Perpignan feels more Catalan than French on a good day, and most locals would not argue. The city was the mainland capital of the Kingdom of Majorca in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and the Palais des Rois de Majorque still sits on its hill, a fortress-palace of pink brick with a double-storey courtyard. In the old centre the Castillet, a squat brick gate with crenellated towers, guards the entrance to the lanes, and street signs often come in two languages. In 1963 Salvador Dalí declared the railway station to be the centre of the universe, and the city has never quite let go of the joke.
For a rider it is a very good launch pad. To the south-west the Pyrenees begin, with Mount Canigou, a sacred peak for Catalans, standing at nearly 2,800 metres above the plain. To the north the Corbières hills roll off into dry limestone country, with the ruined Cathar castles of Peyrepertuse and Quéribus perched on crags, which is where the afternoon ride heads. These roads climb through garrigue and vineyard, with sudden drops, hairpins and long straight runs, and on a clear day you can see the sea. The wind in these parts, the tramontane, can blow for days and has a way of pushing bikes off the line, so brace yourself on exposed ridges.
The plain around the city is an orchard, and in early summer the stalls sell apricots, peaches and cherries picked that morning. Further along the coast, Collioure and Banyuls produce sweet red wine, and anchovies are a point of pride. A simple lunch is a plate of Catalan sausage with white beans, finished with a crema catalana. Perpignan itself, with about a hundred and ten thousand people, has plenty of fuel and bike parking, and the ring roads are straightforward.
Go early in summer. By afternoon the heat is considerable, and the castle walls hold it, so water and a light jacket are the right kit, and leave time to be on the ridge when the light turns amber.