The Way Of Saint Martin

Gien to Jargeau

2008-03-11T14:18:00.000-07:00

Another bloaty breakfast, this time the apple sauce came with apricot or raspberry - I had both. We watched the rain fall and as it clearly had no intention of stopping we grimly rode out. We rolled through the rain for 30km before we reached Sully sur Loire with its fancy pants chateau in a moat. It was very fancy.

We were wet and cold so instead of admiring its wonderfulness we stopped at The Castle Tavern, an English bar. I had four cheese pasta which for reasons unknown I ordered in Italian. The waiter flipped out when Lou went out after her meal for a cigarette. He chased her into the street as I waved money at him trying to pay from the table.

We rang Maxine and sang 'Happy Birthday' to her answer machine, then bought postcards of the pretty chateau.

Sancerre to Gien

2008-02-01T14:03:00.001-08:00

We woke up late. Lou was completely covered in insect bites and had been up in the night to smoke them out. We went down to breakfast and I scoffed loads of my new discovery - little pots of applesauce. I'd only previously seen them on Trans-Atlantic flights before and found them odd, but they have fruit in, and that's not easy to come by.

We hurtled out of town down the hills stopping only briefly for me to panic that I had to go back for my helmet. It was on my head but the cold wind on my wet hair made me feel like it wasn't. When we got to the bottom we stopped in the pharmacy at St Satur. Lou got some anti-histamines at the chemists and we carried on, but not for long. We stopped for coffee and cigarettes and Lou complained of feeling tired.

It was cold and raining with a fierce headwind and the anti-histamine had made Lou sleepy. They also acted as a diruetic. We stopped at every bar we passed for a wee, taking ages to get to Cosne Cours sur Loire where the church was locked and the bar we stopped at had a pissour.

Sadly and slowly out of town, Lou was really struggling and had to stop in the woods to pee. She was unsteady on her legs and managed to get nettle stings on her bum.

We spotted a roadside cafe at Lere, L'Escapade, although it was slightly set back from the road. It only offered four course meals. Lou nipped in for I pee while I asked if it was possible just to have a sandwich. The girl behind the bar asked a large man who said yes. We agreed on one chicken and one cheese sandwich after a quick mime to ensure we didn't get two cheese and chicken butties.

Drinks proved more difficult. There were lots of questions and I couldn't answer them. I dug out my translation book but with no success. I finally understood as an old drinker at the bar was muttering about velos and bidons. I shouted "Bidons! Oui!". I knew what they were, so said "Non, n'est pas pour bidons, c'est pour ici". Go me on the advanced French.

The baguettes were huge and scrummy. Hurrah for L'Escapade. Boo for the church which was locked but had lovely looking windows.

The little towns here are pretty with varying awards from 1-4 flowers for their floweriness. Belleville deserves an upgrade.

It was still cold, it was still windy and it was still raining. We went along and I regularly looked back to check Lou was still awake. We spotted the rocky track up to 'Pont Canal', the entrance to Briare. Hurrah. At the top was the canal aqueduct, taking the canal across the Loire. Quite bizarre. We cycled all 662m into the 'mosaic capital of France'.

The church was richly decorated with mosaic outside. It was really impressive. We went to the tourist office to get a room before we explored. There were 3 hotels. One was closed and two were full. Lou went outside to cry. The lovely tourist office person offered Chambres D'Hotes way out east but I showed her our route, a 30km detour wasn't an option.

We agreed Gien was our best option and we'd start with as many stars as possible and work down. She got us a room in the Hotel Rivage - without a Loire view - I could live with that.

We said we'd be there in two hours, paid out E1 fee and went off to explore the church which was as mosaiced inside as out. We took photos and accepted pitying glances as we sadly set off out of town. It took a few minutes to cross over the Pont Canal this time on the other side which had a nice tarmac road up to it, which I wish I'd known when I carried my bike up the dirt track.

I kept myself going through the now familiar 1,2,3,4 counting system, getting up to 8 when I felt stronger against the wind and rain. Lou shouted that my panniers were wobbling. I stopped to look. It was hard to see through the rain dripping off me and the bike but the rack had lost its retaining bolt by the gears. I effected an emergency repair by putting three cable ties in its place. It would get us to the hotel on the flat, but wouldn't withstand a descent.

