My Triangular Tour de France and Sojourn en Suisse are complete.
In 26 cycling days, Bernard and I have pedalled over 1,760 km (1,093 miles). We had company from our two domestiques for 6 days and assistance from guardian angels at some really critical moments along the way. Since changing to conventional tyres with inner tubes on day 7, we’ve not suffered a single puncture (or even had to get out the pump), which has made me a big fan of Schwalbe tyres. I’ve stayed 9 nights with friends (merci/thank you to Isabelle, Fiona, Claire and Harry), 2 with Warmshowers hosts (merci à Françoise et Dominique, Laurent et Gisèle), 5 in campsites and the remainder in hotels and B&Bs. I’ve enjoyed almost unbroken sunshine (until being greeted home with rain in Portsmouth), visited some very out of the way places, and seen snakes, wild deer and pine martens at very close quarters. And I’ve consumed an indecent quantity of pains au chocolat. All in the pursuit of athletic perfection, you understand. It’s been a great adventure.
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Before my train to the coast this morning, there was time for a last bit of tourism, but when I asked Gloria Google for directions to Vieux Tours, she led me somewhere unexpected. Hugo was appalled. But she did eventually find the pretty old town… The intricately decorated cathedral… And the so very French Hotel de Ville: Then it was time to bid a final farewell to La Loire: And head for the station, where the trains bore relatable messages: And I’m all for low carbon travel, but when it comes to speed, it’s really a case of ‘in your dreams, Bernard’. A railway station might seem a surprising place for philosophical reflection, but this sign had me thinking about perspective. Could it be that in the UK our glass is half empty, while in France it’s à moitié plein? Today Bernard was installed beside to two Australians who (perhaps counterintuitively) were new to this whole upside down thing, so he did his best to look nonchalant. The view helped take his mind off things. From Caen there were just 15k to go, all but a few 100 metres of which were on our last stretch of voie verte: Which was as relaxing as it looks, despite the stiff headwind. As I write, Bernard is lashed to an athletic-looking stranger on the car deck. I do hope he doesn’t get seasick and disgrace himself.
It was strange, and a bit frustrating, to be walking in circles rather than cycling towards a new destination, but Bernard, Guillaume and Hugo weren’t complaining about the morning off. The ancient streets of Bourges were sabbath quiet… It turned out people were either at the market, buying asparagus as thick as a baby’s arm… Or at Sunday mass in the city’s remarkable UNESCO-recognised cathedral. By the time I crept out, these pews had all filled up. The best view I had of the cathedral was from the Marais - formerly marshes, as the name suggests, but now a huge sprawling oasis of allotments a stone’s throw from the city centre: This described the atmosphere very well Besides the cathedral, Bourges’ other main claim to fame is as the birthplace of a contemporary of Jeanne d’Arc, and Master of the Royal Mint: Coeur eventually fell from favour, but not before he had acquired a vast property portfolio, including this palace in Bourges. It seems the two things were not unconnected. As always, I found amusement on my wanderings. I admired the absolute honesty of this delicatessen: And having spent a month on a bike, this reference to massive thighs made me laugh out loud. Cheap at the price? Eventually it was time to catch a crowded train to Tours, which required a bit of manoeuvring. I don’t think Bernard was particularly comfortable, but worse indignities were to come. Tonight he is jammed in a cupboard on the way to the bins behind the reception desk.
