Do not ride along the Swiss side of the Rhine after Basel. It might as well be the Alps. Hill after hill, dirt roads, winding freeways with fast cars and trucks. Not ideal. Today was the second hardest ride after that 100-mile’r in France. Take the German side all the way instead, it runs along the the EuroVelo15 and meets the EuroVelo6 in Schaffhausen.
It hurt’ so good
At only 66 miles, the route took me about 11 hours to complete. Along the way, there were strikingly green-blue vistas on the Rhine. I met a young French guy about 15km outside Schaffhausen. Once he realized I was about to walk my bike up what felt like hill number 6,356 he kicked it into high gear and hightailed it out of there on his way to Lake Konstanz.
Today’s ride gave me slope-induced amnesia so I was pleasantly surprised when I rode up to Europe’s largest waterfall, the Rheinfall. I hate to say this but my honest first thought was, ‘I used to walk to class every day over a gorge this big in Ithaca and they never charged $5 for admission.’ Then I remembered that I’d paid a lot more than $5 for that privilege and I happily took some free pictures.
I stayed at the Youth Hostel by Hostelling International in Schaffhausen. I was famished at check-in with no sign of a restaurant in crawling distance so I acquiesced to a $17.50 hostel dinner. Spaetzle, ratatouille, lot’s of bread, and chocolate pudding were the veg options. The lunch-lady thought I was nuts.
Let’s eat
“More spaetzle please.”
“Da?”
“Yes, please,” as I mimed a scooping gesture with my free hand.
“Guten?”
“More please,” as I took another scoop out of the air.
And so on and so forth until she finally laughed and moved onto the ratatouille. We did the same dance across the veggies and finally, my plate was more mound than round. This hostel dinner was worth every franc.
This morning I decided that I’d take the day to explore Basel. I say that “I decided” but it wasn’t really up to me. My bib shorts, awesome as Isadore is (they make truly great cycling clothes. No, they don’t pay me or give me free shit, much to my chagrin), smelled so bad that I needed to do laundry. Lucky then that I’m in Basel.
My hostel mates must’ve been thrilled
Basel is beautiful—it straddles the Rhine and has a well-preserved medieval core—but there isn’t a whole lot to do here for less than $25. It was Monday so all the museums were closed too. Such is life.
Old Basel
New Basel
Art Basel!
After some coffee and a hummus flatbread, I walked around the neighborhood before taking the tram into Marktplatz, the center of the Old Town.
Breakfast for somewhere around $1,000
From there it was on to the Rhine. I walked along the river until its footpath ended at the Tinguely Museum. I had the opportunity to do some pullups on the way there so I took it. The sun was shining and I managed to walk past all the city’s main attractions.
Pullup Challenge Basel
I can’t get to Germany soon enough. Switzerland is too expensive for my blood. I learned from the hostel barista that it is expensive in part because the government taxes income at a relatively low rate opting instead to tax consumption. In his words, “It sucks for American tourists but works for us.” Well ok then.
This pumpkin seed pretzel gets two thumbs way up
Tomorrow I’ll be out by 7:30 am aiming straight for Schaffhausen!
Looks like one of my middle school teachers found a more fitting career here in Basel
Out of the France and into the expensive: Switzerland.
What a day to be alive
I left at 8 am sharp after a sleepless night in Bart, which is, coincidentally, the same way my last trip to the Bay Area ended.
A shrewdness of teenagers was staying at the same half star hotel as me. They slammed doors, ran, screamed, set off alarms, and, I assume, did all the other things a group of apes would do too—like throw their own poop. At 1 am, I politely asked these baboons to quiet down and they did. That is until 2:30 am, at which point I catapulted out of bed, opened my door, and angrily shouted: “Shut the fuck up!!!” That did the trick.
Today the just miles melted, the weather was pleasant, the scenery varied and vibrant, and I didn’t feel a stressor in the world.
1280km down, 1570km or so to go until Budapest. Then onward to the Black Sea.
I made it to Mulhouse after what felt like 15 minutes of riding. A pretzel with a bunch of fixin’s including olives and tomatoes was the first sign that I was leaving France and inching closer toward Germany.
Heading into Mulhouse
I finished Ursula K. Le Guin’s short story The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelasover lunch. I can’t recommend it enough. It is a short, thought-provoking, fantastical meditation on utilitarianism and ethics—a parable, a commentary on society, and much more, I’m sure. It read more like a poem than a story (in the best way). Just read it. Don’t google it beforehand.
Once I was back in the saddle I listened to the Very Bad Wizards (spoiler alert: don’t click until you’ve read the story) podcast episode that discusses Omelas, which I also recommend.
