Dave and Kim’s
Tour de France
2014
4/8 Nice
Walked 3 miles
Exactly 24 hours after our alarm clock rattled us life in Ivins, Kim and I found ourselves wandering through the streets of Nice, France, looking for Chez Josephine’s Bed & Breakfast. We had to look like a couple of American homeless, as each of us was pulling our oversized blue and red suitcase down the street, while toting our bike panniers in the other hand. An overloaded backpack was strapped to our backs. “Low life, American Hillbillies,” would be an apt description of our appearance.
When we finally did find our lodging, and drug our travel weary, brain dead bodies up her stairs, we found Josephine to be a poor introduction to the people of France. She immediately scolded us for not easily finding her place, then acted as if we were dumb when we couldn’t master the “pull it just so and then move it to the left” intricacies of the barely functional skeleton key in her basement storage room.
After Jim and Lori got into town, we went straight to the dungeon like basement of the apartment building, where we put together our Bike Fridays. The hallway light was set on a timer, so every five minutes we were enveloped in total darkness. Lori would blindly find her way up the precarious stair case and trip the switch again, illuminating our world for another few minutes. Nevertheless, amazingly, we were able to get the bikes together with minimal issues.
Finally, after a dinner where our waitress dumped a steaming hot pizza on Kim’s lap, we stumbled off to bed a 9:00 P.M. Unfortunately, an important football match was being broadcast on television at the local cafe across the street at a very high volume. Every now and then you would hear a raucous out burst of enthusiasm as the French team scored. Even so, it took me approximately two minutes to drift off into an intense, Excedrin P.M. fostered slumber. My first sleep deprived day in France was a success - but just barely.
4/9 Nice
Walked 5 miles (8 total)
The first part of our day entailed responsibility. We scurried down the wide avenue with our suitcases to UPS, where we shipped them off to Paris. We next dealt with securing a new SIM card for Lori’s phone, got a map of Provence at the book store, and then purchased an electrical adaptor for my numerous electrical devices.
After lunch, we walked downtown to the central square, where we had a long, puzzling search for bus 92 to Eze.
Eze was worth the effort. Perched on the top of a coastal mountain, the village is really more of a castle, with a maze of steep, narrow, winding paths that run between Medieval stone structures on each side. Today, these old buildings are populated by high price, luxury hotels, art galleries and restaurants, and is more tourist trap than historical museum.
The short bus ride out to the village ran along a beautiful, rugged coastline of the Cote d’Azur. We spied huge fleets of the docked luxury yachts of Europe’s rich and famous. We also watched a hardy variety of road bikers fight up the steep grades of the narrow coastal highway.
4/10 Saint Raphael
Rode 80 KM = 50 miles
Our first moments of bike touring with panniers were crazy stressful. Initially, we rode out of Nice on the Promenade by the shore of the Mediterranean Sea. One would think lovely vistas, the lapping of waves gently on the beach and the safety and sense of security that comes with a bike path. In fact, it was more chaotic and stressful than navigating the L.A. freeway in rush hour traffic. You were kept on your toes by hundreds of bicycles, ranging from those traveling at warp speed to barely rolling, walkers cutting across the path, and street crossings with cars darting in front of your bike.
It only got worse when we left the bike path for one of the main highways leaving Nice. Since there was no real shoulder on this busy two lane road, you made sure that you kept far to the right from the bumper to bumper traffic. Stupidly, as has always been my problem in life, I elected to be a “follower” when I should have rode my own game. Jim and Lori powered out into the car lane to pass an older couple who were pedaling along at a blazing five miles an hour. I quickly blew around Grandma and was parallel to Gramps when I noticed a shiny blue sedan traveling at 60 MPH one inch away from my handle bar drop. After I got back to the far right, I was more than a bit shaken and angry at myself for having taken such a stupid gamble.
After we left Cannes the traffic thinned, the road conditions improved and I started to really value what I was seeing - the gorgeous blue/green water of the Cote d’Azur, rimmed with white sand beaches. Out on the water sat fleets of monster white yachts. We rolled past many high dollar hotels and private residences perched on the shoreline where they overlooked the coast. Finally, I was in awe of the spectacular red sandstone coastal mountain peaks rising from a vibrant green foundation. It made me think of my home in Utah at the base of the big Red Mountain.
4/11 Brignoles
Rode 97 KM = 60 miles, 110 miles total
It was one of those special days of your life that will be imprinted on your brain until you turn to dust.
The day started with our nerve wracking escape from St. Raphael. The route seemed so outrageous, so unlikely, that we retraced our steps to check with others about its validity. Finally, we screwed up our courage, and very nervously ran a gauntlet of traffic, with no real shoulder on the road, that would make Lance Armstrong swear off drugs.
After approximately 30 miles of being dodged by the bumper to bumper, near freeway like traffic, we turned off the nasty N7 out of Vidauban and found ourselves in biking paradise. The road, D84, climbed into the mountains along side the pristine waters of the Argens River. We roared by miles of small vineyards set on rolling hills and in and out of a dense deciduous forest. In fifteen miles of the narrow, snake like asphalt path we met exactly two cars, which was the prescribed therapy we needed after our perilous escape from the Cote d’Azur.
As has been the truth through much of our lives together, I led Kim astray shortly after leaving the Medieval village of le Thoronet. There was a fork in the road, and as my conservative friends always accuse me of doing, I went left up a very steep, winding mountain road past a secluded monastery. About four painful miles up this climb, while waiting for the others, I decided to gander at the map. Absolute, earth shattering panic hit when I realized that we were headed for Cabbase instead of Carces. Kim and I rolled down that steep slope at full speed to find Jim and Lori waiting for us. Amazingly, they were nice about my stupidity - no verbal attack, no cold shoulder or mean lecture.
When we finally pulled into Carces, Jim needed a bike shop to fine tune his New World Tourist. It was a nice, and very much needed break, after our long morning.
Our next crisis occurred in the tiny Medieval village of Carces, where we had planned to spend the night. No hotel! Exhausted, hungry and in need of a beer, we sadly climbed back on our bikes to hump it up the steep incline towards Bras, where a widely advertised hotel was situated along the road. I rode ahead to start securing our rooms. Again - disaster! The hotel was locked tight, without a recent tire track in the desolate looking gravel parking lot.
Our only recourse was to cycle into the nearby city of Brignoles, which was the worst part of the day. We limped up a winding, narrow road over a mountain pass during the 5:00 P.M. rush hour traffic. Jim was in the lead, spinning up the grade at about five miles an hour. I was locked in behind him, with Lori and Kim behind, and there was a
steady stream of cars to my left, seemingly inches away from my handle bar drop. With the weight of my front handle bar bag and the heavy panniers on the back, I could barely balance the Pocket Rocket at this slow of a speed, and to complicate things more thoroughly, I was too scared to take my feet out of the clips, for fear that it would make me fall over. If I hadn’t been so spent, I would have collapsed from fear.
When we finally made the top of the pass and slipped over the other side to find the sweet sign for “IBIS Hotel” to our right, I knew there was a God and that He had answered my prayers. Before we had even checked into the hotel, the manager was pouring an excellent draft lager, named 1664, which was polished off in seconds. Jim and I were finishing our second before Kim and Lori had even tasted their beverages.
4/12 Aux-en-Provence
Rode 67 KM = 42 miles, 152 total
Our easy day wasn’t exactly a breeze, but unlike our other two days on the road it was uneventful and we experienced the Provence that we had heard so much about - quiet, rural roads filled with bikers, vineyards, quaint Medieval villages and pleasing scenery. All in all, it was a great day to be alive and on a bike in France.
