September 10, 2026
Éauze -> Nogaro
We hesitantly returned the Mille Bornes game and departed our cosy and cordial hotel at 8AM. Goodbye, refreshing Éauze.
The cool waves of autumn have thankfully arrived and we wore extra layers and soon had dew-wet toes. The ‘splendour in the vines’, over hill and dale, alternated with earthy forest paths.
We crested a gentle ridge… and beheld the fabled Pyrénées! The faint, serrated horizon was mildly validating – progress is being made.
Today’s natural stopover, Manciet, has a bull-ring that’s inevitable to the approaching walker; also colourful, unusual and photogenic. It’s bovine sport is ‘la Course Landaise‘ in which the matadors, resplendent as ever, simply try to dodge or leap over a charging bull. Simple in theory – online videos are not for the faint of heart!
A valley of tiered fishponds, more ancient alleys, some ‘faces of le chemin‘ photos and a plane tree canyon completed our jaunt to Nogaro.
After a bistro lunch (chèvre salad, le hamburger), we had 3 hrs to check in, so sauntered about. S’s eyes grew wide for the second time today at the sight of the ‘velorail’ sign. Velorail is self-explanatory, basically pedalling a Wile-E-Coyote 4-wheeled open cage along a disused section of railway. We’ve tried to do this before but have been thwarted by scheduling or weather every time – could this be the day?
Approaching the decommissioned train station, we saw the door to the velorail shed open and a chap inside – a good sign. When we inquired, he stammered something coarsely, looking rather dazed. Then he showed us his hand…
We quickly learned that frelon means hornet! He’d gulped a few antihistamines and had called 112, but the sapeurs were slow in arriving. Anyhow, the velorail wasn’t running today – he’d only been trying to clean up the property! We left briefly but returned to check, not wanting a full-on anaphylactic casualty on our conscience – his vital signs were stable and no wheezing. We may have to build our own rail machine at this rate…
The gîte was a bit Victorian-creepy, so we dined out (more chèvre and a melon-serrano ham salad), uneasy about the blunt-nosed 18-wheelers barreling through the heart of town. Apparently, doing this saves truckers 2km – an easy fix (speed bumps) eludes the bureaucracy so far.
Life is risky around here with rampaging toro’s and murderous hornets, so we don’t complain about our raw feet and sleep soundly, with one more stage to complete this chapter.
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