Although the days are warm to hot, mornings and evenings can be cool, so wrapped in my jacket I bought a coffee at the campsite bar to go with the croissants that I had pre-ordered. First in the queue at 7 am, the campsite soon came to life. Sanitary facilities are how you judge campsites, this one had plenty of clean, modern, free showers but very few, older WCs. I was forced to sit on a low one, intended for children, with "smilies" on the walls around me, and I had to provide my own toilet paper.
My day's adventure started with an easy walk along the valley, mainly on a minor road among trees but with an excursion on a path along a grass slope. The road ended at a car park, and from there a stream of Saturday walkers set off up the adjacent valley. Initially the path was good, a child pointed out the marmots living in the grass covering the valley floor. At first the path was only gently rising, but then it started climbing more aggressively and after a bit of effort I reached the first lake, Lac du Lauzanier. Many of the day walkers dropped out here, the grass areas surrounding it would be great for a picnic, with views of high mountains all around.
The flowers that were so attractive in July have now died back, although there are still enough to gladden the heart of a "randonneur". The yellow flowers of Ladies Bedstraw, were doing well in places. A rougher path among rocks and more climbing led to a higher cluster of lakes. Ahead of, and well above me, was the main pass of the day, "Pas de la Cavale". After much more climbing the route traversed a wide arc of scree to reach the pass, but the descent was more severe. Later when I looked back towards the pass I found it hard to see the route I had taken. The steeply dropping path was at first through rocks, that from a distance looked like a cliff face. Below this outcrop there was more scree to negotiate. With my trekking poles I stabbed the sliding gravel and rubble ahead of me to gain some purchase. My left knee gave the odd squeal of pain when my foot slid into an awkward position on the rough rocks.
The path eased off in an area of wide, grass lined pits. A sign explained they had been formed when the gypsum in the strata had dissolved in the rain. I had thought the path would now descent into Bousieyas, but I had somehow missed that there was another pass. What seemed like a long climb to my tired legs took me to the Col des Fourches. Concrete bunkers greeted me, their gun ports facing me, as I crested the pass. Beyond I walked into the remains of an old army camp, built in the 1890's, the buildings largely intact but the roofs missing. The road beside it twisted and turned as it ran up the mountainside. Noisy motorcycles raced up and down, a couple with cameras on their helmets to record their experience of acing up and down mountain roads. Cars and campervans proceeded at a more sedate pace, especially at the tight turns. Bicycles went uphill slowly and downhill as fast as the cars in front of them allowed.
Having walked down into the valley, crossing the winding road many times, I have reached the Gîte communal de Bousieyas. Sleeping arrangements are on platforms, in three layers. I picked one at the end on the second storey so I will only have someone on one side. The guardian tells me it will be almost out full. I am hoping I do not have to visit the toilet tonight.
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