Mulhouse’s square
Mulhouse has a vibrant historic quarter and nice parks. It’s the kind of place I’d like to spend a summer learning French.
Au revoir, France
Just outside of Mulhouse is where I finally learned how to sit on my bicycle. That sounds absurd. But it’s true. My seat was tilted in the wrong direction and I was forcing the wrong part of my pelvis onto it. Now no more ass pain and more power to the pedals.
Hey, Power to the Pedals. I like that one.
Today was filled with pullup challenges from Mulhouse to Basel
I quickly made it to Basel but first stopped for not one, not two, not three, but four pullup challenges.
Basel has some incredible public fitness infrastructure, not the least of which was this climbing wall:
I rode past the wall up to a basketball court where I played three games of pickup. One guy didn’t like that I was gonna play in my cycling gear but then I torched him and all was good in the world. The basketball felt great. I was rusty after not playing for 10 months and after the 66-mile ride, but I had a blast.
letsgooooo
At the hostel, a woman came into the dorm to go to sleep at 7 pm. Then a real loud guy came in talking on his cell phone. He soon introduced himself to me as Adam. He’s a substitute teacher from CA. The lady gave Adam the Evil Eye and he just ignored her. She stormed out of the room in a huff just like a child would. Adam immediately started shit-talking the lady and saying how crazy it was to expect quiet hours to start at 7 pm (he’s not wrong).
Adam and I left the hostel to grab a couple beers and dinner from a convenience store in the Basel train station. We made a b-line from there to the Rhine where we enjoyed the sunset with a thousand of our closest Swiss friends.
I split from Adam once the conversation waned to find some more food (mission accomplished with an incredible soy chunks wrap).
Soy chunk wrap action shot
As I was getting ready for bed the sleepy lady from earlier came back into the room and told me she “heard everything” to which I said, “Well then you know I didn’t say anything about you.” On her way out she said, “Just tell him that every insult is a blessing in disguise.” I laughed.
Today’s ride was short but felt long. My butt really hurts and Bart is a two stoplight town.
Just after lunch, I met an older german cyclist with long white hair wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. He said to me unprompted, “I vwear blue jeans because deyre comfortable and I want to look like ‘hey he’s off to dah next bar’.” The man told me he tours to answer the question, “What next will I do with my life?”
So it’s not just me then.
Tomorrow I’ll ride all the way to Basel by way of Mulhouse. We’ll see how the ol’ butt cheeks respond.
The way out of Besançon
There were no open restaurants in Bart. I lucked into finding a closing bakery though. They had a slice of pizza, a baguette, a savory cheese tart, and a four-pound bag of day-old croissants that I snagged for just 2eur. “I’ll take ’em all,” I said.
Dinner, at least.
I recommend riding past or stopping short of Bart.
Last night in Dole was fantastic. I went back into town to scrounge for food and found a woman selling homemade lentils with, cilantro, carrots, mustard, and vinegar. YES PLEASE.
After dinner, I biked around a bit and heard English between some passing cyclists. I crossed paths with them at a grocery store and introduced myself. Turns out they are with Rob Greenfield, an environmental activist I’ve heard a bit about. They call themselves the Green Riders and they do bike tours on which they volunteer along the way.
Some of the Green Riders joined me at the campsite where they cooked their food and we shared wine and dessert.
Back at camp, I met a jovial Frenchman named Maac on the plot next to mine. Lo and behold, Maac is following the same route as me! We communicated using hand gestures, Google Translate, and the English he knows.
The homie Maac
Maac and I decided to ride together today. He’s headed to meet a friend outside of Montbeliard and I’m stopping short in Besancon. There’s a lot of rain today and a chance for lighting. Plus Besançon is supposed to be France’s Greenest city and Victor Hugo’s birthplace, I can’t pass that up!
I didn’t pack a raincoat because I figured, summer, no rain. Big mistake. By lunchtime, I was drenched and cold. Maac just laughed at me. He also treated me to a nice meal: cheese sandwich, local red wine, and a coffee for me; tartine, a beer, and coffee for Maac. This was the first time I felt not just inconvenienced but sad for being monolingual. Had I spoke French, Maac and I would have been long-time friends. He was full of positive energy and had a great sense of humor, laughing at himself and others, which I certainly appreciate.
Lunchtime
Maac and I hugged goodbye in Besançon. On he rode for an ungodly distance to Montbeliard. I ate a quick second lunch with some Green Riders at a Vegan restaurant called Gloria then got settled and dry in my Airbnb. $23 for a huge centrally located room.
