine tested, the diagnosis comes back: a kidney stone. Just knowing what the problem is is a huge relief. Though it is painful, at least we know that everything is going to be okay. Tyler is able to rest for a couple of hours, but not before insisting that we plug in our electronics to charge them up a bit, and maybe get some work done. (NOT KIDDING)

With a little more rest and a lot less pain, Tyler is deemed healthy enough to leave. Our doctor writes a prescription for pain medication and tells us "It might hurt like hell-- you're going to give birth to a tiny object-- but everything will be better after that." She disappears, and only a nurse remains to tidy the room. I ask her about paying for the treatment, and she looks confused and tells me, "the medication you have buy in the Pharmacie." "No I mean for the ambulance and the room and the x-rays and everything." "Oh, well it's free, of course." God I love France.

Before she steps out of the room to attend to another patient, I ask the nurse about catching a bus back to Cassis. She opens the window to point us in the right direction, and a beautiful Provence morning shines in. It is now 9:00 and the sun is coming up over the mountains. The Mistral is blowing a cool breeze, easing the heat of the sun. She points me in the direction of the bus station, and we leave, relieved the night is over.

After stopping at a McDonalds (I am starving, and we can charge the laptop while uploading photos) we make our way to the bus station and wait. Our bus comes along an hour later, and soon we are riding through the hills back to our campsite. Enough action for one day, we settle in our tent and watch TV all afternoon, relieved to be safe at home.

Riding in the heat yesterday, we both latched on to the idea of having popcicles. Sadly, the opportunity never presented itself. Today while we were picking up groceries in the quaint coastal town of Martigues I spotted a bag of "Mickey's Mr. Freezies" and promptly purchased them (16 to a bag). We sat down outside like a couple of 10 year olds, intent on consuming them all before they melted. By the time I made it to number 4 I was starting to feel a little queasy. I used to eat Mr. Freezes non-stop all summer long as a kid, so I guess this means I'm getting old (or just eating healthier)! We didn't even come close to finishing them but we had a great time trying.

Feeling a little twitchy from our sugar binge we cycled further south to meet the Mediterranean coastline which we hoped to cycle along for the rest of the day. After some considerable hill climbing we coasted down to a small beach overlooking the ocean. It was stunning; I have never seen water so blue! We quickly decided to go for a dip, parked our bikes and waded out into the cool waters. I keep thinking we're far enough south for the ocean to be warm but I guess we have ways to go before that happens(?). It was extremely cold but very refreshing.

Soaking wet and grinning from ear to ear, we decided to have lunch at our majestic beach before continuing on. Tara gathered food supplies and I ferried them down a nearby rock face to a nice spot where we could sit with our legs in the water. We shared various leftovers, making sure not to set any of them on our laps for fear of them getting soaked. Tara worried that our things would be washed away in the "rising" tide (as I write this Tara says, "It was TOO rising!").

After leaving our picnic spot, we continued biking along the coast. Here are some more photos:

We keep saying that we're going to stop routing ourselves through, or even near, big cities. Yet somehow we (okay, I) keep doing it. Towards what we had hoped would be the end of our day we rode into Marseilles from the north on a sea of extremely busy port highways. It wasn't exactly fun being the only bikes on such a heavily trafficked route, but we were in relatively good spirits and feeling quite capable as we navigated our way along the bridges and narrow shoulders with an endless stream of traffic racing by just a few feet away. Unexpectedly, our ride was actually pretty enjoyable once we made it into the city itself.

Laughing at the gridlock of slow-moving, loud, polluting cars, we darted to and fro on our way in and out of the city. It was such a circus with cars, delivery trucks, scooters, motorcycles, and pedestrians cutting each other off and acting in their own self-interest regardless of safety, that no one seemed to notice two fully-loaded touring bikes trying to navigate the streets as well. We were so engaged in riding through the spectacle of people and traffic that we barely took notice of several very large hills we climbed along the way. If I learned anything from our trip through Marseilles it was that if you are in France, on a scooter, there are no road laws of any kind! They scooted in and out of bicycle lanes, pedestrian only sidewalks, bus lanes, and cut traffic constantly (it looked like a lot of fun actually).

Upon leaving the boisterous city I realized how much I am learning to appreciate the quiet of nature. Until very recently I've never taken notice of how overwhelmingly LOUD motorized transport is. Where before all of the racket was just everyday white noise I now feel assaulted by the din of modern life. The only thing louder than traffic that we encounter regularly is the ubiquitous chirping of the millions of cicadas that fill the trees.

