Changing gears, p.10
Changing Gears, page 10
“Do you want to stay?”
Emily shrugged and chewed her lip pensively. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s worse. Having no friends here and being treated like a disease, or moving and not being able to get a decent ATAR because of the school’s grade profile.”
Jen felt awful. Emily was too young to have to do this kind of accounting. She was fifteen. She should be wrapped up in pop culture, dating and working out who she is, not the repercussions of a wrong step on her educational pathway.
“OK, well, let’s take things day by day. If you need someone to talk to, come see me. Miss Clarke is only going to Bible bash you.” Emily laughed as Jen crossed her eyes at her. “Plenty of girls here support you. They were pretty vocal on Friday, so you’re not alone. But I think you’re right. Keep your head down for now. It might all just peter out of its own accord.”
“So, basically, don’t be out. Right?”
Jen’s stomach dropped, and her throat closed over. An uncomfortable moment passed between them as she fought back a sudden wave of tears. “I’m sorry, Emily,” she whispered. “I don’t know what else you can do.”
Fontaine to Gordes to Isle sur la Sorge
Friday, 7 July, 2017
Over breakfast the next morning, Jen walked Abi through the itinerary for the day. Their route contained two new destinations—the villages of Gordes and Roussollin, which Abi knew well—but both of which required a lot of hill-climbing to reach.
“I know the way. I’ve been there before.” Her relaxed smile did nothing to calm Jen’s concerns.
“But you’ve never ridden it.”
“I’ve ridden everything else so far!”
“Ok,” she sighed. “Just pace yourself.”
Abi’s fresh legs lasted her about twenty minutes. The route to Gordes was uphill all the way, and as soon as they left the last cluster of homes around Fontaine the terrain shifted from a gentle gradient to a steep ascent. Jen rode slowly behind her, coaching her through gear changes and pacing as her energy and enthusiasm drained. They stopped for breaks and water, walking for a while when Abi ran out of steam. The climb took them nearly an hour, a short but unforgiving five kilometers.
Sitting on an old wall near the side of the road, Abi slumped, her elbows on her knees. “What’s next?” She pushed her sunglasses onto her forehead and squinted up the road.
“We’ve another quick climb. The road flattens out a little after that.”
Abi groaned suddenly. “There’s a huge hill into Gordes. I remember that one.”
“Let’s stop at the village near here. Grab some more water.”
“Maybe I can call an Uber.”
When they reached the village, Abi was exhausted and parched, having already chugged through both her and Jen’s water supply. They topped up on water and filled their packs with extra supplies as nothing but road, hills and views awaited them.
The upside of Abi’s slow pace was how relaxing the ride was for Jen. She had plenty of time to look around and appreciate the old stone fences, cottages, vineyards and olive groves along the way. As they rode out of the village of Cabrières-d’Avignon, the road narrowed. Old dry-stone walls—mortarless, stacked stone jigsawed together—hemmed them in. Homes they passed, both old and new were built that way too, and the aesthetic made her feel like she was riding through a far older France.
As the village dropped away, and the roads were narrowed, Abi fell into a groove, and despite the increased gradient, began chatting again. They kept up a solid pace to the first lookout before Gordes. The view was well worth the effort.
The ancient town perched precariously on a cliff overlooking the valley below. L’Eglise Saint Fermin, its twelfth century church, adorned the hilltop, its bleached tile roof breaking the horizon. Terraces of white stone buildings clung to the surrounding cliffs, interspersed with trees and gardens. Jen took a slew of photos whilst Abi hydrated and rested her legs.
“There’s this beautiful place called Abbey de Senanque—it’s a bit of a detour, and another hill, but it’s lovely.” Abi was looking at a map of the area on her phone.
“You sure?” Jen pulled a protein bar out of her pack and offered her half.
“At this time of year? Definitely.”
“OK then.”
They mounted up, and Abi seemed to have a surge of energy at the prospect of surprising her.
