In La Rochelle
2015年10月7日, フランス ⋅ 🌧 16 °C
Goodbye Le Croisic
2015年10月2日, フランス ⋅ 🌧 16 °C
Days 39 -45 In Which we Travel Back in Time to 1222
Although the Ghostriders’ European rides have now been completed, I have had requests to provide an update on what we have been up to since we left Le Croisic. I thought you might like a quick recap of the past week or so.
Since Carol’s unfortunate accident in Angers, David has taken on a couple of new roles. As well as becoming Carol’s unwilling permanent carer, he was also quickly appointed as the official taxi driver for our group. Since we all had heavy suitcases and since the Le Croisic Railway Station was about a km from our hotel and also since David was the only one with a lovely big rental car, his services were rapidly booked for series of transfers from the hotel to the station. In fact, on the morning of October 2nd, he spent his whole time driving back and forth. Maggie and I booked his 10 am departure slot and we soon had all our bags jammed into the boot of his car.
It really was hard to say goodbye to the group for the final time. Over the past three weeks we had become very close and had all shared a series of wonderful times together. I have to admit that I had a big lump in my throat when I gave Dave a hug at the station and thanked him for all that he had done.
A few minutes later we were on our train bound for Nantes. There we had a brief wait before catching our second train to La Rochelle. This is a medium sized town on the Atlantic Coast. As soon as we got off the train we could sense that things in La Rochelle were not as prosperous as they had been in the northern cities. The numerous holes in the footpath took a heavy toll on our luggage castors as we made our way to our hotel and we had to be careful not to get snagged in the blackberries that were happily thriving alongside all the pathways.
The Kyriad Hotel was large and modern – and we hated it. It had no character and reminded me of a huge concrete jail. As we found our way to our allocated cubicle, I felt like a battery hen looking for its cage. We already missed our riding companions and could help but feel lonely in this place.
La Rochelle has a long history and is famous for its three huge waterfront towers. These have served a variety of functions over the years. One of them was used for a considerable time as a prison and apparently housed a number of infamous pirates in bygone times. I would have liked to have seen inside, however I arrived at midday siesta time and would have had to wait another two hours for the front door to open again. I did not want to see inside that much, and contented myself with a look at the outside only.
My walk also found me looking at the huge Hotel de Ville (town hall). Apparently this particular Hotel de Ville was the oldest in France, at least it was until it burnt down during restoration works two years ago. I suspect that some careless tradesman probably flicked his cigarette into the tinder dry roof beams and the rest is history. Among the priceless artifacts that were quickly converted to ashes was the wooden sabre of Charles IV. Of course there is a silver lining in most clouds, and now there is a much bigger project underway to recover and rebuild the structure in something resembling its former glory. I hope it’s now a non smoking work site.
In the evening Maggie and I walked back to the historic old port for dinner by the water. The mid autumn weather was delightfully mild as we walked back to our hotel and locked ourselves back inside our cubicle for the night.
After a couple of nights in La Rochelle, our next stop was the large city of Toulouse. This is actually the 4th largest city in France and we had spent a single night there on a previous trip in 2013. At that time we were sorry that we did not have more time and promised ourselves another visit. This time we stayed in the Ibis Toulouse Centre Hotel (and hated it). Like the Kyriad in La Rochelle, it had clean rooms and working lifts, but the designers had completely forgotten to add any soul. I could not help but think how sad it would have been to have spent the entire trip staying in places like that, but that is exactly how many people travel.
After two nights in Toulouse we were rested enough to face our next challenge – picking up the rental car. Driving in a large foreign city is always stressful, especially when you are driving on the wrong side of the road and don’t understand many of the road signs. We arrived at the Europcar office and handed over our booking form. They asked me for my driving license and passport and were happy with those. Before leaving Australia I had also wasted about $40 buying an “International Driving Permit” from the RACV. I had made the same mistake in the past and decided that it was just a waste of money, but somewhere we had been warned that the regulations had recently changed and that we would now need the permit. We needn’t have worried. The lady at the counter had never seen the International Permit and was certainly not in the slightest bit interested in it. She was much more interested in my credit card and made sure that she warned me that they would make a huge deduction straight away (presumably to save time when I returned the car in Dijon). The last time I hired a car from Europcar they apparently thought I had also given them carte blanche to make ongoing deductions from my card, even long after the car was returned. It was only when I was going through my statements that I discovered these extra deductions and was able to have them all reversed. I sincerely hope the same does not happen this time.
We were handed the keys to our allocated car and given instructions on where to collect it. I asked what type of car it was and was told that it was a Nissan Juke. I had never heard of such a car but decided to nod sagely as if I was a motoring expert. Maggie and I caught the lift to the rooftop car park, and we would have got there sooner if our places in the lift had not been taken by a young couple of American backpackers who apparently had never been taught about correct etiquette that those who were at the lift first should be allowed to get in first. When we got to the roof and found our car we were less than impressed as it had a couple less doors than what we had ordered and paid for.
Full of righteous indignation we went back down the lift and up to the counter. “We booked a 5 door car, and have only been given a two door”.
The lady stared back at me.
“Are you sure ?” she asked.
“Of course I know how to count, and it’s only got two”
I could see a smirk spreading across her face as she shared an obvious joke (in rapid French) with her workmates. She then suggested we should go and have another look. We did and discovered that the back two doors are actually cleverly disguised as body panels. Now nobody ever told us that ! We felt like two stupid foreigners as we packed our bags into the boot and I built up the courage to drive out into the peak hour Toulouse traffic.
The first challenge was to successfully navigate the corkscrew exit ramp. It had obviously been designed for drivers of tiny cars and our bright yellow (and quite large) Nissan Juke seemed in danger of getting jammed tightly between the two walls. Somehow I narrowly avoided rearranging the panels and we safely emerged into the traffic and managed to get out of town without accident or road rage.
Soon we were driving through the magical rolling hills of the Midi Pyrenees. With the myriad autumn colours spreading through the trees and a clear blue sky overhead, it really was as pretty a scene as you could find anywhere. Our destination for the first day was the hilltop medieval town of Cordes Sur Ciel. I had discovered this place on the Internet and it looked like the sort of town that would provide a memorable stay.
The town was established way back in 1222 and it is still incredibly well preserved. Our hotel was situated right at the top of the hill, in the middle of the oldest part of the town. In order to get there we had to navigate a series of tiny cobblestoned alleyways. More white knuckle driving, especially when I had to squeeze past another car that had been illegally parked right in the middle of the road. There was no way to turn back so Maggie had to climb out and guide me inch by inch between the parked car and a solid bluestone wall.
In spite of the trauma in getting here, when we reached our room, we quickly realised that it really was worth the effort. The views from the window were amazing – probably the most incredible view I have ever had from any hotel anywhere. The medieval city was quiet and peaceful with not a single selfie stick carrying tourist in sight. We spent the next three days exploring this incredible place. It is hard to imagine that this town was already 500 years old at the time of the French Revolution. It is even much older than the Inca city of Macchu Picchu. There is magic around every corner and down every narrow staircase and alleyway. The weather also played its part by giving us a succession of absolutely perfect warm and still days.
I am sure the pictures will never do the place justice, but they might at least give you an idea of what this place is like.もっと詳しく
Group Two Cross the Line
2015年10月1日, フランス ⋅ 12 °C
Day 38 In Which the Riders of Group Two Finally Cross the Finish Line
Le Croisic is a beautiful little fishing town on the Atlantic coast in Brittany. In the peak tourist season this place is packed with holidaymakers and would not be the ideal spot for a quiet retreat. However, once the summer ends the majority of houses are locked and shuttered for the winter and I could not think of a more perfect place to spend a peaceful time after the demands of a long distance bicycle ride.
On the south side of the peninsula there are a succession of rocky beaches with unbroken views out over the Atlantic Ocean. The fishing port is a short walk away on the north side and here you can find a large assortment of waterfront eateries to satisfy your hunger. The tidal variations here are enormous and, when the tide retreats, all the fishing boats are left high and dry in the mud.
Although we still had access to our bikes for the final day in Le Croisic, due to the fact that I was still recovering from the food poisoning and feeling a little weak, we were quite happy to just spend the time having a quiet walk around the deserted streets. The mid autumn weather is cool in the early morning but wonderfully mild once the sun is high in the sky. It was a perfect end to another memorable cycling adventure.
Those early days in Paris now seemed a long time ago, I sat and looked out over the ocean and thought back over the past few weeks and the countless highlights we had all shared together. I thought of our group walk around Sacre Coeur Cathedral, coffee time at the Place du Tertre, the concert at La Chapelle, the night cruise down the Seine, standing on the river bank in Orleans, the terrible storm on our first day’s ride to Beaugency, the manic Chateau of Chambord, the ornate gardens at Villandry, the incredible dinner at Azay le Rideau, riding those magnificent cycle paths along the river, eating crunchy baguettes, dinner at La Cigalle, the walled city at Guerande and so many more memories that have now become a part of our lives. For me the most important thing about any such trip is not stopping to capture as many selfies as possible in front of as many tourist hot spots as you can find in the guide book. It is about the privilege of being able to be a part of another culture for a period of time. We had a unique opportunity to see a wide cross section of the real France, to see what France is like below the surface. Sometimes this is magical, at other times it can be frustrating and downright bewildering, but that is what travel should be about. Those who never leave the main A roads never see anything other than the famous sights and they really do miss out on so much. As the French would say “Quelle Domage!”.
We returned to our hotel just in time to hear the excited shouts and sounds of the riders of Group 2 completing their ride. The official record keepers could record that they had finished their ride almost 24 hours behind those in Group 1. With all the “chickens” now safely home in the coup I could really relax, knowing that all the complex arrangements had gone according to plan. It is not easy to get 25 people from around Australia to ride bikes across a foreign country without something going astray, and yet all the logistics had gone right according to the script. The only dark side was Carol’s accident in the shower, but now that they were back with us, it was beginning to seem like not such a big deal after all. It even scored her a flight upgrade on the flight home, showing that there is a silver lining to every cloud.
In the evening both groups returned to the Restaurant de L’Ocean for our combined dinner. After the unpleasant events of the previous night I was rather apprehensive. I shouldn’t have been. The staff were delightful, the food beautiful, we were given choices with food and drinks, the views were breathtaking and it was a perfect ending to an epic trip. It was also Maggie’s Birthday so they provided a lovely cake for her to celebrate while the rest of us sang quite a few choruses of “Happy Birthday to You”. France is like that.
The word adventure has been hugely devalued in recent time. I hear people talking about having an “adventure” by the pool at Port Douglas, or an “adventure” on a luxury cruise. Adventure ? Adventure ? By its very definition an adventure must involve a challenge. It has to be something that takes you away from the comfort zone and forces you to confront the unfamiliar, the tough, the challenging and then still prevail. There is no doubt that most people find these long distance cycling trips demanding and challenging. It is hard to get up each day, pack your bags and get back on the bike for another 4 or more hours riding.There are also the other challenges of coping with unfamiliar foods, not speaking the language, living from a suitcase, living in close proximity to other people, variable weather, laundry, etc, etc. They are not meant to be easy, but there are always huge rewards for facing a personal challenge and prevailing. It is hard to explain that incredible feeling of “it was tough but I did it” that everyone feels at the end. It is even harder to explain that, whenever I ask people which days they remember most, it is always the tough days that people look back on with affection in the years ahead.
We had all spent the past few weeks riding together, laughing together, eating together, chatting together and sometimes crying together. I am sure we have all grown personally as a result and the friendships we have made will be cherished in the years ahead.
Tomorrow Maggie and I leave to begin our own extended journey around France, but the next few weeks will be spent in a hire car and not on a bike. Next year the Ghostriders will be back in Europe again for our biggest ever ride. Although all spaces are currently filled, I am still taking expressions of interest in case any extra places become available.
Au Revoir and thanks for being a part of our ride…..もっと詳しく
The End of the Road
2015年9月30日, フランス ⋅ 16 °C
Day 37 In Which Nous Sommes Ici a Le Croisic
The final leg of our France ride was not meant to be the most difficult. No more than the last 100 metres of the climb to the summit of Everest or the final few strokes in the English Channel swim. After all, we only had about 50 km left to ride, there were no major climbs left and the weather was as close to perfect as we were ever likely to get.
The problem was that my body was not perfect. I had spent a restless and mostly sleepless night with a tangle of delirious thoughts racing through my head. That toxic baguette from the previous day had left my stomach empty and my energy levels at around zero. My big problem is that I had never failed to finish any of the previous 30 or so overseas rides we had conducted in the past 10 years and I really didn’t want to blot my copy book at this late stage.
When the alarm went off at 6 am, the only thing I wanted to do was hide from the world and wish the whole thing was over already. Somehow I crawled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, tripping over my suitcase in the process. The day was off to a great start. Maggie looked at me and asked “Are you sure you really want to ride ?” Of course the answer to that one should have been blatantly obvious – of course I didn’t. On the other hand I knew that there would be a peloton of yellow jersey wearing riders who would need someone to lead them the final few kilometres to Le Croisic.
I tried to face breakfast, but a few mouthfuls of orange juice and a little tub of apple puree were the only things I could trust my stomach to hold. I then bundled the panniers for the final time and tried to fill myself with some plain old bloody minded stubbornness.
Our final day began with a short bus ride over the huge estuary bridge to nearby St Nazair. This bridge would make the Westgate Bridge look like a little tacker by comparison and the combination of a very narrow bike lane, high winds, vertigo and speeding trucks would not make it either a safe or pleasant proposition.
On the other side of the bridge we were reunited with our bikes for the last time. The final 50 km would take us north, away from the Loire and to the delightful coastal town of Le Croisic. Since we would no longer be riding the Loire a Velo bike path, the navigation also promised to be a bit more challenging.
The first few kilometres out of town seemed to meander back and forth, without making any real progress. It did not take long to realise that I had virtually no strength left at all and even the small climbs were seeming like mountains to me. I was however aware of one change that had taken place in the following peloton. For most of the trip the group had sorted itself out into the “serious riders” and the “naughty girls”. While the former always liked to ride at the front and set a brisk pace, the latter group loved to fool around at the back making numerous unnecessary toilet stops, taking pictures of just about anything, and riding as slowly as possible without actually stopping.
The naughty girls group consisted mainly of Eugenie, Sally, Carol and Maggie. When Carol had her unfortunate accident in the shower at Angers, the naughty girls were depleted to only three members, but I did notice a change in their riding behaviour from that point on. Rather than always laughing at the back, on quite a few occasions they actually burst through to the front and even looked like real riders. On this final day of riding I was surprised and pleased that the errant backmarkers were now occupying the front of the peloton. All of these women had all taken up cycling only relatively recently and it was an amazing achievement to not only complete the ride, but to get stronger as the ride went on.
After about 25 km we reached the small town of Andre des Eaux. This was our final chance to buy supplies for a picnic lunch a little later on. I still could not face eating anything (especially a baguette), but I did enjoy resting in the warm autumn sunshine. About another 10 km further on we rode into the amazing medieval walled city at Guerande. I remember being astounded when I saw this place for the first time and I knew that the group would enjoy some time to explore the place before the final section to Le Croisic.
While the others went into the medieval city I lay on the grass and used my helmet as a very uncomfortable pillow. At this stage I knew that the only section left to ride was the flat section through the salt pans. Nothing would stop us now that our final target was almost in sight.
An hour later we remounted the bikes. The afternoon sun was warm on our faces and the friendly tail wind returned to give us a welcome assist. A couple of minutes later I discovered that the battery in my GoPro camera that I had carried around my neck for the entire ride had gone flat. It reflected the state of my own energy reserves.
In less than an hour we were gathered on the waterfront of the Atlantic Ocean, looking out at the vast expanse of water. With the lovely white holiday cottages and the sounds of seagulls filling the air, I am sure it will be a moment that none of the group will ever forget. It was a time for well earned hugs, kisses and congratulations to all. What an amazing time we had shared together.
When we arrived at our hotel we found that we were not the first ones there. David and Carol had arrived earlier in the day and were there to provide a huge welcome for us. We were all so glad that they were able to complete the trip that they had set out to do. Maybe it had to be finished in a hire car, but at least they would be able to share the excitement with us. Compared to the challenge that they had both faced with Carol’s broken leg, riding a few extra days on a bike seemed a distant second.
That evening we gathered for our celebration dinner at Restaurant de L’Ocean , a prestigious seafood restaurant situated right on the beachfront. With its panoramic windows providing a breathtaking view of the ocean, it would have been hard to imagine a more fitting end to an incredible trip. Unfortunately sometimes things don’t always turn out exactly as planned.
As we sat down at the starched white table cloth and the impressive array of crockery and cutlery I was very conscious of my distinct lack of breeding. For someone who was brought up with just a knife, fork and spoon, I still cannot really feel at home in this sort of establishment.
