Loire à Vélo - day 7

Not all of Saumur is closed this Sunday morning - luckily

It's Sunday morning and Saumur is closed. There's a light drizzle to start the day as I ride back to the Place Saint Pierre to find it completely deserted; quite a contrast from last night. I explore the little alleys around the square and find, happily, that the one place that's open this morning is a boulangerie, so all is not lost. A bit later I notice another lone cyclist, a guy of a certain age. "British" I think to myself, although exactly on what I'm basing that I'm not sure. For the first part of today's ride I've decided to cross the river and see what the road on the other side is like. Just after crossing the bridge I spot the cyclist again. Later as I'm riding along the river I can see him following me some distance behind.

After a while I stop for a drink and he pulls up next to me. "Are you Deutsch?" are his first words; it seems he's been making assumptions like me, only he's wrong and I'm right. I wonder why he throws in the German word for German; maybe to show he speaks the language? We chat.

Morning on the Loire at Saumur

He's come over from the UK in his camper van and is making short rides on his bike using his van parked at a campsite as his base. I ask if he's traveling alone. He clearly wants to talk and my question triggers it. He explains that his wife died last year and that afterwards he couldn't sleep without pills; he couldn't stay in the house alone. So he's decided to head off and travel and start again. Now he sleeps.

I cross back to the south bank using the bridge at Turquant. It's an old narrow iron bridge only just wide enough for two lanes of traffic.  All along the bridge I spot fragments of mirror on the sides of the roadway, which at first puzzles me. Then I realise it's the result of vehicles that are too wide or poorly driven either hitting the metal bridge supports with their mirrors or hitting each other's mirrors when passing. Obviously it's a common occurrence; there's a lot of pieces of broken mirror.

Montsoreau is a very different place to what it was when I passed through here a few days earlier. Now it's a Sunday morning and the place is jam packed with cars and people, a real tourist mecca. It turns out that it's also the marché aux puces, held every second Sunday. The street is full of stalls selling everything from bric-a-brac and antiques to fruit and veg, meats and cheeses, and revolutionary new home insulation systems.

This is where the cheese comes from

I've stopped at the market to take a picture of a guy selling goat's cheese; he has a baby goat standing amongst the cheeses which is a pretty cute and innovative way of attracting customers. "Where are you heading?" asks a voice with a strong New Zealand accent suddenly. There's a woman standing next to me looking at my map. We chat; she's cycling some of the EV6, which the Loire à Vélo is part of. The whole EV6 route starts at the Black Sea and covers over 3,650 km; she's going to Basel, about halfway.

Further on, I see an older couple at a picnic table and I decide to stop to have my own morning snack  - I'm not bothering with the coffee today. I sit at the table next to theirs. The couple is French and their picnic lunch consists of a bottle of wine, bottles of both still and sparkling water, a baguette, and various pâtés, meats and cheeses. Very civilised; they are well prepared. When they've finished he takes out a crossword puzzle book and she takes out a large novel and they settle in for perhaps the afternoon.

A family that rides together

I ride on, past the place where days earlier the Dutch couple had been cycling in circles. After a little while I notice many of the bike riders coming the other way have rain jackets on and their waterproof covers over their luggage. 'A bit of an overkill', I think to myself. After all, we've just had a tiny bit of drizzle. Then I notice that the bike path is rather wet and a little later the real rain starts. Nothing dramatic luckily, but enough to soak me after ten minutes or so. I ride on and the showers pass, although it alternates between showers and sun for most of the rest of the day. Just as you've dried out, it rains again and the cycle (no pun intended) repeats.

I can't arrive at my B&B until 17:00 so I decide to make a detour to visit Chinon, home of one of the major Loire Valley châteaux. It's a pleasant ride there, although I know it will mean a little bit of hill work afterwards to get back to the Loire. I ride around the town, which is dominated by the castle high above. Just as I'm thinking about starting the climb I spot an elevator. It's been set up to make it easier for those on the low level to get up to the castle and it's big enough to take bikes! I don't hesitate nor do I let my pride stop me from taking advantage of this shortcut; there'll be more hills to climb after this.

Yes, I took the elevator up to the château at Chinon

The route back to the Loire cuts straight through the Chinon royal forests; it's a lovely ride except for the fact that the obvious downside of such a straight road is that it has to go over the hills and down through the valleys, so it's a little hard going at times. There's a reward at the end when I have a long high speed descent back down to the Loire, briefly exceeding the 50km/h speed limit as I enter Rivarennes.

At Langeais, my stop for today, my B&B is right next to the castle where Ann de Bretagne secretly married King Charles VIII in 1491 to secure the merger of Brittany and France. If she were still there she could be looking out of her room down at me. Such intimacy with history is something I love about Europe.

The restaurant for tonight is the best (and on a Sunday night, essentially the only) restaurant on town. It's also right next door, which is pretty convenient. Everyone is outside in the garden terrace; it's a lovely evening. I can hear more English than French being spoken it seems. All the tables are occupied by either French or British (plus a lone Australian).

There's a lot of material here for an entire blog entry: I could write about the woman with the dog, which she regularly puts on her lap and then occasionally kisses (all during dinner). I could write about the Irish couple (she with stereotypical red hair). I could note the guy who's so big I'm afraid the cane chair is not going to survive. I might wonder about the young English woman having dinner with a guy more than old enough to be her father (which he may well be, let's give them the benefit of the doubt). And more. But it's my last meal on this trip so maybe tonight I'll just enjoy my meal and take it all in without writing it all down.

As I leave the restaurant I notice that there are several British registered cars parked outside, which of course is hardly a surprise. Among them is an old Jaguar XJ140, which interestingly I met coming the other way this afternoon on my ride from Chinon. Small world.