Ibis Styles (sic) tried to charge me a €2 supplement for this privilege, but I’m pleased to say they came round to my point of view. Early start tomorrow, so I trust they don’t get their own back by accidentally losing the key to the cupboard. Given the obscure places I’ve been through, it might have been helpful to provide maps before, but better late than never. I only thought to do it today because I realised I had fetched up in the dead centre of the country. As I set out today, I had that feeling you get when reaching the last chapter of a good book: you want to know how it ends, but you don’t want it to be over. So perhaps it was right that I saved my longest ride for the last full day on the bike. It was long because I once again added miles in order to avoid main roads, but it was also lovely because, well, just look at it. We spent the first 50k on signposted cycle paths, starting with our old friend the EV6: Which involved a lot of canalside riding, but at least the wind was mostly abeam today: There were plenty of craft on the water, including this huge Dutch barge, flying the Welsh dragon. Which was a weird coincidence, because as I reached that bridge, I’d been singing We’ll Keep a Welcome in the Hillsides. Spooky. Spookier still, and to demonstrate my eclectic playlist, a few hours later, just as I’d started singing along to Les Misérables ‘One More Day’, I kid you not, this sign appeared: But my favourite musical moment came when belting out a tune from The Sound of Music (I told you it was eclectic) as we crested a rise on the way into a village: “High on a hill was a lonely goat, yodelay, yodelay, yodel-ay-he-hoo”. Fortunately, we didn’t come across any of the locals. Bernard just rolled his eyes. Now, we all know that a cyclist’s primary needs are coffee and food. By 12.30, I was losing hope of finding the former, and ruing my decision not to buy some of the latter in the Decize Intermarché when I had the chance. So this was a welcome sign. Somewhat surprisingly, it was a Basque establishment. Their coffee was so good I had two. They also made me a foot-long sandwich stuffed with half-inch thick slabs of Brie and a homemade tomato salsa. Which goes to prove that good things come to those who wait. Soon afterwards, we parted company with the EV6, which heads north to join the Loire à Vélo route. This, together with the popularity of the 800km Tour de Bourgogne, is why I’ve seen more cycle tourists over the last couple of days than in the entire trip put together. Team Bernard turned south, but not before we’d negotiated the 370m-long Pont Canal at Guétin, which takes the Canal Latéral of the Loire over the river Allier (the 20ft deep lock taking the canal down on the other side was almost as impressive). The barriers guarding the walkway made it a less nerve wracking experience than the one yesterday. After that, there was just a short spur of canal to follow until it reached the Allier, and the ingenious circular lock at Les Lorrains. Built in 1838, it allowed barges laden with 50 tons of sand to transit from the river via the right-hand lock gate, into the canal, straight ahead. It only fell into disuse early in the 20th century, due to falling river levels, and changes in the sand trade. Lunchtime found us in positively Cotswoldian surroundings, In the picture-postcard village of Aprémont sur Allier.. Whose unpretentious little church is a stopover on one of the pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela.. And whose inhabitants boast a strong topiary game: Judging by the car park and the throngs on the riverside, it was clearly a popular destination, but there was no serious attempt to cash in on the tourism: just one restaurant (not on the riverside), an antiques place and a small, discreet shop. I couldn’t help but think it would have been different in the UK. We joined the locals picnicking on the waterfront - I enjoyed the first half of my massive sandwich. The rest of the day, until a mile out of Bourges town centre, was spent riding on virtually deserted D roads, through apparently deserted villages (although they weren’t, because there were cars parked outside the houses) and between vast arable fields. Did I mention the empty roads? And the endless fields? And the endless fields beside the empty roads? Amid all this evidence of peaceful modern day agricultural endeavour, I was brought up short by a reminder of a more turbulent past. It turned out that I was literally pedalling along the line that divided Occupied from Vichy France. Whereas today I can cycle wherever I want, between 1940 and 1943 I would not have been able to cross this road in either direction without a ‘laissez-passer’ from the occupying forces. I’ve been thinking a lot on this trip about borders and freedoms. I’ve found myself noticing and dwelling on the memorials, in virtually every village and town, to deportees and executed resistance fighters - in other words, civilians, not soldiers. Any other time, I would have viewed them essentially as tragic historical artefacts, because the idea that another country could just walk in and take over simply couldn’t happen now. Recent events have made me think again. Just across the road from the demarcation line sign was a French military live firing zone. Irony? Or prudence… From Aprémont, despite passing several villages, I rode for nearly 3 hours without seeing a shop, bar or even another human, apart from a few car drivers. So with 18k still to go, my guardian angel du jour was the lady with a shock of blonde curls who I accosted in her front garden and asked to refill my empty water bottles. Without missing a beat she said, ‘Of course, shall I put wine in them?’ Madame, I salute you. My accommodation this evening could not look much more French (the owner is an artist, hence the quirky lampposts): And Bernard will seldom enjoy a grander outdoor billet. Tomorrow we have time for a spot of tourism in Bourges before our afternoon train. It was impossible to connect up trains and ferries, so we’ll be spending tomorrow night in Tours and half of Monday on a train to Caen. Then we’ll just have 15k to pedal to the ferry. I’ll save my final reflections till then.
