Nantes to Ancenis

Think fast: three words that rhyme with Ancenis

Will and I were intent on tasting wines today. We detoured anytime we saw what looked like an open winery. 

Our first detour was a town up on top of a massive hill. An unassuming house with a sign that read “Vigneron” caught our attention so we stopped. Will knocked on the door and asked in his very broken French if we could taste some wine. To our surprise, she said yes and led us into a cellar with seven or eight large wine drums. 

The owner generously let us try as many wines as we wished. Will stuck to the reds but since we were in the Loire Valley, I gave her white wines a try. First up: a Muscadet. Delicious. Almost effervescent. We progressed like this tasting a few others until we reached her sparkling wine. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this was the best sparkling wine I’ve ever tasted. I can’t image a bona fide champagne that could outdo it. We bought two bottles at something like 2eur apiece. 

Le Loire

With all this biking and drinking we started getting hungry. Just our luck then that a small canteen was open and serving a 12eur three-course lunch with a salad buffet. We’ll take two, please. I paired my lunch with a refreshing rosé. Will went with the house red.

Then it was onward over rolling hills paired with occasional Loire River sightings to the next winery where we met a cool young guy working at his parent’s winery who was eager to talk to us about their wines and California.

Will and I pedaled until we ran into a campsite outside of a fishing town called Ancenis. We took our time getting the campsite set up as our hunger grew. Once settled, we walked into Ancenis for something to eat. Every single restaurant was closed or closing. Every. Single. One. So it was back to the campsite cursing the wretched town of Ancenis every step of the way. 

That’s France for you
The campground had a plot for cyclists

We finished the night with handfuls of the trail mix I made for the trip and washed it down with sparkling wine straight from the bottle. A fitting end to a nutty day. As I said to Will: today was the best bike ride of my life. What’s better than riding bikes, eating food, and drinking wine with a best friend? Not much.     

I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you about my pullup challenge. I love pullups. Everything about them. The skill they take to be done right. Their simplicity. The endorphin rush afterward. Just everything about them. This love has compelled me to challenge myself to do at least 8 pullups on every pullup bar I pass on this trip. Tonight I found my first pullup bar hidden behind some bushes at the campsite. What a privilege!

The Pullup Challenge is on

Evening in Nantes

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. 

Falafel and (hotel) water…

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

Starting from the Atlantic

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. 

An unjust photo of The Hell Bridge

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! 

Hell Bridge Conqueror

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.

The first of many EV6 signs