View of Langeais Castle from my B&B

Distance today: 68 km. 4.2 hours ridden

Loire à Vélo - day 6

The house is quiet when I get up. I'd been warned last night by my hosts that they were late sleepers and that I might have to let myself out in the morning. I had been asked whether I wanted tea or coffee in the morning and given my experiences with hot beverages I hedged my bets: "Whatever you're having", I had answered vaguely. "We only have instant coffee", I was told, "but we have real tea." Tea it was then. Instant coffee? That said a lot. "We might not be up when you leave" they'd told me, "just help yourself, like it's your own place." I love the fact that it's still possible to find trust like this and be welcomed into someone's home.

Early morning at Chalonnes

 Today is going to a bit different; since I'm trying to avoid retracing my steps and since in this section there's really only one option for following the river, I've decided to head inland and have a little tour of the local vineyard country. I'll try to follow little tracks along a river (le Layon) with the idea of avoiding traffic and avoiding hills. It will be a navigational exercise as well, why not?

Cabernet d'Anjou in the making

It's coffee time and I arrive in Thouarcé, the biggest village in the area I've been cycling through this morning. Entering the town square, past the rather imposing church there's a welcome sight: right there on the main square is a boulangerie and right on the other side of the square is a café. The town square is bordered on each of the four sides by the church, the town hall, the café, and the boulangerie (and the coiffeur). All the essentials for daily life in country France: bread, coffee and alcohol, religion, public servants, and a place to get your hair done.

The café is obviously one of the standard French grim drinking and betting places, but it will serve coffee at least. There's some tables outside and a couple of local guys are already there with beers in hand. I enter the boulangerie, which looks like it belongs in a 1940's movie set, as do the customers. It's great. Everyone says "Bonjour" when I walk in, and "au revoir" when they leave, something I rather like about France. The back wall is covered with racks of fresh bread (of course, this is a boulangerie after all) and the display cases have small collections of various pastries: just simple country fare - apple tart, pear tart, mixed fruit tart, croissants and pains au chocolat. No fancy creamy confections here! There's another display case with an example of one of each of the canned drinks and packaged snacks they sell, neatly arranged in a row. The lady serving, and apart from me, the customers, look like they've been coming to this bakery since it opened in the 1940's.

I've been sitting at my table outside the café for half an hour (the church bells have chimed twice already) and the two guys drinking beer have gone and been replaced by three more tables of local workers. All of them have beers and I am definitely the odd man out with my coffee (apart from the fact that I'm sitting next to a bike and am wearing a bright yellow vest and cycling shorts, of course).

As I ride out of the square and around the corner onto the main street the first thing I see is another boulangerie: this one is much larger and more modern with a display case bursting will all sorts of fancy looking pastries. I'm glad I saw the old one first. The coffee, it must be said, was not all bad.

Riding through the forests near Louerre, I notice the old high stone wall along the road, marking an old wealthy property. Soon I can see the neatly maintained gardens, park-like. "Just another château" you could amongst be forgiven for thinking in France, where there seem to be regal old buildings everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places. A little further on I see a large beautifully built stone building; something you'd love to have as your house. 'Not  a very large château' I think to myself as I cycle past. But just as I'm thinking this, an enormous slate-roofed stone turreted edifice appears in the background. Of course; I'd mistaken the gatehouse for the main building! There was some serious money in the hands of a few back then. Not a lot has changed, you might justifiably say.

I decide to follow a few forest paths for the last section of my route today, planning to rejoin the Loire à Vélo route just before my final destination. As I'm speeding down a long hill to rejoin the path along the river (reversing all the climbing I've done today) I realise I may have made a tactical mistake. Sure enough, the B&B I am staying at turns out to be on a rise, forcing me to climb partly back up the hill I've just coasted down. Sigh.

The house I'm staying at overlooks a golf course and is set at the edge of a forest. Not a bad spot. I park my bike in the carport next to a large BMW motorbike. Also parked nearby are three cars, a quad bike and three lawn mowing ride-on type tractors. There's also several bicycles. Someone clearly likes their toys in this household.

For dinner I have to ride into town, which turns out to be further than I'd expected, adding another 10 km (there and back) to my ride for the day. A good excuse to have a nice meal I convince myself. Nearing the town, a group of cyclists laden with gear ask me for directions. It seems that without my bags I've been taken for a local cyclist. Luckily I can help them.

Dinner Menu

The restaurant I've chosen is right on Place Saint Pierre, the main square overlooked by the large Eglise Saint Pierre. I guess that the square was named after the church but it could always have been the other way around I suppose. I've already spotted a good table outside and I park my bike next to it. The table has a 'reserved' sign on it. I go in and ask for a table outside and explain that I want to keep an eye on my bike The waitress is lovely and she takes the reserved sign off 'my' table and puts it on another one. Although it's early, I've arrived just in time since after I sit down they begin turning people away; the restaurant is full for the evening.

Sitting here I have a wonderful position to observe the comings and goings of life in Saumur. There are so many little snapshots here it's difficult to know where to start:

Right next to restaurant I'm at there's a hole-in-the-wall kebab place, called, with impressive lack of imagination, 'Le Chawarma kebab' which loosely translates (correct me if I'm wrong) as 'the kebab kebab'. The contrast in the clientele between the two places couldn't be more obvious. It's a completely different demographic. People are standing around the kebab place waiting for their orders. A girl waiting there is wearing tight black jeans and seems oblivious of the fact that her fly is undone. Either the guy she's with hasn't noticed or he doesn't know her well enough yet and doesn't dare tell her.

An old white-haired lady is looking out over the square, taking on the goings-on from her roof level window in a building on the other side of the square; nobody seems to notice.

A dog cocks its leg on a chair at the next restaurant; nobody seems to notice.

There's a cat patiently waiting for scraps; it sits beside each table as food is served and looks up imploringly; nobody seems to notice.