It was late Saturday evening, bike shops would be closed until Tuesday. I worried about what to do as we pedalled gingerly on. We could see the massive Chateau in the distance, which would be impressive if water wasn't squelching from my shoes as I pedalled.

I spotted our hotel on the other side of the river, but we had to cycle on to the bridge into town and back to it. Lou smoked in the archway as I dripped in the palatial lobby. The chap came and unlocked the 'box' for the bikes which was a shed/cellar. Lou ate all the sweets on the desk as we checked in.

We walked down through freezing drizzle to a bistro we'd seen on the way in. Two grannies shouted something like "You'll catch your death dressed like that, silly girls", it was like having our mums there, but we were wearing all the dry clothes we had. There was a pizzeria but it didn't open until 7 so we sat and had a beer in a bar. I 'read' the paper whilst Lou did the Sudokos.

I had an achovy and olive pizza, while Lou had pasta and we drank rose. It wasn't enough though. We explained we'd cycled there before I had another pizza and Lou had steak and chips.

Sancerre

2008-01-20T07:04:00.000-08:00

We headed to the tourist office but spotted a sign to the St Martin Hotel and decided to stay there. We locked up the bikes in a courtyard and went to our grotty room. We couldn't be bothered to get properly changed, just put on fleeces and went for a stroll.

Sancerre was small and we visited the church which was lovely - very simple. When we came out we walked past Maison des Sancerre - like Cadbury World only for Sancerre. We went in and I tried to get the attention of the attendant who told us we couldn't go in. I waved my E10 but nothing doing. They closed in half an hour so we wouldn't have time to enjoy a visit, and no, we couldn't rush a visit, that was not a decision a visitor was allowed to make. We were banished. I really wanted to cry, but didn't.

We walked back to L'Esplanade where I planned to add the rejected E10 tour money to the wine budget for dinner. We went in and I asked the spotty youth for a table for two. He conferred with the owner who after looking us up and down agreed we could sit inside. Cheeky blighter!

I decided to have Sancerre a pichet and save my money for a more welcoming hostelry. I did have fabulous shellfish and rice and I wanted local goat cheese for dessert, but ordered "Fromage Cheveaux" - 'Hairy Cheese' by mistake. It was quickly sorted out after some hilarity and we headed back to sleep.

Nevers to Sancerre

2008-01-16T13:17:00.000-08:00

I woke with a start after sleeping like a baby. It was 7am and already light. We got ready and went down for breakfast. I had pain au chocolat with added Nutella, fruit salad, apple sauce and prunes, yes prunes - I'd been suffering. We paid up and headed out on a small road to Marzy where we stopped at the post office. I confidently asked for 'Cinq timbre pour carte postal pour Etat Unis". They pretended not to understand, but I was unwavering and they repeated what I said and gave me the right stamps.

On to Marseille les Aubigny where my legs felt like pudding and we stopped for Tracker bars. The wind was strong and we were in rain gear, so it was hard work along the canal and past factories, quarries and agricultural co-ops.

We made it to Charite sur Loire in good time and parked up outside the Landsdowne Road Irish bar for lunch but it was closed. We went into the abbey which was impressive, but a little soul-less, before strolling around town in search of lunch. The options were poor and we chose a bar for baguette and chips. The bloke opposite me ordered steak and chips, but as he had no teeth he put most of it in a bag to take home.

We headed out of town back the way we came as far as Herry where we stopped at Herry's Bar for juice. The had a giant TV showing American daytime soaps dubbed into French. Onwards towards Sancerre, Lou had been bitten several times by insects. I have three lumps on my forehead but she is totally covered. They're gross.

Gentle hills led us there but our guidebook promised us a steep 10km climb. We could see Sancerre high above usand at the 10km mark we stopped to eat fruit and organise ourselves for the climb. It started to rain. All encompassing cold drizzle and we set about our task, cheering every kilometre, but they weren't steep until the last three which were hairpins through the vineyards.

I stopped to take photos on the way. We were there much sooner than planned as the climb wasn't what we expected.

Nevers

2008-01-07T03:51:00.000-08:00

Our room had its own loo, bath and TV – luxury. There was porn on the TV! The big news was a terror plot and chaos at Heathrow. Loads of family members were flying around Europe and across the Atlantic this week so I worried a bit. We cleaned up and washed lots of clothes, then headed into town.

