I will forever remember today as Hell Bridge Day.
Pont Saint Nazaire and Saint Nazaire are two very different places. I wanted to start this trip at the EuroVelo 6’s origin. So when I read that the EV6 begins at Pont Saint Nazaire, I assumed that Saint Nazaire is where I should go. But it turns out that Pont Saint Nazaire is actually the Saint Nazaire Bridge. It’s not Point Saint Nazaire, as my English speaking brain assumed.
It wasn’t until the train ride into Saint Nazaire that I learned that the EV6 starts in Saint Brevins at the foot of Pont Saint Nazaire, not in Saint Nazaire at all.
By the time I’d realized my mistake it was too late to change plans. I snagged the actual last room in Saint Nazaire then mentally prepared to cross The Hell Bridge the next morning.
The bridge is massive. Photos do not do it justice.
The hotel proprietor brought my bike from whatever dark pit he had tossed it into the night before. I was so excited to get started. I had everything dialed in – bags attached, sunscreen applied, adrenaline pumping. Off I….oh no. Instead of propelling my bike forward with my first push of the pedal, I spun out and nearly fell over.
The hotel owner had completely screwed up my front derailleur when he overhead hurled my bike the night before. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘I wanted this trip to be about self-reliance so here is my chance!’ My enthusiasm waned and f-bombs flew at the goddamned (out of earshot) hotelier as I struggled to fix my cable. I got the derailleur to good enough — I couldn’t shift into first gear but I was finally ready to head out.
I biked up to the bridge still not sure that I wanted to ride over it. A friendly French fellow sensed my apprehension and pointed me toward where I was going. He showed me a shuttle that takes cyclists across The Hell Bridge. Lucky for me the bus left nine minutes earlier and another one wouldn’t arrive for at least 51 more. ‘Do or die time,’ I thought, ‘or is it do and die?’
Anyway, I decided to conquer the bridge on The Green Machine. The bridge pitches upwards at what felt like an 85° incline, has roughly a 6-inch shoulder, and the fencing comes up to about your kneecaps. Every gust of tailwind from a passing semi-truck would send me swerving towards the “barrier”.
After a long climb and a fast descent, I’d made it!
I borrowed a pair of calipers and fiddled some more with my derailleur in Saint Brevins then made my way towards Nantes. I was thrilled. I let out an emotional and happy yell once I was on the EV6 route.
The journey has begun.