The meal began and I was a little surprised when we were given no choice whatsoever. It would be a pity if you did not like seafood as the only choice available was to either eat it or go hungry. We were even more surprised when we were never offered a drinks list, but one of the young waitresses just worked her way around filling every glass. I could have tried to tell her that most of the riders in Group don’t drink, but I didn’t think that the message would have got through. Apart from the wine, none of us were given anything other than tap water to drink. A rather strange way for such a fancy restaurant to operate.
I did manage to eat quite a lot of my dinner but by around 9 pm I was feeling sick and exhausted and excused myself and went back to the hotel, leaving Ross and David to sort out the final arrangements. It was only when the group returned to the hotel that I heard the rest of the story. Apparently when the group rose to leave, they were presented with a drinks bill with a wine cost of over 40 Euros per bottle (around $70AUD). Considering we had never asked for the wine and were given no choice as to any other option, David and Ross refused to pay this charge. I think if I had have been there I would not have been able to maintain the same degree of self control that they apparently exercised. By this time the young waitress really had a bad attitude and even refused to accept the meal payment voucher because it had a tiny piece missing from one corner. It was a shame that such a lovely day had been tarnished by such petty and unprofessional behaviour.
Since we were all booked in to return to the same restaurant the next evening, in the morning I returned to the restaurant to discuss the matter with the staff. It seemed that everyone had experienced a wonderful change of heart and that it would be “no problem” to provide us with just about anything we wanted. I just hoped that my appetite might have returned enough for me to do it justice.もっと詳しく
La Cigalle and a Bad Baguette
2015年9月29日, フランス ⋅ 16 °C
Day 36 In Which we Dine at La Cigalle and Ron’s Baguette nearly Kills Me
I have eaten at some interesting places in my life but the restaurant we dined at in Nantes surely was right up there. It was only a very short walk (or roll as in Carol’s case) from our hotel to the nearby La Cigalle Restaurant. Apparently this is a very famous place, and the line up of uniformed staff at the front entrance certainly made for an impressive welcome. I am not so sure that we were correctly dressed for the occasion. After so long on the bikes, the selection of available, even reasonably, clean clothes was rather limited.
We followed Carol in her wheelchair up the street like some procession of acolytes following the Delai Lama to his royal inauguration. The Maitre ‘d looked us up and down and I suspect that we all fell well short of his high standards, but he did do his best to open the door to allow Carol to enter without crushing her foot more than seven or eight times, then ushered us through the elaborate interior to our allocated table. The interior of this restaurant really is something else, looking a bit like a combination of something from the Arabian Nights and Donald Trump’s toilet. All the available walls are covered with an incredible assortment of coloured tiles and murals. I am sure that the pictures I tried to take will never really capture the spirit of this place.
We then spent the next two hours eating and laughing until the staff were very happy to see the last of us. With only two days of riding to go till our adventure is completed, I think we all had a mixture of emotions. Although a ride of this type is not on the same scale as swimming the English Channel, it still constitutes a significant challenge for most people. The physical demands are only one part of the equation. There are also the added pressures of living out of a suitcase day after day, adapting to other people’s personalities and dealing with food that might not always be to your particular taste. It is normal for the demands to start to take their toll towards the end of a ride, and for riders to look forward to climbing off the bike for the last time. On the other hand, when you have looked forward to something for such a long time, you don’t want the magic to ever end.
The next day we began our final day of riding along the Loire to the wide river estuary at St Brevin. The following day of riding would then take us away from the river and up north to the lovely coastal town of Le Croisic. Since the wild weather we experienced in the first couple of days out of Orleans, we were all relieved that the true autumn sunshine had returned and we had enjoyed a succession of lovely sunny days. As cyclists we were also extremely happy that our early run of punctures had stopped and that we were being gently pushed along by a wonderful tail wind. In fact the conditions for riding were ideal. Perhaps too ideal.
For the past couple of days we had been buying our lunches and then taking them to a convenient picnic stop by the river. It became part of our routine to visit the Boulangerie and buy a baguette and a cake for Ron (later Ron). When we found a likely looking pile of prepared baguettes I bought one for me and one for Maggie. We joked that they were “both for Ron”. As it turned out I wish that Ron had been there to eat the one I bought for him.
As we sat and ate our picnic lunch I thought that the egg, mayonnaise and chicken tasted a bit strong, but what would I know ? I was hungry and there was no sign of Ron anyway. I not only ate his baguette, I ate his cream filled eclair as well. We did not have too far left to ride and, since the conditions were so lovely, I quickly forgot about the lunch. I wish lunch had forgotten about me.
We reached St Brevin and posed by the side of the huge estuary and looked at the massive bridge across the river to St Nazair, relieved that we would not have to ride our bikes over that monster. It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment that we had followed this river for so many hundreds of kilometres and had seen it change so much along the way. For the past three weeks we had been witnesses to so many fascinating aspects of French life and culture. On a ride like this you not only learn a lot about the country you are riding through, but you also learn so much more about yourself. You learn that it really is possible to achieve some amazing things if you just put your mind to it.
Within a few minutes of arriving at the hotel in St Brevin, I also learned quite a bit about myself that I wish had remained unknown. After collecting our key I went to the room, looked at Maggie and said “I don’t feel well”. About 20 seconds later I repeated it with renewed emphasis “I really don’t feel well”, making a beeline for the toilet. The rest of that afternoon and evening was a bit of a blur. I didn’t get to see much of the town as it is quite difficult to see much when your head is deep inside the toilet bowl. Whatever I had bought for Ron, it certainly kicked like a mule.
The last time I had experienced food poisoning was on a trip to Kathmandu in 1999 and I remembered it as one of the worst experiences of my life. This was certainly not on the same scale, but it was enough to ensure that, while the rest were enjoying what was apparently one of the best meals of the whole trip, I was restricted to making short, but frequent trips back and forth between my bed and the toilet. I felt like an elephant was sitting on my stomach and could not help but curse Ron for not eating his own foul toxic baguette.
It turned into a long and mostly sleepless night and I knew that the final day of riding was going to be a real challenge.もっと詳しく
Two Lost Sheep
2015年9月28日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C
Day 35 – In Which Two Lost Sheep are Found and Returned to the Fold
With only two more day’s of cycling left to be completed before we reach our destination at Le Croisic, it is normal for riders to feel mixed emotions. On the one hand it is a great personal achievement for all the participants and there is a natural desire to reach the finishing line, but on the other hand it is usually tinged with the sadness that our long awaited adventure will soon be over. After one final free day at Le Croisic our riders will each scatter all over Europe to continue their own individual journeys.
The hotel in Champtoceaux was very popular with all modern facilities and a breathtaking view. It was a pity about the unreliable Internet connection here. When I last stayed at the same hotel two years ago they had the same problem and I was disappointed that they had not taken any steps to improve it. It was a strange sight to see a group of our riders huddled with their tablets and notebooks in the downstairs lounge at 7 am in the morning, trying to get a reliable Internet connection before breakfast.
Like the meal of the previous evening, the breakfast was also of a high standard, especially the wonderful baguettes from the nearby Boulangerie. I am sure that we are all going to miss that crunchy bread when we go home to Australia.
The sky was again clear as we began our ride, although there was an early morning chill in the air. We did not ride back down the big hill we had climbed up to get into town but followed a series of quiet roads in the opposite direction. A final quick descent brought us back to our familiar river bank. Just as welcome as the downhill was the steady tail wind that was pushing our backs for most of the day. It was such a contrast to those early freezing wet days we had suffered at the start of our ride when we left Orleans. That suffering now seems like a dim distant memory as conditions have certainly swung in our favour. It now looks certain that we will have bright sunny weather all the way to the end. Absolutely perfect for riding.
Once again we stocked up with supplies for a riverside picnic and rolled along happily with our baguettes and cakes safely in our panniers. There was no chance that Ron would be going hungry this afternoon.
Since the day’s ride was quite short, we knew that we would be arriving in Nantes relatively early in the day. Soon after 12 noon we started to see the first signs of high rise buildings on the outskirts of this large city. With almost 1 million people living in Nantes and its suburbs, it is the 6th largest city in France. After our somewhat stressful entry into Angers we were a little apprehensive at the prospect of riding into such a large city in the middle of a weekday.
We managed to find a likely looking spot for our picnic lunch and entertained a couple of local residents with our antics by the side of the bike path. After a lengthy break it was back on the bikes and into the big city. To our relief it was actually quite civilised and we managed to find our hotel safely and easily. The Best Western Graslin Hotel is situated in a beautiful part of town and it has a distinctly Art Deco character. Apart from the unfortunate noxious sewer smell permeating the main city plaza, we were all quite impressed with the city itself.
While we were returning to our hotel after having an initial look around the town, we were thrilled to see two familiar faces making their way up the hill to the Hotel entrance. It was David and Carol, our two lost sheep. Carol had only recently been discharged from hospital following her operation and David had apparently been trying to entertain her by driving her around Nantes in ever diminishing circles for the past hour and a half. He had also adjusted her new walking frame by setting each leg to a slightly different length, ensuring that it was virtually impossible for her to stand upright. Judging by the way it wobbled like a $2 rickshaw, it looked like David had also forgotten to tighten any of the screws that held the contraption together. No wonder she looked like she was ready to beat him around the head with what was left of it.
We grabbed David’s suitcases and pointed up the hill to the hotel door. It was only about 100 metres away and I calculated that it would take Carol no more than about 45 minutes to make her way there. In the meantime David looked like he had been dragged backwards through a meat grinder. I had to admit that the normally unflappable guy was showing distinctive signs of fraying around the edges.
We were glad that the friendly concierge from the hotel also came out to help by barracking for Carol to shuffle faster, before finally lifting her off both feet to get her through the doorway. I think that, if I had been in the same position, some of the nearby people would have been severely injured by this time. Once again she impressed us all by retaining her sense of humour in spite of what was a very difficult situation. Carol and David really have captured all our hearts over the past few weeks and we were all devastated when Carol’s accident took place. It was wonderful to see them again but we can appreciate what a challenge the next few days will be for them.もっと詳しく
Ron Gets a Belly Full
2015年9月26日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C
Day 34 – In Which Ron Gets a Bellyful
The road away from the hotel was smooth, flat and almost deserted. On our right hand side was the mighty Loire River. With another clear sky overhead and no rain predicted for the next few days, it should have been a perfect ride. It wasn’t. A bicycle is meant to be quiet. Mine wasn’t. For the past few days a small click had been growing somewhere in my bike’s nether regions. By the start of today’s ride the click had developed in both volume and regularity so that it now accompanied every damn turn of my cranks. Click….Tick….Click.
A similar irritating and entirely unwelcome noise had become my companion for most of the Italy ride, and I had loved the sensation of riding in quietness for the first few days of this ride. My nemesis had now caught up with me and looked like it was going to be with me all the way to Le Croisic. I tried tightening the pedals. If anything it seemed to make the clicks louder. I tried kicking the bottom bracket. It didn’t get rid of the click, but it did make me feel a bit better. Short of chucking the bike in the Loire, there was not much more I could do. Perhaps I was being taught a valuable lesson in patience and long suffering. If so, I was obviously a poor student, as all it succeeded in doing was make me cranky.
Apart from my own on board symphony of sound, the rest of the ride went exceptionally well. Everyone was in high spirits and we were making excellent progress. If anything, our progress was actually too excellent. If we kept this up we would be at our destination at Champtoceaux far too early. We had plenty of time to fill and needed something to do with it. I came up with an idea.
The first likely looking opportunity for a coffee stop was at Saint Florent le Vieil. I decided to turn from the bike path and explore the town. My first effort led the peloton up a hill and straight into a dead end (en impasse). I tried to look like I had planned it and instructed the group to turn around. We then proceeded up another hill and discovered the town centre, complete with large coffee shop and, not one, but two Patisseries/Boulangeries. This was just what I had been hoping for, and revealed my plan for the day.
“Let’s buy lunch and then make a picnic by the river”, I suggested. Ever since this ride had begun we had learned to make sure we “bought enough food for Ron”. Whenever we had the chance to buy lollies or baguettes, we had to make sure that there was also plenty for Ron as well as ourselves. And who was this mysterious Ron ? Of course it was the legendary “Later Ron”.
Although the first patisserie was a complete disappointment as they didn’t sell sandwiches and their cakes looked second rate (some even went so far as to classify it as a rubbish cake shop), the second one turned out to be a veritable El Dorado. It had enough tooth rotting cakes to satisfy even the hungriest pelotons and the cooler was piled with freshly made baguettes with a delicious range of fillings. We really had struck it lucky this time. Some time later we all staggered from the shop with large bags filled with more than enough for us AND a whole army of Rons. There was no chance that Ron would be hungry today.
Since it was still too early for lunch we walked to the nearby coffee shop, ordered our coffees and then sat in the warm sunshine chatting and drinking coffee. This cycle touring can be highly demanding at time, but today was NOT one of those times. It was just plain good fun.
We managed to lose half the peloton on the way out of town, but that was not a serious matter as we did find them again later. Our next task was to find a place to enjoy our picnic by the river. When a suitable place was suggested a few kilometres later, there was no argument. Everyone was hungry and this was deemed a great time to share our lunches with Ron.
Another extended time was spent sitting in the sunshine, watching the river, wondering if the swans would swim our way and munching on our baguettes. It will remain a treasured memory of this trip, but when someone threw a banana peel into the undergrowth, I warned that could be dangerous as someone could slip over on it.
Reluctantly we remounted our bikes and rode for a few minutes before the women starting asking for another toilet stop. We managed to find a lovely opportunity (the location, not the toilet) by a series of green lagoons. The ladies lined up, the men waited. And waited.
The remainder of the afternoon’s ride was warm and easy and put everyone in a lovely mellow mood. When we were about 4 km from the hotel at Champtoceaux I stopped for the final rest break of the day. At the time some may have wondered why we stopped so close to the hotel, but the reason was answered when they turned the corner and saw the road reaching up to the skies. The hotel was situated on the top of a hill. Gears clicked down, heads dropped and the climbing started. If this hill had been encountered two weeks ago, it would probably have caused a riot. Now that all the riders are stronger, it was fascinating to see that most actually enjoyed the challenge. Even with the heavy bikes and loaded panniers, it was a strange sort of fun. The views from the summit certainly made all the effort worthwhile. The so called “Promenade of Champalud” rewarded us with the finest views of the entire ride. Standing at the lookout we could see up and down a huge section of the Loire Valley.
After dinner we all climbed back to the lookout. The experts had predicted the best full moon of the year – the so called “Blood Moon” and we wanted to experience it from the best spot possible. As we stood and gazed at the twinkling lights of the scattered villages and the enormous full moon overhead, I am sure that we were all satiated. And I am sure that Ron slept especially well that night.もっと詳しく
Sally Takes the Lead
2015年9月26日, フランス ⋅ ☀️ 16 °C
Day 33 – In Which Sally Takes the Lead into Montjean
After the very stressful ride we had into Angers in the Friday afternoon peak hour traffic we were all a little apprehensive about running the gauntlet again on the way out of town. We needn’t have. As we rolled away from our hotel at 9 am on a quiet Sunday morning, the streets were still almost deserted. Obviously those who had once again spent the night in the streets training their vocal chords for the shouting championships had finally retired to bed.
Just as important was the fact that the day had dawned bright and clear and the advance weather forecasts promised no more rain for the remainder of our ride. It was finally appearing that things were falling into place. We managed to quickly leave the confines of Angers and resume our journey along the bike path. There were quite a few out jogging, walking their dogs or just enjoying the sunshine. Since we only had a relatively modest distance to cover, we did not need to rush and decided to take the ride slow and easy.
The European Autumn has now officially started and this often provides delightful periods of sunny and mild days and cool nights. This is often perfect for cycling. We even saw the first signs of the the changing colours of the leaves on the trees. In a few short weeks the whole appearance of these regions will change again as Autumn rapidly moves forward into winter.
After we had ridden about 10 km we noticed a large number of spectators gathering along the sides of the bike path. I knew that some locals were aware of our epic ride, but I had not expected this sort of reception. I looked down at the faded stains on the front of my jersey and wished that I had worn my best one for the day. Proudly taking the lead for once, I tried to maintain some semblance of pelotonic discipline as we approached the waiting throng. To my surprise and dismay, they weren’t actually there to meet us after all. We had ridden into some sort of huge kayaking event and there were hundreds of rowers and spectators, long lines of motor homes, countless support and transport vehicles, not to mention several hundred pet dogs as well. It became something of a challenge to wind our way through the throng without becoming another item on the local nightly news.
We finally emerged from the chaos and resumed our riding along the bike path. Since we had traveled for over an hour without a single coffee or toilet stop, our situation was becoming somewhat desperate. Fortunately we had not ridden much further when we found a lovely little open space, right on the river bank. It even had several likely looking eateries on both sides. The prospect of getting a coffee and cake looked promising, but once again we had to be satisfied with the proverbial “glass half full”. Although we were able to get quite reasonable coffee, the girl looked at me as though I had bitten her when I asked if they sold cakes as well.
While we were stopped we studied the flood levels for the major floods over the past century. It was quite staggering to see just how high the river does rise on regular occasions. I think the worst was in 1910, when I suspect that manufacture of arks must have been a popular pastime. In the Autumn of 2015 the Loire is peaceful and there is little prospect that we will be flooded out.
