Day 24: Éauze to Nogaro

Little Simon whoopsie-daisy landing on his bum

His walking partners snigger, seem to find the whole thing rum

And when the gazelle passes, all the pilgrims catch their breath

We marvel at his feats across the Aussie plain of death

20 May 2024, Monday

Distance hiked 27.5km (17.1m)

Ascent 443m

Nogaro, like many towns in France, has a tunnel of plane trees along the road in

We didn’t actually start in Éauze, so we passed through the town a few kilometres into today’s walk. I had run out of deodorant so stopped at a pharmacy to pick up some more (as well as some more blister treatment: soon I would buy Nok as had been recommended, but for now I was finding rubbing against the metatarsal pads I was wearing on my right foot). They were the only pharmacist open for 40km, apparently. Lucky me: another bank holiday I think, and a Monday to boot. This deodorant thing illustrated a point I’d made to several risk-averse people on the Chemin who’d overpacked and were carrying surplus weight: France does, apparently, have shops. The only things I brought in 30-day quantity were those I knew I couldn’t easily acquire on the way. So pills, toothpaste, deodorant, paper, whatever: no need to overstuff your rucksack with these things.

Other than an attractive church, Nogaro is rather ordinary

After Éauze the mud started again. Not like the run in to Condom, but pretty consistent and pesky. In the same way that most car accidents occur a mile from home (relaxing vigilance with familiarity), today I had my only fall. I was a little cocky dealing with a muddy corner of a field. I felt like Crocodile Dundee (“That’s not a knife. THIS is a knife!”). That wasn’t a muddy puddle. Oh dear, thought I, as my complacency had delivered my left leg to a position above my left hip and my left buttock and all associated with it in the mud. Wet undies, yuk.

I later caught up first with Michèle, with whom I walked for a good while and had a lovely chat, and then with Richard and Cathy. Richard had taken a tumble too, though in that way that sporty people have he didn’t show it as much as I did. Michèle must have found my muddy derriere quite amusing as she kept insisting on walking behind me whenever it went single file! I eventually pulled away from Michèle on some in-woods muddy stuff, and it was here that a veritable gazelle bounded past me. He was a man a little older than me but rather more athletic and I couldn’t believe how quickly he was proceeding down the muddy path.

Later on, coming into Manciet, I stopped with Richard and Cathy at a public bench at which the gazelle was munching his lunch. It turned out he was an adventure sportsman from Switzerland (I never actually got his name). He walks an average of 40+ km per day and had started from Geneva the same day I’d started from Le Puy: wow! He talked about some other walks and bike rides he’d done, all over Europe including the UK. But what got Richard and Cathy’s astonishment to new levels was that he’d cycled across the Nullarbor Plain in SW Australia. Cycled! 1,100 km of treeless, shadeless, rocky arid desert. This is a place where roadhouses are every 100km at best, and often represent the only possible places of refreshment, respite and water. They have no natural water, it is trucked in for them. A guide says if you cycle it you’d best be prepared for up to 200km between stops. I felt less ashamed that such a superman had overtaken me.

Michèle joined us and when we set off I walked with her, at a slightly slower pace than my normal one for my knee was really hurting. I enjoyed her company but I got slower and slower on the way to Nogaro which from this point was much more prone to tarmac than mud. She told me she was likely to take the bus the next day for at least part of the way to Aire-sur-l’Adour, and the idea felt appealing as my knee was aching and swelling.

As we left Manciet I bumped into Anne-Laure, from Moissac. I didn’t recognise her at first as she was all wrapped and hatted against the rain (it being so common by now, I have ceased writing the superfluous words “it was raining”). But she was thinking of hitch-hiking to Nogaro as her foot was very painful. I managed to persuade her not to, thankfully, but it is a sign of how tough the Chemin can be on any physical niggles or weaknesses you bring to it; and also perhaps a symptom of systemic Pilgrims’ Mud Avoidance Syndrome, making us all pound far more tarmac than we should. I resolved to cold turkey out of PMAS and sure enough the next chance I could I embraced the field path and the mud on my shoes.

I stayed in Nogaro at a chambre d’hôtes run by an elderly (but alert and fit) lady called Chantal. She was generous enough to offer to wash my clothes for me, praise be after the mud slide I did today. In the bathroom I did what I’m used to doing now, which is to disrobe actually in the shower cubicle as the dried-on mud just comes off like a meteor shower with socks, knee-brace and the rest.

After getting my body clean and the washing on, I wanted to call Cat as I did every evening, but I lay on my bed in some pain. In fact, it was a lot of pain. I couldn’t find a position which relieved the deep aching pain my knee was suffering. I waited about an hour for it to subside enough to hold a conversation and called her. I’d done 32 then 27 km over two days, a very large part of which on tarmac and the rest in joint-straining slippery circumstances. 60 klicks in two days of these conditions on a knee that was already suboptimal just pushed it beyond what it was willing to endure and we both agreed I should give it a rest the next day. She wanted me to plan to take two days off and then do short days, which I was willing to entertain based on how I felt but I would see. In the end I just took the one day off and nurtured myself a little and didn’t force the pace, and was able to get through the rest of the way in one piece; but this was a warning sign not to push myself too hard.

I went out for a dinner on my own at the brasserie in town, where I noted dozens of people sporting ID badges hanging from their necks on yellow thread, and I remembered Nogaro has a motor racing circuit of some renown. Some event must have been happening on this Monday and this was why I hadn’t been able to get a hotel when I’d booked even a couple of weeks back.

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