Day 39 - June 16th: Backwards
Grasse to Les Blimouse: 27.1 miles / 1,032 total
1,000 miles complete!
We crossed the 1k threshold yesterday a few kilometers short of where I finished at 2:45 PM. Feeling like a Tour de France cyclist—minus the elite athlete part—on one of their transfer days, we drove three hours after the finish to Grasse in the Côte d’Azur, where we’ll now work backwards toward Arles and Monica.
Grasse is known as the perfume capital of the world, a title it earned in the 18th century when local tanneries shifted to perfumery to mask the odor of treated leather gloves. Today, it’s home to legendary fragrance houses like Fragonard and Galimard. That said, logistics—not lavender—brought us here, as I needed to reroute to reach Arles by Friday. As we drove, the size of the mountains took us by surprise—we were entering the Maritime Alps, where Grasse sits on the southern edge of the range.
Christina, Jax, and I rolled into town around 6:30 PM and headed straight for the highest-rated open restaurant. Many spots are closed Sundays and Mondays, but NAGA Cambodian Street Food, a permanent food truck with benches out front, delivered. Tasty, spicy, and simple—exactly what we needed. I went with red chili rice, beef and pickled vegetables. Christina played it safe with the vegetarian bowl and regretted it. Full and happy, we checked into a Best Western—much nicer than its U.S. counterparts. I creaked up into the room feeling like I’d aged 20 years and passed out after my shower. Recovery tip: don’t follow a big run with a long drive.
Eight hours of sleep later, I woke up good as new. The hotel’s early breakfast let me hit the road by 6:30 AM.
I’ve been asked how I prepared for this run, and my answer is that it takes a lifetime of preparation. The reason is that when we’re unfamiliar with situations, they can feel uncomfortable, unpredictable, and sometimes downright scary. Today, as I ran into the Alps, I felt immediately at home within the first few kilometers and knew what I was in for. Monica and I have a small place in Mill Valley, California to stay close to our son, brother, mother, and other family. It’s one of my favorite playgrounds under Mount Tam. This area of France and the Maritime Alps are a dead ringer for Mill Valley—long, gentle mountain slopes, a body of water nearby, winding serpentine roads, hidden crevices, and even the smell of fresh pine—although I didn’t see any redwoods out here. There’s a mountainside ambience and a clear theme: a balance between life, nature, and simplicity. You’d be challenged to guess that just 25 to 30 km away are Nice, Cannes, and St. Tropez.
About 10 km in, on a narrow, shoulderless road, a mountain biker in an orange kit showed me a gift: a hidden trail that paralleled the road, barely visible on Google Maps. I took a chance and was rewarded with shaded singletrack into Montauroux—a town with roots tracing back to Roman times, and whose name may derive from Mons Altus, or “high mountain.” Trust the locals.
A week ago, my back began to itch and burn post-run—something I remembered from my U.S. crossing. The cause: constant friction and sweat from my pack. In Montauroux, I spotted the flashing green cross of a pharmacy. Inside, a friendly attendant knew just what I needed. There’s something to be said for small-town service. Merci beaucoup Team Pharmacy!
In the town of Callian, just before Jaumillot, I met up with Christina and ran with Jax. These towns, perched on hilltops and fortified in the Middle Ages, were once vital defensive posts in Provence. The fire roads past Broves-en-Seillans were great until I went on another Google Maps adventure with Jax. As we dove into the weeds, I thought to myself that I know how this route goes…Jax and I had a blast on this lightly marked single track as it was not overgrown and in some places runnable.
We popped back on the road for a few k’s and then decided on the next “phantom trail” that Google gave us and it was a doozy and probably my last high weed escapade. First a climb with high weeds and stops every hundred or so meters to get the nettles and burrs out of my socks and shoes. Then a wooded descent that popped out at a deserted luxury resort (complete with a water bib for Jax to cool down).
We ran out the entrance to the hotel and back onto the road for the final 5 km push to Les Blimouse, a tiny village tucked between ridges. Christina found us the best lodging of the trip: our own duplex, a massage lined up, and dinner with the owner later tonight. Doesn’t get better than this!
On a philosophical note—because I have way too much creative time—I’ve been thinking about a saying I’ve always liked in ultra running: “90% is mental, and the other 10% is in your head.” The more I reflect on it, the more I believe that the physical and the mental are just different systems—both capable of breaking down when pushed too hard. But there must be something more. Maybe it’s a meditative state, where the mantra becomes the version of ourselves we dare to dream of. And if we truly believe in that vision, there’s an inner force that rises up—something that transcends both the physical and the mental. Have I lost it? ;-)
Time for a beer. Thanks for the support.
Cheers,
David