I’ll leave you with some philosophical questions to ponder, via an unexpected canalside medium: At dinner last night, my attempt to introduce a veggie main course into the set menu caused the waiter such consternation (think Michael Palin in A Fish Called Wanda, thankfully without the chopsticks up his nose) that I gave up and chose what he called ‘une grande assiette végétarienne’, spreading his arms wide like a fisherman talking up his catch. I think perhaps he was referring to the crockery, and not the contents, but it was tasty and attractively presented, if not especially filling. I really couldn’t complain about the view from my room, but I was relieved that the bells were quiet overnight: when they rang at 7am they were louder than my phone alarm. On checking the route yesterday I’d spotted that a big chunk was on one of Guillaume’s suspiciously straight (for which, read ‘main’) roads. I’m sure he was just trying to save me some miles, but given it wasn’t a hilly day I thanked him prettily and rerouted onto EuroVélo 6, which made my ride about 15k longer but considerably more relaxing. We started beside the Canal du Centre, which links the Saône to the Loire: And ended beside the Canal du Nivernais, which links the Loire to the Seine: I gave Hugo most of the day off, because generally the EV6 signposts were easier to follow than his somewhat perplexing instructions: ‘In six and six thousand, one hundred and fifty kilometres, turn right’. Guillaume was relegated to milometer duties. I trust he won’t sulk. Canal paths are brilliant for a while, if they coincide with your route, but constant pedalling makes them tiring (no climbing uphill means no freewheeling downhill!) and they can be a bit dull, as there’s not much to look at. So I enjoyed the long spell in between them rather more. There were some familiar voie verte views: Quite a bit of time on quiet roads in the middle of nowhere: Including for my lunch stop du jour - no table, but views in all directions. It was the geographical high point of the ride. And some time riding beside an old friend: Speaking of friends, my amis de route today were Georges (« comme le futur roi d’Angleterre ») and Françoise from Belgium - here they are overtaking a walker with a dog on the Canal Pont at Digoin: not a manoeuvre for the faint-hearted, let me tell you. What you can’t see from the photos is that the wind was blowing in our faces all day, which was particularly hard work on the dead straight sections of the Canal du Centre, so we formed a little three person peloton for a while, taking it in turns to go in front. It was a huge help to me to be able to tuck in behind them while Georges towed us along at 25-30kph. We saw some friendly and relatable street art: I’ve no idea what this was, although I did see quite a few real life storks in the fields… And a stoically patient swan carrying three argumentative youngsters along the canal: No risk of church bells in the morning, as I’ve swapped the view of a Basilica for one of a pleasure boat basin. Meanwhile, Bernard is making friends in a purpose-built bike storage room: we are firmly back on the beaten track. Somewhat incredibly, it’s our last full day of riding tomorrow.
Tiny Buffières had some charming details, and some substantial properties that looked lovely in the evening light Sadly, despite signs to the contrary, what it didn’t have was a boulangerie, but fortunately my Mary Poppins panniers supplied me with a yoghurt, a cereal bar, and a banana for breakfast. No need for talking umbrellas, but a coffee would have been nice - I didn’t find anywhere to give me one until midday. The sun was shining at 9am but those clouds soon cooled things down. Which was helpful, since my first task was to climb up to the village of Suin: Which as the ‘Mont’ suggests was up a pig of a hill. Though actually what the village specialises in is goats. Sadly I’m missing the opportunity to taste free goat-based victuals: As always, the views were my reward for the climb - this was on the way up. From the top, I felt I could see the whole of France laid out below me, but it was impossible to capture in a photo. We found quite a few more (mostly gentle) hills, and plenty of the Charolais cattle that are so integral to the region… … that they are considered part of its cultural landscape - so much so that the Chamber of Commerce and Industry in Charolles seems to want this recognised by UNESCO This sign caught Bernard’s eye: It turns out that Bernard T was a two-time winner of the Tour de France, and something of a local hero - as long as you’re not fussed about the doping that he subsequently owned up to. For the last 20k I called on the services of Hugo headphones. I mean, really Guillaume, you need your algorithms examined: why would you choose a main road over this, the virtually traffic-free valley of the meandering Arconce? This was our lunch spot du jour: And this was the most surprising sight. The last couple of miles to Paray, we joined EuroVélo 6 - aka The Rivers Route. Had we turned the other way and kept going, we would eventually have reached the Black Sea. Another day perhaps. And then, after so few miles it felt almost like cheating, we reached our destination, with its impressive Basilica.. Imposing town hall.. And medieval ‘pan de bois’ houses. My room has a fine view - as I write, the bells are ringing to mark the beginning of the Ascension weekend - which also means that the entire town is closed. Luckily, the hotel has a restaurant. Meanwhile Bernard is tucked up in a garage with some surprising features. I hope he doesn’t spend the night wondering ‘Does my rear rack look big in this?’’