We sat in the main square and ordered baguettes and chips. I had lots of tomato juice to boost up my tomato intake. During our lunch we had a change of waiter and the new one just wanted to charge us for drinks. I didn’t have the language skills to explain the mix up but ‘Un autre addition pour le mange s’il vous plait’ worked OK. He touched my arm in recognition. French people touch me a lot. The wind picked up and it was cold, we stopped back at the hotel to check our washing was still secured to the balcony and to pick up fleeces.

We headed to the Basilica St Cyn. It was really quite impressive. The RAF had bombed it to smithereens on Bastille Day in 1944, but they’d rebuilt and were steadily adding stained glass windows. The light in the church was fabulous. We strolled around town looking for an internet café, we found several boarded up ones but not an open one. We mooched about looking for pasta. Yes, I know I’m in France, but I don’t eat veal which seems to be the only food choice. Bad buskers rendered parts of the city no-go zones. The main square was the best option.

I had salmon pasta and some Touraine Sauvignon Blanc. Scrummy. The waitress was running back and forth acrooss a busy road to a family we could only assume were Mormon polygamists. Our Dutch chums from earlier in the day were eating in the square. She was glammed up in a suit, he was not. That explained her huge panniers and his tiny bag. We strolled back to bed.

Decizes to Nevers

2007-10-26T11:50:00.000-07:00

Got up fairly leisurely and had breakfast at the Bel Air bar. We had to head back through town to rejoin the route and onto Avril Sur Loire where Lou was desperate to pee. No-where was available, we spotted an older Dutch couple sitting by their bikes and they confirmed there was no loo, and the bloke helpfully pointed to some bushes. Lou was not amused. I took a look around the church to see if I could get in but the only open door led into the graveyard.

We rode back on to the canal path to Fleury sur Loire which had a bar-tabac-restaurant but it was boarded up with a tarpaulin roof. The post office was open and had a loo – hurrah!

There were roadworks on the way out - swinging drainage pipes across the road. We waited behind a truck before pulling off. Lou took the lead, it was fabulous, n pedalling required for miles. We stopped for apples and nectarines before a short climb to Sermoise sur Loire.

I took over as Lou is scared of cities. The ride into Nevers wasn’t too bad, we went for a good couple of miles along strip malls, outlet stores and motels before crossing the Loire into the city.

We followed the signs – and St Jacques Street! – to the tourist office. They gave us an accommodation list. Our first choices were all out of town so we re-chose. The Campanile was as fancy as it got. I went back into the office to ask them to book it for us but the lady explained at quite some length that if she booked it she’d have to charge us lots of money, far too much money, so much she couldn’t even bring herself to tell me how much. She could however call and ask if they had any rooms available for two English women with bikes who might walk in in ten minutes, just as a general enquiry. They did, so she gave us a map and we set off.

The map didn’t highlight the flight of stairs in the street or the idiot Korean on them, but other than that no problem. The hotel was opposite the station and we had to walk up the road past kebab shops to a controlled car park to put our bikes in bay nine. We locked up the bikes and headed to our room.

Digoin

2007-09-20T12:48:00.000-07:00

We stopped at the first hotel we saw, The Agriculture – part of the Logis de France group. Lou held the bikes as I went in. An over-heated little waiter acknowledged my presence then scurried off. I waited then went into the restaurant – a firm “Oui” from him and I waited some more. This went on for a few minutes before I went behind the counter and checked the register myself. All 15 rooms were accounted for.

We went into town, walking out the other side without spotting a hotel. We asked some teenagers who didn’t know of any hotels but suggested we try a bar or restaurant as they may. They didn’t.

I spotted a small road sign on the bridge to the Bel Air hotel. We cycled out of town and across the Loire on to a long road with auto repair places and residential homes. It didn’t look promising but we didn’t have any other options so kept going.

I saw a Les Routiers sign – hurrah! I tried to explain what Les Routiers was as we climbed a short hill but by the time I had we were at the Bel Air. It looked closed, with shutters down, but it was two buildings and the sign said ‘open’. We went in and a woman wearing orange tie-dye trousers showed us into the hotel.

The room was tiny with a double bed. The loo and shower were down the hall. We washed our hands and went down for dinner in smelly clothes. The starter was a buffet – tuna, veg and what I thought was pasta and peppers but it turned out to be baby squid. I had a rose and Lou opted for beer.