A little further on we reached the large bridge at Chalonnes Sur Loire. Although our route dictated that we stay on the right bank, as soon as we saw the array of eateries on the left bank, we agreed that it would be worth crossing the big bridge in order to get something for lunch. Since the Loire is now a wide river and the bridges are rather infrequent, any bridge crossing is usually associated with a busy road and lots of cars and trucks.
Although the first place we stopped at had not tables available, we soon found a full scale market in operation and also a fine Patisserie and Boulangerie. We were not going to starve after all. Since we only had about 10 km left to ride, we all decided that it would be a good place to sit in the sun and have a lazy lunch stop.
When we finally staggered to our feet, somehow something really strange happened within the peloton. Over the course of the previous 10 or so days, there had been a pattern established with some riders always heading to the front and others very happy to ride at the rear. I know that in a classroom, it is always those students who sit at the back of the class that are the ones that the teacher needs to watch the closest. Exactly the same principle applies to those riders who always go to the back. They are usually there to tell jokes, fool around, stop to take silly pictures and regularly go into fits of giggling. The ones at the front are those who study the maps, do their homework, diligently identify hazards and set a brisk pace for the ride.
You can imagine how surprised I was to find that, on the final 10 km leg into Montjean, the peloton had inverted itself. The naughty riders were at the front, with Sally actually leading the way. I must admit I had not seen that one coming and I nearly rode off the track and into one of the roadside stinging nettle patches, such was my amazement.The only other time Sally had taken over the group was way back in Paris when she led us on an errant goose chase all over Paris looking for a Metro Station.
This time Sally managed to find a couple of the direction indicators and we almost followed the correct route all the way to the lovely riverside town of Montjean. This is a quiet and quaint town that reminded me immediately of the town where Doc Martin terrorises all his patients. The architecture is distinctly maritime and there is an increasing number of fishing boats and other vessels visible in the river.
We had a superb evening meal, probably one of the best so far and the brilliant full moon shining on the river outside was a fitting final touch to a wonderful day.もっと詳しく
Angry in Angers
2015年9月25日, フランス ⋅ 16 °C
Day 32 – In Which I get Angry in Angers
On our first night in Angers we were kept awake for quite some time by multiple groups of locals enthusiastically practising for that little known new Olympic event – loud talking, shouting and singing in the streets in the middle of the night. If that event does actually make it into the next Olympics, then the residents of Angers will be the white hot favourites for the gold medal.
Somehow we managed to finally get to sleep in spite of the commotion outside and we even had a little sleep in until 7 am. Our main task for the morning was to catch up on what was happening with Carol, as well as try an make some inroads into the enormous pile of dirty clothes that threatened to take over our luggage. After breakfast Maggie and I joined Sally and Eugenie in search of the Holy Grail – a Laundromat. Sally studied the map and said that there was one about 5 minutes walk from the hotel. I staggered along behind, dragging a huge Santa sack of dirty laundry.
I suppose the walk would have taken 5 minutes if we had been in a motor car, and also if all the women did not stop at every shop window to look at what was inside. About 30 minutes later we were in the Laundromat looking for vacant machines and trying to decipher the French instructions. We crammed our loads into two machines and hoped that the motors would not blow under the strain. A pocketful of Euros disappeared into the controller and the women all went shopping, leaving me with the exciting job of watching the smalls go round.
I carefully calculated the duration of the wash and went to look for a nearby coffee shop. After ordering a nice coffee I sat in the sun to watch the people and enjoy my coffee. My plan half worked. Somehow, after one lovely mouthful of coffee, I accidentally knocked the tray and sent the rest of the coffee pouring all over the table and onto the footpath. I tried to look nonchalant and pretend that it was OK. It wasn’t. At least I could enjoy some of my pastime of people watching.
We had already deduced that there were some very interesting people in Angers. In the middle of the main plaza we watched a very well dressed man wearing a set of headphones. He was dancing his way around the square, oblivious to all those around him. Even more surprising was the fact that no one else seemed to notice. That is one thing we have seen time and time again in France – people embrace individuality.
My watch finally told me that it was time to remove our loads from the washing machines and put them in the dryers. When I arrived there was no sign of the women, although they did arrive about 15 minutes later. The loads were dragged to the dryers, more coins were dropped into the abyss and the women disappeared again. I sat and waited while the world went round and round.
Every washing machine was in use at this time and there was a young girl waiting for a vacant machine. A load of washing belonging to an eccentric middle aged Frenchman (is there any other kind) with dyed hair finished the end of its cycle. The man then proceeded to take each piece of washing (sock, handkie, underwear, etc) carefully from the machine, shake it vigorously and fold it precisely. It was obviously a process he had done many times before. Gradually the machine was emptied, but it took a good 15 minutes. The young girl just sat and waited patiently. If the scenerio had been happening in Australia, I reckoned that the guy would have found himself covered in his washing.
When he finally removed the last article, he then proceeded to feel around the inside of the tub, carefully probing each dimple of the agitator for some elusive lost item. I thought he was about to climb inside the drum, but finally he seemed satisfied that his job was done, picked up his load and walked out. The girl took over the machine and started her load.
After what seemed like a geological time span, my load finally finished in the dryer. There was still no sign of the women. I tried ringing Maggie. No Answer. I tried ringing Eugenie. No answer. I wasn’t sure what to do. I eventually removed all of our washing and tried to stuff it into the Santa sack, but had no idea of what to do with Sally and Eugenie’s huge pile which was now just sitting in the dryer. Too bad about those waiting to use it. I tried several times more to contact them on the phones. No answer. I waited for about another 25 minutes before finally spitting the proverbial dummy and heading back to the hotel.
About an hour later I got a call from Maggie, saying that they “had lost track of the time” and were wondering where I was. I explained that I “had grown old waiting and was now spending my twilight years in a French Nursing Home”. It was a shame that my “rest day” in Angers had mostly been spent in the Laundromat.
In the late afternoon Maggie and I walked to the hospital where Carol was waiting for her operation. The place was huge with a capital H. With its myriad of outbuildings we would never have found our way without being told to head for the huge dome in the centre. While some buildings were obviously new, others looked like they belonged to a bygone era of dinosaurs. I half expected to see Florence Nightingale emerge from one of the dark corridors, carrying her famous lamp.
We finally located David and Carol and were able to spend some time with them. Carol appeared to be in good spirits, although they were obviously both very shattered at not being able to complete the ride. The doctors had said that they may be able to operate later that afternoon. We made the long walk back to the hotel and prepared for dinner. In the meantime the riders from Group 2 had arrived in Angers and would also be sharing the meal with us.
Our designated dinner location was at the nearby Brasserie du Theatre, an impressive three story restaurant right in the middle of the main plaza. A waiter met us at the door and disappeared up the staircase. We followed him up the stairs to the top but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he was a street magician as it certainly was a good disappearing act. We looked around but he had gone without trace. This was probably a good indication of what was to come later.
We finally located him on the second floor and our large group was directed to sit at three tables in the corner of the room. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, another waiter appeared and took some drink orders. It seemed like Eugenie must have upset him for some reason because he ignored her order and then ignored her again when she repeated it some minutes later. You know what they say about a woman scorned…..
The waiter then sat nearby and busied himself scribbling something on a piece of paper. I think he was making up the menu, because the place apparently did not have any printed ones. He then proceeded to come to each table, mumble a few words of French and expect us to make our decisions. There were no explanations and certainly NO courtesy either. Several of our table were a little upset and asked if he could make up salads instead of whatever options he had mumbled into Ross’s left ear. When the meals were finally delivered, those that had ordered salads were given a small saucer with two tiny lettuce leaves on each one. I had to agree it was a rubbish meal by anyone’s standards. This was even more disappointing considering that there were three places that had been prepaid for people that would not be eating. Following this additional insult Sally and Eugenie stood to their feet and headed to the nearby Macdonalds for a real meal deal. Compared to the other restaurants we had visited over the past 12 days, this place really was a disgrace. When we added up the drinks bill we certainly made sure that there was no tip included. If I had my way I would have deducted quite a few Euro from the total to compensate for the way we had been treated there.
Back at the hotel we met David who informed us that Carol had been operated on earlier in the night and that she would probably be released in two day’s time. Our time in Angers had been rather mixed. Soon after we went to bed the local Olympic Shouting Team resumed their raucous street shouting routines. They continued for most of the night. I will be glad to ride to our next stop at Montjean.もっと詳しく
Carol Barks at a Frenchwoman
2015年9月24日, フランス ⋅ 🌧 17 °C
Day 31 – In Which One of our Riders Barks at a Helpful Frenchwoman – and DISASTER STRIKES
In every extended ride there is the longest day. That is the day that all the riders look forward to with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Once that day’s ride is completed, they know that the rest of the ride will be easier in comparison. For the Loire River Ride the longest day’s ride is the section from Saumur to Angers. Although the distance is only around 62 km, it does contain a wide variety of riding experiences and finishes with a demanding entry into Angers (a city of over 400,000 population with a lot of very busy roads).
At least I knew that the weather forecast from the preceding couple of days was quite good. That meant that we would not be contending with rain as well as long hours in the saddle. It was a pity that the local weather bureau did not inform the actual clouds themselves about what sort of weather they were meant to provide for us. When we wheeled our bikes out of the storage shed we were greeted with drizzle and the promise of much more to come. Not exactly a perfect start.
I skilfully led the peloton out of the city and straight into the middle of army maneuvers. Numerous groups of waterlogged soldiers were jogging in various directions staring at maps. Presumably they were trying to read the directions to the nearest Patisserie. Some of them looked keen but I had to admit that the majority looked like they would rather be somewhere else. I thought I would assist by yelling out an encouraging “Allez, Allez”, but I suspect that it was about as welcome as a stale baguette at Christmas. We dodged around the soldiers and kept on riding.
The early rain slowly dried to a stop and a few breaks in the clouds became visible. Spirits immediately lifted. They lifted even more when we rolled into the small town of Gennes and found a likely looking place for morning tea. To our unmitigated joy, the place not only sold pretty good coffee, but it also had a good supply of chocolates and lollies as well. This really was a lovely surprise and we set about stuffing our panniers with copious quantities of sugar laden treats for the remainder of the ride.
It was now time to cross the Loire River back onto the north bank. This involves traversing a long and busy bridge at Les Rosiers Sur Loire. As we walked our bikes across the bridge we could see how much the river had grown since the early days of our ride. Walking across such a long bridge built up quite a hunger and we immediately set about looking for a place to buy lunch before the shops all closed for the compulsory daily siesta. It was a relief that we managed to find one of the most awarded Boulangeries in the region and were able to order our baguette sandwiches just before the shop closed at 1 pm sharp.
We then all happily sat on the church steps munching our sandwiches and eating cake. Obviously Malcolm Fraser was completely wrong when he said that “life was not meant to be easy”. At that moment we all thought it was pretty darn perfect. After finishing our lunches the women demanded the 14th toilet stop of the day so we went riding around the town looking for the familiar toilette sign.
After a vigorous search they did locate a single toilet a little further down the road and then all proceeded to line up to utilise its facilities. The men waited while the ladies created history by setting a new Guiness Record for the longest toilet stop ever (by a considerable margin). I watched the sun sink lower in the sky while we waited and waited for the queue to slowly progress, until finally the last bladder was emptied (mine) and it was time to leave.
As we rode back past the church a local French lady caught our attention. She was trying to ask us (or tell us) something. Unfortunately she couldn’t speak a word of English and we had absolutely no idea what she was saying. Finally Pauline deciphered the word “lost” and guessed that she must have lost something. Carol immediately took a huge leap of deduction and for some completely unknown reason assumed that the lady must have lost her dog. “Woof woof”, Carol barked at the lady, while pretending to be a large dog. You could imagine the lady’s surprise and confusion at this turn of events. What she had been trying to tell us was that someone had left their purse on the church steps and they wanted to know if it belonged to one of us. Of course it was one of ours, in fact Carol has made an art form of leaving valuables everywhere she goes. When she was reunited with her purse she hugged and kissed the finder (well he was quite a good looking fellow after all) and resumed the ride. It really was a stroke of good fortune that we had not just ridden straight off and left the purse behind.
Mid way through the afternoon we also faced another serious challenge. We had to cross a sizable river without using a bridge. The only way across was a small ferry which had to be dragged across by pulling on a chain. Because of its small size, only about 4 or 5 could travel across at a time. The challenge was not so much as in pulling the little boat across, but in trying not to wet yourself laughing in the process. After an hysterical 15 minutes or so, all our team members were gathered on the opposite bank, ready to resume the ride.
The final 30 km of the ride took us right away from the towns and through a variety of quiet rural areas and some new housing estates. It was only when we reached the outskirts of Angers that we rode straight into the peak hour traffic of a very large and busy city. This is a rather stressful time, but somehow we avoided being run down by trucks and buses and made it safely to our hotel. Since the longest day was now behind and, since the next day would be our second rest day, we were all looking forward to a shower and a rest.
A single phone call can change the complexion of a day instantly, and this is exactly what happened when the phone in our room rang just before we were due to meet for dinner. When Maggie answered it, it did not take long for me to detect that it was bad news. Very bad news. Carol had slipped under the shower and had fallen heavily on her right ankle. We are fortunate to have a doctor in our team and Sue had already had an initial examination and felt that it was broken. An ambulance was called and the news quickly spread around our shocked riders. This really was a disaster. Carol had worked so hard both before and during the ride and we were all so proud that she had made it through every challenge. She always wore a huge smile and was very highly regarded by all of us. We all wanted so much for every rider to be able to roll across the final finishing line together in a few day’s time. Although we hoped that the ankle was just sprained, I think we all feared the worst.
The ambulance soon arrived with a couple of energetic young paramedics. They even managed to get Carol to break into another of her huge smiles when they loaded her into the back on the ambulance and sped off down the street with lights and sirens sounding. Although it was not the way the script was meant to go, I had to admit that it was a dramatic moment and one that we will be able to laugh about in the years to come. Later that evening we received the confirmation that the ankle was indeed broken and that she would require surgery to pin the bones. Her ride had ended prematurely and we all deeply shared David and Carol’s shock and disappointment.もっと詳しく
Carol's in the Closet
2015年9月23日, フランス ⋅ 16 °C
Day 30 – In Which Carol gets caught in the Closet (and we lunch with the Troglodytes)
Since we were to be only riding around 45 km of mostly flat paths near the river, we knew that today’s ride was going to be quite enjoyable. We just didn’t realise at the start just how much fun it would turn out to be. The fact that we were able to ride out of Chinon under a lovely clear blue sky certainly did wonders for our early morale. For obvious reasons, even the toughest riding always seems easier when the sun is shining.
When we rode into the small hamlet of Savigny, it did not take me long to find a lovely Patisserie, well stacked with a fine assortment of sugar laden cakes. I instructed the peloton to stop as “it could be some time before we found another suitable cake stop”. A few minutes later we left the shop laden with lovely white bags packed with all sorts of tooth rotting goodies. We had learned all along the ride that it was virtually impossible to find a shop that sold coffee and cake and a quick scout around the town suggested that this place was to be no exception.
I went back into the Patisserie and asked the lady in my best French whether there was a coffee shop in the town. She looked at me a little strange and assured me “oui, oui”. I thought that maybe she thought I was asking for the closest toilet, but smiled and walked outside her door. We looked for the elusive coffee shop again without success, before going back in the shop and asking the same question all over again. The lady rolled her eyes, before indicating that the coffee shop was actually right next door. No wonder we couldn’t find it. It was hiding in plain sight.
I went to the door of the coffee shop and knocked. No answer. I tried turning the handle. It opened. I walked inside. “Bonjour” I called in fluent French. No answer. “BONJOUR”. Still no answer. Eventually the owner emerged from a rear room and looked like she might have either been in the toilet or fast asleep, or both. I asked for coffee and she flashed a big smile and beckoned for us all to come inside. Even better was the fact that she did not object when we asked if we could eat our cakes inside. This was a real bonus.
The women also quickly discovered that there was even a toilet situated at the end of a short corridor. Carol apparently had the greatest need, and rushed to make use of it. The rest of us sat and drank our coffees and munched on great globs of rich cream. About ten minutes later someone noticed a faint tapping noise coming out the back somewhere. We ignored it, but it would not go away. “Probably just something blowing in the wind”, I surmised. Ten minutes later Carol still had not returned, and the knocking increased in intensity. Perhaps the two items were related ? It turned out that Carol had somehow locked herself in the toilet and was starting to panic that she could not get out. I assured her that we would have realised her absence when we gathered for our evening meal.
The rest of the ladies were a little nervous about the inescapable toilet after that, especially as we had noticed numerous life sized effigies along the roadside just outside the village. Maybe they were a little more sinister than just dummies ? Would that have been Carol’s fate if we had not rescued her ? I guess we will never know. After doing a final head count to ensure that no one was still in the toilet we resumed our ride.
