Cycling those patchy, rolling backroads of southwest rural France, we often get lost. Taking the path less travelled beside a ripening corn field and a deeply rutted forest path made all the difference. Ending where the path gave out completely, we met a man working amidst the ruins of a once-grand castle. 

We had stumbled upon a former Knights Templar Castle named Salle Bruneau Commandery, built in the 12th Century. Gideon, the aging caretaker, took us on an impromptu tour of this former fortress with a curious history. Legend has it the Knights Templar brought the Holy Grail back to France from the Crusades. The Holy Grail is supposedly the cup that Jesus drank from at the Last Supper. Such stories fire the imagination but have no basis in reality; still, you never know.

In Rauzan, camped below the ancient Castle. I heard the chanting of the faithful in the evening. Climbing the Castle Mount the next morning, I was surprised to see a dozen or more pilgrims, splayed out, in the shadow of the tower, slowly rousing in their sleeping bags, amidst their staffs and meagre processions after a night spent sleeping under the stars.

Closing my eyes, I run my hands along the surface of medieval ruins at every opportunity. I imagine the life that peasants and ordinary people might have lived. Written history is full of tales of nobility, while the heroic stories of everyday people are lost in time.

Continuing our cycling journey, in the early morning, the road rises to meet us, while Jack rabbits, their ears popping up above the stubble of freshly harvested hay, bound across the fields. Deer, unafraid of our presence, graze close to the path; while little kestrels and whistling kites hunt mice for breakfast. 

We cycle on in search of our own Holy Grail, a flat campsite in the shade before the heat of the day, hopefully with a swimming pool on site and a patisserie close at hand.