I recommend Gloria Restaurant
Besançon has the most important collection of French art outside of the Louvre in its Musee de Beaux Artes, or so I’m told. By the time I got to my Airbnb, it was nearly four o’clock and the museum closed at 6 pm. I rushed to get showered, dressed, and ran to the museum, which was a 14-minute walk from my room.
I made it
The museum lady let me in for free and off I went. The museum is a temple. Its interior is lined with recent modern cement walls on which the art hangs, much like the Johnson Museum at Cornell. The building’s traditional exterior belies what’s afoot inside.
Besancon is full of trees. They built the city before cars existed so it’s pleasant to wander through too.
I’m writing this entry on an outdoor patio that faces out to a little park where families are playing, young couples are flirting, and this woman next to me is chucking ice cubes from her glass at what appears to be her husband. Is there anything more French than that? Yes, there is. I’m also drinking a petite panaché, which is a French summer drink made of pilsner and 7up soda.
I finished my drink then continued milling about the city. I checked out this side street, looked at that restaurant’s menu, told myself I don’t need another pan aux chocolate, and so on until I found a little place with lots of veg options called La Citronnade.
It’s a funky-in-the-best-way restaurant that asked me to take off my shoes. I obliged then stretched out along their comfy cushions and devoured my eggplant flatbread.
Then it was up to the citadel. Besançon has a history of being attacked by outsiders. Some French people a long time ago got sick of this and built a massive citadel overlooking the city. I walked up a bunch of stairs from the restaurant and found myself witness to some spectacular views of the city and the river below.
Afterward, I headed to a hipster bar near the college with an eye toward meeting some new people. I met a friendly bartender and a language teacher. Good conversation was had.
“Maps ‘n Croissants, Maps Maps and Croissants” – DJ Assault
Fragrant smells that I could almost taste wafted throughout today’s ride: flowers, fruits, vegetables, freshly wet roads, and more.
The ride was hard despite these wonderful aromas. My body is finally registering all the miles I’ve put in. That and my tires were underinflated. That’s enough complaining for one post.
Not knowing French, I assume this means there’s a great spot nearby to swim with bikes
I write this having just arrived at the campground in Dole with 25cl of delicious beer in front of me. Dole looks great; young people, open shops, oh my!
Today was a welcomed warm one without the clouds and rain I’ve had most days. It’s wild the impact weather can have on my mood, perspective, and reactions. It’s sunny in Dole, the campsite is centrally located, and I’m loving life.
A well-rounded lunch
I’ll camp here tonight then off to Besançon tomorrow. I heard from the lady at the tourist office that there is good vegan food there. The French must spend a lot on their tourism offices. They’re in almost every city and sizeable town. And, believe it or not, unlike every other fine establishment in France, the Tourist Offices are actually open!
Dole was home to Louis Pasteur and they’re understandably proud of him
I accidentally rode 100 miles today. When the canal went right I went left up into a detour of the French hills. And when I say hills I mean rrrrolling hills.
I thought it’d be nice to document my self imposed torture
The riding was just awful. Wind in my face, steep incline after steep incline, cobbled roads, and no shade. Do not take that wrong turn between Paray-Le-Monial and Chalon-Sur-Saône.
The hills managed to drain the color from this landscape but they couldn’t steal my forced smile
Once I realized, however, that my wrong turn would ratchet today’s mileage up from 90 to 100 miles, I felt especially motivated. How many people have ridden a bicycle 100 miles in a single day? A few hundred thousand maybe? Fewer still on a bike weighed down by gear.
Today’s Pullup Challenge
Now that I’ve patted myself on the back we can return to the narrative.
During the second third of the ride my knee pain flared up again and I considered taking the train from Blanzy to my destination. But I pedaled on instead and the knee pain vanished. I’m getting more comfortable making changes to the bike and am better at intuiting what needs fixing. Two things I wanted out of this journey.
Today’s ride was beautiful despite being torturous
I’m at a budget hotel on the outskirts of Chalon Sur Saône; it’s nothing to write blog about.
The only open restaurant within walking distance was a kebab place. No veg items on the menu but the cook mercifully made me a wrap filled with some veggies and french fries. Not bad! After 100 miles she could have poured me a bowl of sand and I’d have eaten it.
Onward tomorrow to Dole. At this pace, I might finish the trip in two months instead of the three I’d planned.
Bharti and I met for breakfast at 8 am. More bread. More honey. More croissants. Lots of coffee. I’m gonna need some insoluble fiber soon…
One of many canal locks on today’s ride
We rode from Nevers to Dicez at which point we stopped at a supermarket to buy lunch. We enjoyed our victuals at a nice bench along the Canal Lateral Le Loire. I was lucky to find prepared lentils, some carrots, and walnut bread. Delicious.