A short distance further on we reached the larger town of Candes St Martin, home to a huge ancient church. This was probably one of the oldest we had seen so far and, judging by the large cracks opening up on some of the walls, perhaps it will not survive to see another 700 years after all. While some stayed to mind the bikes, the rest took a short but steep walk up to The Panorama. This was a sensational vantage point which gave a glorious view out over the surrounding countryside and right across to the impressive nuclear power station which was belching a mammoth amount of steam into the otherwise blue sky. I am not so sure that I would like to live with that sight every day.
At this point we had two choices as to which route to take. One path led to the nearby Abbey of Fontevraud, while the other continued along the river. Since I had already seen enough Abbeys and Abbots to last me for quite some time I decided to follow the river. Some of the others will still working on their Abbey Quotas and grabbed their bikes, cameras and selfie sticks and headed for Fontevraud.
We had not ridden far before I remembered why I wanted to come this way. This area is famous for its huge underground caves and dwellings. Many of these huge underground caves are used for wine storage, but the most interesting of all were actually used as underground homes. The bike path actually passes through a series of these medieval tunnels, and all agreed that it was one of the most amazing things we had seen in our ride so far. Certainly far more interesting than another Abbey.
We even managed to find an underground restaurant/winery and settled down for a delicious and somewhat leisurely lunch before resuming the ride.
All though our ride so far we had been in the Eastern hemisphere, but each turn of the pedals took us further west towards the Atlantic. I had been monitoring our progress on my GPS and knew that we would soon be approaching the prime meridian of longitude. This is the meridian that passes through Greenwich and marks the dividing line between east and west. I walked the final few metres and marked the exact location with a prominent pink chalk line across the road. We then proceeded to conduct our own traditional ceremony. Since we didn’t quite know what to do, we though that maybe a bit of Moorish Dancing might be fitting (since we were due south of London).
At that moment a rather pompous looking Frenchman drove out of his drive, looked at what we had drawn on his road and did not look pleased (even when I waved and tried to look intelligent). I suspect he came back as soon as we had gone and washed it all away.
The rest of the ride into Saumur went without a hitch. The consensus of opinion was that it had been one of the most enjoyable days of the entire trip so far.もっと詳しく
A Mouthful of Razor Blades
2015年9月22日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C
Day 29 – In Which I Awake with a Mouth Full of Razor Blades (but twice escape a bullet)
Yesterday I could tell that things were not all as they should be. Each time I tried to swallow it felt like there was piece of sandpaper lodged somewhere near my tonsils. A trip to the local Pharmacy in Azay le Rideau provided me with a box of probably what was something like the French version of Strepsils. The only thing on the box that I could read was the brand name Drill. It sounded more like a cure for a cavity than for a sore throat, but I tried sucking on a couple of them before I went to bed and hoped that they might kill whatever foul colony of microbes was apparently thriving in my throat’s hinterland.
In the morning the throat was even worse, but it was now accompanied by a thumping headache to keep the microbes company. It was going to be a difficult day. Oh well, on every trip everyone usually has a day or two when all they feel like is heading back to the familiar sanctuary of their own bed and bathroom. That can be a little difficult when your luggage is on a fixed itinerary and will soon be speeding off to the next major town down the river.
I staggered into the nearby breakfast room and forced myself to eat a baguette. Even when I felt sick I had to admit that it was really good. And I mean really, really good. Why can’t we make bread like that in Australia ? No wonder that 80 million French people line up twice a day at their closest Boulanger for their daily bread. I would too if the bread in Woolworths tasted like that.
The hotel in Azay le Rideau really has been a gem and the proprietor has gone out of his way to do everything possible to make our stay memorable. In return for this hospitality, Fran and Ross also went well out of their way to ensure that the proprietor will also remember our stay – for all the wrong reasons. While mixing up her morning concoction of bright orange Barocca and red ink, she sent the entire glassful right across the brilliant white sheets and expensive mattress. While Nutella stains are not exactly pleasant, at least they can be partially removed in time. The stains all over Ross and Fran’s bed looked like it had been the scene of some recent carnage and would no doubt necessitate the purchase of new linen and mattress. Just as well the floor was timber or else the carpet would have had to be ripped up as well. I felt sorry for causing the flood in my bathroom the previous afternoon and hoped that the water damage to the downstairs ceiling would not be too expensive to repair.
As we waved goodbye to our host I am sure that he was mumbling something more than just “Au Revoir”, but I could have been mistaken. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair looked like he had received an electric shock. I worried that all the devices I had plugged into the power point in our room might have caused some kind of major damage to the hotel’s wiring. Maggie did say that she could smell burning, but I was too concerned with my sore throat to care.
As we rode out of the town leaving the proprietor to negotiate with his bank manager for an increase in his overdraft, my concern was for more immediate matters. The weather forecast had not been very promising. We were due for more heavy rain at times so our schedule would have to be adjusted carefully. Our first stop was at the nearby Musee de Maurice duFresne.
Monsieur Defresne was an amazing collector of just about anything and everything who had amassed a huge personal stockpile of engines, cars, planes, toys, weapons, farm equipment, projectors, bicycles, in fact just about everything. Although the place does not look too impressive from the street, inside it contains a labyrinth of huge buildings that store what must be one of the best collections to be seen anywhere in the world.
Since we managed to arrive just as the first downpours were threatening, it was an amazing stroke of planning and timing. We negotiated with the cashier for the traditional Ghostriders discount and, even more surprisingly, managed to get the price reduced from 10 Euro to 7 Euro each. This was an absolute bargain and would have been worth it, just to escape the rain.
With the torrential rain falling on the roof we spent the next hour wandering the corridors, spellbound at the unexpected items that had been gathered together. He had even managed to find and restore a huge guillotine, complete with sharp blade and basket. By the time we had our morning tea, the rain had stopped and we were able to continue our ride along the river. If I had more compassion I would have felt sorry for Group 2 who had presumably been wet through in the deluge. Since they had escaped our disastrous first day when we nearly got wiped out on the ride from Orleans to Beaugency, it was only fair that they catch up on the misery scale.
A few kilometres further on we came across one of the most unusual sites in the whole of France. It was a shop that sold baguettes, cakes and coffee. It was an even more exciting discovery than finding Lassiter’s Lost Gold Mine. We all simultaneously did our best to confuse the poor owner by providing contradictory orders in a mixture of English, French, Gibberish and hand waving. She disappeared into the back room and reappeared some time later with an armful of fresh baguette sandwiches. I sat down to try to improve my health and morale by tucking in to a huge cake with the intriguing name Le Religiouex. I thought that maybe it was meant to be a replica of Notre Dame Cathedral made entirely with custard and sugar. It certainly took some serious eating and even more concentration not to spill most of the sloppy interior down the front of my jersey.
While this was going on, about half of the group indicated that they were in a hurry and could not wait for me to disgrace myself any further. They grabbed their baguettes and cycled out of sight. The remainder looked at the sky and used common sense to make the decision that it would be prudent to wait a little longer for the next downpour to pass over. Sure enough, about 3 minutes later the skies opened with another huge downpour of rain. By this time I had worked my way through the bell tower of Notre Dame and was making steady progress on the chapel itself. Only a small amount of the contents had managed to escape and jump onto my fingers.
About 30 minutes later the rain stopped and we resumed our ride, refreshed and DRY. We felt completely vindicated with our decision and only a little sad for those who had got drenched.
About ten kilometres further on we reached the turn off to the famous “Sleeping Beauty Castle” at Usse. Since I had already visited this place on our previous ride, I knew that the correct approach was from the second turnoff. That way you follow the main axis of the castle all the way to the front wall. It gives fabulous opportunities for photo shots along the way. When we caught up with the first group we not only found them looking a little waterlogged, but also learned that they had taken the wrong turn as well.
After a brief rest we resumed the ride to Chinon. For most of the way it closely follows the river bank along an elevated levee wall. The cycling was smooth and easy and the sun even broke through on a few occasions to brighten the ride. Unfortunately I was still battling the headache I had woken with and was feeling rather second rate. I battled on for a few more kilometres before announcing that I would like to head straight to the hotel as quickly as possible. For some reason the rest of our little group seemed pleased to see the last of me, so I increased the pace and set my sights on Chinon.
The poor weather of the morning had completely cleared by that stage and I was able to make good time on the lovely undulating path. Around 3 pm I pulled up outside our hotel and waited for the others to arrive. The rest of my group arrived about 30 minutes later, the other group got lost looking for a vineyard and also had two punctures and did not arrive till quite a bit later.
When we checked into our hotel Maggie and I were excited to see that we had finally secured one of the better rooms in the place. With its large bedroom, dining table and chairs we had plenty of space in which to spread out all our dirty clothes. The bathroom was also full of all the latest modern cons and some interesting automatic functions. There was no light switch in the bathroom as the lights come on automatically whenever you entered the room. Another automatic feature which was not quite so easy to get used to was the automatic door opener which opened the bathroom door whenever I sat on the toilet.
After arriving I went straight to bed and fell into a deep sleep, not waking till it was time for dinner. It was then that I learned that a couple of our group had already made their way to the restaurant next door and had secured our table. When I joined them I had a strange feeling that all was not well. I checked the name of our allocated restaurant and found that it was completely different to the name outside the place we were in. Quelle Embarrissmente !
We all climbed to our feet and made our way out the door. This time we made our way to the correct establishment. Eugenie told us that she was glad we were going to move because the first place “only had rubbish on their menu”. Fortunately the correct restaurant had other choices beside rubbish on their menu, and we all had another lovely meal together. It had been a long and trying day and I was hoping that tomorrow would be far less eventful.もっと詳しく
Surrounded by Gypsies
2015年9月21日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C
Day 28 In Which we are Surrounded by Gypsies
It was a wonderful feeling to be able to ride out of our hotel under a cloudless blue sky. Considering the dramatic change that had taken place in the local weather, it made me think that we should have started the ride three days later than we did.
Tours has some glorious wide streets lined with huge trees and we followed one these beautiful streets past the Hotel de Ville as we made our way our of town. We learnt that the population of Tours is around 160,000 and it was obvious that there has been a lot of work put into developing local infrastructure. The trams and buses were the fanciest I have ever seen, although we never had a chance to actually try them out.
After about 20 minutes we broke free of the city and then followed the Le Cher river for quite some distance. This river runs parallel to the Loire for quite some distance before finally joining it at Cinq Miles la Pine. The riding was again absolutely delightful and somehow we managed to mostly stay in some semblance of cohesion as we rode along.
A few kilometres from Tours we noticed that the trail was almost blocked by a number of caravans and motor homes that had been parked tightly on both sides. At first I wondered what was going on, until I quickly realised that we had ridden straight into a cluster of gypsy caravans. As soon as we neared we were approached by one of the young gypsy boys who started following and shouting something at us. We quickly rode through the caravans, making sure to hold tight to our belongings and were all able to safely resume our journey.
At Savonnieres we stopped alongside the river for a lengthy rest in the warm sunshine. Since this small town was also home to a well stocked patisserie, we were also able to enjoy a cake while we rested. Once again we were witness to the fact that sometimes you can buy cakes and sometimes you can buy coffee but NEVER can you buy coffee and cake at the same time.
A short distance further on is the famous Chateau at Villandry. At the start of the ride I had made the decision that I was not going to try and visit every chateau, or even every second or third one for that matter. For me, the ride was never about the chateaux or huge churches, it was about becoming a part of French life. Neither Maggie or I have even taken a single organised tour since we arrived in France almost two weeks ago. On the other hand I did say that we would probably visit one or two castles and that would be enough for us. The rest we would be happy to just see from afar.
The Chateau at Villandry is famous for its incredible ornate gardens and it was that reason alone that persuaded us to part with 10 Euros each to visit the building and grounds. I learned that this castle was built by the Finance Minister of King Francoise 1st. When you see the size and opulence of the place, it would appear that Finance Ministers must have been very well rewarded for their services (or maybe they just made sure that a lot of the state finances went in their direction).
I must admit that I was a little underwhelmed at the inside of the castle, but the gardens were something else entirely. Whenever I have tried to set up even a small vegetable plot, the only things that flourished were the weeds. Yet here were acres of hedges, flowers, vines, trees and assorted vegetables where not even a blade of grass was out of place. When I looked down into the large moat I was met with return stares from dozens of huge carp. They crowded to the surface with their mouths open and I imagined them to be pleading with me to save them from being eaten. I could not resist sampling a couple of grapes from the overhead vines and then spitting the pips surreptitiously into the garden bed.
After 75 minutes of wandering the chateau and its gardens (and ignoring the pleading of the fish), it was time to move on. We discovered that there were two alternative routes from Villandry to Azay le Rideau and spent some time trying to decide which alternative to choose. After a period of collective confusion I made the decision to follow the river a little further. This meant that we able to stay on the top of the high levee bank and enjoy some great cycling before turning away from the river a few km further downstream.
Whichever way we went we knew that there would have to be a hill to be crossed before reaching Azay le Rideau. And there was. It was interesting to note that, even though we have been riding for only a few days, it is already obvious that the strength of our riders has improved in that time. Although the climb was extended, the gradient was not too extreme, and I think that many of the team actually enjoyed the challenge of being able to pedal to the summit.
After reaching the summit we had a great downhill the rest of the way to town. A short time later we were checking to the lovely Hotel de Biencourt. This hotel was located in what used to be separate boys and girls school buildings. The proprietor welcomed us warmly and insisted on carrying our bags to the rooms.
The town itself is a real gem, with narrow cobblestoned streets and dozens of medieval buildings. We were also delighted to discover a shop that supplied the first milk shakes we had seen in a long while. After a walk around the town I returned to our room to shower and change for dinner.
One thing we have noticed on this trip is that hotel showers come in an almost infinite variety of configurations and no two are exactly alike. I stood naked outside the spacious shower recess and looked at the complex array of controls, buttons and pipes. It looked like the control centre of Dr Who’s time machine. I decided to do what any enterprising man would do and simply turned the first control my hand touched. I was immediately met by a horizontal jet of scalding hot water that sprayed out of the shower recess and across the bathroom. When I rapidly tried to turn it off I must have turned it the wrong direction as the jet turned into a torrent. In something of a panic I yelled out in pain and started rotating every pipe and tap I could find. In a few minutes I finally had the situation under control, although by that time, the place looked like Albert Park Lake. I blamed the unfortunate incident on a combination of lack of instructions, poor eyesight and senility. When I finally worked out how the system worked I stayed under the deluge for a very long time.
Our dinner for the evening was at the, apparently Michelin rated, Cote Cour Restaurant, which was just a short walk from our hotel. It did not take long for us to discover just why the place was so highly rated – the food was SUPERB. The only small problem was that the waiter kicked my chair leg every time he walked past my chair. The first couple of times he apologised, but after the count went past ten kicks, it did not seem to matter any more. I suspected that he must have had a huge bruise on his foot by that time, and I wondered if I should start apologising to him. Since my chair was already pressed hard up to the table, there was nothing more that I could do to get it out of his way.
In spite of this small irritation I have to admit that it was one of the best meals I have had in a long, long time and I am sure that it will remain a highlight of this trip. As we walked the silent streets back to our hotel we met a local women who was walking her two small dogs and her cat on their evening walk. France is somehow just like that and it seemed the most normal thing in the world. Overhead the waxing moon cast a pale glow over the ancient rooftops. It had been another magical experience that we will never forget.もっと詳しく
A Colourful Day in Tours
2015年9月20日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C
Day 27 – In Which I Apparently Become Invisible (and we arrive in time for the Tours Mardi Gras)
After our free day in Amboise it was good to be back on the bikes and resuming our journey to the Atlantic once again. Even more important was the fact that the weather had finally turned in our favour. We woke to a beautiful clear sky and dared to hope that we might be able to complete the day’s ride without getting drenched.
Finally we might have a chance to emerge from our rain jackets and ride with our yellow Ghostriders jerseys proudly displayed for all the locals to see. We had seen the members of Group 2 arrive at Amboise in their matching tops and I had to admit that they did really look impressive. We might even be able to achieve some semblance of pelotonic precision and really impress all the onlookers with our professionalism.
Unfortunately I discovered at breakfast time that half of the women had been seduced by the local bike shop into buying green jerseys. Could you imagine if half the members of our Olympic team decided that they did not like the green and gold of Australia and decided to adopt the New Zealand colours instead ? Or what if the soldiers in our army went out and bought a different uniform because they thought it looked better on them ? Answer – CHAOS.
At least I was still wearing the traditional yellow jersey, even if it was a little stained by an unfortunate Nutella incident from a few days ago and also had a few samples of various morning teas scattered in various places. I knew it was going to be a comparitively easy day and I was looking forward to a relaxing day of cycling under a sunny sky. Priscilla had offered to act as guide for the day and expertly led us out of the hotel and straight into a dead end street. We all U turned and retraced our paths. Take Two. This time we managed to find the Loire River and started to ride along the bike path towards Tours. For about a 100 metres. Then chaos reigned once again.
