Pilgrimage from the Cathedral of the Holy Spirit to the Cathedral of the Holy Family (second leg)

 Second leg: Poitiers to Toulouse (with Job)

 Last year my friend Donald Hirsch and I cycled from Guildford Cathedral to Poitiers, using the Portsmouth to Ouistreham ferry. The account of that ride is here –

 https://sternfieldthoughts.blogspot.com/2024/07/a-pilgrimage-from-cathedral-of-holy.html

 This year we took the same ferry, cycled to Caen, took the train to Poitiers, and here we began the second leg of our journey.

 To see our route for 2024 and 2025, please click here. Many thanks to Donald.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1kyRGN-YC8lxs29pJJwmcrQIzQ3ySiSE-/view?usp=drive_link

Day 1: Monday 28^th April - Poitiers to Vivonne

 Short and simple

‘As I have seen, those who plough iniquity…reap the same’ (Job 4: 8)

 There was nothing onerous about getting to Poitiers. The ride from the ferry to Caen was a breeze, the train ride, via Tours, smooth, and once in Poitiers it was just fourteen-miles to the campsite. From the railway station there was a longish hill to climb with traffic growling past us, but soon we were out on a quiet French D road. Blissful. The campsite, by a river, was virtually empty. The tent went up with no issues, our day ended well.

 A naïve conclusion would be that this leg was going to be hunky dory, just like last year. It wasn’t. Quick and easy conclusions are often flawed. Like the answer of the friends to Job’s suffering. You must have sinned, repent and all will be well. Short, simple, and wrong for Job.

 Day 2: Tuesday 29^th April Vivonne to Mansle

 Google messed up

‘Have you not asked those who travel the roads’ (Job 21:29)’

 As the first part of our quiet route was fiddly, Donald had decided to use Google Maps. To begin with all was wonderful. We were on narrow, empty roads. But then those narrow roads became farm-tracks, and our pace slowed. Forty miles or so of farm-tracks was not going to work. We emerged on to a minor road, came to cross-roads, and got the map out. We needed a gentle road to the next town, Chaunay. As we were looking at the map an SUV drew up. A well-dressed lady got out of her car with her map, the navigation meeting became more intense, and a road was found. But then a cyclist arrived, an older man, and he joined this meeting at the cross roads. He had another opinion. The route the lady was suggesting would be problematic for us. There was a very long hill to climb. He suggested another way, which we took.

 We arrived in Chaunay later than we hoped for our coffee and croissants, and outside the Tabac was Oliver, smoking in the sun. He had lived in Northern Ireland and spoke good English. We nearly veered into one of those ‘Everything is terrible in the world’ conversations, but, thankfully, things were steered to matters of faith. He was an artist, a free spirit, a Gnostic: God is in everyone, he is God. I encouraged him to read John’s Gospel. He said he would. Asked by Oliver about his faith, Donald said he was agnostic. As we left, Donald had a riddle for me: why did silver separate him and Oliver? I should have got it, but I have never had a close relationship with the Periodic Table.

 We cycled on down the quiet roads, soon arriving at the small town of Civray on market day. A perfect place for our elevenses. We rode on into the country side. All so good, so peaceful.

 And then, a mile or so outside a small village, Donald had a puncture. We walked to change the inner tube under the shade of the church. It was the back tyre, so you have to lift the wheel quite high to get the wounded inner tube over all the gears. We got the new one in, but then, as Donald set off, there was a horrible noise. The chain was snarled up. Off the wheel came again to sort that out. Now we needed a bike shop, to get another spare inner tube, and, a new back tyre, because it looked a little worn out. This happened at ‘Intersport’ in Ruffec.

 After a rather hot afternoon ride, we arrived at our evening destination, Mansle. As we entered the town, Donald let out a cry of frustration. He had checked on the internet, but now a bill board announced that the campsite was shut till May. A tent pitch is about ten Euros. No campsite meant a hotel room, and all the eating places in the town were shut, so, it was the hotel restaurant. All perfectly reasonable and decent, but a bit more than ten Euros.