After a monster breakfast at our IBIS Hotel, we pedaled our stomachs up the steep grade for 12 miles to Bras and then rolled down a narrow, winding, one and a half lane road to St. Maximin, where we struggled through bumper to bumper traffic leaving the city on N7. Thankfully, there was a wide shoulder, and a bike path the entire route, so other than having to dodge the traffic at each of the 4000 traffic circles we had to navigate while leaving the city, it was a piece of cake.
The circus is alive and well in France. We were stopped on our route outside of St. Maximin, when a huge circus took over the road, stopping all traffic going both ways as they pulled their huge rigs out onto the highway. I was riding the ample shoulder and had the right of way over the truck that was entering the highway from an adjacent field. The driver of the semi simply looked down at me and said with his eyes, “I’m bigger than you and you’re going to stop and wait for me to do my thing. Settled!” I didn’t argue.
Our next segment took us off the major highway and back on a narrow, winding road through endless vineyards. We stopped in Puylouber for lunch at the village square. A young woman and her little girl befriended us, giving us advice and going out of her way to keep us on our route. After the exceptionally scenic village of Le Croix de Provence, D17 jutted sharply uphill, and we began a long grind that we hadn’t expected. To our right stood a massive granite mountain, Montagne Ste-Victoire, and for the first time pine trees appeared. Up, up, up the road swung around each curve. A steady trickle of road bikers met us on our ascent, they in their drops flying around corners. Parking lots with hiking trailheads popped up regularly. Our next village, Tholonet, was the home of the famous artist, Paul Cezanne, where we inspected the outside of his stone home, which resembled an Iowa corn silo that had been bred with a Minute Man missile.
Finally, at about 3:00 P.M., we pedaled into Aix-en-Provence, a red hot tourist destination with thousands of people ambling up and down the mile long central, cobblestone square. It was charming, with huge fountains and statues, but all we wanted was a hotel room. Thankfully, the tourist office found us a home for the night at another IBIS, which was located in a quiet, upscale suburb of the city. Since we were too far from the city center to find a restaurant, we ordered in pizza, seemingly our meal of choice for this adventure.
4/13 Maussane
Rode 67 KM = 42 miles, 194 total
Today we learned about the “mistral,” Provence’s renowned gale force north wind. Most of our ride featured a strong side wind that only rocked your bicycle violently, but the last few miles into Maussane were straight on into its power. Needless to say, I was down in my drops and in my granny gear doing a blazing eight miles an hour. It was Hell!
The ride out of Aix-en-Provence that Sunday morning was beautiful and extremely peaceful, as the city was dead, with only a few runners engaged in a road race to dodge. We climbed out of the valley on D17 to find more vineyards and a new friend, the olive grove. The countryside glowed green. Road bikers roared by dressed in full kits on expensive carbon bikes, riding Look, Specialized, BMC, Orbea and Trek. Others had European brands I didn’t recognize.
Every ten miles a small village would appear, all with simple, ancient stone homes and tile roofs. They seemed to have a French flair, be it a small flower garden or colorful shutters to add color and give them character.
I have found that I love the French people. They are so friendly and helpful. We were pulled off to the side of the road looking for a bike path designated on our map. Just as we were getting ready to leave, a colorful female hitchhiker, Valarie, hopped out of a car and excitedly told us where to go and what to do in excellent English. Soon she reappeared at a traffic circle in a small town down the road a few miles, where she offered to get her bike and guide us. Two miles later she was a memory, as she had either used up all of her energy or decided on better options, but I was so impressed by her good intentions.
The day ended in a seedy two star hotel. Our room reeked of sewer, masked by an overpowering air freshener. We strolled down the street to eat pizza for the third time in the last seven days. Nevertheless, I do have to admit that I have enjoyed it. The crust in France is only about 1/8” thick and tonight’s version had chunks of real bacon. It really was delicious.
4/14 Maussane
Walked 5 miles, 13 total
After a mediocre breakfast, a croissant and and couple of pieces of baguette, at our seedy hotel, we walked a couple of miles through a beautiful countryside covered with olive groves and upscale vacation villas to Chateau des Baux-de-Provence. It is a large castle/village complex located on a limestone mesa.
Jim and Lori spent the 30 euros to go through the fort part of of site, but since I hadn’t slept well the previous night, I had little enthusiasm for it.
Kim and I wandered around the many stores and galleries located in the old city under the castle, and then hiked a rim trail at the base of the mesa. Possibly the highlight of the day was finding a huge stone that had been carved in Roman times depicting the three Mary’s. Apparently, Mary Magdalene had come to Maussane after Jesus’s death, and the carving was a celebration of her proselytizing the people in the area. We met a couple of friendly French women while visiting the site, who explained its history to us.
It was nice to be off the bikes for a day and stretch our legs wandering about the village.
4/15 Avignon
Walked 4 miles, 17 total
I hate, and I really mean the word “hate,” when it comes to the mighty “mistral.” At about 2:00 A.M. it sounded like the roof was going to come off our sleazy hotel. When we rolled out in the morning, to our paltry French breakfast and one cup of coffee, we found that the big north wind had actually picked up steam, making riding out of town an impossibility. We would have all been Mary Poppins flying off to meet E.T.
Instead, we paid $45 for a taxi to drive us less than 15 miles to Gares, which was after paying $260 for two nights of misery in a crappy hotel room that reeked of sewer. Do I sound a bit bitter, a tad grouchy? I hope so!
In spite of the gale force winds, we opted to go on Rick Steve’s walking tour of the old city in Avignon. One part of the walk entailed walking up on a ridge line, which overlooked the city and the Rhone River below. As we stood looking down on at an old castle wall across the river, a mighty gust blasted the overlook, nearly knocking me to the ground. With Jim reading the book and leading our tour, we walked all over the old town, seeing the castle that housed the split papacy during the 14th century, many magnificent cathedrals and the usual collection of antiquated stone structures that now house modern commerce along the city’s winding, cobblestoned streets. Avignon is old Europe at its best.
4/16 Anduze
Rode 46 KM = 29 miles, 223 total
We escaped the horrible winds of Avignon via the French rail system. For only 15 euros a piece, we were plucked from hurricane hell and deposited two hours away from the Rhone River Valley in the mountains of Languedoc, a peaceful, beautiful setting of small villages and silky smooth roads.
We hopped from the train in Ales and quickly were pedaling along a busy highway into the scenic mountain village of Anduze.
Our greatest stroke of fortune came when Jim inquired about renting rooms in the village. The woman at the tourist office sent us a block up the street to Gite de la Tour, where we met Sebastian, the hardworking, multi-talented owner. The rooms are simple, and you climb up three stories on a precarious staircase, but it is wonderful. First of all, he exudes personality and took the time to sit down with us to chart out some day rides. Then, possibly the most important consideration for me in determining a good situation, he made us the best meal of the trip, three courses of French delight, and get this - I went to bed “FULL.” When we all sat down for our meal, he came out with a large quiche. He carefully cut it into large pieces and gave each of us a generous slice. I thought, “Damn, this all I’ll get to eat. I’ll go to bed hungry again.” After I had demolished the quiche in about two seconds, I was about to gracefully excuse myself from the table and sadly go up to my room to listen to my empty stomach rumble. Suddenly, he whisked into the dining room from the kitchen with a large pot of steaming food. My mood went from abject listlessness to total joy immediately. And after that, we had dessert. It was paradise. He is my all time favorite Frenchman.
