Out of our campsite paradise at dawn to head over the low-lying mountains in the surrounding countryside to Marseille - and then on to the famed calanques south of the city, a series of Mediterranean fjords whose rocky folds hide picture-perfect fishing villages with their boat-filled harbours...
...but first, disaster! As we exit Aix-en-Provence, it quickly becomes apparent that Valkyrie's derailleur is not going to cooperate. We pull over, get in a daily stretch, pull the bags off, grab the tools, and set to work...only to be forcibly relocated a few minutes later when a road maintenance van on its morning rounds joins us on the road shoulder. Its two occupants climb down to tell us that this is a dangerous curve - but cut themselves short upon seeing that our derailleur troubles have rendered us immobile. They jump in, attempting to adjust the derailleur limiting screws to fix the problem, testing the adjustments by rotating the pedals...but they give up quickly, deciding that this sort of problem is best left to professional bike mechanics...
...which are in understandably short supply 5 km out of Aix-en-Provence along the minor highway, so they make an offer we can't refuse: they will drive us and our bikes to the nearest open bike repair shop, making use of their spacious rear cabin to carry our voluminous equipment! We are soon on our way; in passable French, I explain our journey to them with its peculiar ups and downs. We have long since reached the point where most anyone we discuss our trip with is positively floored by its sheer magnitude (well, everyone except crazy bike mechanics who have left the working world to travel for five years with their dogs and 67 kg of their dearest personal possessions...) They wish us good luck for the rest of our travels, leaving us at Decathlon - this being Monday, smaller shops are closed - with a bright yellow reflective vest courtesy of the French road service (so we can ride later at night without dying, you see.)
We spend some time at Decathlon due to the pitiful state our bikes are in. Valkyrie's derailleur needs tuning; our brake pads (yes, all eight!) are worn down to the metal in several places and must be replaced (and readjusted!); the tires are under-inflated and slightly out of true...a daunting set of repairs! Nevertheless, we purchase the necessary parts, deferring any procedures we aren't familiar with to the in-store mechanics. Once that is done, we have to reorient ourselves on the map; we are now in a peripheral district of Aix-en-Provence by the name of les Milles, which puts us off our original intended route to Marseille...
...but we find our way back onto it soon enough, the distance made significantly easier by our firmly-inflated inner tubes. The ride to Marseille is short, and we are soon taking a dégustation of pastis (the local anise-flavoured liqueur) by the Vieux Port and riding up around the cathedrals near Le Panier; we then cross the harbour and head for the calanques, our passage aided by blustery tailwinds.
We reach the foot of the road into Morgiou about 1700 - and find the calanque closed; there is an extreme fire warning on for the day, so that remote forested areas must close their gates to protect the foolish tourists. We sit around for a bit and try to hitch a ride up the road, but no one stops to pick us up. At one point in our frustrated waiting, we even climb up into the hills around the security post, evaluating the likelihood that we could evade notice (next to zero, sadly...) Finally, we decide to talk to the security guards one more time...
...and find them unusually receptive; they are a pair of expat Algerians who, upon learning that we are North American, regale us with their special Obama dance. They invite us into the booth away from the high winds, and let us lean our bikes against the outside wall; they show us pictures of the calanque at Morgiou and surrounding coastline; we share stories of our travels (again in my passable French) and read articles out of the daily papers about deranged mothers and political scandals, whatever the particular panic is today...seeing that we are completely determined to see this calanque No Matter What, they inform us that they will leave their post at 1900, at which time no one will be around to stop us from continuing on. (We don't make the rules, they assure us; it is our job to stop people, etc.) They even write out their official blessing on a sheet of paper: "Au part des agents de sécurité Momo et Sofiane"...
We head up the steep road - which is steep enough in some parts that we must walk, for the first time since that dreadful headwind between Tarifa and Algeciras - and soon find ourselves in Morgiou, whereupon we lock our bikes by the harbour and quickly locate a beach suitable for cooking and camping and all such things. A long yet eventful day, and what a place to finish it in!