A guy with an enormous beer belly hanging out below his T-shirt, wearing baggy shorts and what look like hotel or airline slippers is taking photos of the church with a large tablet. Only his improbably-dressed wife seems to notice. They walk away, both chewing their finger  nails with gusto.

An Indian woman struggles as she pushes a pram with two plump children (who look like they are much too old to be in the pram) uphill across the square; nobody seems to notice her.

A guy, who seems to mute, notices (as I do) a girl at a nearby table pat the balding head of her companion after taking his photo. With a big smile and using sign language he asks if they would like him to take a picture of the two of them, which the girl accepts.

The smell of marijuana wafts through the square; this is unexpected but nobody seems to notice.

There's a gorgeous sunset happening; the clouds are turning a gorgeous pink against the darkening blue sky. The cat takes up its position at the table next to mine. The couple on my right is reaching the end of their bottle of red and she is lighting up her post-main-course cigarette. On my left they are debating whether to have dessert. Behind me there's a loud American woman giving advice to table next to hers.

The sun sets over the Place St. Pierre, Saumur

The pink is gone from the sky and the lights come on in the square. An elderly couple walk through the square arm in arm, noticing only each other.

There's a lone diner having dinner accompanied only by his bicycle and the remains of half a bottle of red wine. He's furiously tapping away at his smartphone; every so often he looks up, seems to spot something interesting, and then he's back tapping away at his smartphone again. Nobody notices him (or so he thinks).

The girl at the next table (who has finished her cigarette) gets up to go to the toilet; her chair, weighed down by her heavy handbag, topples over and crashes to the ground. This is the second time this has happened and you can see in his look that her companion isn't impressed.

At the kebab place, a guy and a couple with two small children are sitting at a table. The guy produces a large tin and reaches into it, taking out something which he's putting into a contraption he's holding on his other hand. It looks like it might be tobacco, but... He closes the contraption, makes a few practised movements, and out pops a cigarette complete with filter. He repeats the process and this time, since I can observe the whole thing from the beginning, I notice that he seems to be starting the process with a normal cigarette. Curious. Their order of lamb burgers with chips arrives and the kids get fed chips with the occasional piece of bread. It's probably not a surprise that both little girls are already rather plump.

All three adults at the table with the two little girls are now engaged intently with their smartphones. The two little girls amuse themselves, ignoring both their parents and the smartphones.

There's a group at the bar across the square who are getting more and more boisterous. I get another waft of rather interesting side stream smoke. I sip my espresso (which, you will be reassured to note, is watery and dull). It's time to get in my bike and wobble home.

The ride home turns out to be interesting: it is pitch black, the clouds have covered the sky, there's no visible moon and the bike paths are unlit. I'm very glad I have a Dutch bike with a headlight, but the only drawback is I can't stop. Each time I stop to read a sign to help make a decision to turn left or right, the light goes out and of course I see nothing. I work from memory and good luck; there's a narrow bridge crossing the river and at the far end there's a choice between left or right: one is the continuation of the bike path, the other has steps leading down to the river. If I stop to see which is which my light will go off and I'll see nothing. If I keep pedaling and make a choice I have a 50℅ chance of unexpectedly riding down steps, but at least I'll see what I've chosen. Fortunately I choose the right one and eventually arrive back at the house.

Distance today: 68 km, 4 hours riding.

Loire à Vélo - day 5

Given that I am in Nantes, a large and rather pleasant city, a bit of tourism is called for. So I start the day with a little circuit touristique to take in the main sights: Hotel de Ville, Cathedral, Castle and so forth. Nantes Castle is imposing and impressive, in the middle of the city and surrounded by an enormous moat. And right outside the city's main tourist attraction is the city's main tourist office. Unsurprisingly, at 09:30 in the morning, it is closed. Just as well I don't actually need any information. I've come across this before in France; clearly they either don't expect tourists to be out and about in the morning, or more likely, the staff's quality breakfast time is more important than the tourists. It's all about maintaining the French reputation for customer service I suppose. To be fair, the number of tourists is bound to be less in the morning than later in the day. Still, I've come across towns where the tourist office is closed on Sundays, and you could hardly claim that Sunday was a quiet time for tourists.

Château de Nantes

Leaving Nantes, I pass through the same dodgy area I entered through yesterday and then on to the pleasant shaded path that follows. Coming the other way is a guy waking his dog. Or perhaps more correctly, a dog walking a guy.  Actually, it's better than that: the guy is on a skateboard and he's being towed by the dog. They're going pretty fast since the dog is running. Fast; clearly they've done this before.

For the return ride I'm trying to follow different routes to those I came on. That's not too difficult, since there's almost always the choice between the north bank or the south bank, and quite a few bridges to switch between the two. Every now and then however one of the two banks involves climbs up to the overlying hills (admittedly not very high hills) or significant detours away from the river and I decide to retrace my earlier route for that section. Which brings me back to Oudon, where I was only yesterday. It's been coffee time for quite a while but with no suitable places to get it along the way so far, I settle for a return to Oudon and the same café I had coffee at yesterday. It's a nice spot and although the coffee was pretty poor I'm beginning to reconcile myself with the fact that good coffee is just not going to happen.

There's a young girl at the bar today and not the two guys from yesterday. So maybe she can make better coffee I wishfully think. While I'm at the bar ordering, I notice the rather large guy next to me sitting at, or more accurately, bring supported by, the bar looking at me intently. You can see he has something on his mind, something he's trying to work out. Then I realise he's the same guy who was sitting at exactly the same spot yesterday. He's large with a big round red face and watery eyes. His nose has become a mass of alcoholic veins. But he's a happy drunk and now his face breaks into a Cheshire cat grin. "You were here yesterday" he says finally, and I think we are both impressed that he remembers. The coffee is not as hot as it was yesterday, but it's still pretty sad.