They swung left away from Gorges to follow a narrow road to the hilltop where they stopped to admire the view of the plains below and let the backlog of cars passed. Once traffic cleared, they continued on for a refreshing downhill run, Jen taking the lead to set a safe pace. A few bursts of speed kept them away from motorists and cooled them down. When they rounded the last hairpin a flourish of purple greeted them, row upon row of brilliant lavender bordering the road. It was stunning, and Jen sat up in her saddle to stare as they coasted towards the fields.
Abi piloted them into the abbey carpark and found a spot to lock their bikes up. They spent a relaxing hour wandering the lavender and snapping photos before finding a shady tree to laze under. After a tour of twelfth century buildings and heavy-scented grounds, they collected their bikes and headed back towards the road. Relaxed and rejuvenated, they were back in the saddle with gusto. Half an hour later, they were freewheeling into Gordes.
The town’s narrow cobbled lanes occupied them for more than an hour, providing yet more astonishing views over the Luberon plains. With coffee and pastries in hand, Abi took them to the Theatre des Terrasses, the best spot to take in the southern landscape and avoid the bulk of tourists. They got to enjoy the peace for a while.
“This is reputed to be one of France’s most beautiful villages,” Abi noted as they walked back towards the centre of town. “Though to be honest, my legs are done. All these steps are killing me.”
A tour of the castle and the cisterns of St. Fermin’s Palace provided a welcome relief, both from the cobbled streets and the hot late morning air.
Rather than compete with the sudden surge of tourists for a lunch spot, Abi suggested they cut their losses and head for Roussillon. Jen agreed but took a minute to adjust her planned route to flatten the journey a little. There was only so far she could push Abi’s enthusiasm. Rather than a wending, hilly route they now had a decent downhill run before a leisurely cruise through farmland, and a final, short steep climb to the village. The road was treelined and shaded in parts and would offer some relief as the afternoon sun intensified.
The buildings of Roussillon were in stark contrast to Gordes and its surrounding landscape. Bright, ochre-red houses and red mortared walls lined narrow streets, punctuated by splashes of colour from brightly shuttered windows and quaint potted flowers. With their bikes safely locked, they strolled the picturesque lanes, stopping to visit galleries and studios featuring artists inspired by the area’s red cliffs. It was postcard perfect and Jen tried to look everywhere at once.
Mid-afternoon came and went before they thought to stop and eat. The small local cafe they found was deserted by the time they dismounted. As they sipped the last of a local white, Jen pulled out her phone. “Ok, so here’s the suggested route,” and she expanded the map with her fingers. “It’s only about twenty-five kilometres to where we’re staying tonight, but there’s a big climb here,” and she indicated the hill they were due to ascend. Abi’s nose wrinkled. “Or we can go around. A detour will add a few more ks but it’ll either be flat or downhill all the way to L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. Did I say that right?”
“Yeah, pretty good, actually. There’s another lavender farm along the way, I think.” Abi hunted until she found the small museum of lavender at the mid-point of their route. “I won’t say no to avoiding a hill, to be honest.”
“Peter has us riding a monster route again tomorrow, too,” Jen warned. “I reckon I can flatten that out a little if you want.”
Abi swirled her phone so she could get a better look. Pinching in the screen, she found what she was looking for. “Do you like caves?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“If we go this way tomorrow, we can visit the Grottes de Thouzon. Beautiful caves, and we can walk up to ruins of the local monastery.”
With their plan in hand, they mounted up and free-wheeled down the hill, making good time. They passed more lavender fields on the way, and cyclists peddling up to Roussillon. The ride was idyllic. Trees lined the way until the landscape transitioned to vineyards and fields, proffering sweeping views of the hills in the distance. A little gravity lifted Abi’s spirits, and when traffic allowed they rode two abreast she so could share tidbits about the Luberon area, its wines and history.
The lavender museum provided a quaint stop, giving them time to stretch their legs and buy a souvenir or two. Back on their bikes, they rode straight through to L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue.