 Google, let us down today. Job’s friends with their ‘only sinners suffer’ mantra was like an AI chant. To this mantra Job counters that the opposite is true: it is the wicked who do well. They prosper, live in peace, and in death they are honoured. And then his sharp question: ‘Have you not asked those who travel the roads?’

 For our route this morning Google took us into fields, the kind lady only knew what was good for cars – but the man who cycled the roads, he knew.

 Day 3 Wednesday 30^th April: Mansle – Chevanceaux

 Things are not fixed

 ‘He who removes mountains and they know it not…who shakes the earth out of it place…. if it is not he, who then is it?’ (Job 9: 5, 6, 24)

 After our hotel rest, we were on the road early in the morning, full of energy. We made excellent progress, despite some longish hills. By lunch we had already clocked up forty miles. According to the plan we only had another ten miles to do.

 It is easy to feel a little precious when you have worked out a route, especially when changing it means finding new campsites. So I made my suggestion gingerly. I was worried about Friday, when we were due to ride sixty miles, with some stiff hills at the end. I suggested that we try and do at least another fifteen miles or so today, to lessen the pressure on Friday. Donald listened carefully and agreed – as long as there were campsites. There were. Donald, quite rightly, likes to plan carefully. But he doesn’t lock himself into a fixed system. He knows there has to be flexibility. So, the new plan became official, and off we rode.

 And then another slow puncture, this time it was Donald’s front tyre. We managed to get to the town of Barbezieux, and Donald said he was fine changing the inner tube by himself. So I went into the cool empty church for my midday snooze. I was woken up by a rather distraught Donald calling out my name. He couldn’t get the front wheel off. The thread had gone. That meant he had to walk it to the bike shop which was about two miles away. He walked fast, the bike shop found, the tyre was off, a new self-release clip put on, and now the front tyre had a new inner tube. On paper this should have been the last puncture for Donald’s bike.

 It wasn’t. That’s why this leg wasn’t hunky dory plain sailing. Donald had two more punctures. On the next day it was the back tyre – again. Our conclusion was that the new inner tube had a dodgy valve. And the day after it was the front wheel. That too needed a new tyre. Four days – each day a puncture. And the bike had been in for a thorough service at Evans in Guildford.

 We prepared well for this ride. We practised. When I got a pain in my left-hand calf muscle, I saw a physio, gave up tennis, and religiously did his exercises. We got our bikes serviced at Evans, a cut above Halfords. Donald had a plan A for the route, which, thankfully he wasn’t precious about because he has travelled the roads.

 Things seemed fixed – but they weren’t. Job’s friends tried to push all of life into one fixed system. But Job understood that life is not about a fixed system. We live in a world where God ‘removes mountains.’ It is unpredictable, often wild, definitely dangerous and wholly impossible to pin down. Just like the Creator.

 Day 4 Thursday 1^st May: Chevanceaux – Blasimon

 No watch

Oh that you would…appoint me a set time and remember me (Job 14:13)

 Just as we were about to leave the campsite, which had cost us a grand total of 8.60 Euros, I wanted to take note of the time. I looked at my wrist. No watch. I must have left it in the wash area. No, it wasn’t there. Nor was it in the shower. Nor was it where we had pitched out tent. So – it must be in either my panniers or small rucksack. I would find out in the evening when we unpacked.

 The cycling was tiring today, with plenty of long hills; but the scene of vineyards stretching wherever your eye looked was beautiful. Today was especially quiet. For the French take May Day seriously, most shops and cafes are shut. Thankfully we found a café open for our croissants and coffee, and we managed to get our lunch from a supermarket. We should have got our supper too, because by the time we got to our campsite, everything was closed. We made do with a leftover roll from lunch, and a few nuts. We were both fine, possibly because we had had such a fine lunch yesterday when Donald had a puncture. Just by a bike shop there was a picturesque restaurant looking over the canal. There we had a set three course lunch, served with a smile, costing I think about 16 Euros. It eased the pain of yet another puncture.

 Back to today. After getting the tent up and looking through both my panniers I declared my watch officially lost. I was annoyed, but I also wondered whether there was a message here. Perhaps a pilgrim should not be measuring time. We had to travel in the daylight, our bodies told us when to rest, our stomachs when to eat. There was no need for a watch. The need was to take in what was happening all around me, to listen carefully in conversations with Donald, to worship and pray when I dropped behind which often happened as Donald was faster than me.

