Seeing the land of Cezanne as he saw it. In the early morning light that transforms the sugar cube houses into peach and orange and the pines into umbrellas sporting every possible shade of green. 

Cooing doves form the morning soundtrack but as soon as the afternoon heat rises the cicadas begin their loud electric cha cha cha.  They’re silenced only if we come too close. 

The scent of Morbier, Camembert and blue cheese from the Auvern linger in every corner of my food bags and trailer. Traces of lunches past. Lavender fields fill the air with the smell of Grandmothers in church. 

The taste of the first bite of a fresh croissant and a morning cappuccino. Melons unlike anything from home. Fresh stolen figs and plums along the way. 

The feel of sweat dripping down my face and neck in the last hour of my hot ride. The relief as I dunk my head under a cool fountain.