We did a short day ride into the countryside. My Pocket Rocket felt like a run away Porche without my panniers and I felt like I was racing in the Tour de France as I powered around those tight corners at full speed.
4/17 Anduze
Rode 52 KM = 32 miles, 255 total
Our stay at Sebastian’s Gite de la Tour really helped my attitude. First of all, for the first time since we arrived in France, I’d had enough to eat.
Sebastian’s dinners were marvelous. We started with a quiche or a soup, had our entree, which was a spicy sausage in a sauce on rice or salmon with scalloped potatoes and diced zucchini, and finished with a dessert, strawberry pound cake or chocolate cake. You add a couple of liters of wine and you have one very happy Dave.
The riding was also heavenly. We took the same winding road to St. Jean du Gard, because it was so beautiful and peaceful. After sharing a pizza for lunch, Kim and I rode into the mountains a bit to see more country, but decided to conserve our energy for the next day’s big climb when the hills started to get too big and too numerous.
In my opinion, Languedoc-Roussillon is much better for cycling than the small parcel of Provence that we have experienced. It has some serious hills, we climbed over 2000 feet in 32 miles, but has minimal traffic and gorgeous scenery. You can see why many French cyclists vacation in the region for their holiday riding experience.
4/18 St. Guilhem-le-Desert
65 KM = 40 miles, 295 total
It was the best day of our Tour de France.
We immediately climbed up the steep pitch of D133 out of Anduze before our breakfast had settled. Nevertheless, I loved it. With hardly a car on the road, I simply settled into my small chain ring and patiently spun up the switchbacks to the top. The much feared four kilometer section of D999 was child’s play, with minimal traffic. The next section of our ride took us past vineyard after vineyard, an impressive three arched bridge and a church that had been built in Roman times. We roared through tiny villages, which were all towered over by Medieval castles and surrounded by acres and acres of grapes. It was your prototypical post card of France.
After St. Bauzille, we found a steady five kilometer climb and as I started up the hill an older man on a nice carbon road bike passed me with hardly a word. I don’t know what got into me, but I decided to see if I could catch him with my Friday loaded down with panniers. I think he was rather shocked when the red Rocket, sporting baby wheels and a large red handle bar bag, blew by him at 18 mph.
St. Guilhem-le-Desert looks like a movie set, with its castle tower on the edge of main street as you come into the village. Set on a good size river, the village is a maze of narrow, winding passageways running between large stone structures, which today hold your typical tourist attractions, such as restaurants, wine stores, high dollar clothing shops and art galleries. On the mountainside, over looking the village, you can see the remains of old castle walls and towers. It really is a charming village.
Our hotel, Le Guilhaume d’ Orange, is easily the nicest lodging of the trip. The rooms are spacious and well appointed and the view out our window overlooked the castle.
Our dinner, raw, fatty steak and greasy flavorless fries, was terrible. I spent $28 for it, which added to the pain emanating from my rebelling stomach. Damn, it just isn’t right! Where is this fine French cuisine? Does it only exist in Sebastian’s kitchen?
4/19 Capestang
89 KM = 55 miles, 350 total
It was all about villages on today’s maze like ride. Our circuitous route took us through a million little villages, all on top of a hill and surrounded by vineyards, with either a large cathedral or castle as its central focal point. It was places like St. Jean-de-Fos, Lagamas, Canet, Aspiran, Adissan and Pezenas. We would cycle in on D39, hit four riotous traffic circles, dodge six grandmas with their shopping baskets, and exit on D2 heading for Bedarieux. We would then cross a major road, like N9, and like magic, find the turn off for the continuation of D39, where total solitude and a sense of well being would return to our lives.
Since we had to stop in every village to read and discuss our biking cue sheet, and then look for the appropriate signs indicating our route, it took us forever to get to Capestang. Our one small ham and cheese sandwich didn’t even come close to fueling our efforts. And the two bottles of Gatorade in the hot northern breeze were a joke. I was hurting so badly at one point that I simply stopped at a farmer’s house and beat on the door. Through sign language I indicated that I was dying and in desperate need of water. The whole family came out to inspect our bizarre looking troop, and happily filled our water bottles. Even with the water, I limped into town running on fumes, thoroughly trashed.
The ride itself was beautiful. Red poppies dotted the green wheat fields and endless rows of newly leafed out, florescent green grape plants flowed in all directions. Sometimes we would ride through corridors of enormous Sycamore trees, which towered over you from both sides of the road.
We stopped to look at a bridge that had been constructed in the 11th century and impressive castles that now served as tasting rooms for large vineyards. Churches, built hundreds of years ago, seemed too large, too elaborate for the sparsely populated area.
We stayed at Rose’s Bed and Breakfast on the edge of Capestang. The rooms were large and the bathrooms were the nicest of the trip. I stood in our shower forever, as the shower head was directly over the top of your noggin, and the water fell on you like the warm rain drops of a tropical storm. After a glorious and much needed Happy Hour out on the picnic benches in the front yard, we walked uptown to eat.....pizza. What else?
4/20 Narbonne
26 KM = 16 miles, 366
The weather man got us again. We awoke to a steady drizzle and a stiff north wind. After ingesting another typically inadequate breakfast, a few slices of bread, a croissant and a hard boiled egg, we took off for the big city of Narbonne. It really wasn’t all that miserable, as the rain had stopped and we were wearing nearly every piece of clothing from our panniers.
We milled about in the old town of Narbonne, visiting the unfinished, mammoth St. Paul Cathedral, which was started in the 14th century. The highlight of the afternoon was going to their indoor market, which is a huge building hosting dozens of vendors selling everything from food and booze to vegetables and meat. A local band, performing near the beer garden, seemed to inspire a raucous group beer drinkers to occasionally shout or sing during each song. People were really having fun.
We finally took a break from our pizza diet and ate at the French version of McDonalds. Sadly, about half way through my cheese burger and extra greasy fries without salt, I was yearning for pizza.
4/21 Carcassone
80 KM = 50 miles, 416 total
Although we pedaled in light drizzle all day, it was one of the best days of the tour. We experienced little traffic, the countryside absolutely glowed green and we only had a few villages to circumnavigate.
The cool, damp environment seemed like super fuel for my body. I averaged over 13 mph on a ride with over 2000 feet in elevation gain, which isn’t all that bad for an old man on a funky, little wheeled, clown bike.
We pulled into our favorite French home, IBIS, at our normal time, 3:00 P.M. IBIS has tiny, modern rooms that are clean, everything typically works, and most importantly, they have lightning fast Wi-Fi. Sure you might bang your head on the bunk bed over the top of your twin at times, the comforters are a little too warm some nights and the bathroom is so small that the shower gets the floor around the toilet wet, but the price is right and they have a coffee machine that makes a divine double expressos.
We walked up to the old city for dinner, where we enjoyed cassoulet, a stew like mixture of sausage and white beans featuring a large duck leg. I also ordered a gizzard salad. It was an absolutely delicious meal!
The old city is by far the most impressive Medieval complex we’ve seen in our trips to Europe. It is huge, and with its massive double walls, moat, keeps, arrow slits, and looming towers, it really is spectacular. The lights on the walls at night give it a Disneyland feel.