We rode straight into the middle of a huge Sunday market. For the women it was like releasing a box full of moths right in front of a very bright light. They all shot off in different directions, looking for a bargain. The peloton was quickly reduced to 3 riders, all of them men. We stood with our bikes by the trail and waited. And waited, and waited. I took a few deep breaths and tried to remember something I read once about temper control.
Over the course of the next 20 minutes some riders emerged and joined those who were waiting, but there was no sign of the rest. Since they were not wearing the correct jerseys, we could not even identify where our riders were in the crowd. I was reminded of the old story about the Irishman who went into the department store looking for a pair of camouflage pants, but couldn’t find any. (Think about it).
We had no alternative other than to split the peloton and ride on in little fragments and tatters. Fortunately the path was clearly signposted and (almost) impossible to miss. The surface was smooth and the scenery beautiful. With the stillness of the early morning it really did make for some amazing cycling.
Our designated morning tea stop was at the small hamlet of Montlouis Sur Loire, about 20 km along from Amboise. When we rolled into the town I was delighted to spot a likely looking Boulangerie (cake shop) and pulled over to have a look inside. Indeed it did contain an enticing collection of tempting treats, just the sort of thing to increase the tension in my already bulging jersey zipper. I went inside and pulled out my wallet ready to make a purchase. Since I was the only one there I did not think it would take long to get served.
Just as I was about to order a lovely meringue, my mobile phone rang and I retreated to the shop entrance to take the call. I was trying to be polite and did not want to use the phone inside the shop. While I was on the phone, another customer entered, ordered a baguette and was served immediately. I returned and stood behind the man while his baguette was wrapped. At that moment another 4 locals all entered the shop behind me. They obviously knew the girl behind the counter and immediately started up a friendly conversation. I guess that would have been OK if she still had served me next, but she then proceeded to take each of their orders while I was left standing there just holding my wallet.
After a few minutes of chatter and laughs (probably at my stained appearance) I still had not been served and a couple of others entered the shop as well. I was beginning to feel that I would be left waiting until all the village had been served first. Was it because I was a foreigner or was it because of the Nutella stains on my jersey ? I really don’t know why I wasn’t served. I just put the wallet back in my pocket, turned around and left the shop empty handed.
Later on I thought about what had happened and wondered if it was just a different culture. Although we might think it was normal to serve people in the order in which they arrived, perhaps in that village it was the custom to serve friends first and then strangers. Maybe the others would have been offended if they weren’t served first. I did walk up the street and bought a cup of coffee and drank it without a cake. Maybe I didn’t need the cake after all.
It was only a short distance from the morning tea stop to our finishing spot at Tours so we arrived there at around 12.30 pm, just in time to get caught up in a huge crowd. I knew that we were famous but I did not expect this sort of welcome. I started to wave to those cheering but discovered that they actually weren’t cheering us after all. Apparently we had arrived in the middle of a huge marathon race. Hundreds of fun runners of all shapes and sizes jostled for position on the bike path while we did our best not to hit too many of them. When we finally turned off the bike path we found ourselves surrounded by a vast crowd of boy and girl scouts, along with elaborately dressed priests. It appears we had arrived right in the middle of some sort of carnival Sunday.
By a combination of cycling skill and sheer good luck we managed not to seriously injure too many joggers, scouts, priests or pedestrians and arrived at the front of our hotel. The girl at reception gave slightly confusing instructions because her understanding of the terms “left” and “right” were opposite to those commonly accepted. We parked our bikes and were told that rooms would not be ready for another 2 hours. Plenty of time to go and get some lunch.
The centre of Tours contains a beautiful railway station surrounded by numerous eateries. We checked out a few potential lunch spots before settling for a familiar old faithful – Macdonalds. At least the hamburgers were OK and the coffee was relatively cheap. We sat in the sun eating our lunches and wondering what was the significance of of the large rhinoceros statue nearby.
Dinner that night was at the Brasserie de l’Univers. I could not figure out the name but the location was superb. My choice of main course was “Pepper Pig” and I was glad that my grandchildren were not there to make me feel guilty. I tried hard to keep most of the dinner away from the table cloth and almost succeeded.
Later in the evening I realised that I could not remember what I had done with the walkie talkie radios after arriving at the hotel. Maggie and I spent an anxious hour looking for them in our luggage before I learned that I had given them to Ross to look after.もっと詳しく
Remembering Leonardo
2015年9月19日, フランス ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C
Day 26 – In Which we Pay Homage to the Ultimate Renaissance Man
When we rolled into Amboise yesterday afternoon we were all wet and tired and some were even a little cranky. I think we were all eager to just find our lovely rooms, have a hot shower and get changed into dry clothes. As I staggered from the bike shed carrying armfuls of gear (panniers, GPS, GoPro camera, CB radios, phone, wallet, etc) and feeling like a walking Christmas tree, I gave Maggie one small request. “Could you be responsible for the key for the bike lock ?”, I politely asked. In hindsight I should have recognised that glazed look in her eyes and looked after it myself.
Later in the evening I asked where she had put the key. The conversation went something like this .
“Where did you put the key ?”
“What key?”
“The key to the bike lock”
“Did I have it ?”
“Yes I gave it to you”
“Are you sure ?”
“YES”
“I can’t remember anything”
“Well where might you have put it ?”
“Put what ?”
We started searching the panniers, we started searching all our pockets, we searched the cupboards, I even looked inside the electric jug (she is getting forgetful after all). No key.
The only slight silver lining in a very cloudy situation was that the bike lock had not actually been locked, so at least we could ride without having to find a bolt cutter. I just wondered how much the bike owner would charge me for a replacement lock.
The following morning (which was meant to be our free day in Amboise) was also spent looking for that blasted key. It was only much later in the day that she thought to check out the bike shed and found it right on the ground where she had been standing when I gave it to her. Apparently she had dropped the keys within milliseconds of me giving them to her. Since I hate losing things, I was pleased that they were found but for some reason I did feel like screaming.
After the four wasted hours looking for the keys, we walked to the famous Clos Luce, the final residence of Leonardo da Vinci. In 1516 Leonardo had impressed Francis I of France by making a mechanical walking lion that could walk forward and then open its chest to reveal a cluster of lilies. Leonardo was soon invited by the King Francois to live in a special house in Amboise under his royal patronage. He was provided an annual pension and was thus able to live the final three years of his life with some degree of comfort and dignity.
Although the Clos Luce is certainly an impressive home, it is not on the ridiculous scale of most of the other chateaus in this region. To me it seems a fitting home for probably the finest mind the world has ever produced. Whenever I think about the prolific output from Leonardo, I wonder what it was that ignited such a brilliant spark. The world had gone through the so called Dark Ages where very little progress had been made for over 1000 years and suddenly it seemed as if the lights of Europe were turned back again. In a relatively short space of time Leonardo and a host of other scholars and artists changed the world profoundly. Leonardo was particularly exceptional as he was a recognized genius in so many different fields – painting, sculpture, anatomy, engineering, town planning, music, philosophy, science and numerous others. I wonder what it would have been like to spend some time with such a great man.
Unfortunately Leonardo’s time in Amboise was only a short three years, and by age 67 his brilliant life was over. It is hard to imagine another life that has changed history in such a profound way as he did. In one of his writings on philosophy he wrote “Evil is a terrible foe, but how much worse it would be to have it as your friend”.
RIP Leonardo da Vinci – 1452 to 1519, the supreme Renaissance Man.
Soon after we returned from exploring the Clos Luce, the first riders of Group 2 began to arrive at our hotel. They had certainly been blessed with better weather than we had experienced and we enjoyed a lovely relaxing time sitting in the glorious later afternoon sunshine.
In the evening both groups combined to share a very impressive meal at the Lion d’Or Restaurant in the centre of Amboise. The combined volume of noise from the 25 members of the groups would have put a jumbo jet to shame. After dinner it was a delightful walk back to our hotel on a warm late summer’s evening with a brilliant crescent moon shining from a clear sky over the ancient church. It is experiences like this that make this sort of travel so enjoyable.
According to St Augustine the world is a book and those who never travel only read the same page. How true he was.もっと詳しく
The Austrians Abandon
2015年9月18日, フランス ⋅ 🌧 15 °C
Day 25 – In Which a Bloody Coup Takes Places (and the entire Austrian Cycling Team Throws in the Towel)
The most surprising event of the day occurred even before we left Blois. Staying at the same hotel as us was a group of 12 Austrian cyclists who were supposed to be doing the same ride as us. We were rather nonplussed to find them all climbing into a large tourist bus outside the hotel. To our horror/dismay/shock we learnt that, after a single day of riding, they had all decided to abandon the remainder of their ride, return their bikes and do the rest of the trip sleeping on a big bus. I had always thought that the Austrians were meant to be a hardy lot, but compared to us they were obviously a bunch of cream puffs. As we prepared our bikes for departure we could not help but giggle at how silly it would be to finish the ride after just one setback.
Following the unpleasant peletonic rebellion of the previous day, David was happy to throw the mantle of chief navigator to Ross. After all, Ross had been the chief assassin at the infamous Chambord Rebellion, and it was only fair that he should be rewarded for his efforts by being anointed leader for the next day’s ride. At the evening meal I quoted from the Ghostrider bylaws, which clearly state that any appointed leader must be obeyed completely, even when you know that they are making no sense whatsoever. In any group of rapidly ageing riders it is inevitable that everyone will have the occasional lapse of concentration, so we have to learn not to be too judgmental.
Ross proudly took up his position as the new leader of the pack, confidently looked at the map, scratched what’s left of his hair, looked around for guidance and, when he saw the little green arrow, announced “I say we go that way”. David mumbled something under his breath about a drover’s dog, then took up a station at the opposite end of the peloton.
It was a good feeling to be riding under a blue sky for once and I was hoping that maybe we might be able to finally get a fine ride all the way to Amboise. Ross set off at a snail’s pace of about 10 kph along a lovely flat and smooth bike path. Well he thought it was a bike path until he nearly got skittled by the unexpected emergence of a small car. The trouble with these narrow country roads is that they all look like bike paths, but you do need to keep an eye out for vehicles.
After wobbling along at this glacial pace for about 15 minutes we stopped to look around and noticed that 4 of the women were nowhere in sight. We waited and waited…and waited. It seemed that they were already tired and had decided to walk their bikes along the flat, instead of riding. This had the makings of another mutiny. Maggie had appointed herself spokesperson for the malcontents and announced that they wanted to form their own peloton. That way they could stop, shop, drink coffee and take pictures any time they wanted. We agreed that would be OK but thought it best that David go along with them in case they needed any assistance. The group thus split into front and rear groups.
The first opportunity for morning tea was at the little hamlet of Cande Sur Beuvren. Once again the little shop promised little and delivered even less. We did manage to negotiate several coffees and hot chocolates and I was elated when I discovered that they had some (probably medieval) Mars Bars under the counter. We sat down to enjoy our drinks and coffee until the second group arrived.
After morning tea we rode on for another relatively short distance until we reached the tourist hot spot of Chateau Chaumont Sur Loire. For the first time in days we were confronted with a selection of eateries from which to select our lunch. I quickly found a Boulangerie and bought a large meringue (cost 1 Euro) then proceeded down the street to where I purchased a delicious Doner Kebab and chips. I sat on a step and dined like the King of France. This really was quality food of the highest order.
One by one the rest saw what delight I was taking in my lunch and a succession tramped across the road to get the same fare. We had a delightful roadside picnic near the entrance to the large Chateau. It was at that point that a now familiar change took place in the weather. The sky darkened and the first few drops of rain fell – right into my precious kebab. I bundled it up and huddled under an awning, trying hard not to drop chips and kebab ingredients down the front of my jersey. I almost succeeded.
After rapidly finishing the lunch we decided it was time to move. The weather was definitely deteriorating. The first few kilometres were flat and made for very enjoyable riding. When we saw an inviting poster for icecreams, we all agreed that sounded like a good idea. It was at that time that the conditions really cracked up. The rain set in with a vengeance, the temperature dropped and the head wind increased in strength. We all added rain jackets and rigged for wet weather riding.
Up to that point there was one little detail that I had been withholding from the rest of the riders. The final section to Amboise happens to contain the worst hills of the entire ride. It was this section on our last ride in 2013 which nearly killed some of our team. At least back in 2013 it was dry, this time we would have the added misery of pouring rain.
All too soon we were confronting the first of several climbs. Gears clicked down. The puffing got louder. Faces got redder. Riders started dismounting. In situations like this each rider has to adopt their own strategy. Some start hard and then burn out part of the way up. Others like to go slow and steady to conserve their energy to the top. There is no “best way” to suit everyone.
The succession of climbs and the bad weather did make the final hour difficult and we were all very relieved when we began the final descent into Amboise. Our accommodation for the next two nights will be the magnificent Le Clos d’Amboise, a restored 17th century mansion near the heart of the city. This was our little extravagance for the ride as we thought that it might be nice to feel a little special for a couple of nights. With its ornate antique furniture and its manicured gardens, it was an interesting insight into a long lost way of life. Maggie and I have an attic room with a lovely view of the gardens. Ross and Fran have the presidential suite of rooms, complete with multiple bathrooms and butler. I believe David and Carol have been given some space in the coal cellar, but it’s too dark for me to go down there to check it out.
As it turned out, the second group of riders arrived at Amboise only about 15 minutes behind the first group. It really does not make a huge difference what speed you ride at. I guess this further emphasizes the point that each rider needs to find their own rhythm and pace. For those in Group 1, our speed for the next 24 hours will be stationary as it’s our first rest day.もっと詳しく
Delicious Radioactive Walnuts
2015年9月17日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C
Day 24 – In Which we All feast on Delicious Radioactive Walnuts
It’s always amazing what a difference a few hours can make. After an outstanding meal at the Ecu de Bretagne Hotel, a good night’s sleep and dry clothes on our backs, we were all feeling refreshed and (almost) ready for anything. We spent a few minutes exploring some more of the delightful little village of Beaugency before finding the trail and heading off for our next destination at the town with the completely unpronounceable name of Blois.
Although the skies looked threatening, we were able to stay dry as we pedaled along a lovely succession of tiny lanes and bike paths. We regularly came back to the mighty Loire River which was the theme of our ride. After the mud and puddles of the previous day, it was relief to find that the vast majority of the paths were sealed and smooth.
At the head of our peloton was David Yates who had kindly volunteered to be our navigator for the day. Since our ride was a “self guided” trip we had to rely on our own map reading skills if we were to correctly find our way from place to place. Although I have always been a great believer of equality of the sexes, I sometimes wonder why all the ladies seem to take a step backwards whenever I ask for a volunteer map reader for the day.
We had not ridden too far before the unmistakable silhouette of a large power plant began to take shape on the horizon. As we got closer we could see that it was obviously an early generation nuclear power plant, probably built about the same time as Chernobyl. Huge clouds of steam (and possibly a toxic cocktail of other pollutants) billowed high into the sky from its huge towers.
As we reached the point in the path directly opposite the huge smoking reactors we found a local Frenchman happily picking walnuts from a large overhanging tree. We stopped to see what he was doing. Unfortunately we only have about 3 words of French in our collective vocabulary and our new French friend spoke no English at all. On the other hand I discovered that both he and I spoke fluent Gibberish and so we were able to communicate together perfectly well.
He explained that he had worked in the nuclear plant opposite for most of his working life and went on to say that it was perfectly safe. I looked down in the water and watched the three eyed fish swimming around happily and had to agree that it did seem pretty safe. Our friend put down his basket and pulled out some of his finest walnuts for us to sample. It turned out that most of them were rotten and completely inedible, but their luminous glow does make them quite useful as night lights. We waved Au Revoir, and our friend went back to collecting more rotten nuts while we rode away. Those sort of encounters are what travel is all about.
Our morning tea stop was at the tiny little village of Muides Sur Loire. We went looking for a place to buy some morning tea and, once again, discovered that the French have no concept of combining coffee and cakes at the same outlet. Although the typical little shop could sell you a cup of cafe au lait , they all looked amazed if you asked them for anything to eat with it. In other towns the few shops that sold cakes NEVER sold coffee. Someone could make a fortune by opening up a chain of shops selling coffee and cake to the cyclists who ride this famous route.
Our major stop for the day was at the mighty Chambord Chateau. This huge palace was built for the famous Francois Ist and it would have been quite an impressive castle if the designers had quit while they were ahead and not been tempted to add dozens of hideous towers and turrets all over the roof. They looked like some sort of malignant skin tags that had grown uncontrolled on the top of the building. When I saw this building for the first time a couple of years ago, I remember thinking that it looked like the work of a manic designer. On this second visit my opinion had not changed.
While we were sitting outside the Chateau having lunch and trying to count the turrets, I could not help but wonder how Group 2 was faring. They were following in our tyre marks one day behind, so every experience we had, they would have a similar experience on the following day. In particular, I was worried about one member of that group who had demonstrated that they had apparently not read any of my very important pre trip emails. When I was explaining to my own group members the importance of reading all email instructions carefully, one of our ladies replied that “she usually didn’t read the backs of emails”, as if that explained everything. I am still trying to figure that one out.