The main course arrived – meat on aubergine. I scooped off the meat and gave it to Lou whilst she slid her aubergines onto my plate. We’d done it all surprisingly loudly and a small crowd had gathered to laugh. I was so embarrassed. The chap at the next table took pity and said “C’est comme maison” and kindly traded an aubergine with his wife to make us feel better. We had cheese but having eaten so quickly we had no room for pudding and coffee. The bill, which included the room, dinner, drinks and breakfast for two was around E50 – fabulous.

Lou asked the woman where she could buy cigarettes and the orange trousered lady said “Avec moi”, leading Lou out to show her whilst I polished off my wine. Lou came back in, bright red. The woman had taken her outside and bummed a fag off a fellow customer, explaining that we’re all family here.

We paid up and left, walking the two mile round trip to get cigarettes from a shoe box above the bar. There are clearly some odd rules about cigarette sales here.

Another glass of wine on our return and after declining the offer from a trucker to go back to his room for drinks we went to bed and slept soundly, dreaming of the strange Johnny Halliday memorabilia that filled the bar.

St Agnan - Digoin

2007-03-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

As we left town I noticed my fingers were wrinkly and my pee had been Tango so I set out to drink as much as possible. The hotel had refilled my bidons and I drank them. We got to Diou after taking a very wrong turn and ending up in a bar that supported Marseilles. My glass was chipped and in the loo a shower was available for €1.50 – we worried it was ‘pay-per-view’. We went back on a cycleway. Diou was another place described in our guide as busy and hazardous, although we didn’t see a soul as we rode through.

From here we were promised ‘no facilities’ for 40km, although the next town had a tobacconist and mini-mart where we bought stamps, and Beaulon had a supermarket where we bought water. From there on there was nothing, just miles of farmland. We stopped at the Abbey of Seven Fonts, after several attempts to go in the wrong entrances, but they wouldn’t let us see even one font, they just tried to sell us cereal products in their farm shop.

On the road out I pee’d in the wilderness, twice, the water was definitely working. A cricket hopped on my food, which ruined my aim a little.

We approached Gamay Sur Loire and I spotted the sign for the Gite d’Etape. We could hear kids playing and it sounded busy. It was. There were people everywhere, along with tents and caravans. We walked towards a reception and a chap by the swimming pool – luxury – called to us. I asked him for a room for the night and he said no. He asked if I spoke English – he was Dutch – like his guests. The place was full, and there was nothing else in town. There may be another Gite 12km up the road by Feuillatte (sadly not home to Nicholas’ Champagne), but he didn’t have a phone number. Otherwise Digoin was our best bet.

Lou was desperate to pee so we rode into the only bar in town and ordered two Oranginas and asked for cigarettes. They didn’t sell them and Lou was down to her last three. She came back from the Lou in record time. It was a pissour – foot spaces with a hole in the floor. She flat refused to pee in the wilderness and there were no other choices so she had to go back in. We agreed never to speak of it again.

The restaurant and Tabac place over the road that looked like it may have had a flushing toilet was long since boarded up. We cycled on at a speedy pace, determined to get to a destination in daylight. After about five miles my legs felt like pudding and I had to stop for food. We had French chipsticks. I shovelled them in a handful at a time. They hurt my lips which were sunburned, but I kept shovelling. It gave me the carbs I needed to get going again.

After miles of nothingness and massive agricultural co-ops we spotted the Gite – it was a mile down an un-cycle-able stony path. There was no phone number and there would be no food. We stood like the dopey cattle that surrounded us for a while before agreeing to go on the 10k to the next town.

We cycled on with grim determination, it was cooling quickly and starting to rain. We reached the busy junction which our guidebook told us to avoid, but were too tired for the detour. We turned right onto a bridge with a sharp incline over the canal. My chain came off, firing me forwards onto the bars and then into the road. Wah! I fixed it and we limped into the grim little town.

Marcigny – St Agnan

2007-03-12T13:09:00.000-07:00

We woke and got ready before walking into the square to the “Petit Casino” where we bought tomatoes and apricots for breakfast, apples, nectarines, chipsticks and M&M’s for the road. I dropped one of my tomatoes but I didn’t cry.

We settled up with the Hotel Globe – they filled our bidons with nice cold water (not toilet tap) and headed to Bernard Gay Cycles where I bought some gloves. 'Bernard' laughed at the state of my blistered hands as he tried various pairs on until we settled on a size 8. I’m a size 8 – go me!