From Oudon I have little choice but to backtrack to Ancenis, the town which seemed so grim when I passed through it previously. This time I ride through some different parts of the town and to be fair on the town I see now that it's not all as bad as it looked before, although the construction work makes this difficult to visualise. Perhaps in a few years time it would merit a return visit.

Opening the bridge at Montjean-sur-Loire

I ride on, trying to take new routes as much as possible. Towards the end of the day, I'm forced to take the same route back to Montjean-sur-Loire as I took leaving it and so I get to ride past the 'Bel Air' farm again. Thankfully the air has cleared since yesterday. At Montjean I make a point to ride to the other side of the bridge to the Ile de Chalonnes which I had found closed two days ago, just so I could see what the other side actually looked like. Sure enough, it's still barricaded.  But as I'm standing there looking at it, a local council worker pulls up and approaches. "You want to cross?" he asks. I tell him that two days ago I had been on the other side and had to double back, forcing me to ride almost another 20 km. He listens sympathetically and a discussion ensures about how they'd tried to get the 'authorities' to properly signpost the closure but clearly they had not a good job. This is an advantage in France; there's always another layer of government or public service you can blame, even if you are the public service. Then he smiles: "You want to be the first to cross? I've just come here to open the bridge again. You're better off riding on the island - it's quiet countryside. Not like the highways here." As he says this he points to the road we're standing on. Anywhere else this road would be considered a minor country road; he's calling it a highway. It's all relative I suppose. He removes the barricades and so I get to ride over the bridge after all, making yet another trip on the island, which by now is becoming rather familiar.

My destination, Chalonnes-sur-Loire, is just near the other end of the island. After crossing the main bridge from the island to the mainland I arrive in the town at what must be the local peak half hour because there's actually a lot of traffic, something I haven't had to deal with much on this trip, even in Nantes. The final kilometre is a challenge; it's straight up a long hill which seemingly has no end. I'm greeted by my host for the evening and get a cold beer for my efforts; things are looking better already.

A Monopoly House (not the one I stayed in)

Tonight I'm staying in a Monopoly house. It's my first time. It's a contemporary house in a new lotissement (subdivision). You see these small subdivisions pop up on the outskirts of older villages and towns all over France and they are invariably all the same style of house: a cement block box with a simple gable roof. The simplest ones look a lot like the sort of thing a four-year-old would draw if you asked them to draw a house. The larger or more complex ones look pretty much the same, only larger with perhaps a former window instead of skylights for the rooms in the roof space. The subdivisions tend to look a little like a monopoly board towards the end of the game when most streets have multiple houses and perhaps a hotel or two on them; the pieces representing the houses in monopoly have exactly the same size and shape.

This household has three children, a cat and two kittens. It's a friendly chaotic sort of place and is very easy going. But it's going to another early night for me; another long ride tomorrow.

Distance today: 83 km, 5 hours riding

Cyclists and other wildlife

On the Loire à Vélo route you encounter, not surprisingly, rather a lot of cyclists. From all over the world and in all shapes and sizes. At the risk of being accused - justifiably - of stereotyping, I make few observations:

The Dutch don't say hello as you pass them, they just ride past you, sitting upright  (on their 'sit up and beg' bikes with enormously high handlebars) and barely, if at all, make eye contact. It gives then a haughty, 'Holier than thou' impression. I suppose that for them, passing other cyclists is something that happens regularly and often throughout the day back at home and you couldn't possibly say hello to every passing cyclist in Holland. When you see a couple riding well-equipped touring bikes, laden with both front and rear panniers and handlebar map bags, you can also be pretty sure that they will be Dutch.

Most French cyclists you encounter are the type dressed in full Lycra body suits, riding racing bikes, and riding fast. They are some of the few actually wearing helmets. For some reason, it seems to be accepted that when you're on a racing bike it's OK to wear a helmet, but on any other bike a helmet seems to be frowned upon as an unnecessary affectation. These guys come up from behind and rush past with purposeful pedaling; there's no hint of slowing down to say hello (they are on a mission, they aren't tourists). Coming the other way, they are often in pairs or small groups, invariably male and in midweek also middle-aged and older - the young male cyclists are at work earning the money to pay for their unbelievably expensive bikes. Very occasionally there is the slightest nod of recognition as they go past. There seem to be no female French racing cyclists. The other type of French riders are those on touring bikes with little or no luggage. The bikes are often electric. They have come by car, leaving the car and their luggage at the chambre d'hotes they are staying at, and they're just riding short day trips. Not necessarily a bad strategy come to think of it.

Then there are the adventurous young couples doing their European tour, often towing a trailer which sometimes contains one or more small children. Otherwise it contains a collection of everyday  possessions, presumably essential for a cycling trip. There's also the occasional older couple doing a similar European tour; the sort we would call grey nomads if they were driving a camping car. These are grey nomads on a budget.

Occasionally you meet the lone clochard (tramp) on a bike with all his worldly possessions piled high on the bike, and even sometimes towing a trailer. It's sort of the cyclist's equivalent of the shopping trolley I suppose. His (they are always male) bike is old, solid, and trustworthy.

In peak season you'll also encounter the family day trippers; mum and dad leading a line of little kids enthusiastically (or sometimes reluctantly, depending on how long they've been at it) pedaling their little bikes. The kids will be wearing helmets (safety first, after all) but mum and dad will not. Nothing like seeing a good example after all. Depending on how long they've been riding dad will have fallen back to the rear of the line to catch the stragglers.

Then there's the walkers. A relatively rare breed. But since the Loire à Vélo route is often following the same path as the GR (Grande randonnée) routes, you do encounter the occasional booted and rucksacked walker, often swinging waking poles along in stride. Also encountered on occasion is the group of (usually older, and usually female) walkers on an organised day walk. They're walking in pairs and you often hear them before you see them, since they are having multiple discussions while they walk; the walking is more like a byproduct; the main aim of the outing is social.

