france bike tour

Bart to Mulhouse to Basel

September 18, 2019 by admin

Out of the France and into the expensive: Switzerland.

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.

I finished Ursula K. Le Guin’s short story The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas over 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 has a vibrant historic quarter and nice parks. It’s the kind of place I’d like to spend a summer learning French.

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.

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).

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.

Dole to Besançon

September 16, 2019 by admin

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.

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.

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.

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.

Chalon sur Saône to Dole

September 15, 2019 by admin

“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.

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

Bourbon Lancy to Chalon Sur Saône

September 14, 2019 by admin

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.

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.

Nevers to Bourbon-Lancy

September 13, 2019 by admin

Bourbon-Lancy is picturesque at every turn

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…

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.

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.

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.

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.

Evening in Nantes

September 5, 2019 by admin

Once I made it to the hotel in Nantes, I went to the hotel bar to fill up my water bottle. Nobody was around so I reached over the bar to help myself. A big no-no. The attendant whipped around the corner and curtly said, “If you need water, why don’t you just ask.” Fair enough. She dutifully filled up my water bottle four or five times over the next 16 hours and, I think, regretted the water rule.

I finally met up with will after a couple of falafel wraps and about 30 minutes getting lost trying to find him. What a reunion. We sat down to a bottle of wine, Will ordered his signature two entrees and we enjoyed the hell out of each other’s company.

We called the night early so we’d be ready to ride the next morning.

Saint Nazaire to Nantes

September 4, 2019 by admin

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.

Hotel views of Saint Nazaire, which is 100% not the same thing as Pont Saint Nazaire…

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.