4/22 Carcassone
Walked 5 miles, 22 total
We awoke to a heavy down pour, which helped alter our plans for traveling north to bike the Dordogne. The four of us spent the entire morning in Jim and Lori’s room consulting our tablets, looking at 10 day forecasts for everywhere between Hell and Gone. Finally, we opted to train our act back to Provence, where we’ll next ride the Luberon, hoping and praying for better weather.
We walked the busy streets of Carcassone to the train station to buy our tickets and then worked our way back to the walled castle of the old city. The highlight of the afternoon was listening to a Russian quartet sing in Basilica of Saint-Nazaire and eating at a Kabob joint. The Kabob is like a Greek gyro, only with chicken. And of course, it came with a mountain of French fries. Wow!
4/23 Cavaillon
24 KM = 15 miles, 431 total
I have no idea why, maybe it was the four double expressos for breakfast at IBIS, and lack of serious exercise, but I didn’t sleep a wink all night. The birds seemingly all parked themselves right outside our open window, and held competitions to see who could chirp the loudest. When you closed the window, the nine inch thick comforter boiled your body at approximately 357 degrees. It really, really was a long, painful night.
Somehow, someway, we were able to make our 8:14 A.M. train out of Carcassone and smoothly carry off two transfers at Narbonne and Avignon.
We ultimately found our way to another IBIS in Cavaillon and then set out to do a short day ride outside of town. The course, following prescribed arrows set for cyclists, had so many turns and twists that we gave up after only 21 KM, having been lost at least once (and that was when we were doing well).
Dinner was at Flunch, a buffet where we loaded our plates to heroic proportions and devoured every of speck of nutrition. I loved it.
4/24 Cucaron
47 KM = 29 miles, 460 total
The day started with me leading the pack out of town. I had studied the route by cross referencing the worthless little tourist pamphlet with Apple Maps. Unfortunately, the roads were void of valid signage in Cavaillon, so I ended up taking us on a convoluted “short cut” that actually cheated us out of three kilometers. Ultimately, we found the prescribed route and it was absolutely total bliss from that point on.
The only accurate way to describe our day was the word, “perfection.” It was about 75 degrees, we mostly rode single lane farm roads or vacant mountain highways and the wind was nonexistent. If you wanted to complain, you could maybe have blasted the 11% incline into Cucaron, but considering the beauty of the landscape, the low laying granite slabs of Luberon Mountains off to our left, and the endless apple orchards and vineyards interspersed with charming little villages, you would be hard pressed to find a way to be negative.
Even though most of the old stone buildings we’ve seen are 300-400 years old, they’ve really been maintained well. Remarkably, the few that we’ve been inside have had beautiful, modern interiors, with all of the conveniences that we desire in a home.
Instead of a Happy Hour at our lodging, we elected to go the village square, where we sat outside and drank wonderful Belgian beer. In fact, it was so good that we couldn’t stop at one.
Sadly we opted to return to the same cafe for dinner, which was very mediocre. The much anticipated “stir fry” ended up being a few pieces of cooked meat in a gravy. At least the beer had been perfect.
4/25 Forcalquier
72 KM = 45 miles, 505 total
It was the day of the long separation. We flew down the road from Cucuron expecting rain at any moment. Thankfully, the rain, nor the much advertised wind, never materialized. All went well for the first part of the ride, as we waited for each other at every sign post at the junctions, where the bike route was delineated by an orange arrow on a blue metal sign. Other than a smattering of complaints about the hills and poor placement of the signs, it was a perfect morning.
All HELL broke loose for Kim and I outside of Vitrolles en-Luberon, where we waited for Jim and Lori to appear. Kim finally decided to go ahead while I waited, knowing that they had to appear at any moment. Minutes slowly ticked off my watch. Where were they? Did Jim’s malfunctioning derailleur finally give up the ghost? Did one of them crash coming down the hair pin curves? Could one of them had a heart attack climbing one of the many steep pitches of the Luberon? Finally, after waiting 25 minutes, I left in search of Kim, who must have been way ahead by now. After a few short zigs and zags in the route, I found a worried wife standing by the edge of the road.
Our next long wait came in Pierrevert, where we stationed ourselves at a critical junction in the route, hoping that if they had gotten off the route we would find them here. Thirty long, worrisome minutes and still no Taylor, no Gard.
We then powered into Manosque, a bustling small city, where we went to the tourist information office hoping for a reunion. We had been there about 20 minutes when to our jubilation up they rode, loudly complaining that we had “cheated” by taking a “shortcut.” I didn’t know about any shortcut, but had simply attempted to follow the erratically placed blue and orange arrows decorating the countryside. Anyway, happily, we were all reunited.
Since it was still early in the day and Manosque wasn’t reputed to be wonderful, we hopped back on our steeds for a killer to climb to Forcalquier. It was spectacularly beautiful in places, with the dark blue clouds brilliantly contrasting with with the glowing green fields in the intermittent rays of sunlight.
As we pulled into the village, with over 1300 meters of elevation gain registering on my GPS in our 45 miles, I felt “finished.” The hellish climbs, the long waits, the worry - it had all drained me.
Our lodging was at a large bread and breakfast located in a antiquated building that had been tastefully renovated. Kim and I slept in the dorm upstairs, but since we were the only ones in there, it was a perfect night of power slumber.
We celebrated our reunion with our first real sample of fine French cuisine. Kim and I started with a delightful avocado/shrimp/tomato salad, then moved on to duck and chicken entree, before finishing with a strawberry tart for dessert. Even though the portion size was small, the food really was amazing. The flavors of each bite were off the charts. Well worth the $82 check.
4/26 Apt
64 KM = 40 miles, 545 total
I love the Luberon. It’s tough riding, but as close to bike heaven as I’ll ever see in my life time. If it had been our only ride on our five week Tour de France, the trip would have been a total success.
We woke to sunshine and calm, two of a biker’s best friends. After the metallic gray sky of yesterday, we faced the big climbs out of Forcalquier with Texas sized smiles on our faces.
Colors exploded across the horizon. Flowering plants, varying from the the bright yellow fields of canola to the flame red poppies interspersed in the vibrant green wheat fields, were everywhere. Even the newly tilled light brown summer fallow seemed to exude color. In the distance, we looked southeast at the towering peaks of the snow capped Alps. It was a dazzling postcard beauty that made it a special day to be on a bicycle.
Once again the hills were huge and endless. I had over 950 meters of elevation gain in only 40 miles. Since it was borderline hot, I was more than ready to quit when we pulled into the IBIS parking lot. It had been another wonderful day in France.
4/27 Avignon
42 KM = 26 miles, 571 total
Our wind swept conclusion of the Luberon started early in the morning, as we scheduled an 8:00 A.M. roll out to dodge the “mistral” predicted for the afternoon.
We took the bike path for the first 25 KM, which was mostly level and extremely pleasant, except for the reoccurring barriers every mile or two. When we left the bike path segment of our ride, we once again faced several of the steep pitches that make the Luberon so unforgettable. The climbs were short, but after three days of laboring up them, it was hard to muster the energy to once again fight up the slopes. The wind had also picked up, almost blowing you off the road at times.
The friendly, English speaking ticket agent at Avignon changed our attitudes to the positive in a short minute. We had been told previously that we needed to box up our bikes, which involved finding a bike shop and paying to have it done, and then ride the expensive bullet train into Paris, where we would then take another bullet back to Orleans. Our other option, equally dismal and expensive, was renting a car and driving north.