Just getting through the city was quite an experience; it wasn't until around the time we were leaving that we realized we hadn't found a campsite yet. For some reason I expected we would come across one in or around the city. I was wrong. Rather than riding on blindly hoping for an opportunity to present itself we stopped by the side of the road and consulted the internet for a solution. We were both excited and crestfallen to find a site in Cassis, right next to a swimming spot we planned to visit, but 30 kilometers down the road. We took a few moments to feel sorry for ourselves about the distance before we shaped up and carried on happily knowing we had a place to stay.

As we made it to the outer edges of Marseilles we spotted a grocery store and decided to take yet another break for a cold snack. Ice cream really helps bolster morale when the weather is hot! While sitting outside the grocery store devouring our treat we noticed that the road leading to Cassis appeared to wind up what seemed at the time to be a rather large mountain. Again, we took a few moments to feel sorry for ourselves before putting our heads down and pedaling away.

It was hot, sweaty work but we ascended a full 230 meters to the top of the pass, making our total ascent for the day over 1000m! I only recently started using the altimeter on our GPS so I don't know if it was our biggest day ever but it sure felt like it. Tara led most of the way on the final pass, grinding it up in high gear like a woman on a mission. I don't often feel like I have to chase her but I definitely did for this climb. When we reached the top we cheered wildly, knowing that we'd have a long, "free" ride the rest of the way to camp. Before we started our descent I snapped a few photos of this gruesome site of a car:

We cruised down the other side of the mountain into Cassis at 40-50kph, the wind in our face quickly erasing all memory of the mountain we left behind us. Though I often tell myself that what goes up must come down when we are climbing a particularly difficult hill, there is nothing quite like getting the full payoff for your labors immediately after you've performed them. I've decided that I enjoy mountain climbing quite a bit more than riding through a generally hilly area.

We coasted into camp at 8PM singing our nightly "We Did It!" song, thrilled to be home and excited at the prospect of the two days of rest ahead of us. Tara hopped off her bike and went to the reception office to check in but quickly noticed a sign saying "Camping Complet". Merde. Upon talking to the man who ran the campsite and he was sorry but said very firmly that there simply weren't any spaces left. Unbelievably desperate to camp here, and unwilling to bike any more kilometers in our already long day, Tara explained the situation again. This time the man understood we were on bicycles. Instantly his demeanor changed and he told her not to worry. They would make room for us somewhere, even if they had to stick us on the playground for the night, they would find a space. "When people come on foot or by bike," he said, "we never turn them away."

To our great relief a young woman quickly got us registered and walked us to our campsite. We made camp in a crowded but quiet area, only a foot away from tents on either side. No matter, not only were we home, but we had blessed shade and a wonderful cool breeze. Yet another successful day!

I was all packed and ready to go while Tyler was on the computer ordering Thermarest mattresses (after two days of use our replacement Exped mats are already failing). When he was done he began packing his bike and discovered that one of his pannier straps was missing. We searched all around our campsite and the surrounding areas, pacing and re-tracing our steps while racking our brains trying to figure out where we could have left it. Panniers were dumped out and sorted to no avail; the strap was gone. It really sucks when we lose things because a) we are fairly dependent on every single thing we own, and b) replacing missing items can be a long and complicated affair, far removed from the easy trip to the store we were used to back home.

There is very little that upsets Tyler, except his own supposed inefficiency. In his mind, this was definitely one of those dreaded occasions, as he had just dedicated an hour to performing a fruitless task. Despite the "setback" I was quick to move on, suggesting we quickly and creatively rig up a way to close the pannier, and then order a replacement to be sent along with various other items in the package from my parents. Tyler was more upset about about the time wasted than he was about the strap. Sadly you can't order more time on the internet ;).

Though we could have left earlier when it was cooler, now we were leaving under the pounding heat of the sun. Oh well, I thought. We would survive. We surrendered to the missing strap and began to wheel our bikes to the road. As I was pushing I heard a strange clicking noise. When I stopped to investigate I discovered the elusive strap was on my rear rack, dangling into the wheel, where Tyler had put it the other night! Overjoyed and exasperated about the time wasted, we fished it out and reattached it to the pannier.

