2019 Bike Ride - Day 12: Château-Renault to Chemillé

Last night my host asked me what time I planned to leave in the morning. This is a reasonable and common question that's hard to answer: while I'm pretty flexible with my departure time, it's always difficult to know what the host's expectations are. Were they planning on going somewhere early, so they are hoping you won't leave too late, or do they normally like to sleep in and they're hoping that you won't be wanting to leave early. I try not to put them out of I can help it. Guessing that perhaps she was not an early riser, I asked her if somewhere between 8 and 9 would be OK? You could see in her face that she had been hoping I'd say something like 11:00, but she recovered quickly and said not to worry, she could go back to bed after I'd left.

In the morning at around 8:00, there she was, looking decidedly like she needed a lot more sleep. Definitely not a morning person I concluded. She'd made coffee and put a piece of supermarket sliced white bread in the toaster. Beats me why the French seem to like supermarket sliced bread (bought in a packet with the crust already cut off). After all, they have so many boulangeries making delicious fresh bread. They pride themselves in their famous crusty crunchy baguettes and then go to the supermarket and buy the exact opposite. We talked about this and that and then the conversation came around to the cat. She was very apologetic about the pee problem which to her credit she herself brought up, not me; her explanation was that this cat has been abandoned as a tiny kitten and raised by her instead of by a mother cat, so it hadn't learnt proper cat etiquette from its mother and as a result was in many respects a wild cat. Remembering the pissing-up-against-the-wall episode from yesterday, I could only concur.

Toilet reading

Before leaving I visited the toilet (the one in the box between the kitchen and the lounge room). In the toilet cubicle were two baskets of books and magazines, presumably for those times when you just want - or need - to linger. Some interesting titles there: 365 Jokes, Pocket Edition Jokes - the Blonds, Culture for Dummies. This last one I can't see being sold a lot outside of France, but no doubt it makes for good toilet reading.

I am on the road by 08:30, before the supermarkets have opened, so I give up on my thoughts of buying some supplies. Just as well I have my emergency bananas, bought yesterday after George's abortive wine-buying attempts. It's a short ride today anyway. There's blue sky when I leave, which is promising given the forecast was rain. But it doesn't take long for ominously black clouds to start forming ahead of me. The sun is still shining and the colours are gorgeous but after a few warning spots of rain, the heavens open about an hour into my ride. So the last hour of my journey I get to enjoy riding in the pouring rain. Although it's unpleasant, I don't mind so much since I won't need to be dealing with trying to dry everything out in time for the next days ride.

Gorgeous light before the storm

As I ride up to the font door the rain conveniently stops. I wheel the bike into the front room. There and back again.

Riding in the rain - almost there!

2019 Bike Ride - Day 11: Blois to Château-Renault

In the morning when I look out my window onto the square below, I see that the outdoor live music marquee from last night has been replaced by the Saturday markets, which at 7:30 are already partly set up, even though it's still dark. A little later, just as it's getting light Zwarte Piet walks up the large stairs leading to the château. My window looks right into the enormous stone staircase that leads from the lower square (the one with the market) to the upper square in front of the château. It's only September, so a little early for the celebration of St Nicholas, which features his assistant, Zwarte Piet, and is in December, and in Holland. What's going on? A little later a couple of women in medieval period costume also go up the stairs, and a possible explanation for Zwarte Piet begins to form.

Blois - The morning market mattress stall

My host has promised me coffee this morning, and sure enough, right at the agreed time there's a little tray on the table outside my door with a Thermos of coffee and several little cakes in their own plastic wrappers. They are Madeleines, and they must be the standard Chambre d'hôtes breakfast offering because this is the third place where I've found them. The sort of thing you buy in a box in the supermarket. At least these are well within their use by date, unlike the ones in the place with abandoned campervan in Montargis which were well past their use by date (I had one of those anyway; it was not so bad, considering).

