Day 35 - June 12th: Green’s Way

Saint-Amans-Soult to Mons-la-Trivalle: 29.2 miles / Total: 921

Francesco is the owner of Demeure de Flore, a bed-and-breakfast tucked into the heart of the Haut-Languedoc. He bought the rundown estate in 2000 and has poured himself into it ever since spending the first 10 years renovating. He’s the chef, the attendant, the landscaper, the pool guy, the maintenance man—every role. Originally from Italy, he came to France to live out a dream. Now he thinks about returning to quiet little Puglia someday, but in the meantime, he’s crafting memorable experiences for his guests.

The property is immaculate—English-style hedges, lush gardens, a serene pool, and richly decorated common areas. Christina, Jax, and I enjoyed his set menu last night: ravioli stuffed with eggplant in a homemade sauce, a filet with local mushrooms and endive, followed by tiramisu and a glass of Languedoc red. I was impressed that he rotates the menu daily for guests who stay more than one night.

At the pool and again at dinner, we met Duncan, a 74-year-old retired teacher from Wales, riding through Europe on his Honda Goldwing. His wife doesn’t enjoy riding, so he takes off solo for 17 days to chase mountain passes and discover new villages. He’s driven by curiosity—loves meeting people and learning about other cultures. He’s also a dog person. We bonded quickly; he’s got a 110-pound black Lab back home that he told me is a show dog.

Francesco served breakfast at 7:30. Since I hadn’t reached the hotel on foot the day before, I left early and ran back to close the gap in the cool morning air. As I stepped outside, Jax blockaded the door. Once I skirted him, he watched me from the shrubs. He tried to follow but limped and stopped—he knew it wasn’t going to happen today. Then he rolled over and played dead.

Christina picked me up when I finished that short section around 7:15 a.m., just in time for French press coffee and a continental breakfast. Then she drove me back to the B&B so I could continue the real day’s run.

I left Demeure de Flore and turned right onto a dreaded two-lane road with no shoulder, expecting a long, stressful day. But then I noticed a dirt road running parallel. I zoomed in on Google Maps—Voie Verte! Jackpot. I checked with ChatGPT and confirmed this greenway runs through most of the Haut-Languedoc. All I had to do was stay on it. The day was suddenly looking a lot better.

I wondered about the history of the path. Was it a rails-to-trails project like we have in the U.S., or something older? Some of the tunnels cut deep through mountains—one stretched at least a full kilometer. Would they build a tunnel like that today just for pedestrians and cyclists? In some areas, the trail passed under overgrown stone bridges, their age hidden by ivy and time. In others, the path had been cut and reinforced with worn stone retaining walls, softened now by years of rain and erosion.

The trail hugged the mountain, and I felt like I was on the Orient Express—green slopes across the valley, switchback roads below, and silence above. I ran for long stretches inside a natural tunnel of trees, a shaded corridor that kept the sun at bay.

At one point, just before entering a tunnel, I spotted two mountain goats calmly grazing on a ledge above me, looking down as I passed below.

Can you find the two?

This one had beautiful horns.

I passed through Labastide-Rouairoux, a former textile town known for its wool mills during France’s industrial boom. The name itself—“bastide”—points to its medieval origin as a fortified village. Next was Saint-Amans-Valtoret, and then Courniou, once a Roman-era village with a long connection to mountain transit routes through Languedoc.

At 25 km—my usual morning checkpoint—I reached Saint-Pons-de-Thomières, a town literally carved into the valley between two mountains. The town dates back to the 9th century, when it was founded around a Benedictine abbey. I stopped at a boulangerie for pizza, a chocolate croissant, a Coke, coffee, and water. Then I got back on the trail, making the most of the cloud cover and mild 80s temps.

It was one of the best trail days I’ve had so far. Not a single step on a road after I found the Voie Verte. Just uninterrupted movement through nature.

The final town before my stop was Olargues, a medieval gem perched on a rocky outcrop and ranked among Les Plus Beaux Villages de France. Its most iconic feature is the Devil’s Bridge (Pont du Diable)—a striking 12th-century stone bridge that spans the Jaur River. According to legend, it was built with help from the devil himself—though more likely, it simply awed people with its design. It was once part of a major route through the mountains and is still remarkably intact. From the trail, I had a sweeping view of the town and the bridge, framed by the jagged backdrop of the Massif Central. It was stunning.

From there, it was just a few more kilometers to our hotel in Mons-la-Trivalle, which I ran straight into from the trail. No detours. No wasted time. Perfect.

Jax would have loved today. But I’m being patient with him—just like I’m learning to be with myself. There will be other days. My upper respiratory issue continues to improve. I’m sticking mostly to walking with occasional downhill jogging as long as I can nose-breathe and not aggravate my lungs.

Even taking it easy, today was my fastest day yet—averaging 16:18 per mile, including stops. Arrow point up.

That’s all for today. Time to recover and prep for tomorrow.

Thanks for the support.

Cheers,

David