Leg 3 Day 3: Louhans to Buffières: into Burgundy’s bread (and butter) basket:78k, 644m climbed25/5/2022 The frogs did indeed quit their croaking as the sun went down, and Team Bernard spent a peaceful night beside the river Seille, until we were woken by randy pigeons just after 6. Besides us, there were just three motorhomes on this simple municipal site, only one of which showed signs of life as I pedalled away at 8am, the sun warm on my back, but wearing my gilet against the chilly morning air. Thanks to Harry’s careful tweaking of my routes, the last two days had been free of drama from the Garmin brothers, but I suspect Guillaume had taken umbrage, because we spent the first half an hour on a rough stony track beside the river. Fishermen and a teenager on his way to school were my only company - he wished me a cheerful ‘Bon courage!’ as I slalomed between the worst bits. Aside from that, all went smoothly, and my main takeaway from today is that Burgundy is glorious cycling country - for those of us who enjoy gentle touring anyway. Members of the col bagging fraternity (or sorority) are probably best advised to take their wheels elsewhere (cf the Auvergne). Obviously, it helped that the weather was perfect. But even so… First, it’s basically flat With just enough hills to add perspective and provide views: And even Guillaume had no trouble finding quiet roads - we rode for miles without seeing a car. The villages are pretty as well. Traditional architecture round here is quite distinctive: houses have deep skirts fore and aft: bricked up at the rear, left open at the front. Churches are stout and square, with roof tiles that are decorative: Or plain. This one had something of The Scream about it: It’s home to a major river: There is no shortage of peaceful lunch spots - ours had a view of vineyards on the distant hills And if you’re as fortunate as we were with the weather, you’ll enjoy some truly painterly reflections. I’m clearly not the first to make this observation, because on this relaxing section of the Bourgogne du Sud cycle path, I came across significant numbers of other cyclists (mostly British retirees) for the first time since the Atlantic coast. It’s real bread basket country, and farmers are so proud of their work, they tell you what they’re growing: One village literally put their crop on a pedestal: Louhans is the capital of Bresse Bourguignonne, and this morning I passed farms whose milk was designated Appellation d’Origine Protégée for Beurre de Bresse, and whose birds received AOP for Volaille de Bresse. As always, we found amusement on the way. Here’s Bernard looking every inch the coq sportif: This made me wonder: « Who and where is le grand fromage? » And to top it all, as it were, this was the surprising sight of the day, “au milieu de rien”. Given that we really are in the middle of nowhere, I had anticipated another tumbleweed village and had brought food of sorts for tonight (though sadly no wine). So I was pleasantly surprised to find that the metropolis of Buffières (population 300) has a bar and a boulangerie. Better still, the landlady of my self-catering gîte offered to make me supper, so I am looking forward to something that doesn’t come out of pouch (and a glass of wine), and hopefully some breakfast before I set out tomorrow. Happy days.
It would seem that the Weebly gremlins are back, shuffling photos at random, which may throw up some confusing, or possibly just amusing, text to picture combinations. Sorry - nothing I can do, but if you refresh your screen and then let the whole thing load before you start scrolling, that may help.