Peter stood waiting for them when they arrived at their accommodation in the centre of town, a contrite frown in place. “Ladies, we have a minor problem.” His hands tapped nervously at the top of Abi’s suitcase handle as they dismounted. He didn’t give them a moment to catch their breath before he launched in. “Mr and Mrs Hudson told me they need to spend a night apart and have taken two of the booked rooms. And because it is high season,” and he waved a hand at the crowds wandering the street, “the hotel has no other rooms. But you are friends,” and he pressed his palms together in a silent prayer, a hopeful smile in place. “So I am hoping that your sharing a room together tonight will be ok with you.”
Jen’s eyes went wide, but Abi only chuckled and gave her a nudge. “Well, there’s that divorce you didn’t think you’d see,” she chided. “That’s fine, Peter.”
“There is only one bed,” he blurted.
“Eh. Just like boarding school,” and she winked at Jen. “Not a problem. All I care about is getting a bloody good night’s sleep. My legs are jelly.”
Peter stowed their bikes in the van and took their bags in to get them checked in.
With their room key in hand, Abi led the way through the foyer and up the stairs. As she pushed their room door open, they both stood and stared at the tiny space awaiting them. “This isn’t too bad,” she offered, shrugging as she wheeled her bag in. “A little cramped, but look, we’ve a balcony. Overlooking the river.” She pulled open the French doors and leant on the wrought-iron balustrade. Not so much a balcony as a guardrail. A cool breeze rose off the water and ruffled the thin curtains.
Jen slowly closed the door and dumped her pack. The room was snug, with hardly enough space to walk around the bed. Which was a small double. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“I made an executive decision back there. Are you alright with this?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course!” What more could she say? They had no other choice. And she didn’t need to come off sounding like a prude yet again. She’d made enough of an ass of herself.
“What side do you prefer?”
It took a minute for the penny to drop. “Oh! Ha, the, ah, the left? If that’s ok?”
“Great. I’m a spreader, but I’ll try not to crowd you out.” Mischief marked her smirk. “Right, we have a few hours of light and you’ll love this town. But I need a shower. Bags the bathroom?” The door to their ensuite closed before she could say anything.
Jen sat, editing and posting a few photos from the day whilst Abi busied herself in their tiny bathroom. She could hear her splashing about. Then the singing started. Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off, of all things. When she reappeared, she was wrapped in a hotel towel, her skin pink and fresh.
“That was the best shower of my life! Though the water pressure is pants. A bit of an irony given our location. What’s so funny?”
Jen struggled to contain her laughter. “I never took you for a Swiftie.”
“What’s a swiftie??”
“Taylor Swift fan.”
“Ha! God, don’t tell anyone. Edinburgh is home to The Proclaimers. I’d be exiled if anyone found out I know enough lyrics to be called that. Anyway, usually when I sing it’s not my song choices people complain about.”
“I’ve always been partial to angsty songs about bad break ups.”
“That explains a lot. Go shower, you stink,” and she hustled her into the bathroom.
Jen emerged ten minutes later in fresh shorts and a t-shirt, feeling like a new person. Abi was bent over near the window, blow drying her hair. She’d been a slave to her ponytail for the last few days and as she stood and flicked her thick russet mane over her shoulder, Jen stopped and stared. Framed in the window, it was a fiery halo around her face, startlingly transfixing. She turned away before Abi caught sight of her wide eyes and stunned blush.
L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue was more beautiful than Jen expected, partly, she suspected, because Abi was in such good spirits. They wandered the river, following the waterwheel trail which took them past historic sites, quaint cafes and houses, her impromptu tour guide prattling happily about all the wonders of the historic town. Trees dotted the banks, providing much needed early evening shade, and they took the occasional opportunity to stop and sit by the water and people-watch.
Their choice of riverside restaurant was driven more by how much further they could be bothered walking than the menu. Abi’s French got them a riverside table and a bottle of a rare local cuvée, the bubbles a refreshing lift. They spent the evening comparing their very different childhoods—bustling Edinburgh versus sleepy Bathurst. Jen was as fascinated by tales of hanging out at pubs older than Australia as Abi was by year-round summers and road trips to places she couldn’t wrap her tongue around.