Finally, usually only near larger towns, there's the joggers, many with backpack-style water containers and determined looks on their faces.

Loire à Vélo - day 4

When I leave my room in the morning to go down to breakfast I notice that the room opposite mine is open and of course I can't help but look through the open door. It's a complete mess; clothes all over the floor, stuff scattered everywhere. At first it doesn't make sense (what sort of guest could do that to a room?), but then the penny drops: this must be the owner's teenage daughter's room. Teenagers all over the world clearly follow the same rules of housekeeping: maximum entropy - the floor is the best place to keep your stuff.

Over breakfast - homemade cakes, bread, jams (4 types) I chat with the owner. She's only recently started the B&B and is doing everything (cooking, cleaning, gardening, repairing...) by herself. On top of that she's running a cake decorating and catering business and she shows me some of her creations; chocolate artworks, vegetable platters that are sculptures, and so on. Maybe not all to my taste, but I am seriously impressed by how much she achieves, and all self-taught. No wonder she says she doesn't have enough hours in the day to do all her projects!

I'm riding along into a relatively strong wind when my olfactory senses are hit with the smell of a farm where, quite literally, the shit has hit the fan. Like most farm machinery, the fertiliser machine is impressive to see in action: imagine a large container of chicken shit, add an enormous fan, then connect both to a tractor that pumps the shit through the fan as it tows the machine behind. You get the idea. I cycle on, getting the full impact of the freshly fertilised field since I'm downwind from it. As I ride past the entrance to the property, the irony of the farm's name is impressive: "Bel Air" announces the signboard. Clearly whoever thought of the name 'beautiful air' for this place didn't do it in fertilising season.

At Ingrandes Sur Loire I spot a sign advertising the Hotel Restaurant 'Le Poisson d' Argent'. The joys of languages: let's hope they don't think of opening another restaurant of the same name in an English speaking country: I doubt that the 'Silverfish hotel restaurant' would get a lot of customers, at least not based on the name! Images of silverfish crawling out of the menu, or perhaps from under the bed-sheets come to mind.

The bridge at Ancenis - bikes on the footpath

At Ancenis there's an imposing suspension bridge to cross. According to one guide I've read, there's even a dedicated bike bridge, but when I get there it is a case of riding on the footpath to allow the trucks to squeeze past; there's no sign of any bike bridge. Perhaps the guide was written based on the plans for a bike bridge that hasn't been built yet? It's a bit like the street directory we once used in Kuala Lumpur; it showed streets that hasn't actually been constructed yet, something we only discovered the hard way by finding ourselves looking at the middle of an empty field instead of the road we'd planned to continue driving on.

Saved by the sign

It's coffee and patisserie du jour time, so I look for the local boulangerie-patisserie but the more I look around the more disheartened I get. This is a pretty dire sort of town: dry and dusty, lots of closed shops and several rather seedy looking bars. The fact that the town centre is essentially a construction zone doesn't help the impression. I ride out of the centre into the residential streets until I spot a sign to a boulangerie. Saved! There's no coffee though and I ride back to the Loire and have my apple tart with a nice view (but no coffee).

Later on, the route approaches the railway line and then a little further on turns to run parallel to it. The railway tracks are right next to the path and quite a bit higher so the trains rush by seemingly overhead. The way ahead is partially barricaded, with a small gap to allow walkers and riders to pass. But first there's a large sign full of fine print to digest. Unusually, it's in English as well as French and it states: "This path is on the property of the French government and has been developed to provide maintenance access for French railway employees who are to be given priority at all times. The path is subject to flooding, irregular surfaces, land slips, and unforeseen train derailments and the French government declines all responsibility for any accidents or delays that may occur." Or words to that effect. You're never far from the long arm of compensation lawyers.

The castle at Oudon

At Oudon, an attractive little place with an imposing castle right in the middle of the main road, there a nice-looking café with a shady outside area near the bridge over the river. I stop for my coffee and go inside to order. Like the nice place yesterday, it's run by two young guys who are probably a couple. The place has a pleasant, homely feeling about it, unlike most French bars which are pretty grim places to drink and place bets on the horses, but not places you'd actually want to spend much time in. The coffee, however, is still terrible. So hot it burns on first taste, all life has been burnt from the milk, it is flat, bitter and altogether rather sad, but not unexpected. Next to me there's a table with three local workers who are having their midday lunch break. Between them they've had a bottle of wine and four beers and they're discussing whether they have time for one more beer. I'm glad they're not doing the construction work on my house this afternoon!

It's turned out to be a rather hard day's cycling with almost the whole way being into the blustery wind. It reminds me of Holland; nice and flat so you expect an easy ride and then having a headwind that completely ruins the whole experience. At times I'm down to a low gear and making only 14 km/h. The last part into Nantes however is quite pleasant along a smooth path under the shade of trees (and somewhat sheltered from the wind). But it's through a pretty dodgy area, the sort where at regular intervals the asphalt has been melted from where a car has been torched. I pedal on and do not stop.

Nantes - Quai Ceineray

Now I'm in Nantes, I've checked in and done my laundry and I'm sitting by the water at the Quai Ceineray. Next to me is a guy playing jazz guitar accompanied by another guy on double bass. They are good. There's a pop up bar set up nearby serving drinks and there's lots of people sitting around on ad-hoc seats and platforms enjoying the evening. Many seem also to have brought their own drinks or snacks. It's a nice atmosphere; casual, relaxed and friendly. The swans are also joining in. First impressions of Nantes (at least after the dodgy area entry)  are good. My hotel is on a main street which seems to be a textbook example of good public transport management: in the middle of the street is a wide bike lane, on one side of the street there's a bus corridor And on the other side there's a tramway. And there's even two lanes left for the cars (it's a wide street). There are a lot of people riding bikes and there's a system of (free?) bikes available.