Today could have been quite different - that is to say, quite unpleasant. I awoke to the sound of rain hammering against the windows, and again thanked my lucky stars that this tiny village had a hotel, and that they’d let me stay, even when they were closed (till Wednesday it turns out). In hindsight, I think I should elevate the manager to guardian angel status. Improbably, Météo France suggested the rain would stop by 11am. Even more improbably, I was on the road before 9.30, wearing my rain jacket, but only for warmth - it was 13 degrees and properly chilly on the knees and fingers, but mercifully dry. Hard to believe it had been over 30 just three days ago. Guillaume had promised that today’s ride would be gloriously downhill, and he did not exaggerate. For the first hour or so, we pedalled - or freewheeled - away from the Jura through lush meadows, under threatening skies We started to see glimpses of blue - enough to make a pair of sailor’s trousers, Kate? Then, all of a sudden, the rain was forgotten, and poppies added a painterly touch. The Jura kept on giving… After 20k, we joined the voie verte marked “PLM” on the map. An information board explained that it followed the line of the old Paris-Lyon-Méditerranée railway. It had some surprises in store. It started conventionally enough, with a well surfaced path and trees meeting majestically overhead. Occasionally, it opened up, offering stunning views to the south and east. Then this rather forbidding maw hoved into view. I switched on my light, took a deep breath, and plunged in… And this happened! It had movement sensitive lighting… It turned out to be just the first of a whole series of structures that had helped the railway remain high above the valley below. Halfway along, we emerged from a tunnel to be presented with this view: The longest tunnel came last - at one point, I met a transit van going to other way. We emerged to another spectacular view - this was the old station esplanade at Conliège There was only one tricky bit: I could have done with a domestique to help me down this steep flight of steps: At 40k I stopped for lunch in the substantial town of Lons le Saunier, and then it was onto another voie verte - this time the Bressane - which took me all the way to my destination on traffic free paths. It’s amazing what a difference 10 degrees makes: unlike my afternoons in the Auvergne, this was a lovely ride. For some reason I found myself singing Norah Jones’ The Long Way Home… By 4pm I’d arrived in Louhans, with its charming main street, arcaded on both sides, and a church with colourful roof tiles, similar to those I recall in Beaune. Sorry no pictures - you’ll have to Google or imagine! The weather looks fine for tonight and tomorrow morning, and I didn’t want to flunk my last chance to camp.. Bernard is giving me wistful looks about warm dining rooms, but it’s not a bad spot, provided the frogs pipe down before bedtime. The Baron joined me for dinner but wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Maybe he’s holding out for Singles Night…
Monday 23 May - Leg 3, Day 1: Over the Jura (with a bit of help from Harry): 66.1k, 1003m climbed23/5/2022 Today I acquired my second domestique of the tour, and he really went above and beyond the job description. First, he applied his expert knowledge to my routes, thereby mitigating the wilder eccentricities of the Garmin brothers over the next two days. Then, crucially, he whisked me over the fearsome Col de La Faucille, which would have been quite beyond my capabilities to climb. The only other option would have been to ride south via Macon, known variously as ‘the main road’ or ‘no fun at all’, depending on whether you’re in a vehicle or on a bike. Or else I could have taken the train towards Lyon. Either way, I would have missed the opportunity to experience the Jura. So we took the scenic option, setting off from Lajoux. Bernard much preferred his first ride on a bike carrier to travelling in the bowels of a bus, and notwithstanding a few spots of rain and rumbles of thunder, we all enjoyed the first 10k along the plateau... Followed by a whopping descent into the workaday town of Morez, which, aside from sporting an impressive viaduct, also seemed to specialise in making spectacles. From there, our lovely voie verte followed the railway line gently uphill Offering stunning views along the way. Having been thoroughly lulled by the gentle gradients, Bernard and I were unprepared for the first proper challenge of the day. Harry, gentleman that he is, got off and joined us for the walk of shame. Another view awaited us at the top. At this point, my domestique bade us farewell - but the views stayed with us: We climbed gradually through dense forests: But it was literally all downhill from here: The descent was again through forests, this time with more deciduous trees, as well as tantalising glimpses of plain far below. There was no need to book a table for lunch: And before we knew it, we were almost at our destination. Now, I had planned to camp tonight, but that was before I saw the storm cloud building behind me as I rolled into Bonlieu, before I overheard a lady tell someone that she was covering her car with tarpaulin ‘to protect it against the hail’, and before I heard the first rumble of thunder. General Patton once said, “Plans must be simple and flexible.” My plan was simply to have a decent night’s sleep, ideally not in a puddle. So I checked into a hotel. I am once again the only customer, mainly because they’re actually closed tonight, but gave me a room anyway. Luckily I brought food for supper. As I write, the rain is sluicing down, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Call me a fair weather camper if you like - it’s water off a duck’s back. As always, we saw some curiosities en route: Bernard was a bit put out that only walkers and horses seemed to be welcome at this wayside inn: But all was forgiven when he was ushered into his luxury accommodation in the hotel dining room tonight. Tomorrow, we may have another go at camping, but I’m staying flexible.
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AuthorWife, mum, sister, auntie. Cyclist, writer, tennis player. Hampshire, via Trinidad, Lowestoft, Bath, Brixton, Singapore, Wimbledon, Madrid and Cairo. ArchivesCategories |