 Surely there is a need also to see time in a less sliced up way. For apart from Job’s early morning prayers, there is nothing in the rest of the book about the time of day. We do not know whether his friends arrived to see him in the morning or evening. It’s the same for their conversations, even the arrival of God. The focus of the story is not on the time of day, but a grander, more serious focus on what time means. So, Job wants God to hide him till his wrath is past, and then ‘appoint me a set time, and remember me’. The time that matters is that yearning for that ‘set time’, that encounter, that appointment, not with a system, but with God.

 Day 5 Friday 2^nd May: Blasimon – Lac de damazon

 An unexpected event

 ‘Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?’ (Job 38:4)

 Our goal was La Reole. This was where we would join the more than hundred-mile-long Le Canal Garonne cycle path to Toulouse and say good-bye to hills for the rest of our trip. We had our breakfast in Reole on some church steps, and then it was downhill to the canal.

 As I sailed through the town, I looked back and there was no Donald. Where was he? It had taken him a bit of time to get ready to move off after breakfast, but now what was going on? He eventually appeared and thankfully I suppressed the mild but rising irritation. For I was the reason for his delay. I had dropped my sunglasses in the street and he had rescued them from the traffic. Patience is always best for the pilgrim.

 It is impossible not to notice how well the French look after their country. As for their small roads and villages, so for this canal path. Unlike the tow paths in England which are often muddy and narrow, this was tarmacked, and wide. It was cycling heaven.

 Before Reole, there were quite a few hills to climb. When I was going up one slowly I felt a thud on my upper right arm. It was an unexpected event. And sudden. I looked, and there was a messy red pear shape on my arm. I wiped it away, and immediately knew this wasn’t blood. There was no smear. So, it was some sort of juice.

 Just before I was hit, a car had passed. Perhaps one of the passengers had finished their fruit and either decided just to throw it out, or, they aimed at me. The latter is possible, for I was wearing a helmet with the union jack on it. This was a joke Brexit birthday present from my brother. So – a nationalistic French man or woman, already perhaps angry about English tourists, saw the perfect target and took aim. I will never know for sure.

 In Chapter 38 God arrives out of a tornado and bombards Job with a hundred questions, all seeking to show that Job did not know much and could not do much. One of the first is the magnificent, ‘Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?’ (38:4). His question to me if I started to fault His Providence could be much more pedestrian: ‘Do you know why you were hit with fruit when climbing that hill?’ We don’t know and the invitation from Job is to trust that God does know what He is doing.

 Day 6 Saturday 3^rd May: Lac de Demazon – Moissac

 God’s cathedral and choir

‘Hear this O Job, stop and consider the wondrous works of God’ (Job 37:14)

 From morning till early afternoon the wide gentle canal was our companion. The sunlight played on the water, and there were often magnificent views, across the flat fields to the hills in the distance. Standing guard along the banks of the canal were mature London planes, their new spring leaves sprinkling shadow over us. They were like the columns in a magnificent medieval cathedral.

 We were cycling from the cathedral of the Holy Spirit to the cathedral of the Holy Family – through God’s vast cathedral of creation, the ‘wondrous works of God.’

 And both here on the canal and for nearly all of our journey the choir were with us. The quietness of the French roads, and certainly this canal path, meant all the birdsong was easy to hear. It was constant but varied. Sometimes it was just a general chorus or tweeting and chirping, but every so often a soloist would rise above this singing demanding our attention – a cuckoo, a woodpecker, and others whose names I didn’t know. We were being encouraged.

 Elihu, the young man in Job’s story, is a difficult character. There is much to dislike about him. He’s self-righteous, angry, pompous, dogmatic, and long-winded. But, as with the other friends, he too has some gems, and one of them is the appeal to ‘consider the wondrous works of God’. Cycling is surely one of the best ways to do this, for we are constantly with creation. And, beyond our thinking, the beauty feeds our souls with thankfulness and yes, wonder.