I wandered into the ticket office of French Rail in Avignon and sadly explained our situation to the agent, indicating that we wanted to use the slow regional trains where we could hang our bikes on the racks of the bike cars. I told him that we were in no hurry and could take all day to work our way north to Orleans. Being a biker himself, he immediately understood our quandary and went to work building us itinerary that entailed three connections and the best possible route to the Loire River Valley. He ended up saving us a huge amount of pain and money. Once again we were rescued by a friendly, helpful soul who went out of his way to make our lives better.
We celebrated at our favorite Avignon restaurant, spending 40 Euros to have soup, salad, then an open faced sandwich followed by heavenly raspberry tart. We also enjoyed a “man sized” stein of the delicious, ice cold Fischer lager. It was perfect end to the Luberon, but a very expensive “perfect.”
4/28 Orleans
We travelled all day, switching trains three times on our nine hour marathon to Orleans. I was more tired at the end of the day than if I had ridden 70 miles and climbed 5000 feet. It was grueling.
Breakfast in France is not my favorite thing. In most B & B’s or hotels, they give you a half of a baguette, a croissant, a little jam and a cup of coffee. It’s not really enough to start my motor, much less fuel a 50 mile bike ride. Even though it’s a lame proposition as far as quantity is concerned, the proprietor has no problem charging 7-9 Euros, which is $10-12. Considering that he buys the bread and jam for pennies at the local bakery, it seems criminal in comparison to what we get at an American restaurant for the same money.
IBIS, our French home away from home, gives you a buffet, which includes a variety of bread, some cheese, cereal and yogurt. You get tired of eating the same things every morning, but at least you can have several pieces of bread and several croissants. Most importantly, they have a coffee machine that spits out killer double expressos, mochas and other varieties of coffee that are wonderful. A couple of cups of these in the morning and you don’t even have to pedal! It just blows you up those steep hills.
The best value for dinner is the kabob shop. Arab immigrants throughout the country have opened up small restaurants everywhere. It’s like the widely spread Mexican influence in our country, where you can find a Tex-Mex restaurant in nearly every moderately sized town throughout the West.
Kim and I each had an excellent spicy chicken kabob, which was mixed with grilled peppers and onions, along with fries and a pop for 6.50 Euros. A cheap dinner in a typical French cafe will run about 15-20 Euros, and more often than not, will be pretty disgusting.
The restaurant owner also knows that the tourist cannot live without beer, and since grocery stores do not refrigerate their beer, you’re stuck buying it at the restaurant or bar. Typically, a plain Jane lager, no better than Budweiser, will run about 4.50 Euros for a small glass. That’s $6.00 for small beer. Again, it’s simply criminal!
4/29 Blois
48 KM = 30 miles, 601 total
Our first day on the Loire Valley tour was a success, but just barely. First of all, Jim and Lori overslept. Amazingly, they were able to throw together everything in a minute and we easily made the train for our 20 minute trip of Meung-sur-Loire.
After they had secured a meager breakfast at a bakery, we hopped on the route (sometimes a gravel road, at others a single lane asphalt road and finally a bike path) to Blois. Initially, it was a raw, cold morning with a light fog enveloping us as we worked our way down the river. Huge deciduous trees lined the banks, and rich farmland bordered our path. We cycled through tiny villages, one where the church bell tolled continuously. Large estates, protected by 15 foot high walls, sat back from the river, and as we worked our way down river, the value of the property seemed to grow exponentially. The Loire obviously has much of France’s serious money.
Early in the morning, when there was a bit of a bite in the air, I couldn’t help but think of World War I, when the troops spent four long years in the trenches. It was chilly, the kind of damp cold that seems to permeate your body, but we could deal with it by pedaling our bikes, which heated up our bodies. The typical World War I soldier sat in his trench for much of the day, and had no way of warming himself. It must have been torture to be stuck in those God awful, muddy, cold trenches for much of the year. Not only did you have shells coming at you, and attacks by the opposing army, but you dealt with constantly being cold, hungry and miserable. For the 21st century American cyclist in France: it’s only hunger!
By the time we pedaled into Blois a light rain was falling, which made our search for the Tourist Office and Budget IBIS all that more stressful. First of all, Blois, like most old French cities, is a maze of narrow, curving alleyways and one way streets. After we had left the Tourist Office, the rain began to fall like it was coming out of God’s shower head. As I attempted to study the map from the tourist office with my old man’s eyes, I watched it quickly disintegrating into pulp, making the directions to our hotel melt into oblivion.
Nevertheless, we blundered into the hotel a few minutes later, damp but warm, and in good spirits. The first day of our Loire adventure was over.... well, not really.
After we had showered and been sitting around for awhile, I got the bright idea to dress in our rain gear and go out to see the sites. It was totally pouring by the time we left the dry and warm confines of the IBIS, and within minutes our shoes were totally soaked and you could feel the moisture permeating the fabric of our cheap rain coats. By the time we returned to our hotel, a couple of hours later, nearly everything we were wearing was wet, and we dripped a small river of water onto the floor as we made our way back to our rooms.
4/30 Chenonceaux
52 KM = 32 miles, 633 total
We rode off the river to visit Chateau de Chenonceau, which was initially built in the 16th century. The setting, on the muddy, slow flowing Cher River, combined with the opulence and size of the castle, make it a “can’t miss” tourist attraction. It is Versailles on a smaller scale, but still it still makes a powerful impression on the visitor.
My first thought was about the financing and building of such an elaborate structure. It is huge, yet every small detail has been done with the utmost care. The art filling the walls, along with room size tapestries would cost millions in today’s dollars, and years to produce. Who were the laborers and artisans who did the construction? How well were they compensated? How many died in the process of building it? What was their life like and what was their home like in comparison to this excess? Visiting the chateau does a lot to explain why the French Revolution came about and why such a disparate distribution of wealth in a society is so dangerous. Nevertheless, the monster sized structure, which actually straddled the Cher River, along with the manicured gardens, made for a worthwhile tourist destination.
Even though we were in the chateau for only three hours, I was totally exhausted by the exercise. Give me sixty miles of mountainous roads any day over three hours of milling about, looking at objects of ancient history.
5/1 Chinon
8 Km = 5 miles, 638 total
The rain got us again. We had anticipated it, as the forecast called for 90% and 1/4” during the afternoon, so we were already programmed to train our way to Chinon.
After a leisurely morning of reading, we loaded up on French Rail at 11:30 A.M. The conductor on the train sold us a ticket all the way to Chinon, so upon reaching the Tours Station, we were more than a little surprised to find that our next train wasn’t a train - it was a bus! We frantically folded our bikes and hastily tossed them into the luggage compartment, as we were holding up the scheduled 12:20 P.M. departure. I worried about my bike all the way to Chinon. Had I accidentally stretched the cables in my haste in folding it? Thankfully, all functioned perfectly when I set it up again and we pedaled up the big hill to our hotel on the outskirts of the city.
Since the whole nation was off for May Day, our only option was to eat dinner at McDonald’s. Pathetically, I have to admit that we’ve had much worse in eating and biking our way from Nice to Paris.
5/2 Chinon
57 KM = 35 miles, 673 total
We elected to spend an extra day in Chinon, partially in hopes of visiting some of the sites and partially to wait out the weather.
We awoke to a dreary, windy day, which immediately sucked much of the enthusiasm out of our beings. Jim and Lori elected to go downtown Chinon and do Rick Steve’s walking tour of the city. Kim and I laid in bed reading until noon, when we looked out the window to find more favorable conditions.