We pumped up the tyres and headed out through pleasant cattle country. The cows here are all white, well, beige with little horns and pesky haircuts. We cycled past Baugy, clean forgetting to stop and look at the carvings of animal musicians at the ancient church. Boo!

Lots of long flat miles past cows who didn’t have monkey jockeys, which was a shame. We cycled alongside the canal for ages, stopping for Fruisli’s, M&M’s and bouts of intestinal gas. Classy.

We stopped at a canalside creperie for coffee. It said it was open, but wasn’t. The entire family came out including a small boy in underpants and two dogs. We had some unpleasant coffee and rode on reaching Digoin alive – a feat that our guidebook would lead a reader to believe was impossible. We sat by the river for a drink and decided to press on, not staying in town for lunch.

There were hills on the way out but nothing as bad as we’d already managed so we were OK up to St Agnan where we stopped at the Commercial Hotel opposite a dilapidated railway station. The waitress sho’d us into a dining room full of working men eating lunch. She offered us a choice of melon or pate. We both chose melon which was a fabulous ¼ canteoupe. Next up was veal with veg. I managed to get an omelette instead. Not got for my digestive difficulties. We had some cheese, paid up and slapped on more sunscreen. My stomach was sore, I was hungry but full – a horrible sensation.

Marcigny

2006-11-11T06:47:00.000-08:00

The rain in Marcigny really was torrential, and unlike other cycle pilgrimages we've undertaken, rain became a regular factor of our trip through France.

In some ways it's better than blistering sun as it does no painful damage to you, and doesn't make you ill, but it is depressing, and feeling the squidge of water between your toes as you pedal does not inspire stellar performance.

Marcigny

2006-11-05T13:25:00.000-08:00

We rode into Marcigny past a supermarket and industrial units to a neat little market town. The tourist office was well signposted so we got off the bike and walked to it. The young woman was lovely, and s English than we spoke French she quickly identified the hotels and chambers d’hote we could stay in. Hotels are cheaper and dodgier.

No-one was answering the phone at our chosen hotels so we walked round. The bloke shoo’d Lou out of our first choice. No, we could not stay. We went for the second choice, the Globe Hotel, which I’d seen on the way in. It said it was open on a big chalk board outside, but it was locked up. A woman came up and asked if she could help. It was her hotel. After locking up her savage dog, she let us in. We left our bikes in a tumbledown outbuilding. Our room was grim but functional.

We cleaned up and went out for tea. A quick stroll around confirmed we were in town with half day closing on Tuesdays. Grrrr.

Suddenly the rain came down with incredible force. We hid in doorways until it stopped and then I rejected eateries out of hand until we settled on Chez Renee. We sat in the bar area by the window. I think we were supposed to go through to the restaurant. We didn’t opt for gizzard salad, but the innocent looking one I selected had three different types of ham in it. We traded ingredients so we each had a reasonable starter.

I had coquilles St Jacques in Champagne with chips. Lou had trout. I had some Macon blanc in a little brown jug as we were in the neighbourhood. It was heavenly.

I still haven’t poo’d in France. This is a problem for me on long distance trips. The combination of unfamiliar surroundings, dehydration, a change of water, sitting down all day, and a change of diet play havoc with my innards. Café Renee had a weird shrink wrap on the loo seat which moved around when you pressed a button, to ensure fresh shrink wrap on your bum. It did not however have a door on the men’s urinals. An interesting investment decision.

Roanne to Marcigny

2006-10-17T14:23:00.000-07:00

We stopped at St Louis’ in Roanne, a big black church which looked much brighter inside. Lou settled down at an internet café to blog whilst I headed off to a popular lunchtime bakers. After trying to say “thin, atun, tuna, poisson and pesce” I eventually mimed a fish before getting tuna sandwiches.

A crazy old guy shouted at Lou in the street whilst picking his nose. We walked down to McDonalds to pee. Onwards on foot through the pedestrian precinct which looked a lot like Rugby, although it was mostly closed for lunch.

There was a fabulous trompe l’oeil painting worked into the side of a building. We locked up the bikes and went into another church which John Vianney had had visited and some woman had been baptised in before setting up an order of nuns now found on three continents. Fancy.

Road signage wasn’t good so we relied on my watch to get us out. A friendly family confirmed we were on the right road and we followed the cycle path out of town towards the thick black clouds ahead.

It started to drizzle so we kitted up with rain jackets for ourselves and our panniers. It threw down, with rain, hail and thunder. My lower half was soaked but my Featherlite top kept my torso warm and dry. It was hard to see in the rain and cars swooped by soaking us.

