Column: The Wild Boar Bike Club

Determined to get his 10-year-old-son off his iPad and into the fresh air,
Gareth Roberts takes him on two-wheeled odyssey through the Lot Valley

My son Xander (aka X) was born in the digital age: his iPad is the window to his soul; the Xbox his very own Mary Poppins. It was after a series of stand-offs about screen time (or scream time as I call it) that I decided to cart him off to the 14th century for a lesson in tech-free living.

As my garage is devoid of a time-travelling DeLorean, we opted for the next best thing: France. Ryanair has recently opened up new routes from Stansted to Rodez in the Aveyron (pictured below) with prices from £50 return each. To keep prices low, I threw the dice on seat allocation - I could always lock X in the toilet with some crayons and a packet of Monster Munch.

The drive from Rodez to Entraygues Sur Truyere, our base for the next 10 days, takes just under an hour; the countryside en-route is so wild and impenetrable, Google Maps throws a wobbly, but I have an actual map - and there’s only one road.

The plan is to explore the Lot Valley by mountain bike, basing ourselves in the medieval town of Entraygues Sur Truyere and staying with friends - Brits who’ve bid adieu to Brexit hell and are converting a beautiful old townhouse that cost less than a caravan on Camber Sands.

The Aveyron is so hilly we don’t need bikes so much as axes. We follow the river through valleys and gorges towards the sea 300kms away. Apart from the occasional gunshot echoing through the valley as chasseurs hunt wild boar, we’re alone. It is here we christen ourselves the Wild Boar Bike Club.

We stop at a roadside café a few kilometres from the town of Conques; despite being in the middle of nowhere it’s packed. We order the local dish, a robust sausage that you could cosh a rhino with, and the regional speciality Aligot, a satanic mix of Cantalcheese, mashed potatoes and garlic. It comes off the plate like chewing gum comes off a hot pavement but is heavenly. Interestingly, fish and bread account as vegetarian options.

X scans the landscape and realises that we’re going to start going uphill. He begins working up excuses that I bat out the park with the kind of expertise only a seasoned parent has; we’re soon heading on a 9km uphill slog of hairpin bends and steep climbs – but the view from the top is breathtaking. X suggests we toast our ascent with Milka bars. I agree.

It’s only been two days but the soul cleansing has begun - surrounded by vast skies and pumped up by hard exercise, there is no mention of iPads, phones or laptops. That night, exhausted from
the ride I try to persuade X to read Watership Down.

‘‘What’s it about?’’ he asks.

‘‘Well, it’s like Assassins Creed,” I say “… but with rabbits.’’

Gareth Roberts is a freelance travel journalist