After sitting at the water's edge, listening to jazz guitar for a while, I finally get up to leave: it's time to find dinner.

There's a restaurant right near my hotel which is very highly rated on TripAdvisor. It's looks reasonable and I'm hungry. Although it's early and the restaurant has only just opened, there's already several tables occupied, which is not a bad sign. I go in and the waiter says "Table for three?" Of the many things he could have said, this is not what I expected and I have to regroup briefly before I reply. After all, I am traveling alone and there are no other people anywhere near me. Where did three come from? He realises his mistake (perhaps he had a booking for three at this time?) and I am shown a nice little table in the corner next to the window: a perfect strategic position from where I can observe all the other diners, both inside and outside.

Amuses Bouches, nice local wine - the start of a nice dinner

The table near me has three Dutch people, including a rather wild-haired guy who looks like a caricature of a university professor. I'm impressed that there are real people who actually look like that. Outside there's a table of four, all seriously smoking: one of the big disadvantages of the relatively recent no-smoking laws for restaurants is that outside dining areas have essentially become  smoking zones. And given the laws of physics as they apply to smoking; as a non smoker you will always be downwind from a smoker, so outside areas are now not very appealing for non-smokers.

The waiter is outside and intercepts a group of four young Chinese, proposing them a table outside. They opt for inside, and become my neighbours for the evening. This will be interesting. The waiter arrives to take the order of my Chinese neighbours. I have to give him credit for his patience, there is a lot of discussion and negotiation about the menu; one girl only wants a dessert, which to his credit the waiter deals with admirably. He suggests continuing in English (which he used with some success with the Dutch group) but the Chinese are not to be deflected from their attempts at French (which, to be fair, is not actually that bad). The lamb is ordered and the waiter suggests 'pink', which is the standard doneness for lamb in France. "Rare" the Chinese guy replies, to which the waiter replies, firmly, "no, lamb is pink, not rare". A very French response. Negotiations are finally completed and the waiter leaves. The Chinese subsequently have a long discussion, presumably about the order (I catch a few French food words in amongst the Mandarin). The food arrives at my neighbours' table and smartphones appear to record the dishes for later uploading to Facebook or its Chinese equivalent (since Facebook is blocked in China).

It's still relatively early and at least four of the tables are occupied by tourists - a consequence of a high TripAdvisor ranking I suppose: non-locals are going to be attracted to the restaurants with high TripAdvisor rankings (as I was). Good for the restaurant since they can manage two sittings an evening: the early sitting for the tourists and  the later one for the locals. Much better than a single sitting which the locals alone would generate. It's the American multiple bums-on-seats concept without the pressure on the customers to leave straight after they eat; this way it happens automatically and nobody feels like they have to leave against their will (as you sometimes do in the USA).

The first locals start arriving, including a young couple amoureux. They are holding hands across the table and looking longingly into each other's eyes. It's lovely to see and they are oblivious of everything around them. When the food arrives they feed each other little tastes of their dishes. Very sweet. Speaking of sweet, the Chinese girl next to me is now eating her dessert while her the companions are having their lamb. And the waiter takes it all in his stride.

Just before I leave, the young amorous couple get up to leave. "Can we thank the chef?" they ask the waiter. What a lovely idea and the chef is suitably impressed by the attention. The waiter announces to the kitchen that a group of eleven are arriving and the restaurant moves to the second sitting (the locals are now arriving in force).

Distance today: 70 km, 4.5 hours riding

Loire à Vélo - day 3

Bike riders' breakfast, courtesy of my host

A breakfast of champions (more or less) is waiting for me this morning. The table is set with a fresh croissant, a whole fresh bread, three little bowls of what looks like home-made jams, butter, juice, and shortly after I sit down, freshly brewed coffee appears. Marie-Thérèse, my host, is spoiling me! Maybe it's like this every morning, or maybe it's a little extra by way of thanks for helping her set up her WiFi and showing her how to find online English lessons, I don't know - but I appreciate it either way.

The ride out of Les Rosiers-sur-Loire is lovely; along the river, shady, a few curves and mostly flat. A nice way to start the day: a interesting ride with a view.

Early morning in Les Rosiers-sur-Loire

Later, I'm riding along a country road and pass a tractor coming from the opposite direction cutting the roadside grass. After I've passed it I get to enjoy riding through the sweet smell of freshly cut grass for a kilometre or so, which is quite pleasant. This is one of the advantages of riding: you get to be a part of the environment you're riding through, hearing the sounds and smelling the smells, unlike being in a car where you're sealed off from your environment. Being part of the environment is not always a good thing of course, as anyone who's ridden past fields freshly covered in chicken shit or who's been overtaken by a semi trailer full of pigs can tell you.

After having bought my pastry du jour at a nice looking little patisserie in little village called La Daguenière I ride on until I find the next place where I can get a coffee to go with it. But it transpires that the patisserie is the only shop in the village that's open (see earlier discussion about finding a shop that's actually open at this time of year) and I continue riding, looking in vain for a suitable café. Eventually I give up and stop at the next town at a nice spot by the river and have my flan with my water. At least I won't be disappointed by the coffee!

As I am sitting enjoying the setting, the local church bells chime midday and a minute later the air raid sirens go off, presumably for their weekly or perhaps monthly test. At least I hope it's a test; I haven't seen or read any news for a while, so who knows what's been happening while I've been riding. The siren is a stark reminder of Europe's history and brings home what all these bucolic little villages must have once gone through, and are still prepared for the possibility of going through again. A little later I see a local couple approaching the table near mine, obviously wanting to have their lunch. That table is in the sun (it's hot) and mine is in the shade and I notice them look over in my direction. I indicate that they're welcome to share my table and they come and join me. We talk about the Loire à Vélo (what else?) - they have ridden part of it too. And then I ask them about the siren. Is it a weekly or monthly test? I ask. "We don't know" they reply, "We've never heard it before."