After our visit to Chambord, David resumed his position at the head of the peloton and led us out of the gardens and right back along the path we had ridden in on. Numerous mutinous shouts came from those behind “We came in this way”, “I want to go the other way”, I am not going anywhere”, “I want another coffee” and so on. David tried hard to look confident and explained that the instructions said we had to come back this way. Ross went red in the face and cast doubts on David’s intellect and birth status. I, on the other hand, remained loyal and assured David I would follow him all the way back to Beaugency if that’s what he wanted.
By the time we had passed the garden full of gnomes for the 4th time, we were getting a little frustrated. “David is a hopeless navigator”, someone shouted. “A drover’s dog could do a better job”, another added. “They could be right” I quietly advised him. He finally relented and we all turned around for about the fifth time and eventually discovered the little green marker that indicated we were back on track. It probably only wasted about an hour or so, so it wasn’t a complete disaster. Later David remarked that it was all done on purpose to ensure that he will never have to do that job again. Perhaps that was also Tony Abbott’s excuse as well.
Once we were back on track the rest of the ride went without a hitch. The trails were well marked and made for fantastic cycling. The final section took us along the banks of the river and into the large city of Blois (best pronounced by saying “B” and then putting one finger to the back of your throat. Of course by this time we had ridden well over 50 km and and 10 of our 13 riders (all the women)were complaining loudly that they wanted a rest.
We finally crossed the huge old bridge across the river and discovered that our hotel was at the top of the highest point in the town. More complaining. At 6 pm we were standing in the reception waiting to be checked in. It had been a long day, but at least the weather had been much kinder to us.
At this point I would like to add a little bit of historical background to a strange phenomenon that has plagued all of our previous 30 or so overseas rides. The little known Himalayan Barking Spider is a small creature with a very loud and unpleasant mating call. It was first noted one evening after a particularly large meal of beans, onions and lentils. When everyone had retreated to their bedrooms, the still night air was rent with regular loud spider barks. Some insisted that they must be under the beds, but we could never find them. I have often known them to hide under the toilet seat, but again they resist all efforts of detection.
Since that earliest manifestation, these barking spiders have plagued every subsequent trip, sometimes reaching epidemic proportions. I have been tempted to contact someone like Richard Attenborough to shed some light on the matter. In the meantime it is just something we have learned to live with. Suffice to say that this trip has demonstrated that the notorious barking spider has infested France as well as all the other countries we have visited.もっと詳しく
The Peloton Perishes (Almost)
2015年9月16日, フランス ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C
Day 23 – In Which Things Start Dreadfully and then go rapidly Downhill
Since this is the day that we start our ride, it also officially marks the date that our participants split into two groups. Since I will be riding with Group 1 (the better group) I thought it might be worth taking a little time to list each of the riders in this group.
David and Carol Yates – both have been riding with the Ghostriders for some time. David is heavily tattooed but has explained that, since he had them done when he was only 8 years old, he should not be judged by them. Apparently he once belonged to a very bad crowd when he was in grade 2. This will be their first overseas ride with the Ghostriders.
Pauline Lister – Pauline lives in Cooma where the sun hardly ever shines. She has taken part in numerous previous trips including the 2011 Danube Ride, the 2012 Turkey adventure and the 2014 Finland and Sweden rides. On a personal note, Pauline also shares 2 grandchildren with Maggie and me,
Priscilla Lister – Priscilla is Pauline’s daughter in law. This is her first overseas ride with us, however she comes from a serious cycling family. She started off a little quiet but can now laugh as loud as the rest of the women.
Ross and Fran Luke – both have been riding with the Ghostriders for some time. Ross took part in our 2014 Finland and Sweden rides, although this will be Fran’s first overseas ride.
Liz Kwok – the only person who can eat a Nutella crepe without getting any of the contents down the front of their clothes, Liz is a very competent rider who has already taken part in our 2014 New Zealand ride.
Mary Kinch – a very experienced Physiotherapist and therefore a handy person to have as part of our team. This will be her first overseas ride with the Ghostriders.
Sue Rainsford – since Sue is a doctor she is also a very valuable team member. Unfortunately, since her specialty is palliative care, we hope her services will not be required. Sue has already participated in a number of previous rides, including the 2011 Danube ride and the 2014 Finland and Sweden rides.
Eugenie Teychenne – Eugenie has been a personal friend of ours since she was our son’s first violin teacher about 25 years ago. She took up cycling especially for this trip as she has always wanted to visit France.
Sally Aridi – a close friend of Eugenie’s and the youngest rider in this group. Not yet old enough to suffer miscellaneous aches and pains like the rest of us.
Dennis and Maggie Dawson – since Maggie has been studying French for many years, she is the closest thing we have to a French speaker in the group. This is her first overseas ride with the Ghostriders. She also occupies the very important position of the real power behind the throne.
The first day of our ride would take us from Orleans to Beaugency. Since it was only a short ride of around 30 km it should have been a gentle prologue to the rest of the ride. As it turned out, fate had a completely different script prepared for us……
Perhaps we should have seen that things were not going to all go smoothly when the first disaster occurred before we had even retrieved our bikes from the storage shed. At breakfast time I heard a shout and looked up to see Fran covered in raw egg, dripping profusely from her fingers and elbows. Apparently she had mistaken the bowl of fresh eggs for hard boiled ones and had energetically proceeded to shatter it in her own face. She had obviously not seen the egg boiler situated prominently on the breakfast bar.
Of course we had all wished for a lovely warm sunny day to start the ride. We might as well as wished for a premature visit from Santa, the Easter Bunny and Elvis Presley. When we looked out the window we were “greeted” by leaden skies and steady rain. It had that particular sort of character that looked like it might set in for the next fortnight. On with the rain jackets.
Out we tramped into the rear courtyard to collect our bikes. Unfortunately the key did not fit the lock. Another ten minutes standing in the rain trying to get the door unlocked. Half of the riders discovered that their cheap “rain jackets” were already leaking profusely and we had not even started riding.
We tramped across the road to join the bike path. It was time for the obligatory happy group photo. Thirteen sodden cyclists lined up their bikes and pretended to smile. Unfortunately there was water on the lens and the picture did not work. We thought that things could only get better from that point on. We were wrong.
The early route was easy to follow, even in the torrential rain. We rolled along, splashing water and mud into the faces of those alongside and behind us. “This should stop soon”, I announced. In fact, it didn’t. It got heavier. Maggie started asking for a coffee stop, even though we had only been riding for 10 minutes. I couldn’t see where we were going since my glasses were covered in water and I think that the water had also affected my eyes as well. My expensive rain jacket had also given up the ghost in the onslaught and was now also letting in copious amounts of water.
“At least it’s not cold”, I encouraged the team. That worked for a short time, until the temperature started to plummet as well. Just when we thought things could not get any worse, they did. Sue suffered the first puncture of the day.
I must admit that I had been a little worried that Sue had had trouble keeping up with the glacial speed of the peloton. She is normally a strong rider and this seemed out of character. She had also been complaining that her “wheels were not round”, but I had put that down to hyperthermia. It turned out that there really was something VERY wrong with her bike.
Dave had been riding as the tail gunner and gave me a call on the CB radio that Sue had a puncture. Unfortunately his frozen fingers also managed to activate the emergency assist beacon, resulting in an ear splitting siren and sending out a distress call to all those within radio range. A few minutes later we noticed a local police car stopping beside the track to investigate. We tried to pretend we knew nothing about it. We had more pressing problems than to initiate a conflict with the local Gendarmes.
While the rest of the group rode ahead Dave and I started to dismantle Sue’s bike. It was only when we removed the tyre that we discovered that the previous user of the bike had obviously made some unusual modifications. Stuffed inside the tyre was an oversized tube that had been doubled over in an attempt to get it to fit inside the tyre. I had never seen anything like it. It was no wonder she thought that she was riding on square wheels.
For the next 20 minutes we wrestled with the repair before finally giving thanks for the huge floor pump that I had strapped to the back of my bike. At least it made it easy to pump up the tyre. We were finally on our way again, soaked to the skin and Dave and I had grease all over our hands as well. It was the proverbial “icing on the bad cake”.
“I think the sky is clearing”, I suggested. But what would I know, I couldn’t see anything by that stage. We finally caught up with the rest of the riders at the beautiful little hamlet of Meung sur Loire and immediately looked for a coffee shop. We found a likely place, but the proprietor took one look at us and told us not to sit at his lovely clean tables. I don’t blame him one bit.
He did agree to sell us coffees, provided we stood near the bar. At that point Pauline came in the door with even more bad news. For those that thought the day could not get any worse, they were really underestimating things. The worst was yet to come.
“Somebody’s bike is making a funny noise”, she said. That was a new one on me. I had never heard of a bike farting before but I guess there is a first time for everything. I followed her outside and, when I heard the noise, I immediately knew that there was nothing remotely funny about it. It was the sound of air rapidly escaping from Maggie’s inner tube. “Sacre Bleu, this is getting ridiculous”. We only had one puncture in the entire 2013 France ride and we had now had 2 in the space of the first 20 km of this ride.
I called for Ross to put down his coffee and lend some assistance. I went and bought a cake at the nearby Patisserie and stood and watched while Ross went to work. I know I should have felt guilty, but I can honestly say – I didn’t. After all, it was a lovely cake and someone had to eat it. My actions were also vindicated when I was able to prevent a little old French lady from leaving her purse behind in the shop after buying her morning baguette. That indicated that I really was meant to be there at that time.
Another 30 minutes went past while Ross and David tried to untangle themselves from the greasy chain while they figured out how to remount the rear wheel. Eventually we were ready to leave. The rain even stopped for about 30 seconds. Things were definitely on the improve.
For at least a kilometre we were in high spirits, riding through the deep mud puddles that the rain had created on the trail. The women started looking for another toilet stop. Maggie started slowing down again. “I think my back wheel is acting funny”, she explained. I glanced down and saw immediately that she had been riding along on the rim. The tyre was as flat as the lamingtons she had tried to cook soon after our marriage. This was getting ridiculous.
A small group pulled to a stop while the others pedaled on into the gloom. Within a few minutes I had succeeded in recovering my hands with grease and mud and, once again, set about removing the tyre. Ross then spent the next 10 minutes searching for anything caught in the tyre that might have caused both punctures. We looked and looked but could not find anything.
While all this was happening I spied a strange change in the storm clouds overhead. It looked like some sort of apocalyptic event was rapidly approaching. I mentioned this to Ross and he looked in the opposite direction and said “our weather comes from that direction”. He was wrong. Very wrong. The violent squall swept across the paddocks, the wind blew all our bikes away and we huddled to save ourselves from the hailstones. Fran managed to crawl underneath a pile of bikes, in fear of her life. I must admit it really was rather frightening. The teeming rain increased to an absolute deluge. Any part of our bodies that was not soaked through certainly was now. I was tempted to crawl into the nearby Loire in order to stay dryer. David showed that, somewhere in his ancestry, he was related to a chameleon. His whole body quickly changed to a dark blue colour and he started shaking violently. For a while it looked like we would all make the front pages of the Australian papers in the worst possible way.
Fortunately the squall only lasted for a few minutes, but unfortunately it was followed by a rapid drop in temperature. By now we were all freezing, wet through and filthy. It could not possibly get any worse. But it did.
We somehow managed to ride the remaining few kilometres to the beautiful medieval town of Beaugency and entered our hotel, dropping water and shaking like maracas. “But your rooms zey will not be redee for another 2 hours”, the manager apologised. “And your bags have not arrived yet”, he added for good measure. We huddled together in a rictus of shared misery. This was going to be a long and very cold afternoon.
A little while later there was the first ray of sunshine in a very bleak series of events. The manager had a change of heart and announced that we could have our rooms after all, not that we could do much without any dry clothes to change into. Everybody adopted their own survival tactics. Apparently Dave spent the next hour under the shower, Sally and Eugenie jumped into a hot bath together, other just climbed straight into bed (pity about the white sheets), Maggie and I huddled around the heater and the heated towel rack. That towel rack was put to continuous use over the next few hours as we dried all our clothes, shoes, underwear, etc.
Our luggage did safely arrive a couple of hours later and somehow everything all worked out OK in the end. In a strange way, it can be these types of really tough days which people look back on with affection in the years ahead. One thing is certain, we all fell in love with this beautiful town and its profusion of brightly coloured flowers. Our stay was too short to really do it justice, but we will all have very fond memories of our brief time here.
In the evening the Hotel (Ecu de Bretagne) gave us the best meal we have had so far on this trip. We all agreed that it had been a day that we will never forget. At least we know that the weather could not possibly get any worse. If we could survive that, we can survive anything.もっと詳しく
First Serious Challenge
2015年9月15日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C
Day 22 In Which it’s Au Revoir a Paris and we Face Our First Serious Challenge
After 5 magnificent days in the City of Light it was time to get our ride underway. After all, that’s the main reason we came to this wonderful country. In order to get to Orleans, which was the place the ride is to begin, we first had to survive a trip through the Paris Metro and then a “Grande Ligne” train ride to Orleans.
We made a quite a sight, all lined up like a travelling caravan of elderly luggage draggers. Although the trains were very quiet at 10.30 am in the morning, it seems that the Metro designers had done all in their power to include as many flights of stairs as possible. We had no alternative other than to drag our bulging bags up and down, until we were all red and puffing. I remembered that when we were in Helsinki, one of the luggage cases suffered a catastrophic castor failure on the walk to the train station. I was hoping that a similar breakdown would not occur this time.
Fortunately we all made it safely to the large Gare d’Austerlitz station without mishap and settled in for a lengthy wait till our train was due for departure. The women spent most of this time looking for toilets and drinking coffee (probably in the other order). The men spent most of the time looking for the women.
Every time I ride on a train in Europe I am reminded just how primitive our train system is by comparison. The ride to Orleans was even more comfortable because it looked almost like we were the only passengers on the train. Even in second class, the seats were generous and very comfortable. The smooth and silent passage of the train (over 140 kph according to my GPS) soon sent me into a sleepy stupor and I cannot remember much of the trip itself.
By early afternoon we had arrived at Orleans and unloaded our pile of bags from the train, ready to walk the 1.5 km to our hotel. Maggie and Carol (and most of the other women) decided to walk 1.5 km in the opposite direction looking for the closest toilet. The men waited, and waited……and waited.
Eventually the ladies returned with smiles on their faces and someone reminded them that there was a toilet on the train. In fact they could have just made a walk of about 5 m to the end of their train carriage.
The walk to the hotel took about 30 minutes, giving some of the ladies a good chance to lament that their bags were a little heavy. The men were again called upon to assist in carrying some of the excess luggage. I thought I read somewhere about equality of the sexes, but apparently it does not apply when navigating, repairing punctures or moving luggage.
The Escale Oceania is a very comfortable hotel, situated right on the banks of the Loire River. After the diminutive hotel rooms of Paris, it is always something of a relief to enjoy the extra space in the rural hotels.
In the late afternoon we received the bikes that were to be our transport for ride to Le Croisic. They were typical European touring bikes – upright stance, heavy and comfortable (just like me). After we all did a few laps around the car park, most agreed that they were quite easy to ride. Each bike was equipped with two large rear panniers, a toolkit, pump, lock, spare tube and a kitchen sink. I also was elected to carry the additional large and heavy floor pump. We were also issued with a huge wad of notes, maps, directions and brochures. I gave these a cursory glance and announced that we were set to go. By now we were getting hungry and were ready for dinner.
Our allocated restaurant for the first night was the Au Bon Marche, a mere 2 hour walk from the hotel. That would have been pleasant if it had not been raining, however we were all in good spirits and eagerly looking forward to actually getting started on the ride the next morning. Lionel Rex and John Hill had also arrived in Orleans a day early and had decided to join us for dinner, even though the rest of their group would not be arriving until the following day.
We eventually found the restaurant and proceeded to tramp muddy footprints across the pristine floor as the Maitre d directed us to their finest table. I looked down at the brilliant white starched table cloth and thought that it was an accident looking for a place to happen. A short time later, it did.
We were each handed a menu about as large as the playing area of the MCG, entirely printed in French. We struggled with the huge sheets and we struggled with the unfamiliar words. “What’s a canard ?”, “What is a millefeuille when it’s home ?”, “Are these snails ?” Lots of giggling from everyone.
“Don’t order anything that says tartare”, advised Ross, who had learnt from a most unpleasant experience on our Scandinavian ride.
After about 30 minutes of collective confusion we all managed to select something at random from each of the three sections and then waited expectantly for the surprises to come. I can’t remember exactly what I ate, but I do recall that it was delicious and it was extremely filling. And that was only the entree. We still had another two courses to go. This was our first serious challenge. Belts and girdles were loosened as we battled valiantly to empty our plates. Some rose wonderfully to the challenge while others were unable to make much impression on the piles of food in front of them.