When it stopped we cycled into the headwind and the road turned into a canal towpath, although still designated a D road. We stopped at Melay for a drink, there was a curious bar with the barman installed in a living room behind the bar, sprawled on a sofa in his underwear. Classy.

We sat and dried out before heading on to Chambilly where I found it necessary to sing a few choruses of “Chambilly Lace”. From here it was fairly straight riding into Marcigny, which was close to the river, not high above it as threatened by our guidebook.

Neulise to Roanne

2006-10-05T15:05:00.000-07:00

We got up just before 7 and got showered and ready. We went upstairs to our hosts rooms for breakfast. The old woman was in her dressing gown looking slightly scary. Her husband had gone to “recherche la pain”. We sat and waited in their very brown room with fabulous views over the hills. A small and enthusiastic dog came in and started licking the sunscreen off my leg. The woman took it away. Bread, croissants and jams arrived. I moved my cereal bowl to one side and the bloke came back and filled it with coffee.

The room was filled with slightly bad art. Someone in the family liked to paint. There were photos everywhere, including one of JPII in his Popemobile.

We ate then the chap filled our bidons, breaking one of Lou’s. The ride out of town was fabulous, all downhill to St Jodard, a cheery village, and on to our first view of the Loire. It’s huge and there’s miles to go. It’s also cut itself a route out of the rock, but the road is up and down through some pretty major hills.

I spotted a castle as we cycled downhill. A fabulous chateau in the middle of the river. We stopped to look and chat about what it would be like to live there. Then we began to climb the hills way above the river. We pedalled on, higher and higher. At one stage I started counting pedal revolutions – 50 and I could stop for a drink, then 40, then 30, then 25. It was harsh.

I was glad it was still morning and cool, but we still had a strong headwind against us. A fabulous descent and more climbing – we were at peak one of five. At one stage where the road was a sharp V shape on the map I had to give up and push the bike around the worst bit of a hairpin as mad dogs behind a fence barked at me.

Finally, past Bully at the top we spotted a sundial from the guidebook. There was a hotel so we stopped for coffee. The waiter was old and seemed to be dressed only in boxer shorts. He was keen to point out places we should visit.

A super-duper descent, against the wind, down to the hydro electric plant. It was really cool. The great big river squirted through a tiny pipe. We waited for the sun to break through so we could see rainbows in the spray. After scoffing Fruislis we headed off along a track beside the river which took us to Roanne.

Neulise

2006-09-28T14:54:00.000-07:00

There was a sign for the Auberge du Mont and Chambres d’Hote. It was up a steep slope and when we got there the gite seemed locked up and the auberge was shut. There was a number to call for the restaurant, as we shuffled about looking for a phone the neighbourhood dogs were going nuts, so much so that the owner of the gite appeared on her balcony.

I said “escuse moi, c’est possible un chamre?” She went to get her husband, he didn’t speak English, but did speak French louder and more emphatically than his wife – he was a very English Frenchman. He offered us a double room with a shower in the corner – in a glass cubicle for easy viewing. I did my best to explain we were cousins, not lesbians, and he showed us a twin with a bathroom down the hall. It’s shabby-chic! Breakfast is included in the €60 room rate.

We got cleaned up and washed our clothes before locking our room and heading into town. We walked quite a way with no sign of the centre, when we did reach it there were three bars to choose from in the square. We by-passed the ‘last chance saloon’ looking place in favour of a smarter, but not smart one. We had Oranginas – they were gooood. The only food served was olives or crisps so we waddled to the third place which offered two menu choices, omelette or courgettes.

We went back to the last chance saloon which had lots of people in. We ordered beers. The people were workmen staying there. There was no sawdust on the floor, just spit and cigarette stubs. We went back to the courgette omelette place and asked for two beers and two ‘menus’. They were excited, we were the only people there and it looked like they were still building the side of the bar. We got our beers and an old guy with two walking sticks came in. He’d overtaken us earlier on our walk into town!

The bar owners wanted him to translate the menu for us, but as it was omelette, courgette, porc, poisson, fromage and dessert there wasn’t much point. The food was fabulous, home cooked and plenty of it. The wine was robust and fruity. The service was fantastic, friendly and enthusiastic.

