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European Renaissance RidesEuropean Renaissance Rides
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European Renaissance Rides

8月 - 11月 2015
In 2015 I took 25 Ghostriders to cycle in Italy and France. The first part consisted of a ride from Venice to Florence. Then it was off to France to ride from Orleans to Le Croisic. The journal of this ride was recently rediscovered. もっと詳しく

国のリスト

  • オランダ
  • フランス
  • イタリア
  • オーストラリア
カテゴリ
なし
  • 37.5千キロ旅行
輸送手段
  • 飛行32.6千キロ
  • ウォーキング-キロ
  • ハイキング-キロ
  • 自転車-キロ
  • モーターバイク-キロ
  • トゥクトゥク-キロ
  • 車-キロ
  • 列車-キロ
  • バス-キロ
  • キャンピングカー-キロ
  • キャラバン-キロ
  • 4x4-キロ
  • 水泳-キロ
  • パドリング／ローイング-キロ
  • モーターボート-キロ
  • 航海-キロ
  • 屋形船-キロ
  • 渡船-キロ
  • 遊覧航海-キロ
  • 馬-キロ
  • スキーをすること-キロ
  • ヒッチハイク-キロ
  • Cable car-キロ
  • ヘリコプター-キロ
  • 裸足-キロ
  • 58足跡
  • 69日間
  • 404写真
  • 0いいね
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  • The World on Two WheelsEuropean Renaissance Rides

    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

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  • The World on Two WheelsEuropean Renaissance Rides

    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

  • The World on Two WheelsEuropean Renaissance Rides

    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

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  • The World on Two WheelsEuropean Renaissance Rides

    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

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    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

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    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

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    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

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    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

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    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

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  • The World on Two WheelsEuropean Renaissance Rides

    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

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