My contribution to the evening was to somehow manage to spread some of the contents of my plate immediately on to the, previously white, table cloth. I tried to cover up my sins with a carefully placed napkin, but I suspect that the waiter noted what I had done and marked me down as the group’s imbecile.
It took us until well after 10 pm to get anywhere near finishing the meal and no one wanted to be the last out of the place and be left with the drinks bill. Previous experience has showed me that people have notoriously bad memories when it comes to remembering what they drank and even worse arithmetical skills when it comes to adding up their contributions.
Somehow we managed to leave Lionel and John as the last two in the restaurant and I suspect that they were washing and drying dishes until the wee small hours of the morning. The rest of us had a long and wet walk back to the hotel, hoping that the weather would improve before the following morning. Of course it didn’t.もっと詳しく
The Rich and Famous
2015年9月15日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C
Day 21 – In Which we HobNob with the Rich and Famous
Every major city has its iconic luxury hotels and, in Paris, there is no hotel with a longer or more distinguished reputation than the impressive Le Meurice. Situated on the posh Rue de Rivoli, and facing into the beautiful Tuileries Gardens, Le Meurice has been a preferred hotel for the rich and famous for over 180 years. If you want to spot some well known celebrities, just take up a position over the road and wait. Most likely it won’t take long till some actor, banker or world leader comes out the front door.
Although I considered selecting this hotel for our stay in Paris, I thought the 4300 Euro a night ( around $7000 AUD) charge might be a tad high. For that you get a standard room, but of course you have to pay extra for breakfast (around $100 a head per day), internet access, sheets and fresh towels. You also need to have your pockets stuffed with 50 Euro notes for the obligatory tips for everyone on the staff who even says “Bonjour” to you.
Next door to Le Meurice is the almost equally iconic Angelina’s tea rooms. This place looks like something out of the Palace of Versailles with its ornate painted ceilings, chandeliers and expensive furniture. Of course, if you want a tea or coffee there, you can’t just walk in the door. Unless you are a class A celebrity there is always a long waiting list and a queue that means you must wait in line for hours, just to get a seat.
Fortunately for the Ghostriders, that was not a problem. Apparently the proprietor had been eagerly following our adventures each day on the blog and, when we arrived at the front door, we were directed around the long queue and up to the exclusive upstairs section. The distinguished butler escorted us to their finest table and indicated that we should be seated. When we saw the prices on the menu, I could see why it was so important to be seated first. I was grateful that I was not wearing my Nutella stained shirt and pants from the previous day, as that probably would not have gone down very well.
This whole episode had been Ross and Fran’s idea. Apparently they like to always visit this place, whenever they are in town. It was their influence with their favourite waiter that had got us the extra special service we received. There were eight of us sitting at the table, all looking a lot like the proverbial fish out of water. Most of my table etiquette had been learned at the local Macdonalds in Pakenham, so I was a little unsure how to act in such surroundings. Somehow the best we could manage was to regularly break into loud and hysterical fits of laughing every few minutes. I suspect that this is not the sort of place you are meant to laugh in, so it was little wonder that the waiter disappeared for a long time before reluctantly returning to take our orders.
Looking at the price of a cup of hot chocolate, I was tempted to order a single glass for Maggie and me to share. I looked in my wallet and stared at the quickly diminishing euro notes. On the other hand I did not want to look like a cheapskate, so decided that we could cut back on dinner. “Garcon”, I called, “bring me a cup of your finest hot chocolate, and also a glass of tap water for my wife”. I looked at the pictures of the desert selections and decided to order a chocolate delicacy that looked a lot like Donald Trump’s toupe. That should just about do it.
When the coffees and deserts arrived, I have to admit they were rather special, although I did somehow manage to spill my chocolate within the first few seconds. Fortunately it missed my trousers this time and just splashed all over the table cloth instead. More laughter. While I was drinking the chocolate and eating the hairpiece, Eugenie noticed that something was happening outside in the street.
Soon we were all on our feet looking out the windows at the huge line of shiny black cars that were blocking the entire Rue de Rivoli. There were also at least 10 motorcycles with especially dressed police riders on each. Obviously someone important was about to come out of the hotel next door. I wondered if Bronwyn Bishop may have been in town. We all scrambled to muster enough euros to cover most of the exorbitant bill and then walked out the front door. I was trying to hide the brand new chocolate dribble on the front of my shirt as we walked past the same queue that was still patiently waiting for their seats. I felt like advising them to join the Ghostriders, but wanted to see what was happening next door.
We apparently exited at just the right moment. A group of Africans all came out, all dressed in impressive caftans that would have even made Kamahl envious. While the footmen, doormen and security guards all competed to be the most subservient, the apparently powerful group of leaders quickly got into their vehicles and sped away. The impressive motorcade disappeared into the streets of Paris. Soon there was a massive explosion of horn tooting as the motorists that had been blocked for so long finally vented their pent up spleen.
Later in the day I searched the Internet to try to find out which country the leader had been from, but discovered that, while he was important enough to warrant a stay at Le Meurice and his own motorcade, his visit was not significant enough to register on Google. I suspected that, since he was from Africa, he would probably been thrown out of power by the time he returned to his own country anyway. Just as well that they always have their secret Swiss bank accounts to fall back on in such hard times.
Maggie and I spent the rest of the afternoon rearranging our sock collections and catching up on our laundry. It was a wonderful time of togetherness for us. On my way back to the hotel that night I was very careful not to stand on the dog turd that had been in the middle of the footpath for the past two days. I think I succeeded.
We later learnt that Eugenie spent the afternoon at the local beauty parlor. Apparently she had been walking past when she saw an elegant looking French hairdresser making eyes at her from the inside. Her heart went a pit a pat and she found her feet taking her straight inside. Phillipe explained to her about the day’s special – “une haircut for ze price of two”. She could not let a bargain like that slip through her fingers, so spent the next hour feeling Phillipe’s fingers in her hair and his hot Gallic breath on the back of her neck. She came out with her hair looking like Madame Pompadour and her face the colour of beetroot. It had been worth the 200 Euros.
Tomorrow morning all those in Group One will be leaving Paris for Orleans and the start of our real adventure. We can’t wait to get riding again.もっと詳しく
Disasters in Paris
2015年9月14日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C
Day 20 – In Which Dave Gets Propositioned, I get Bisected (and everyone else gets injured)
This was always going to be a long day. Due to the vagaries of hotel bookings, it was not possible for Maggie and me to get 5 consecutive nights at the Trois Poussins Hotel. This meant that the final two nights of our stay would have to be at a nearby hotel with the unlikely name The Monterosa. For me, that name conjured up images of rugged cowboys running a huge cattle station, whereas in fact The Monterosa turned out to be just another typical 3 star hotel in this area.
We packed our bags early in the morning and set out on a short walk to see where our new hotel was located. As it turned out, we were not the only ones out on an early morning walk. On our way back to our morning meeting point I noticed Sue Rainsford wandering blindly in the opposite direction. She seemed pleased and surprised to see us. “I am lost already” she explained. “Then just follow us” I replied. Sue had arrived in Paris just the previous evening and was obviously still having a little trouble navigating the maze of streets near Saint Georges. Sue’s arrival brought our total strength to 19 participants. The final two would be arriving the following day and the rest would be meeting us in Orleans.
Although we had originally been intending to visit the Palace of Versailles, the dark gloomy skies and drizzling rain soon convinced us that an indoor activity would be more appropriate. About a dozen or so left, following Keith and Marg on their way to Versailles. I had given very clear directions so I knew that they could not possibly get lost. In fact they did.
Maggie and I joined David and Carol on a visit to the famous Musee D’Orsay. This amazing building was erected as a railway station for the Universal Exhibition of 1900. By 1939 it was deemed to be no longer suitable as a station and had a variety of other uses before it was scheduled for demolition in 1970. Fortunately it was saved from this dreadful fate, and it now houses the largest collection of Impressionist and Post Impressionist Paintings in the world. Many consider this museum to be the finest museum in Paris and it certainly should be included in any visit to this city.
When we arrived at the entrance, the main queues had not yet developed and we only had a short wait before we were able to enter. The cashier courteously explained that my Victorian Seniors’ Card would not get me a discount, but I figured it was worth a try. Although the art is certainly impressive, and the total value must be in the billions of Euros, for me the real work of art is the building itself. For anyone who has seen the movie “HUGO”, about the boy who lived inside the clocks in a huge railway station, you could swear that this is where it was filmed. Dominating high above the main auditorium are two huge clocks. You can stand inside the clock face and look out over the whole of Paris. In the distance you can clearly see Sacre Coeur Cathedral perched high on the Butte Montmartre. It would have been easy to stand here for a long time and just gaze out over this incredible city.
Although the notorious selfie sticks are banned inside the museum, this does not deter the intrepid horde of selfie addicts who carefully plan their visit so that they can be photographed in front of virtually every piece of art in the place. It made me tired (and also a little bilious) just watching the effort and planning this entailed. On the other hand it was easy to see that real art lovers left their cameras at home and just used their eyes instead. Some would stand for extended periods in front of just one painting or statue, carefully examining every detail and trying to get inside the mind of the artist.
By midday Maggie was begging for a coffee and a sit down (in that order). We left the museum and noted that the queues had now grown to biblical proportions, stretching halfway to the Eiffel Tower. Another reminder to always arrive early. We looked for a suitable cafe for a coffee and some lunch and found a large likely looking place nearby. We settled down and soon found that the waiter seemed especially attentive to Dave. After a while I was half expecting him to bring Dave chocolates and flowers.
This reached an even higher level of infatuation when the waiter arrived with our meals. He explained that he would “serve ze ladies first”, first Carol, then Maggie and then his favourite Davide. Apparently I rated as the only man at the table. By this time David was blushing redder than a bride on her wedding night and he seemed anxious to make a getaway. We managed to pay the bill and escape, just as the waiter was off to get a piece of paper to record Dave’s phone number. It had been a close call, even though David had repeatedly tried to explain that he was already married.
In every group there are some feats of endurance that are worthy of special mention and this group contains such a couple. Ever since they had arrived in Paris, Keith and Marg had engaged in a frenetic round of continuous tour hopping. Obviously every minute of every day had been planned months ahead in an attempt to get their names in the Guinness Book of Records for the most Paris tours in any 4 day period. Their stamina is obviously legendary. I knew that such a grueling pace would kill most people our age. It was even more amazing that each successive tour was ever further away from Paris. They had already done every possible tour, hop on hop off bus, cabaret show, etc in the city itself and then started venturing to more distant locations such as Giverny and Mont St Michel. Apparently they are now seeing if they can fit in a tour of Melbourne’s MCG on Tuesday.
The rest of the team have much more limited stamina and are rapidly reaching the end of their endurance. I did suggest that there was one activity that rewarded the participant with a unique view of this city and somehow managed to convince about a dozen takers that it would be a good idea to take a night cruise along the Seine. I instructed that we should meet near the base of the Eiffel Tower around 7.30 pm.
Maggie and I arrived early and took a long slow walk along the river from the Musee D’Orsay towards the Eiffel Tower. As I crossed the road I was nearly skittled by a driver roaring up the road in a brand new red Ferrari sports car. I could not be certain, but I think the offending driver was the same scruffy guy that had taken us on our cemetery tour a couple of days earlier. C’est la vie , I guess.
Near the base of the tower we met up with Eugenie, Sally and Liz. Maggie was starting to rebel at this point and gave me an ultimatum. “I am not walking any further until you bring me coffee and dinner”. She pouted her bottom lip and went and sat on a bench seat under a big tree. I have learnt that, when she is such a mood, I have no alternative other than simply obey.
I walked around looking for something that might appeal to her appetite. I was soon mesmerised by a crepe maker and found myself ordering two crepes, stuffed with strawberries, bananas, chocolate and cream. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I didn’t even faint when the operator asked for 27 Euros. When he handed across the steaming hot bundles I had to admit that they did look good. The trouble was that I had two cups of coffee and two crepes and I was exactly two arms short of the optimum quota.
Clutching the scolding crepes and balancing coffees, I staggered back through the crowds and tried to find where I had left Maggie. Along the way I started to wonder why people were looking at me and smiling. I guess they all wished they had bought a crepe as well, I thought. After a couple more minutes, my hands were burning and I tried to get a better grip on my goodies. It was only when I looked down that I could see why I was single handedly sending the multitudes into paroxysms of mirth. The bottoms of both crepes had burst, sending cascades of brown molten Nutella all down the front of my shirt and trousers. I was literally covered in the stuff right down to my shoes. Now I knew what the village idiot must feel like. I was NOT happy.
Eventually I found Maggie relaxing under her tree and I thrust the now collapsed and saggy crepe into her hand. “You had BETTER enjoy this”, I yelled. She took a few bites and allowed the rest of the delicious contents to slip through her fingers and splatter to the ground in an unsightly pile of pink and yellow. At least the birds would get a feast.
In the meantime I was engaged in a futile attempt to remove even a little of the cream and Nutella from my clothes. I really hoped that night would come early to hide my shame. It didn’t, in fact I think there was an unexpected hour of daylight that day for some obscure astronomical reason.
Later in the afternoon we were met by a large group of Ghostriders and we set sail on our Seine River Cruise. Although I had already done this cruise several times before, I always find it a beautiful way to experience the famous City of Light. All of Paris’ most beautiful buildings are illuminated and the whole place looks like a scene from a fairy tale. On the top deck of the boat it was getting pretty cold and even the heat from the red hot Nutella was no longer sufficient to keep my legs warm.
After the cruise Sally was the only one with a map and she took over leadership of the group to get us home to our hotels. I should have already known that women have no concept of what maps are, and I suspect she was holding it upside down as she led us like the famous Pied Piper in the opposite direction to what common sense was pointing.
After 30 minutes of blind wandering we found a Metro Station and began an eventful journey back to Montmartre. “Hurry Up” I called to the stragglers when I saw a train waiting at the platform. I jumped on board and tried to hold the door open. In the process I made an important discovery about Metro trains – you cannot hold the doors open. They simply snap shut like a metal press, no matter what is in the way. I was fortunate not to lose the major part of my right arm, but somehow managed to fall into the carriage just in time to watch the rest of the group still standing on the platform.
Fortunately Metro trains runs every few minutes and we were eventually all reunited. Maggie and I staggered into our room around 10.30 pm and made the decision that the following day would be a quiet day.
I hope that our team have enjoyed their short stay in Paris and just maybe they might have fallen a little in love with the magic that permeates every street. Paris is so much more than museums and monuments, it is the infectious joie de vivre that Parisians incorporate into every aspect of their lives that makes me want to return over and over again. This was typified by the elderly trumpet player that we saw wandering the streets yesterday. He was not asking for money, he just wanted to play his trumpet and greet people that passed by him in the street, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
UPDATE ON THE INJURY LIST
John Rundell – evacuated to London for rest and recuperation leave – indefinite
Maggie Dawson – Hand improving, but hip now hopeless (also a bit irritable) – 2 days
Sharlie Cousland – Restricted to bed due to possible recurring bout of tiredness – 4 hours
Dave Yates – Bad back and severe embarrassment – 2 weeks
Myself – mental stress – indefinite
Gonny Rundell – Wonky knees – indefinite
Carol Yates – Dodgy Feet – 2 weeks
Mary Jonas – Lost in action – indefinite
All the other women – suffering from obvious bladder failure and acute incontinence – indefiniteもっと詳しく
The Dead Centre of Paris
2015年9月13日, フランス ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C
Day 19 – In Which we Visit Oscar Wilde, Marcel Marceau and a VERY BAD MAN
Up until today we had not seen a drop of rain since we left Melbourne almost three weeks ago. In Italy the weather was hot and sunny virtually every day and we joked that we would love to see a few clouds and a little rain, even if just to settle the dust and lower the humidity. Our first two days in Paris have also been hot and sunny, however today the weather pendulum has finally swung to the other extreme and it has been drizzling or raining for most of the day. Like a spring garden, the city has bloomed with the opening of a million umbrellas. The Parisians are used to coping in the wet and never seem to be too bothered by something as trivial as a torrential downpour.
This of course leads to another question – why do so few countries think to erect verandas over the fronts of their shops ? Certainly in Paris they are non existent. It really is essential to carry your own veranda in the form of an umbrella. Thankfully there was a $2 shop around the corner from our hotel and I am now the proud owner of a new 9 Euro folding black umbrella.
When looking for something to do this morning we considered a few options before deciding to head to Paris’ largest cemetery – the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. This is a huge (110 acres) plot on a rise in the 20th Arrondissement. The oldest graves date back to 1804. If you want to see what happened to all those who died before that time you will need to venture far underground to the sprawling catacombs that hold the bones of literally millions of ex Parisians.
David, Carol, Maggie and I caught the crowded Metro to the closest station (Phillipe Auguste) and wandered in through the large front entrance to the cemetery. It was soon apparent that many of the residents here must have belonged to the privileged classes, judging by the numbers of huge mausoleums that crowded every available space. We slowly made our way between these structures until we came to perhaps the most prominent mausoleum of all, situated right at the highest point. I pulled open the rusty gate and made my way to peer into the cavernous interior when I was interrupted by a voice from behind. At first I thought it might have been a guard abusing me for desecrating the building, but when I turned around I saw a rather scruffy looking character with shoulder length scraggly hair and the very minimum quota of teeth. In very poor English he told us that the resident was a past President of France and a “real bastard, a megalomaniac”. Apparently a nasty piece of work indeed, according to this expert at least.