We strolled back and both needed the loo, but when we got there the house was locked up. We tried the garage door, and I went around to the front and rang the bell. We made enough noise to wake the neighbourhood dogs, and I tried to look suspicious so that neighbours would come over. I lay on the floor and stuck my arm through the catflap to see if any keys were hanging inside, we picked up rocks looking for keys under them. The noise finally got to our hosts who appeared on the balcony.

After some debate about how we managed to leave the house, they let us in and I slept like a baby.

Lou pointed out I had a sunburn on my back from between my shorts and top – it’s a smile. I have another on my ankle where I stopped putting on sunscreen when the ice cream arrived – it’s my greed-burn.

St Etienne - Neulise

2006-09-21T14:10:00.000-07:00

Construction work started outside at 6am. I woke in the night as Lou’s phone was ringing. We had a weird conversation about building nests and living in caves, which I’d thought was a dream, but it wasn’t.

We were up and ready at 7:30, I asked the hotel receptionist if there was a bike shop around as my wheels are badly buckled. She said yes, probably, somewhere in town, probably. She gave us a map to the Hotel du Ville and Lou went down to the basement to get her bike. I saw a hotel handyman, wandering about looking handy. I thought he was certain to know a bike shop so I said “Escuse moi – c’est une boutique de velos en St Etienne?”. He looked around, desperate for help, before saying “Probably, I dunno mate” in a broad Yorkshire accent. Ho-hum.

We found the tourist office and waited until it opened. I explained my wheel predicament. The person was friendly, charming and useless. She told me the nearest one was closed Mondays, and Augusts. No use to me. No, I didn’t need furniture for my bike. The best I could do was “c’est kaput”, and so she rang some more places. No-one was answering, but there was one on the way out of town, so we tried that. It was closed Mondays. They’re all closed Monday – it’s the (bike) law.

They were digging up the road to put in new tram lines so we had to walk out past a munitions factory. Then we were on our way out of the city on a 6 lane road. I spotted a bike shop and swerved dangerously to cross the road, but the Monday law applied. I headed slowly on, worried that a spoke would pop out at any moment.

We cycled on searching for the N82 and avoiding the motorway. I stopped at a motorbike shop, but they couldn’t help either. A nice middle aged lady gave me long and involved directions in French. We didn’t understand her, she didn’t understand us, she just kept touching my arm and pointing. We all laughed, and we headed off.

Once we found the right road it was lovely, single carriageway with a good wide hard shoulder that worked as cycletrack.

Shortly after we passed St Etienne airport we stopped at a bakers. I had a wonderful piece of bread – a baton which had been folded around dried tomatoes and herbs with olive oil and brie before being baked. Perfect. It was a popular bakers, people drove in and out with goodies.

We rode into a small town. I spotted a lawn mower repair shop that also fixed bikes. Hurrah! It was open – double hurrah!! The guy couldn’t understand me until I took him outside and showed him the problem. He shoo’d me towards a garage door which he opened from the inside. He had a lawnmower graveyard with at least 100 mowers in varying states of decay. He was working on a ride on mower. He fixed the wheels on a home made set of forks, whilst Lou headed down the road for cigarettes. He flat refused to take any money and wished us ‘bon courage’.

We cycled on against strong head and side winds until we reached an industrial area at Feurs. We stopped at the Crescendo café, an odd chain that seemed to be part of Carrefour. We had ice cream and I pee’d for the first time today – Tango!

More cycling along long straight roads with harsh headwinds. My bum hurts and it’s sweaty and bruised on the bone. I kept standing up, slowly and gingerly to get a breeze up.

We got to Balbigny – a nondescript place with no open shops. Only 10km to Neulise and our day would be done. Each one of those 10km was uphill, long, twisting hills past small industrial units and farmland. There was a giant John Deere place and yet more car washes. What is it with the automatic car washes?

Making regular stops for water and potion we made it into town.

Day 1 – Lyon – St Etienne

2006-09-19T14:08:00.000-07:00

There were people swimming in wonderful outdoor swimming pools by the Rhone. We crossed the river towards the Basilica which looked wonderful high above the city. It also looked like a bugger of a climb to get to it.

We went to the Cathedral to get us in the church mood, but it was closed. It closes at 5 on Sundays. The Basilica does too. We cycled back down to the station in town and I got water while Lou got tickets. I waited with the bikes as lots of long-haired, black-clad teenage boys with camping gear arrived.