Later in the afternoon it's getting quite hot. I start thinking about that beer (see yesterday's post) and when I pass through a little village with a cute square complete with a bar (which, contrary to my earlier notes, is open) I decided it might be time for a break. But there are no free seats or tables and so I ride on. That's the problem when so many places are closed; the ones that are open are packed.

Twice today I get sucked into following the signs (and not my common sense) and get taken up rather steep hills, once to the extent that for the first time this trip I'm down to my lowest gears. Going up the first hill I tell myself the view will be worth it, but although the vineyards the route passes through are pleasant I don't get to see the Loire from on high; no scenic river views here. The second time, in a little village called Savennières, there's a reward: a little village with a nice church and, much more importantly, a nice café that serves me a well-earned cold beer. Much better than a coffee!

Later on, I'm riding on one of the only inhabited islands on the Loire, the Ile de Chalonnes. I'm only about 1 km from my destination for the day and am already looking forward to stopping, when a guy on a tractor coming in the opposite direction waves me down: "You didn't see that the bridge is closed?" he asks accusingly. "You'll have to go back across the other bridge" he says with what looks like a hint of schadenfreude. The other bridge he's referring to is the one at the other end of the island that I've already come over to get onto the island in the first place. It means riding all the way back to the other end of the island, across the other bridge, and then back along the mainland bank of the Loire. I've just bought myself another 18km of riding, which I definitely didn't need right now. I feel a little better when, as I'm at the closed bridge - just to prove to myself that it's really closed (I can't somehow sneak by?) - another cyclist appears. This guy is a local (he lives on the other side of the bridge) and he didn't know either.

Almost there! But had to turn around and go back

I arrive at my B&B after a longer than planned 85 km ride; it's hot today, probably the hottest it will be all week. I certainly picked the day for what turns out to be the longest ride!

I accept the invitation to have dinner at the B&B (table d'hôte at the Chambre d'hôte) which means I won't have to ride back into the village to have a meal. I share the dinner with the other two guests - a retired couple from near Paris. He's a talker and she's a listener, so they are well matched. We go through the usual "Where are you from?" - "How long are you staying?" - "Where are you going?" question and answer sessions until the conversation moves on to children and grandchildren. We are all of a certain age I suppose, so this progression is inevitable. Then the conversation shifts, through several phases, to killing pigeons and kamikaze motorbike riders in Paris (the two subjects are unrelated, except that they both involve Paris). We pass through rabbits and Myxomatosis (Australia, and it was the French who invented the vaccine according to Alain, the talker*) ending up with chocolate cake decorating. An interesting evening.

*) Actually, according to Wikipedia the French only became involved in 1952 when a French bacteriologist was accidentally responsible for killing 90% of the rabbit population in France when he used a myxomatosis vaccine (which was already in existence, having been used in Australia in 1938) in an attempt to rid his private estate of rabbits. It's rather a shame I didn't know this when Alain made his claim!

Distance today: 85 km, 4.8 hours riding

Loire à Vélo - day 2

Follow the signs

The day starts with breakfast with my hosts, discussing the various places we've traveled to. He has spent some time in India and relates all sorts of stories, mostly centred on the consequences of drinking the water, which is perhaps not the best subject to discuss over breakfast. I had earlier admired his BMW bike and now I find that he'd bought a Lee Enfield motorbike while he was in India and brought it back to France. Later on I am given a tour of the bike and a demonstration of how it still runs, after 20 years. An old Indian (originally English of course) motorbike in a remote farmhouse in France; not exactly what you'd expect to find.

"Are you going all the way to the coast?", he asks. "It's really beautiful!" I explain that this time I'm only going as far as Nantes. "You really should go and see the coast, it's wonderful", he insists. "I've never been myself", he adds, somewhat casting doubt on his recommendation.

Chinon Nuclear Power Station

The route follows some smaller dedicated bike paths and is quite pleasant. Soon however the cooling towers and billowing steam clouds of the Chinon nuclear power station loom on the horizon, changing the bucolic atmosphere somewhat. Then the route leads into Avoine which is a nice little town with a square in front of the church; several cyclists are already sitting at some tables there: morning coffee time!

I go to the local  Carrefour mini-market to buy my emergency banana (it's still a bit early for coffee for me). At the checkout there are a couple of cyclists buying some sandwiches and one has bought a can of beer. I keep forgetting that you can buy alcohol at supermarkets here. I look at my  banana and suddenly that can of beer looks like it would have been a very good idea.

At a tiny village a little further on, there's an enormous picnic area set up with tables, play equipment and other amenities. Just for the Loire à Vélo. Just the spot to have my little tartelette aux fruits bought at the local patisserie. I have the place to myself and try to imagine what it might be like in peak season, full of bikes and families. I'm glad I'm not here in peak season. There's a tall pole with height markings on it indicating the levels of the various floods over the years. The highest is well over 3m, a sobering thought.

I'm stopped at a small rest area, having a look at the information sign. An older couple pull up on what are very obviously Dutch bikes (Gazelle brand, enormously high handlebars...). "Hello", I say in Dutch, "Those look like Dutch bikes", I add by way of starting a conversation. The lady looks at me like I'm from another planet. Her husband says something to her in Dutch (not having heard me) confirming to me that they are indeed from the Netherlands. "We're trying to find the way to Candes Saint Martin", she volunteers. "We've been around in circles twice and each time we come back here. There must be something wrong with the signs."