Carrying his tattered folder of newspaper cuttings our new acquaintance explained that he had been a guide at the cemetery for the past 28 years. Apparently, because we did not tell him to go away, this meant that we had now entered into a binding contract for his professional services. David and I looked at each other and held tightly to our wallets, fearing that we had been ambushed.
In spite of our misgivings, the guy certainly knew his stuff. Over the next hour or more he walked us up and down, back and forth and revealed a whole insight into history that we would never have discovered. He explained that the famous residents were guaranteed a permanent tenure, but for the others they would be dug up in 100 years and anything still remaining would be “barbecued” and their plot used for a new resident.
Among the famous graves he took us to were the final resting place of Marcel Marceau (died 2007), Ferdinand de Lesseps (Suez Canal builder) and Oscar Wilde. Another interesting grave was to commemorate the young journalist who was shot by Napoleon Bonaparte and whose grave is used as a pilgrim site for those wishing to fall pregnant. It was also easy to recognise the graves of prominent freemasons as they had HUGE pyramids built over them. One such freemason grave also had a vast underground chamber which acted as a great echo chamber when we yelled into it. I was also somewhat surprised to find the grave of James Morrison, adorned with dozens of gifts and mementos. It reminded me of the famous Evita Mausoleum in the Ricoletta Cemetery in Buenos Aires.
We were also shown the final resting place of Fred Chopin, or at least part of him. Apparently his heart was removed and buried in his homeland Poland. The government of Poland still pays for the upkeep of his grave and for fresh flowers to be placed there every week. In fact it really did turn out to be a very informative experience, but we were now getting exhausted and could not figure out how to terminate his services. Every time we told him we had to go, he would reply with “one more thing, must see”. I was beginning to worry that we could end up spending the next 28 years of our own lives here, if we did not force the issue.
After another half dozen or so of “one more things”, we were back near the entrance. Now we had the difficult part. We knew we would have to pay him something, but how much ? From the look of his lack of dental work it looked like he was doing it tough, but for all we knew he might have a Porsche parked out the back.
Dave and I fumbled around in our pockets and produced about 25 Euro. Considering we had never asked him for the Grand Tour,we thought that was a reasonable donation. It obviously wasn’t. Our Worzel Gummidge lookalike took one look at our donation, rolled his eyes and let out a disgusted grunt. Our hands went back into our wallets looking for a few more notes. I suspected that the next payment on his Porsche was due.
We finally handed over 40 Euro and he seemed happy enough. He should be, it was not bad money for 90 minutes work. On the other hand, it was another example of just what makes Paris so unique. He certainly put on a real show for us, his knowledge was unquestioned and it really had been fun. We went away thinking that it was worth it for the experience and it will certainly be an experience we will never forget. Another example of where the very best travel experiences are always unplanned.
This evening quite a few of our team have decided to go to a concert at St Chapelle. That leaves me sitting alone in the hotel room, taking an opportunity to catch up on a few chores. Our plan for tomorrow is to go to the famous Palace of Versailles, but that may depend on what the weather is doing. At least I now have a good umbrella.もっと詳しく
A Group Stagger Around Paris
2015年9月12日, フランス ⋅ 🌧 18 °C
Last time the Ghostriders conducted a ride in France, I offered to take a group of them on an extended walking tour of the city, just to help them get their bearings and appreciate some of the magic of this amazing place. When I offered to do the same thing this time, I had 12 people who turned up at the appointed meeting place.
Although this was always to be a walking tour, several of the participants presented with various ailments right at the start. In fact, even before we started, John pulled out because he apparently has a bone in his foot and his wife Gonny pulled out because her knees are “wonky”. At the start of the walk Carol informed me that her feet were already sore after the 100 metre walk from the hotel and Sharlie informed me that she would not be able to walk on any uphills or downhills (and apparently was not much good on the flats either). I often compare the Ghostriders to the famous Dad’s Army, but this is getting ridiculous. I began to think I should have booked a set of wheelchairs for the group.
In spite of my misgivings, we set off at a brisk pace of about 1 km per 24 hours and slowly made our way towards Pigalle. After we had crawled about 200 metres, I turned around and could not fathom how some were already 300 metres behind me. They must have been walking in the wrong direction. After much hand waving and shouting we were regrouped and staggered on about 100 metres or so. “My feet are aching” said Carol, “My knees are feeling a little queer too” added Sharlie. “Is it time for coffee yet ?” Maggie contributed. This was going to be a long, long day.
After much encouragement, cajoling, threatening and after numerous “rest breaks” we finally made it up the hill to Sacre Coeur Cathedral, one of my favourite spots in all of Paris. Carol and Sharlie caught the funicular railway to the summit, while the rest ran the gamut of the African hustlers who always crowd the steps. “It must be time for coffee now” suggested Maggie. It was.
We crowded into a delightful little flower covered coffee shop near the Place du Tertre and settled down to a heavy session of coffee drinking and people watching. When we counted the heads we discovered that we were one head less than a dozen. Sharlie had gone missing. She turned up after a few minutes and explained that she had been shopping for some cat pictures, as if that explained it all.
As we started to head back to Pigalle to catch the train, Maggie found a lovely little Montmartre back street and said that we should go that way. It was delightful, but it meant that we were going in the wrong direction, necessitating a long walk back up the hill and past the cathedral again. More complaining from Carol and Sharlie. A few others joined the chorus as well with a steady counterpoint of “I am getting tired”, “Is it much further ?”, ” I saw a man with a baguette” and other nonsense. Maggie asked if it was too soon for another coffee.
I finally herded the remaining 10 people onto the Metro (Keith and Marg had already lost patience and bolted). Carol’s feet were still hurting, although Sharlie had apparently found her second wind and had come good again.
When we got off the train at Concorde there was the usual exclamations of wows as people stood on one of the most famous boulevards in the world. The women all headed straight to the nearest toilet. The clock kept ticking.
We wandered down through the Tuileries Gardens towards the Louvre and I was amazed that the usual Gypsy pickpockets were nowhere to be seen. Maybe the police have finally succeeded in moving them away once for all. It was then along the right bank of the Seine and through the famous Ile de La Cite and the equally famous Ile St Louis. It was then time for a baguette and an ice cream. Carol had already caught a taxi back to the hotel. And dammit, even my feet were getting tired. It was getting close to 3 pm so I decided to cancel the remaining 10 km of the walk and announce that it was time to head back to the hotels.
What followed was another lesson on survival in the underground maze that is the Paris Metro, but all made it safely home. Maggie and I bought some food from a mini mart and had our own picnic in the hotel courtyard. It really had been a fun day and, in spite of the teasing I give them all, I really do love travelling with these wonderful folk.もっと詳しく
Ghostly Zombies of Paris
2015年9月10日, フランス ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C
Day 17 – In Which Paris is Invaded by Ghostly Zombies
They say that all good things eventually must come to an end and, after over two weeks in Italy, it was time to say goodbye to Florence and make our way to France to begin the second stage of our 2015 adventure. Our small Italian peloton was about to be fragmented. For Irena her riding was now over as she was heading off to spend some time in Portugal. Lionel was heading off to Burgundy for some days before meeting us again in Orleans. Mary would be staying in Florence for one additional day before flying to Paris.That left John, Gonny and myself to catch a noon flight to Paris.
We booked a taxi for the short ride to Florence International Airport. The driver seemed competent (by Italian standards) yet had no regard for staying in the same lane when driving on any road. I was sitting in the front seat and had to bite my tongue and clench my fists every time he veered without warning from one side of the road to the other. Even more surprising was the fact that not once did any of the cars behind toot their horns in complaint at his wayward tactics.
Fortunately we arrived safely at the small, but very busy, Florence Airport and were soon checked in for our flight. We squeezed into the crowded departure lounge and waited for our Air France flight to board. I was very relieved when I found my allocated seat on the plane and discovered that the next two seats were empty. In fact about half the plane was empty. Hooray I thought. My exhilaration was premature however, as another couple of busloads of passengers jostled up the steps and occupied every seat. Even though it was a squashed and somewhat uncomfortable flight, at least it was only for about 90 minutes. European travelers really are spoilt when it comes to jetsetting from one country to another.
We were soon disembarking at Charles de Gaulle airport and fortunately my luggage also caught the same flight as me. There were quite a few of our France team that were due to meet us at the aiport. These included Keith and Marg who were also coming from Italy and also David, Carol, Eugenie, Sally, Liz, Sharlie, Mary and Maggie who had all made the long journey from Melbourne.
We knew that those who had made the long flight from Australia would not make a pleasant sight when they staggered into the arrivals area. I patiently waited for about 2 hours until the first passengers started stumbling out the exit doors. With their dark sunken eyes, pallid colour and unshaven faces and filthy clothes, they really did look quite frightening. The men were even worse. It really did look like a scene from one of those Zombie Apocalypse movies.
When all were present and accounted for I directed them to the waiting 22 seater bus that I had booked to take us to our respective hotels. For several of those on board it was their first visit to Paris and I could not wait to see their excitement. Unfortunately their obvious excitement was somewhat tempered by the fact that they were in a semi coma following their long journeys.
All the hotels are close together in the northern region of Paris known as Opera – Saint Georges. This gives us easy access to Montmartre and is only a short Metro trip from the centre of the city. After a meal at a local restaurant we all retreated to the sanctuary of our hotels and the happy prospect of a long night’s sleep.もっと詳しく
A Huge Segway Smash
2015年9月9日, イタリア ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C
Day 16 – In Which Florence is Rocked by a Giant Segway Smashup
During my short time in Florence I have learnt one thing. It really would be a nice city if it were not for the relentless crush of tourists (see my previous post). During daylight hours it is difficult to go anywhere interesting without being surrounded by selfie stick waving tourists, shouting guides and eager touts. The best time to explore the place is after nightfall when the masses have left and some semblance of sanity returns to the streets.
Last night I set off at around 9.30 pm and had a delightful walk in the warm summer air. Although there were still quite a few people wandering about, most of them were locals who have presumably learned that this is the best way to cope during the height of the tourist season. In the larger Piazzas there were still a few African trinket sellers who were occupying themselves by launching small luminous whirlyjigs high into the air. With so many in the air at the same time, they looked a bit like multi coloured fire flies.
I have calculated that, over the next 7 weeks, I will be staying in something like 35 different hotels. With so much packing and unpacking it is very hard not to lose an item or two along the way. So far on this trip I had prided myself on being very diligent and thoroughly checking the room every morning before leaving. This morning I realised that I had blotted my copybook but leaving my GPS adapter mounted on the handlebars of the bike when I returned it a couple of days ago. Although this was not a tragedy, it was a bit of a nuisance as I was planning to use the GPS for the entire France ride.
I decided to ring Eurobike to see if the bikes had been collected from the hotel yet. As it turned out they would be there for another day. The only problem was that the hotel where the bikes were returned was quite a distance from the place where we are now staying. In fact the taxi fare was well over 20 Euro one way (around $35 AUD). The thought of spending around $70 to retrieve a $16 mounting bracket seemed a little ridiculous. In any case there was nothing I could do about it until the afternoon. This morning I already had made other plans.
Following the great fun we had on Segways in Rome, John, Gonny and I had decided to book another Segway experience in Florence. We turned up at the Segway office and found that we would be joined by two others. Paul and Karen were a friendly couple from New Orleans, however they were not experienced Segway riders like us. We nodded sagely and offered them lots of useful advice, like “try not to fall off or you will hurt yourself”.
Our guide for the morning was a diminutive Italian girl called Mia. She started by giving Paul and Karen an initial training session. Karen immediately got the hang of the thing and was soon happily cruising up and down the alley, spinning in circles and executing other complex maneuvers. Paul was also very keen. He climbed on board, violently shook the control stick back and forth, immediately sending his Segway out of control and crashing into a row of parked bikes. The Segway went one way, Paul went the other and Mia looked on in horror. I was also very upset that I had not had the episode recorded on my GoPro camera.
Paul climbed back to his feet, apparently shaken but not shattered. He assured Mia that his cuts and bruises would soon heal and that the rips in his clothes were not anything to be concerned about. He climbed back on his recalcitrant Segway and our little peloton rolled out into the chaos of tourists. Once again we observed that walkers seem to get into some sort of trance when they walk and that no amount of bell ringing, shouts or abuse will make them move out of the way. On numerous occasions I nearly skittled whole families of blind and deaf wanderers. I took my example from the local bicycle riders who simply charge right through the crowds at maximum speed and don’t seem to have any concern for anyone who might get in their way.
Just as we thought we were over the worst we came to a traffic light. We all pulled up to a stop. It was just at that moment that the ground parted and a huge automatic bollard sprang forth from the bowels of the earth. This would not normally have been much of a problem had it not chosen to emerge from its subterranean resting place right when Karen’s Segway was parked on top of it. Karen was caught unawares by this unfortunate turn of events and she was thrown violently to the side, narrowly avoiding being pinned underneath her machine. She had actually surpassed the severity of her partner’s previous accident and poor Mia again apologised for the booby trap that she had not warned us about. The Segway had of course kept going on its own agenda but it was eventually rounded up a short distance away. Karen rubbed her new assortment of soft tissue injuries and was relieved that no major bones were broken. These Segways are more exciting than most people realise.
Fortunately we suffered no further incidents and 3 hours later the machines were safely parked outside the office where we had collected them. In spite of their injuries, Paul and Karen said they had actually had a lot of fun. And so had we.
After a short rest back at my hotel I then set off on foot back to the Grifone Hotel and my lost GPS bracket. After all, it was only 4 km away and there was a principle at stake. About 45 minutes later I found the hotel, retrieved the bracket and started the long walk back. By the time I eventually made it back to my hotel I was a little hot and bothered, but at least my inventory was, once again, complete.
Tomorrow morning we catch the plane to Paris to meet the rest of our France riders. And that will be another story.もっと詳しく
A Fierce Battle
2015年9月8日, イタリア ⋅ ☀️ 25 °C
Day 15 – In Which I observe a Fierce Battle
Two millennia ago the Roman Army was conquering Europe. The highly disciplined troops proudly marched into battle with their overlapping shields in one hand and their long spears held high in the other. Each group prominently displayed the colours of the century they belonged to and dutifully obeying the commands of their centurion.
In modern times a far more fierce battle is waged in dozens of European cities every single day. While the ancient Roman armies are now long gone, today we have the legions of pole carrying tour guides, each representing another competing tour company. Following behind each leader is their troupe of highly obedient (and often exhausted) modern tourists. Each follower has their ipad and guide book clutched in one hand and, in the other, they proudly hold their smartphones high in the air on the end of a selfie stick. It is easy to tell which regiment to which each traveler belongs because they are all saddled with a massive name tag garlanded around their neck. Presumably this also aids in identification if any of the confused and exhausted tourists are lost in the battle and fail to return before nightfall and their bus departure.
As each guide leads their followers into the conflict zone, the obedient troops all nod their heads in agreement with each new (but often doubtful) fact they are told, and all smile in unison at each carefully rehearsed joke.
The tactics of this new type of warfare are indeed complex. Each guide has their own theory as to the very best time to attack a tourist hot spot. Some choose the early morning and others prefer the late afternoon when the weaker armies have already retreated in exhaustion.
In ancient times the conquering heroes returned from battle loaded with the spoils of war – gold, silver and precious gems. While these rare spoils still exist for the very elite tourists, most must content themselves with a shopping bag full of cheap, Chinese made, T shirts, tacky plates and plastic souvenirs. Of course there is always the chance that they might return with the most highly sought after trophy of all – the perfect selfie, standing right in front of some famous work of art.
While the ancient Romans took centuries to conquer Europe, the modern day traveler has no such luxury. At most they only have around 2 hours to capture each city before nightly retreating to the sanctuary of their tourist buses. They need to catch a few hours sleep because tomorrow they will repeat the same campaign all over again in another city, maybe hundreds of kilometres away. After all they have around 2 weeks to conquer the whole continent before they must return home and make plans for their next conquest.
I spent most of today in the region of the famous DUOMO in the centre of Florence. I did revert to the role of the classic tourist just long enough to climb to the top of both the Dome and the nearby campanile. Battling my way up the narrow spiral staircases and trying to avoid being skewered on the end of someone’s selfie stick , I could not help but think that I can’t wait to get away from the jostling crowds and escape to the quiet backroads of France.
I must also admit that I could not help myself being a little mischievous. After seeing the throng of huffing and puffing unfit travelers struggling to the top of the staircase, I took up a position near the top of the stairs and announced with the most authoritative voice I could muster “Nothing to see here, people, please turn back”. I think the devil made me do it.
I have one more day in Florence before flying to Paris to meet the rest of our France Team. Bring it on.もっと詳しく
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