Grasse smells of something before you can see it. The old perfume capital of France climbs a steep limestone hillside about a dozen kilometres from the Mediterranean, high enough above Cannes to catch a cooler, more mountain air, and for generations the fields of jasmine, rose and tuberose on the terraces around the town fed its distilleries. Perfume came here from the leather trade: glovemakers in the seventeenth century began scenting their gloves, and the business outgrew the leather. Today the town still has big perfume houses and a handful of working fields, and in May the rose harvest and in late summer the jasmine are the times to be around.
For a rider, Grasse is where the sea-level traffic and the real hills meet. A town of nearly fifty thousand people, it has ample petrol, supermarkets, bakeries and cafés, and it makes a sensible stop before heading up toward the Gorges du Verdon or down to the coast. The old centre is a knot of steep one-way lanes, steps, and tall ochre houses with shutters that peel in the sun, and driving through it on a big bike is more of an adventure than anyone needs; leave the machine at the edge and walk up to the Place aux Aires and the cathedral.
The roads around are another matter. Heading north on the D-roads toward the plateau, you climb into the Préalpes de Grasse, where the corners tighten, the pines thicken, and the air smells of thyme and dry earth. The surface is generally decent but narrow, with plenty of blind bends, cyclists in the early morning, and walkers' cars parked on the verges at weekends.
It is worth knowing that summer here is hot and the dust-dry hills are a fire risk, so some forest roads close on bad days. In winter the high ground can be icy even when the coast is warm, and the cold is sharper than you expect from the postcard. In spring the light is soft and the hillside terraces go quiet green.
Pick a table in the sun on one of the squares, get the tank topped up before the hills, and try a socca or a pissaladière if the bakery has them; both are Provençal ways of making a good lunch from almost nothing.