I am Robin Hood. Even without the (toy) bow and arrow I had to abandon because airport security apparently don’t like those kind of things in hand luggage, I look bloody marvellous. My green tunic fits snugly over a long-sleeved white shirt, thick black cuffs line my wrists, an arrow-holder crosses my shoulder to carry my non-existent weapons and my noble steed is rushing me through the forest, navigating the terrain with the grace of a …
Bang. Crash. Ouch. A loose tie on my boot has got caught in the wheel of my mountain bike, causing it – and me – to skid across the woodland’s loose, muddy floor and into the bike of an elderly gentleman dressed in a lion onesie. “Fait attention!” he shouts angrily, before remounting to cycle off with a mutter of what I’m sure was “Stupid English girl” in his mother tongue.
As far as outfits for cycling a 50-mile, off-road course go, there are better. But there are also worse, such as the rather short, velvet Maid Marian dress with added princess tiara for “bling” my friend Jenna is struggling to maintain her modesty in. Not that either of us look out of place, mind. We’re taking part in La Medocaine, an annual mountain bike event around France’s southern Medoc region which encourages participants to embrace a festival spirit through the means of fancy dress.
Of course, as the little sister of the Marathon du Medoc, the wine marathon I got obliterated at last year, that is not the only thing we’re being encouraged to embrace. All seven route options – which vary from 12 to 50m – lead cyclists not only around the red-wine region’s dreamy chateaux, but also through them, to ensure the athletes can rehydrate with a swig of the delightful vintages.
Much to the horror of almost everyone we had announced it to, Jenna and I have opted to take on the longest route, dismissing everyone’s concerns about our ability to complete it with a simple reassurance that “we’ve cycled before”. It’s true; although what we haven’t accounted for is that the bike ride doesn’t just follow a leisurely route along flat, concrete roads. It also includes root-covered woodland, grassy fields, pebbly country lanes and vineyards. Lots and lots of vineyards.
Gravel and sand are some of the optimum constituents for growing the merlot and cabernet sauvignon grapes in this area. They also happen to be (probably) the worst surfaces to cycle on. Gravel has a wonderful habit of sending your back wheel flying off into a random direction like a bucking horse, while sand just brings the entire bike – and rider – to a halt. By just mile three it is already really tough going, and needless to say, confidence in our ability to complete the route starts waning.
Fortunately, nothing cures cycling angst quite like a chateau stop, and there are rather a lot of them. Each one is like coming across a country fair-cum-children’s birthday party – assuming the child in question is rather partial to a glass or two. There is music, dancing, games, pirates, the Mario Bros, Shrek and Princess Fiona, tables filled with party food (cakes, biscuits, crisps, sweets) and, of course, wine. At around mile seven, we get our first taste at Chateau Cantenac Brown, and it does far more for me than any energy drink ever has.
It is a moderate sip, however, because while the French are fun, they’re not stupid. At least, the organisers aren’t: a man wearing only a singlet and a nappy who has an – empty – bottle of wine in his bike’s water bottle holder by mile 10 might be a bit stupid. As well as not overfilling our glasses, not every chateau serves the strong stuff, so we’re never drunk or at risk of causing ourselves serious harm.
Not that we could do much damage at the slow pace we’re going anyway, but then, the last thing you want to do when cycling round an area as pretty as the Medoc is go fast. Put it this way; if the Disney princesses decided to get together for a Real Housewives of Orange County-esque reality television series, this is where they would base it. Each chateau is a miniature castle, with great hulking towers and lush grounds preened to perfection. The small towns in between are cobbled and quaint, and roses have been planted at the end of every vine, because verdant rows aren’t quite agreeable enough.
Even the impressive aesthetics don’t prevent Jenna getting a bit wobbly around mile 30, however, both emotionally and in terms of her ability to cycle in an upright position. While we cottoned early on that my friend works best under the influences of Taylor Swift songs and sugar lumps, there has been a lull in stops, and we’ve sung Swifty’s entire album twice. Jenna is hot (it turns out velvet isn’t the most breathable of materials), tired and no longer a fan of cycling. An unfortunate situation, considering she still has 20 miles left and it has just begun to get hilly …
Then something remarkable happens. It turns out that mountain biking in a dress that shows your knickers has an upside: the number of gallant young Frenchmen willing to help push you up the steep bits. Upset to see “the princess” struggling, knights and giant strawberries joyfully take it in turns to cycle alongside my friend and give her a helpful shove. While I wonder if the cycling gloves that conveniently cover Jenna’s wedding ring were really added for sporting reasons, I’m delighted that we’re back on track.
Seven-and-a-half hours later, among a group of Minions, we finally pedal over the finish line. After spending far too long soaking up the, er, atmosphere at each of the chateaux, we’ve come in more than three hours later than our estimated finish time. Still, it is enough to appease all our doubters, and the bottle of wine we receive as a finishing prize ensures we leave the merriest of women – and not just in terms of costume.
Vicky tweets @TravellerVicky
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