 Day 7 Sunday 4^th May: Moissac

 Loyalty and kindness

He who withholds kindness from a friend, forsakes the fear of the Almighty (Job 6:14)

 This was a day of Sabbath rest from cycling. I enjoyed the service at the Abbey. The singing from the two hundred or so in the congregation was good, everyone knew the liturgy, and the priest was full of smiles as he walked up and down the aisle delivering is homily on John 21. You sensed his sincerity.

 After the service, a day of space and quiet. And a butterfly. In the afternoon, when I was sitting by my tent, it came and fluttered around me, finally settling on my arm. He or she was quite content there. Then the unnerving thought came that perhaps this was God’s messenger about my imminent departure. As had happened to the butterfly, we will all be changed in the twinkling of an eye. The butterfly flew away. I am still here.

 A restful day for me. Not for Donald. Once we had planned our trip, his aunt passed away and the date of the funeral was set for May 4^th. Quite rightly Donald wanted to be there, but he also wanted to finish this part of the ride with me. Rather than blank either his family or the ride he went more than the extra mile. On Saturday evening he got the train to Toulouse and flew back to Stansted. He stayed in a hotel there, and then got the train on Sunday morning to Guildford. From here he drove with his wife to Lewes for the funeral, where he gave a eulogy. His cousins deeply appreciated his support. Very early on Monday morning he drove to Heathrow and got an early flight to Toulouse. It should have been a train back to Moissac, but there was a strike on. So he got a taxi. All of this was not cheap, especially the taxi.

 Donald would not talk about 'forsaking the fear of the Almighty', but here was kindness for his family and his friend . This pilgrimage has thrown up many incidents to learn from, this is surely one of the most precious.

 Day 8 Monday 5^th May: Moissac – Toulouse, Job Street.

 Rootedness

Then came all his brothers and sisters…and ate bread with him (Job) in his house (Job 42:11)

 I clapped as the taxi drove up the drive to the campsite, with a beaming Donald. Rather than being tired from his early start, he was full of energy and enthusiasm for what would just be five more hours of cycling. The bikes were ready and we were soon breezing along by the canal for our forty-five-mile ride to Toulouse. The beauty of the canal remained, but as we got nearer the city, the surroundings became more commercial, the graffiti on the bridges more common,.

 Soon we were in busy streets. We were going to stay with an old university friend of Donald’s, Professor Paul Seabright, who lived near the station. So we went there first for a photo, and then we had a celebratory beer by the Basilica. The second stage of our pilgrimage was over.

 Paul’s house was in 4 Rue Job. And near to it was a Rue Zacharias. So I assumed this was an area where the council liked naming their streets after characters from the Old Testament. Completely wrong. The street was named after a man who had done well making cigarette papers. His initials were JB. And somehow an ‘O’ got inserted.

 With its enclosed garden and large well lived in rooms, Paul’s home was an oasis. It spoke of rootedness. This is where, after a season at Oxford and then Cambridge, Paul had put down roots after being appointed the Professor of Economics at Toulouse University. During our ride Donald and I had had a long conversation about rootedness. Donald travels a lot, but he belongs to Guildford. And that is an anchor for both his own family, and his wider family. I too have put down roots in nearby Farncombe. And I hope our home, 45 Green Lane, is a place of rest for our family. There has been some adventure and beauty about getting on our bikes and heading off into the wide spaces of France with just a tent and a sleeping bag, but that adventurous beauty is held firm by our homes and families. We should treasure rootedness.

 At the start of the story, Job was established in ‘the land of Uz’. The vicious crash comes, his wife tells him to curse God, he curses the day of his birth, the friends come and harangue him - but he stays in his house. We would have understood if he had moved. At the end of his story, in that same house, all is restored to him, and his brothers and sisters come and eat with him. The rootedness was there for the good times, the bad, and then the good again. Moving would not have helped. That physical rootedness speaks of Job’s spiritual rootedness. He never let go of the fact that God was Someone you could talk to. Indeed, in Chapter 19 the dark clouds draw back for a few seconds and we have the exquisite:

  ‘I know my Redeemer lives and at the last he will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh, I shall see God.’

 The next day Donald and I got our bikes into bike bags and flew back to London and, fairly late on Tuesday evening, we put keys into our respective front doors. We were home. Grateful for the cycling, very grateful for our homes.