At that point we jumped on our bikes and rode downriver following the bike route. Even though we had intermittent, light rain showers all afternoon, it felt really wonderful to aimlessly wander through the countryside without a plan. After the rain of the past week, it was an explosion of green, with flowering yellow weeds lining the the narrow, peaceful roads. Iris of many different colors, bloomed in yards along our route.
We rode through one small village where a funeral was taking place in the antiquated rock cathedral. It was interesting in that a group of about 100 mourners walked in back of the hearse as they took the body to the graveyard. The old and infirm were pushed up the street in wheel chairs or slowly made their way using canes. We respectfully pulled off the road and and patiently waited for the entourage to file past us.
5/3 Angers
104 Km = 64 miles, 737 total
“Epic!” came out of my mouth, as we pulled into the IBIS parking lot in a suburb outside of Angers, France. We had biked nearly nine hours zig zagging our way across the Loire River Valley, doing over 64 miles and a couple of thousand feet in elevation gain.
Since it was the first really nice day on the Loire, where we actually saw blue skies and and we had a tailwind for much of the ride, it was pretty optimal.
We blew by large country estates, endless acres of rich farmland and modern cliff dwellings sporting glass doors and plate glass windows. There were long sections through tree lined corridors by the rivers. We saw cute little port villages, where sail boats were moored next to the river bank. Possibly the most memorable, we had lunch overlooking the impressive Saumar Chateau, as it towers over the river. It definitely wins the award as “best lunch spot of the trip!”
At one point we stopped to have our bike tires inflated at bike shop in a small village. It’s really hard to keep your tires totally inflated at 100 pounds using the small hand pumps we pack for flats, so whenever we get a chance to visit a bike shop, it really makes our day. The owner of this particular shop was very friendly and interesting. He told me that he had lived in the States for a year, working as a mechanic for a mountain bike racing team, and that he raced Paris to Brest every year. The shop also provided needed supplies, as I got a much needed tube of chain lube and Lori got her dream present of all time, a kick stand.
The interesting part of the day came when we arrived in Angers, a mid sized city. We didn’t really have a good grasp on where our hotel was located, poor Lori had accidentally lost her directions, and we ended up taking a long, circuitous wander before finally finding our way. Since it was at the end of an already challenging day, we had to really suck it up and be tough.
5/4 Le Lude
79 KM = 49 miles, 786 total
French people are so friendly, so helpful that it absolutely amazes me. As is typical, we found ourselves in a small town stymied by the lack of adequate signage. I asked a younger woman which way to go and she immediately offered to lead us on her bike. While we were waiting for Jim to reappear from his survey of the situation, we talked with her about France and its troubled economy. Soon Jim came riding up with ten new friends, a bike group that had been meeting in a nearby park, who offered to lead us to Villeveque and show us its amazing chateau. We pulled in back of them, rolling along at a blazing six miles an hour, they on old mountain bikes and ancient 35 pound comfort cruisers. One gentleman rode next to me, attempting to engage me in conversation, which I understood less than zero. The net result of this act of kindness, and of other people going out of their way to assist us, is me making a resolution to be kinder, more generous and more helpful to my fellow human beings.
The ride was heaven. Our cue sheets were worthless, but we blundered through the countryside on smooth, tranquil roads where our only company was an occasional cow in one of the lush pastures. I have grown to be a fan of the “C” roads, a narrower, sleepier asphalt trail linking the farms with the villages.
5/5 Montoire
71 KM = 44 miles, 830 total
It was another day in paradise. The sun was shining, the wind wasn’t abusive and the scenery was magnificent. It was glowing green wheat and barley fields, pastures filled with large white cows, a colt trotting along side its mother, and more small villages built around huge cathedrals.
One very interesting thing about riding through France is the impact of World War I. Every village and city has a large, elaborate monument to the millions of soldiers who died in the war. It really hits you when you ride into a tiny village, with a population of less than 500 people, and you see the monument with the names of the dead, and the list goes on and on. How could such a small community have lost so many young males and survived? Who did the young women marry? Who took care of the vine yards, the farms and orchards after the war? How did France repopulate?
We rode by prodigious, elaborately constructed chateaus, some of which have been restored and are open for tourists. The grounds are manicured like Versailles, with the mounded hedges, beautiful flower gardens and large lawns. Some are still owned privately by very wealthy individuals and these are mostly hidden behind extremely high walls. You might be able to just barely see the roof line of the mansion. Others, sadly, are unoccupied, and are deteriorating monsters down quiet, back country roads. Weeds surround them and it appears that ghosts have been the only inhabitants for the last 50 years.
5/6 Chateaudun
81 KM = 50 miles, 880 total
We dodged a bullet today. It was supposed to be rain all day long, but instead we rode with partially cloudy skies with a “kick ass” tailwind. My average speed was over 13 mph, which is rocking.
As has been typical of the Loire Tour, the narrative instructions from our bike tour guide were more than a little deficient. Some of the roads didn’t even exist that we were advised to ride. It was no big deal though, as we easily put together alternative plans that took us into Chateaudun with minimal difficulty.
I did a bit of research on France. First of all, the typical person here lives on $20,000 a year after paying 50% of his/her income in taxes. Considering how expensive restaurants and bars are, about 30% more than in the States, I find it hard to understand how people can eat out, yet many of the places we visited seemed to do a brisk business. Many businesses also seemed undermanned, especially restaurants, which may be explained by the $17 per hour minimum wage.
For the most part, France looks prosperous. Buildings are old, but typically in decent condition. People tend to drive small cars, but most of them appear to be newer models. Although you will see a foreign car, such as a Toyota, Volkswagen or Mercedes occasionally, most folks have French Peugots, Citreons or Renaults.
The culture is not as driven as we are in the United States. Most businesses close between 2:00 and 7:00 P.M. and many are not open on Sundays. Holidays mean something here. Nothing is open on a holiday except your American companies, such as McDonald’s. French law prohibits freight trains to travel at night, allowing the people near the tracks a good night’s slumber. Obviously, it’s not all about productivity and profitability.
The people are active. You see people of all ages and genders on their bikes or walking everywhere. They go to the bakery every day to buy bread and you’ll see them walking home from the grocery store with a couple of bags of groceries in hand. Of course, having to pay $6 a gallon for gasoline is probably a great motivator to stay active. As a result, you rarely see overweight people. Even though they eat cheese constantly, that greasy French fries are served with nearly every restaurant meal, and that many smoke, the French people appear to be healthy and vigorous as they amble down the streets in doing their every day tasks.
Bread and wine seem to define the nation. Long, skinny baguettes are everywhere you look: under grandpa’s arm as he strolls home, in the basket of the housewife’s bike or being carried to the car by the teenaged girl. It seems that every little village has a bakery and that it does a killer business supplying bread and sweets to the nearby population. I don’t think people buy big national brands, like Wonder Bread or Hostess in our country, but instead fresh and local are valued. I would wager that the typical French family eats bread at least once every day.
If you go into a super market, you’ll often find that the chip section consists of about four options taking up little shelf space. Conversely, the wine section will take up at least one or two aisles and you’ll have hundreds of varieties to pick from at a wide range of prices. A good bottle of wine can only cost 1.80 Euros on special, which frequently made it the drink of choice at our nightly Happy Hour.
5/7 Chartres
70 KM = 43 miles, 923 total
I found that after over 800 miles on the roads of France that I still do not like traffic. Our first ten kilometers were on a busy road with a few trucks. Even though no one got close or was mean to me, I was still tense throughout the experience. I think it’s the road noise that I detest so much.