We were an hour "late" when we biked back into Arles to buy some almond croissants before hitting the road. Tyler is learning how to relax and I was very proud when he suggested we find a park bench to sit on while we ate instead of hurriedly stuffing our faces and pedaling off, mid-bite. It was when we were nicely settled on a bench in the shade, munching away on those flaky, powdered sugar covered, almond cream filled goodies, that we saw this sign:

Bulls in the street? Was it a joke? The street was blocked off, and there were cops everywhere directing traffic. I asked one of them, and he informed me that the bulls would arrive in a few minutes in a procession to the arena. (Arles is famous for it's Roman amphitheater, where they have bullfighting every Wednesday night). As it turned out, we were not "late"-- we were in the right place at the right time!

Suddenly around the corner came an army of cyclists whooping and hollering, followed by a parade of people on horseback, all dressed in traditional garments from the region. Safely corralled within the barrier made by the horses, bulls clopped along in the midst of the throng. Bringing up the rear were two horse-drawn carriages; in one sat a group of women in long dresses and fancy hair pieces, and in the other was a festive group of men playing lively regional music. More bicyclists followed. Excited, we jumped at the chance to be in a French parade and pedaled off with them.

We biked along the crowded streets of Arles, receiving waves and smiles from the parade onlookers. As we wound our way to the arena, getting a better tour of the town that any guide could provide, we smiled at the zillions of people crowding the streets. This was Monday morning, but already the roads were packed, filled with tourists and locals alike. Apartment-dwellers leaned out of their shuttered windows to enjoy the show. Finally arriving at the amphitheater, the parade dispersed into the mob of people blocking the narrow street.

Leaving the throng, we wheeled our bikes over to the sidewalk and leaned them against a wall. Tyler stayed with the them while I explored a gift shop across the road. Its shelves were stocked with olive oil, sausages made of bull meat, lavender sachets, bright yellow Provencal table cloths, and a plethora of other souvenirs. I picked out gifts for the kids, and postcards to send to our friends, and called Tyler over to get his opinion about a bottle of Van Gogh's drink of choice: Absinthe.

Of course we bought a small bottle. While I was paying for our goodies, I noticed a pile of hand-written coupons-- a free glass of Sangria at a restaurant down the street, valid today only! I took two, and we made our way to the restaurant.

Across the street from several tables full of men passing around a bottle of Ricard on Monday morning, we settled under a large umbrella and presented our coupons to the woman running the restaurant. She immediately went to fetch two glasses of their special white Sangria made of freshly cut peaches soaking in refreshing chilled white wine. While we drank other people came to the restaurant for its famous paella, yellow saffron rice teeming with seafood, which the woman dished up from a platter that was four feet in diameter.

Now satisfied with our visit to Arles, complete with parade and free drinks, we left the restaurant and continued out of town. We passed a paper factory that was on strike, workers meandered around the streets, slowly spray painting complaints on the pavement. Further along, we passed camper van after camper van, stopped by the side of the road as if the drivers couldn't bear to drive another mile. The driver and passengers would be laying in lawn chairs, sunning themselves, or having picnics at large tables, making themselves right at home.

As they waved and cheered while we passed, it occurred to me that people seem to have a very difficult time getting anything done here. Workers can't take it anymore, and even tourists can seem to drive another mile. All activity seems to slows to a halt under the heat of the sun and the buzz of an afternoon glass of rosé.

The next portion of our journey was through the area known as "la Camargue," famous for rice, salt, horses, bulls, and flamingos. Unfortunately we didn't see any flamingos, but we did see several herons (or cranes?) taking off from the rice paddies, and a field full of bulls.

When we stopped to take pictures, Tyler wanted to get up close and so walked down into what he thought was a ditch. It was actually a small canal. He got soaked up to the knees in murky, sludgy water, but still managed to take a few photos. Of course while he was over there, he had to duck under the fence as well, into a field of sharply-horned animals for a better shot. He made it back unscathed, thankfully!

The Camargue was wonderfully flat and we raced along it at 30 kilometers an hour. Nearing the sea, we crossed a ferry, which dumped us, unceremoniously, on to a major highway. We wrestled against the wind and intensity of hundreds of semis passing us by. On the tiny shoulder we stayed focused and rode on as best we could in the unnerving situation. We made it off the highway safely and proceeded to the tourist office where a kind lady told us where the nearest campsite was. Another four kilometers and we would be home for the night.

Although four kilometers is not a long distance by any means, it seemed that way because we were so hot. Instead of heading straight there, we headed towards the beach to cool ourselves off. On the way we crossed a bridge over a salt-water canal and passed just in time to see two teenage boys climb through the railing and leap off of it into the water far below. We followed their lead, not by jumping, but by parking our bikes and slipping in from water level. What a great idea!

