Cerbère; the final – and most horrific – downhill of the trip. June 14, 1981
There’s a huge pothole in the middle of the old concrete road ahead which I’m thinking Louis the First’s great-grandfather paved as a boy. I have to cross this at an angle to maintain any speed at all, and with a plant of my poles, I fly over the hole and land with only a foot or two before hitting the “safety rail” by the cliff. The low safety rail on the cliff side is no more that a trip-wire for my feet, obviously placed there to ensure I would transition to a lovely head-first swan dive for the tourists as I plunge into the rocks below. “NOT TODAY!” I scream. More gasping from the cafes below.