Soon we were back on our peaceful country lanes with a big time tail wind propelling us at warp speed. We flew through village after village, looking up at the blue/black cloud cover, wondering when the rain Gods were going to punish us. Sure we had a few Texas sized drops pound down on our helmets from time to time, but again we cheated fate and arrived at the IBIS parking lot relatively unscathed.
I was confident that I had the route into the city nailed. I had studied the Google Map of Chartres, taking copious notes of the turns and distances. Almost from the beginning things went astray, when there was no left to take on D29. Nevertheless, we easily found our way to the hotel, hidden away between the freeway and a crazy-busy four lane road. The hardest part of the whole day was actually getting across the high speed, bumper to bumper traffic to our IBIS. Jim, Kim and Lori risked it all and ran with their bikes between cars. I rolled the dice and entered the traffic circle, praying that the French drivers would let me live to take another IBIS shower.
We visited the famous Cathedral of Notre Dame in the old city. It’s mammoth size, with towering walls supported by huge buttresses, along with its gorgeous stained glass windows, dwarfed any church I’d ever seen before. Kim and I had a cursory inspection of the cathedral, as we had nearly used up our tolerance for visiting the old castles and churches. I know this seems like an ignorant, classless statement, but it really reflects my feelings after four weeks on the road in France, “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” While Jim and Lori took their time in going through the cathedral, we walked up and down the streets of the old city, sampling macaroons and looking for dinner spots.
5/8 Versailles
74 KM = 46 miles, 969 total
The forecast was once again totally wrong. Supposedly, we had 0% chance of rain, but almost from the beginning of our ride, the light misting drizzle tortured our travel worn bodies.
It was still a pleasurable day, as we found every back country road between Chartres and Versailles. It was a day of long, steep descents into river valleys, where we would find quaint little villages filled with vintage stone homes and of course, an oversized Medieval church. Unfortunately, the roads leaving each of these villages crawled up out of the other side of the valley, often at an 8% grade, making it the toughest day of cycling since we left the Luberon.
One of the most interesting things about this trip was seeing the French people celebrate VE Day. Although the crowds were not enormous, people of all generations came together to celebrate the defeat of Nazi Germany in World War II. Nearly every village we rode through had some sort of celebration. Typically, a few of the older men would stand at attention in uniform holding the French flag and other flags of local significance. Although I didn’t understand a word of what was being said, I’m sure that it was about the sacrifices that many made so that France would be free of the Nazi yolk.
Just as we were closing in on Versailles a hard rain started to pelt down on us. Huge drops stung our faces, as we attempted to push hard to quicken the end of the day. We were all totally soaked, dripping rain water, when we stopped in a Chinese restaurant for directions. A few minutes later, already cold, wet and miserable, Kim scored a flat tire. Simply pulling off my water logged gloves was a challenge, but, nevertheless, we had her back on the road in minutes.
The hot shower, and luke warm beer that Jim had so graciously provided, did much to improve my mood. However, a fair day turned into a wonderful day when we opted to eat at a Portuguese restaurant down the street from our hotel. I had a pork, clam and potato dish in a heavenly lemony gravy. Kim enjoyed duck, Jim had roast beef and Lori had beef strips in a white sauce with rice. All of us went home to IBIS with big smiles on our faces and a very strange sensation for traveling in France, a full stomach. I would rate it the best meal of the trip and it wasn’t even the much renowned French cooking.
5/9 Versailles
Walked 11 miles
Kim and I took the day off from the bikes. After a relaxing morning of sleeping in and laying about reading, we mustered the energy to walk the five kilometers to the Palace of Versailles.
Once we made the grounds, it was an endless wander through the most excessively opulent splendor on Earth. Every tree of the perimeter was expertly pruned to make a virtual green wall of leafed vegetation. Numerous paths, set in perfect geometric lines, were bordered by these lines of manicured trees. The maze of these paths ultimately led to large ponds, which featured intricate statues depicting a variety of scenes, typically dealing with Greek or Roman mythology.
As you made your way from the enormous man made canal, featuring tourists paddling around in row boats, the perimeter of a giant open area was lined with a plethora of large white statues of Greek and Roman Gods.
Then we ultimately made our way to the building, navigating through a million tourists, each armed with a large camera. The King’s residence is mammoth in size and has elaborate statues built into its exterior walls and protruding from its roof line. Since we had been in it before, sometime in the 1990’s, and knew the time and energy another tour would take, we elected to simply walk the grounds. However, just being on the outside of the Palace of Versailles is a very special treat. There is no other building in the world that compares to it’s grandeur.
After the walk to Versailles, I hoofed it another few miles in search of the elusive PNB Paribas ATM. My feet were toast at the end of the day, complaining about my frugality in bringing an already worn out pair of Columbia running shoes to Europe, and I hated Google Maps for deceiving me about the ease of finding my bank. As had been the case with earlier searches, the internet mapping site gave bogus directions to the location of the Euro spitting ATM machine. No bank existed there, much less an ATM. Thankfully, a couple of cold beers seemed to make it all much better.
5/10 Chateau de Fosseuse
78 KM = 48 miles, 1015 total
As I sit here, with my broken glasses falling off my face, I am absolutely amazed to have ridden 1015 miles on this adventure. And, I might add, it didn’t come easily.
Today was by far the shittiest day I’ve ever spent on a bicycle. We started out early, in hopes of beating the rain, pulling out of the IBIS parking lot at 8:30 A.M. Of course, small drops of moisture immediately began to fall with our departure. The much hated weatherman had told us that we had until 1:00 P.M. before rain was scheduled, but once again, he was totally wrong.
Almost immediately we lost our Map Quest bike route. It told us to take a left on “so and so street,” only it didn’t exist. We tried hard, cycling in virtual circles, to find our way and to locate the described streets on the cue sheet, but only got sucked deeper and deeper into the never ending Greater Paris Metropolitan Area maze.
Thankfully, the French once again showed us their amazing “bon-ami,” stopping to offer assistance and going out of their way to be helpful when they spotted us standing by the road in the rain, attempting to read a map that was not detailed enough for our prescribed mission.
The finest example of their generous and friendly culture came when we finally rolled over a bridge to find ourselves on the right bank of the Seine River. I thought we would be able to cruise along its bank for miles and miles, making up for the chaos of the morning. We didn’t get half a mile before we met with another dead end. We were pulled off the road, with Lori in the brush peeing, when a gentleman, Laurence, came across the street to help us. Soon we were inside his house, dripping rain water all over his foyer, drinking espresso and visiting with his extended family, as they prepared for a small gathering of 150 guests to celebrate their mother and father’s anniversary. Nevertheless, as harried as they must have been in making last minute preparations, they took time out to provide conflicting counsel on the best route to our destination.
We continued our very circuitous course north, riding through crazy busy traffic on streets too narrow for a Chevrolet Suburban. Cars would impatiently pile up hind us, as we blazed along at 9-10 mph and edge by us when there was an extra 16 inches to spare. All through this amazingly depressing ordeal, we would stop to revisit our map at nearly every junction, looking for road signs pointing in a favorable direction.
We stopped for an early dinner at McDonald’s, knowing that our chateau was located in the middle of “no where.” As we sat, suffering though our tasteless grease, all Hell broke loose outside. Volumes of water fell from the sky, pounding down on the parking lot violently. It was hard, but we sucked up our courage and put on our rain gear to face torrential rain and God awful traffic.