Now adequately cooled off, we headed home. Unfortunately, the only way to get there was via the highway. We battled the semis once again and four short kilometers later we arrived. The municipal campsite of Port de Bouc charged a very reasonable €8 a night, a fare the likes of which we haven't seen since since we were riding along the canal in northern France. We settled in to a secluded spot under the pines and made ourselves at home.

Happy to leave our militant campsite this morning we set out in the direction of Arles, a city near the Mediterranean coast. A few kilometers down the road we passed the biggest caterpillar I have ever seen. It was neon green and speckled with bizarre blue balls that were each covered with black spikes or antennae of some kind. As the alien-like insect inched across the sun-baked highway into traffic I tortured myself with thoughts of what it would feel like to run over it, or worse, accidentally step on it! A few meters later my curiosity got the better of me (to see it up close, not kill it) and we turned around to investigate. Nature is so weird.

For the past few weeks I have been working diligently on slowing down. On the road, in camp, during breaks, everywhere. It is my natural tendency to attack nearly every task I set before myself as quickly and efficiently as I possibly can; rarely stopping until it is finished. While this works very well in my professional life (and I have no intention of changing there) it doesn't translate well into cycling around the world.

Even though we have at least a year or more in front of us I still feel a need to rush at times, thinking that if we don't keep moving we'll never "make it". Tara often teases me when I get frustrated about some minor slowdown on the road, saying "oh no, we'll be five minutes late in MALAYSIA!" A natural daydreamer, she is working on the exact opposite things and I expect we'll meet somewhere in the middle eventually.

With all of this said, I was very proud of myself early in the morning as I signaled for us to stop at a local fruit market. We'd been on the road for less than 30 minutes! Normally I would have passed it by thinking we "need to get some distance behind us". Instead of trying to charge forward at full tilt from start to finish we settled in for an early snack of melon, deliciously sweet apples and white nectarines. It was worth every "wasted" minute :)

Even though I am trying to go slower these days, we can still be more efficient! (hah) To this end I've been encouraging Tara to draft me when the roads permit since the day we left. For a long time she wasn't comfortable enough to try. When she was, early attempts were met with little success because she wouldn't ride close enough. After we left the fruit market I told her I wouldn't use my brakes for any reason for the next several kilometers and that I wanted her to put her front wheel as near as she could to my rear wheel. It took some coaxing but she agreed and off we went! It worked, and she discovered her new favorite way of riding!

It was another sweaty day, although not quite as hot at some we've experienced lately. Alternating between drinking water, pouring it all over myself, and spraying Tara with it as we rode, I kept my eyes peeled for a cool lake or stream we could throw ourselves in. Ten kilometers outside of Arles my silent prayers were granted when we came upon a canal we could access easily from the road! Tara understood what I was up to immediately as I parked my bike. We were both heaving deep sighs of relief from the middle of the canal in a matter of seconds. Thankfully this time I had both of my shoes on!

We emerged from the canal feeling much more human. No longer dying of heat exhaustion we completed the final miles to Arles in comfort. Arriving in town early we made short work finding a campsite: CAMPING CITY, a seedy cactusy/texas themed place. We set up and immediately headed to the pool for another (most likely, cleaner) swim. The pool was crowded with kids practicing their dives and young couples making out enthusiastically, but we found a nice spot to cool ourselves and splash around.

We had decided earlier in the day that we would treat ourselves to a dinner out, and so after our swim we got dressed and headed to town in search of a meal that didn't involve a camp-stove. Along the way we stopped at the local artisan's market to browse selections of locally-made soap, something we both agreed was the perfect souvenir for us (small and very practical). Tara found a bar of intensely fragrant almond soap that we purchased for 2€. With shopping done we started wandering from restaurant to restaurant trying to find the perfect meal. We must have completed at least five laps of the main street before we gave up.

Because we never eat out (unless some kind person offers) we have a hard time justifying the expense if it isn't a) a cultural experience or b) exactly what we want. If we do manage to find a place with a nice atmosphere serving something we like, our appetites invariably disappear when we imagine how many groceries we could purchase for the 10-20€ per plate asking price.

In the end we wound up with a pair of hot dogs from a market vendor and what we've decided is our favorite "special" meal: a frozen pizza (less than €5) cooked in our camping oven.