We managed to get a lift upstairs, but had to manhandle the bikes down to Platform E. I realised I hadn’t validated the tickets so ran back upstairs to get them stamped. Lou was chatting with a rail employee when I came back – our train was on Platform F. She was very helpful and took our panniers up and down the stairs as we took our bikes.

Our train was a museum piece, it looks like it was built pre-war. We got the bikes into the guards van but were shoo’d out by the driver – “When the door closes you will be on the other side”, so we left our bikes and now I’m watching the sun set over the Alps. It’s hilly out there.

Lou has just noticed that I have ‘Mask of Zorro’ sunburn really badly, even though we didn’t start cycling until after 4. As Dad told me my new haircut made me look like Henry V I’m not having a beautiful day.

We pulled into St Etienne and got up and tried to open the guards van door but couldn’t. I knocked on the drivers door but no reply (it was the back of the train). I’d decided that if the train started to pull out with us on it I’d pull the emergency cord. The door on the non-platform side of the train was open and Lou called out for help, but there was no-one there. Eventually Lou opened it with brute force, pushing outwards like a plane door. I jumped out and unloaded the bikes as Lou threw them down to me. Lou leapt of the train as if it was about to pull off. The train driver was strolling down the platform to help us. He made Charles Atlas gestures at us, laughed and pointed out that we’d have to carry them downstairs to get them out of the station. We did without incident.

There was an escalator up and I thought I’d give it a go, unfortunately my bike tipped, the handlebar got caught in my pocket, which jammed the rear brake on and I was propelled forward with my shorts being pulled down and Lou and her bike crashed into the back of me.

Our hotel was, as advertised, directly outside the station, which was perfect. The bloke sorted us out with a parking space in the basement. After a change of shoes we headed out to dinner. A stroll around the block revealed we were in the red light district and after a discussion about the merits of the advertising methods deployed we returned to the strangely German restaurant under the Hotel Ibis.

It had ugly lighting and unattractive plates with bad art on. They did though have excellent pasta Provencal and cheap, fruity Cotes du Rhone. At midnight we headed back.

Forward to Day 2
Back to Day 1 - Coventry to Lyon

Day 1 - Coventry - Lyon

2006-09-18T13:37:00.000-07:00

When we arrived at the airport we unloaded the bikes. Lou's was in a tidy bike box from Jardine Cycles, mine in a device fashioned by me and my Dad from old boxes and Toby's tape. It had home made handles and arrows and had been scientifically stress tested. The BA man said we couldn't take them. I quoted the BA website to him. He made a call. It would be OK as long as it would fit through the cargo door of our 49-seater plane. I knew it would as it fitted in a Volvo V40. I agreed to take it to bits if needed.

The outsize baggage men were nice although they did have to open the box a bit to check the bike as it wouldn't go through the x-ray machine.

We did crosswords and read the papers as we'd allowed plenty of extra time for arguing with airport staff about loading the bikes.

We helped a woman with two small boys and a pushchair to get down the stairs, on the bus and up onto the plane. She was moving to France forever. I checked with the cabin crew and our bikes were safely on board. The bumpy flight made me nervous - not because of myself, but because of shifting luggage.

At Lyon my bike was one of the first things off and was all in one piece. Lou's had split along the bottom, but everything was there. We built the bikes watched by security and customs. One of the customs guys got fed up and came over to pump up our tyres. His colleague laughed at him and explained he was a 'specialist'. He rolled up his trouser leg to reveal a muscled, shaved calf. He picked up my fully loaded bike and made a distinctly Gallic noise indicating that it was too heavy. We thanked him and headed off.

Tourist Information told us to cycle the D29 to Lyon. Random people at a petrol station pointed to it but everywhere we went seemed to put us on the motorway. We saw a sign for the train station so decided to get a train instead. The station was weirdly futuristic, like a bird taking off from outside but completely empty inside. It didn't serve local stations but the woman gave us directions to the D29. We'd spent a total of an hour cycling around the airport, but if you just head for the car rental lots you pick up the D29 eventually.

We headed through Genas and Blos, though everything was shut. There was little life around. Even the petrol stations that were open were self-serve credit card ones with no staff and no vending machines.

We were getting thirsty and running low on energy so our first meal in France was a McDonalds. We sat outside with angry wasps and an arguing couple with their unpleasant child and ate our McNasty meal.

We arrived in Lyon, getting a little confused on the way in, but once we hit the Rhone we were fine.