“Come to Australia, there’s so much to see.” Jen emptied their third bottle of wine into her glass, pulling a face of disgust as the last drops fell. “Honestly, you’ll love it.”
“I never get jobs for Down Under. I’m a Europe specialist. But I should come for a holiday.” She caught a waiter’s eye and got them another bottle of red. She was handling her wine far better than Jen.
“Absolutely! I’ll take some time off work and show you around.” Between the sun, the ride and the wine, her impulse control was gone, but she didn’t really care. “You can stay with me. Bondi is great. I’ve got a car, we can take a road trip up to Brisbane and the Gold Coast! Oh, and I’ve got bikes! We can go riding. Where it’s flat!”
Abi sat back in her seat and stared at her. “What are you like when you’re home? Day one Jen and day six Jen are very different.”
“I am boring and uptight,” she grumbled, tilting her wineglass at her. “But I am trying to do something about that.”
“Well, that’s good! The boring bit happens to the best of us, but the uptight bit you can do away with. What’s your strategy, so I can share your hot tips with my readers?”
“Spontaneous travel, good wine, attractive company,” Jen volunteered.
“Oh,” and her eyebrows shot up. “So you’re only hanging around with me for my good looks?”
“Apparently I’m shallow,” Jen shrugged. “Who knew?” Abi’s salty laugh made her smile wider. “If day one Jen was boring, why did you stick with me?”
“I suspected day six Jen would be worth the wait.”
“Wait til day seven.”
Isle sur la Sorge to Venasque return
Saturday, 8 July, 2017
Jen rolled out of bed well before sunrise and tiptoed into the en suite for a glass of water. Despite being drunker than she’d been in longer than she could remember, she’d hardly slept. She couldn’t remember returning to the hotel, or getting into bed, and she must have dozed for a few hours, but as soon as she’d slept off the wine, every time Abi moved in bed, she jolted wide awake. Whether it was the bouncy mattress, creaky cast-iron frame, or because she hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for so long, she didn’t know, but the night left her with a terrible sleep hang-over. Or wine hang over. Or both. She wasn’t entirely sure. Sitting on the toilet seat, she slumped her shoulders and stretched her neck, trying to ease her headache and not throw up.
“You ok?” Abi stood in the doorway in t-shirt and briefs. Disappearing for a moment, she returned with a bottle of water and some Panadol. “I forgot to give you a couple last night.”
“Today is going to be hard work,” she groaned, popping two tablets and swilling a mouthful of water.
“Nothing breakfast and my good looks won’t fix.” She laughed at Jen’s confusion. “Ok, you remember nothing.”
“Oh god,” she closed her eyes. “What did I do?”
“Let’s get some breakfast. No respectable Frenchman will be up at this hour, but we should find coffee, at least.”
Jen stood under the shower, trying to wash away her foggy head and sore neck. How much had she drunk the night before? She remembered dinner, and talking about Scottish pubs, but anything after that was a blur. Obviously she’d said or done something, and as she towelled herself dry, nausea kicked in with a vengeance. A moment later, she was throwing up in the toilet.
“Jen?”
“I’m ok, I’m fine!”
A long silence. “Do you need anything?”
Just my dignity, she brooded, sitting on the cold tiles, her forehead on the toilet seat.
The last moments of dawn flicked a golden light over the river as they stepped out onto the street. Fresh air was a welcome panacea, and Jen drew a deep, grounding breath, grateful for a moment of relief. Abi led them through back lanes to a tiny hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, one of only a handful in the town that opened before 8 a.m. With take-away espressos in hand, they found a spot on the river bank. They hadn’t talked about anything other than the day’s ride during the walk, an uncomfortable tension between them. Swallowing hard, Jen bit the bullet. “So, what did I do I might want to know about?”