Today marked a departure of sorts. Until now, I have stayed on the EuroVelo6 route. Roads labeled D in France allow cyclists but don’t have a designated bike lane.
The D road took a more or less direct route to where we were headed without sacrificing waterfront views. So we left the familiar blue EV6 signs and ventured off onto the French freeway. I suggest you do the same.
Bourbon-Lancy views
French drivers are unfailingly courteous to cyclists. A theory I heard and like is that more people bike in France so they can empathize with cyclists. Or maybe American drivers are just insane. Either way, the ride along the D road was pleasant and well paved.
Bharti and I split in Bourbon-Lancy. I headed straight for my Airbnb.
This is where I stayed. I recommend it if you’re riding through Bourbon-Lancy
I mentioned this last post, but Borboun-Lancy is somewhat famous for its thermal baths. France, on the other hand, is infamous for its relaxed work culture (go France!). So at 6 pm, I learned that the one thermal bath that didn’t burn down in last week’s blaze was only open until 7 pm. If I didn’t make it tonight then I’d never go because the bath wouldn’t reopen until 4 pm the next day at which point I’d be long gone. ‘Well shit, I better hurry!’ I thought.
I’ll spare you the topless photo of me at the baths
I got ready and headed straight for CeltO thermal baths where I arrived with 45 minutes to spare. I handed over my 18.50eur, took my sandals from the front desk, and plodded into the changing rooms.
More of Bourbon-Lancy’s beauty
These thermal baths were just what the doctor ordered. CeltO had a jacuzzi, a fine bubble bath, a waterfall with enough force to massage my shoulders and thighs, a sauna, and, best of all, a menthol steam room with a large cold water pool in the center. I had no intention to leave of my own volition but they (politely) kicked me out just before 7 pm.
I set out for dinner still high from the thermal bath. The town of Bourbon-Lancy is picturesque. It sits high on a hill with a panoramic view of the river valley below.
Said view
What to eat in Bourbon-Lancy? Head to La Grignote and do yourself the favor of ordering the escargot crepe, some local red wine, and a honey and citron crepe for dessert like I did. That’s what.
La Grignotte means The Nibble, according to Google Translate, and nibble I did
The escargot crepe was divine. A pretty looking turquoise sauce, meaty escargot with just that perfect forest-floor taste (not that I’ve ever tasted a forest floor), and the best lemon slice I’ve ever had — sweet with just a slightly sour kick to the back of the throat.
Tomorrow I’ll ride to Chalon Sur Saône content in knowing that Borboun-Lancy is awesome.
Well, I was right about one thing, Nevers is bigger than Gien. But to tell you the truth there isn’t a whole hell of a lot more going on here than there was in Gien.
After checking in to the urban Saint Bernadette Convent, I ran into a cyclist named, Bharti. We talked about the EuroVelo6 route and kept chatting straight through to dinner.
I recommend staying at the convent. It has all sorts of ornate prayer rooms and courtyards, a filling and inexpensive dinner and breakfast, plus the price is right.
Tonight’s digs
I had to eat some meat tonight. After many miles of riding and no vegetarian option, I decided that it was more important for me to take in calories than it was to avoid the already served meat. But after a few bites of the beef Bharti could tell I was struggling and encouraged me to just ask if I could have more couscous. Good idea! I asked and the server kindly brought out a huge bowl of the stuff.
French flan with Bharti
Bharti was a fascinating person. She works for nine years then takes one off with her husband and daughter to travel the world. She’s repeated this cycle at least twice.
Nuclear powered EV6 signage
Bharti and I will ride together to Bourbon-Lancy tomorrow. She tells me they have thermal baths there. That’s just what my saddle-sore sit bones need.
P.S. There’s an arboretum on today’s route. If you call ahead you can get a tour from the grounds-lady. Or, if you luck out as I did, you can tag along with a random group of strangers.
P.P.S. The signage at the below bridge is utterly inscrutable. I spent a good 25 minutes taking wrong routes in the rain. It’s possible that this says more about my sense of direction than it does about the signage. Nevertheless, good luck figuring it out.
Last night was much colder and wetter than I expected it would be. Not much sleep was had. But I’m glad I experienced camping in the cold. The worst-case scenario of a went tent and cold sleeping bag is, in fact, no real problem at all.
Nice campsite, but good god was I cold
The ride from Orleans to Gien was scenic. Gien itself is no bueno. Everything is closed. There isn’t much here that could be open, to begin with. The hotel I’m staying at is dry, which at this point is all I care about. I dried my tent then walked into Gien. Not a whole lot there, but I got a falafel wrap, sat, and read on the river for a bit.
Gien up close
Tomorrow is on to Nevers, which seems like it has more going on.