Even the bike paths were bad news. Kim hit a metal utility cover and skidded a wild “s” turn before righting the ship. Her little body was quivering with fear when I pulled up to her stopped along side the trail.
After 11 hours on the road, three flat tires between us, and a million stops to analyze the map, we finally found the Chateau Fosseuse, a large, antiquated mansion over looking a meadow and a small pond. Our room was more of a suite, with antique furniture and easily five times the area of our IBIS cubicles, but it didn’t have hot water. It was the ultimate way to complete the “shittiest” day ever on a bicycle.
I learned three important lessons during this experience. First, stay away from metropolitan areas on your bike. The reasons are obvious! Secondly, brake pads evaporate in rainy weather. I was down to zero brakes on the rear by the end of the day, which made rolling down some of the hills rather suspenseful. Lastly, wax chain lube is pretty worthless in wet weather. My Friday was ghost shifting and the poor chain was clanking miserably by the end of the day, and this was after being lubed excessively that morning. If I really thought I had a chance of learning it, I would also add to never bike in the Northern regions of Europe during the Spring season. You’re just asking to be rained on.... a lot.
5/11 Fosseuse
25 KM = 16 miles, 1031 total
Our morning was perfect, as we sat around the chateau wasting the day away. We read a bit, visited with the Dutch girl staying in the room down the hall and played on the internet with our I Pad.
About 1:30 P.M. we finally found some motivation and decided to bike to Meru for lunch. Almost immediately disaster struck. Another flat tire! We walked home to the chateau, so I could clean up after changing the tire, as the rims were coated with a fine film of black rubber from my worn down brake pads.
Upon getting the tire fixed, we set out again and a mile down the road a terrible wind kicked up. In minutes we were being soaked by a micro-burst. We hid out in a bus stop for awhile, putting on our rain gear and waiting out the worst of the storm, but with our stomachs now growling and knowing that the restaurant closed at 3:00 P.M., we climbed back on our saddles and pedaled off into the stiff wind and driving rain.
When we pulled into Meru, soaked, sweaty and in a pretty ugly mood, we found disaster. Every restaurant in town, especially the one we had been advised to go to, was closed. I could have cried when I went up to that door and saw all the lights off and the door locked. I looked down at the hours posted by the door, where it clearly showed that it should still be open. We cycled up and down the streets, looking for anything to eat. Finally, just as we were leaving the downtown area, we spotted a bakery, but they only had sweets left in their case. I didn’t think it was possible, but we were so hungry that we ordered 17 Euros worth of sugar and fat. It was disgusting, and didn’t even come come to placating my hunger or sense of defeat. It was a total, complete disaster.
We rode back to Meru four very long hours later. This time we faced a 35 mph headwind on an empty gas tank. Kim and I were both in a very foul mood until we had devoured a couple of pieces of pizza along with a cold beer. Amazingly, our attitudes seemed to improve with each bite of the unexceptional pizza.
5/12 Fosseuse
14 KM = 9 miles, 1040 miles
Kim and I again elected to lay low at the chateau over a trip into Paris with Jim and Lori, who were going to the Museum of Military History.
The morning was spent on a Jeep tour of the chateau’s grounds provided by John Luke, the owner. He loaded Margaret, the Dutch woman, Kim and I into his WWII vintage French Jeep and we slowly crawled through the woods in back of the estate. Possibly the most interesting aspect of the ride was seeing the 400 year old root cellar that was used to keep food cold during the Middle Ages. At that time the people would go cut ice on the river during the winter months and bring it to the root cellar, where it would be stacked for the long summer ahead. John also told us that he hid in the cellar during World War II when the Germans were retreating after the American invasion of Normandy.
About 1:00 P.M., we hopped on our Fridays for the last time. We rode into Meru once again for our lunch/dinner. Of course, it rained on us, although we were in the Moroccan restaurant when the skies absolutely opened up. On our way back to the chateau I had my third flat tire in the last three days. I think it is a combination of worn out tires and wet pavement, which means two extra spare tires and an arid climate for our next bicycle tour.
I was excited to put my Friday back into its suitcase during the afternoon. Although the trip had been incredible, and I’ve loved France and its people, I’m already half way back to Wyoming in my mind. I’m ready for home cooking, my own firm mattress with no duvet, and the solitude of my humble home. And then there’s American breakfasts, Alaskan Amber, my hiking boots, a bright red Trek Domane, Grand Teton National Park.....
5/13 Paris
The constant rain showers of May in Northern France have not only dampened my clothing, it has really soaked my spirit and made me yearn for home.
Kim and I started the day by spending about $60 for an all day train, bus and subway ticket for the whole Paris metro area. As we climbed from the steps out of the subway tube at Notre Dame, the ominous black clouds of Spring in France started with a light sprinkle. We took a cursory stroll around the grounds and snapped a couple of photos before bee-lining it back to the subway.
Our next stop was at Eiffel Tower and somewhere to eat, as I was starving from my French breakfast of bread and jelly. We had hoped to sit outside, sipping wine with our meal, watching Paris walk by our table. We wanted to act Parisian. However, it was pouring buckets by the time we made the next subway stop. It ended up being a hamburger and mountain of fries, while sitting inside at brasserie staring at the walls.
It would clear for a few minutes, teasing you, and then the next black bank of clouds on the horizon would sneak up on you when your guard was down, soaking you to the bone in the cool Spring air.
Sure we walked around and rode a few buses to see some of the city, but it really wasn’t fun at all. I had a headache from the morning of French starvation, was cold and wet, and my stomach was revolting from the tremendous volume of grease I had ingested. For me, “Paris in the Spring” was hardly romantic, beautiful or exciting. It was Hell!
Epilogue
We’ve been home in Wyoming for nearly a week. I’m almost feeling human again, now sleeping to 7:00 A.M. instead of waking up in the middle of the night. I’ve had waffles with strawberries and bananas three days in a row for breakfast and refused to go anywhere near fried food. Life is good.
Since I’ve had a few days separation, in reflection I’d have to say that our France trip was one of the best we’ve ever experienced. I guess the thing that I loved more than any other aspect were those isolated, back country roads that wove through the countryside between villages. It was so peaceful, the pavement was generally good and the lush, green glow of Spring really made it feel alive.
I also came home with a fondness for the French people we encountered on our ride. Generally, they were friendly and pleasant in our everyday interactions. However, there were special people who went out of their way to help us on our tour. If we were pulled over on the side of the road, studying a map, more often than not someone would come to our aid. They would stop their car, pull over their motorcycle or ride up to us on their bike. I love the French people.
I am so impressed by our Bike Friday Pocket Rockets. Not only were they fun to ride, but with the Capreo cassette on the back, we could climb nearly anything and at the same time, really move on the flats or downhill. After I grew acustomed to the extra weight of the panniers and handlebar bag, it felt more like a road bike than a work mule. I averaged between 12-13 mph on our daily rides, where we typically did between 35-50 miles and climbed around 1500-2000 feet. They may look like a clown bike, but they are the real deal, a monster machine of bicycle touring.
Jim and Lori were the perfect traveling companions. We spent over 35 days attached at the hip and we had an excellent relationship for every one of those 35 days, which I find amazing. Some days were really tough, with huge hills and many miles. Other days we fought the wind and rain. Taylor and Gard never lost their grip or became negative during the trying times. They were always full of smiles, kind words and fun. They are great friends.
