Twenty.

The climb up Mont Tournier makes me recall Ernest Hemingway's description in For Whom the Bell Tolls, as they snake their way through the Sierras keeping away from the Fascists and the omnipresent Condor Legion.

My body said stop for brunch at just before ten and prior to highpoint on the altimeter. At eleven I am almost at the first village, Saint-Maurice de Rotherens but there isn't any Accueil Jacquaire available there so I'll stop a moment, rest these feet, calves and thighs, however no wine must take advantage while I am not aware! Go hang - it's a day of revelry and mischief. No! Be good and await another time to celebrate the wine when you don't have miles to go!