I digest this. The signage is almost too frequent on the route; it's very hard to miss. But what is most difficult for me to understand is the fact that we are, literally, about 200m from Candes Saint Martin. And they still don't know which way to go. How did they get here in the first place I wonder? I point in the direction to go. "We've just come from that way" says the woman. The guy is a little odd; he doesn't want my directions and starts pedaling away (in the wrong direction) leaving his wife in his wake. She looks at me, then at her departing husband, and with a look of resignation follows her husband.

At Candes Saint Martin (about 5 minutes after my discussion with the odd Dutch couple) I stop for what turns out to be yet another cup of awful French coffee. I'm a sucker for punishment; I should know by now that expecting to find a good cup of coffee (with milk) in France is a lost cause. I still don't understand that in a country that (justifiably) prides itself in the excellent food and wine it produces, they cannot  seem to make decent coffee (or tea, for that matter). I should stick to cold drinks I suppose. Beer for example.

Candes Saint Martin is one of the Plus Beaux Villages de France. I've been here a couple of times before and never quite understood how it made the grade. It's attractive but not particularly pretty, nor especially remarkable compared to so many other nice villages. Its neighbour, Montsoreau, is also on the list and I think justifies its position more. The castle dominating the Loire is imposing and attractive and the village is pretty.

Crossing the Greenwich Meridian

At Pernay the route deviates inland slightly for no reason other than to take you through the commercial or touristic areas. Since this involves going uphill I wimp out and stay by the river. A bit further on I pass a series of troglodyte houses which I would otherwise have ridden over the top of, so I feel justified in my choice of deviating from the track. There's even an upmarket troglodyte restaurant and an art gallery; it's amazing what they can build into the rock. I also unexpectedly cross the Greenwich Meridian, something which I've no doubt done quite a few times, but here's a sign to inform me of the fact.

Saumur is an attractive and welcoming town which has cleverly deviated the route to pass right through the rather attractive town centre (while not involving any hills). I find a nice little shaded square with a fountain and treat myself to an ice cream - it's getting quite hot in the afternoon. A German couple is giving their two large dogs water from the fountain; I can't imagine traveling with two large dogs, especially not in a camper van as some people I met earlier were doing. At Saumur I deviate again from the track and cross the Loire to the north bank, which I follow until my destination at Les Rosiers-sur-Loire.

Saumur Castle looming over the town

Here I am staying in a house with a woman who has joined Airbnb as a way to meet people and avoid becoming isolated since becoming a widow. She's good company and a considerate host. She mentions that she had a couple of Tasmanians on bikes stay recently, which is an impressive coincidence: yesterday the hosts had also mentioned the Tasmanians, so they had obviously chosen the same two places to stay as I have. It's also interesting that these people referred to themselves as Tasmanians and not Australians. In fact my host of last night was somehow under the impression that Tasmania was one of the islands of New Zealand. I wonder what the Tasmanians would have thought of that?

Dinner is at a place recommended by my host. I must look like I need feeding because one of the first things she asked when I arrived was where I planned to eat tonight. She's been concerned that I wouldn't find a suitable place that's open (see discussion on this subject in yesterday's blog). The place she recommended, and called to check they were open, turns out to be a small hotel. Normally I would avoid hotel restaurants, but I think this will turn out OK. I'm having the menu du marché, which has as a main course "confident chicken". That's my translation of course, but that's what it says. Menu-speak is a foreign language in any country, usually in an attempt to make a plain dish sound appealing. I'm curious what my confident chicken will be. Are they confident you'll like the chicken? Or maybe they select only chickens that were confident for this dish? Or perhaps the chef is confident that it's chicken?

I can't help myself. Here I am dining alone in a restaurant, so of course I am occupying myself by observing my fellow diners. There's the couple at the table next to me; they are speaking something that sounds like a mix of German and French. Alsatian perhaps? Actually, it's the woman who is doing all the talking; her companion doesn't have to say much. She keeps blowing her nose; loudly, fruitily, and often. "Superb" she says, " I've never eaten so well" , she adds, when the waitress asks how the meal was. They are not having the simple market menu - for them it's the multi-course full- blown menu. Pretentious is the word that comes to mind. She blows her nose again.

Then there's the older French couple. He's in sandals (although thankfully not with socks). She looks like she'd rather be having her hair done than have dinner with her husband. So far they haven't said a word to each other and neither looks particularly pleased to be here.

Behind me is a young couple; out on a date? They are obviously confused and a bit worried about something on the menu, perhaps they are also thinking about confident chickens. Then the waitress comes and the problem is revealed: the guy is concerned whether it's OK to have red wine with the duck, or should they have white? I feel for the guy, it's a serious dilemma and he clearly needs to impress his dining companion.

Across the way are a couple of guys: they must be on a business trip. Perhaps they are out here to sell something, or maybe they are setting up the local branch of their business. Notes are compared, plans for the next day are discussed. My confident chicken arrives: it's a chicken that's confidently turned itself into a type of sausage and it's rather good. The sandals couple still hasn't said a word to each other.

Final restaurant observations: the (suitably surly) waitress serves me from the cheese trolley. The selection is impressive. While cutting some cheese, she knocks one of the cheeses (admittedly a wrapped piece) onto the floor. She picks it up and puts it to the side on the trolley. She serves the next table their cheese. Then, as she heads back to the kitchen, she surreptitiously takes the dropped piece of cheese and puts it back into the covered part of the trolley with all the

other cheeses. The next diners will be none the wiser. The Alsatian woman blows her nose and the older couple says their first words to each other; he's had a half bottle of red and she's finished the best part of whole bottle of white. It was about time they said something. The young couple is having red wine with their duck. The waitress, although surly, knows her trade; her knowledge of the food, the cheeses, and the wines is comprehensive and impressive. My coffee (espresso, which the French do know how to make) arrives accompanied by a macaroon and a mini almond cake. Not a bad way to end a day's riding.

Distance today: 63 km, 3.8 hours riding