I've stopped at Chouzy-sur-Cisse for my 10km morning pause. This place has all the elements of a typical French country village. For starters it has a hyphenated name. Whoever invented all the place names in France clearly ran out of either enthusiasm or imagination, because there are many names that have been used multiple times. So to avoid confusing the Chouzy near Tours with the Chouzy near Orléans, for example, they have come up with the hyphen system. Each duplicate town gets a hyphenated classifier added to its name, in general making reference to the name of the river the town is on (this Chouzy is on - sur - the Cisse River). If there's no river, then you get a reference to the main town it is 'under' - sous. But when they later invented road signs they realised that this would make the signs much too cumbersome and long, so they came up with 's/' for 'sur' and 's/s' for 'sous'. So this town's sign board says: Chouzy s/ Cisse. All very logical, once you understand the code. And in this town, apart from the hyphenated name there are also other "standard" elements: The Rue de la Poste; the pharmacy with the flashing green cross showing the temperature in an animated display demonstrating the importance of the pharmacy;  people walking along the street carrying their morning baguette from the boulangerie; la Place de la Mairie; the Mairie - Liberté Égalité Fraternité - complete with the orange scrolling information sign highlighting all the good things the Maire is doing for his town; the boucherie charcuterie (it's a larger village); the multiple signs advertising places for sale and the many closed shops that once were; the older centre which is surrounded by open fields that are being encroached by lotissements of what I call Monopoly houses; the Place du 11 Novembre 1918 with the war memorial listing the names of all the local inhabitants who lost their lives in the great wars; the coiffure, of course (usually several of these); rue de la gare and rue du Moulin; the Maison des Associations; the local Tabac and the Bar le Soleil d'Or; the rue  de l'Église, place de l'Église and of course, the Église itself; and just out of town is the cemetery, which by convention is on a slight rise (if there is one), its neat gravestones and gravel pathways surrounded by a stone wall, topped with terracotta roofing tiles. Another typical French village then.

Garden decoration - Saint-Nicolas-des-Motets

I ride on. The dark green bits on the map are generally good value; lovely shaded forests, the occasional squirrel, Bambi, or other wild animal, and also welcome relief from the incessant headwinds across the open fields. Luckily there several green bits on the map during today's ride, because the prevailing winds are still pretty much in the opposite direction to my route, even though I am zig-zagging across the map quite a bit in order to stay on little roads and avoid the main roads, except for crossing them from time to time.

Now I'm standing in front of the house where I'll be staying tonight. Nobody is answering the doorbell or my tapping on the door. In the end I call the owner and discover that her daughter is in fact in the house, but can't hear the front door because the doorbell isn't working. Not so practical when you're expecting someone. I'm let in, shown the main points of the rather interesting house: this is the kitchen - we made a space in the fridge for you, that's the cat, there's the toilet, that's the bathroom, and here's your room. There's a faint odour in the house which is slightly familiar and slightly unpleasant. A little later Naomi mentions "you'd better keep your door closed, otherwise the cat will go in. And, you know, he might do pee-pee." Well, that explains the odour then, I think to myself. A bit later, after Naomi has left and I've had a shower and something to eat, I go out to the little courtyard outside the kitchen to find the cat pissing on to a piece of furniture there. And it's not just a bit of a mark-my-territory spray either; it's a full on stream that creates a puddle that starts flowing downhill to a nearby drain. The cat looks at me, while pissing, with a haughty 'so what are you going to do about this then?' look. I'm glad I've closed the door to my room.

There's a little bit of voyeurism involved in staying in other people's houses, particularly people who you don't know and therefore have no idea what to expect when you arrive. Some people live in a similar way to what you do, and others not at all. Each to his own. This house is so full of simply random stuff it's hard to describe. The house layout itself is relatively conventional; there's a front door at the front and a back door at the back, for example. It's really only the toilet, which is in a sort of box in the middle of the ground floor, between the kitchen and the lounge and dining area which is a bit odd. And while there's a hand towel hanging in the toilet room, there's no washbasin or other means of washing your hands. Presumably if you want to wash your hands after going to the toilet you have to use the kitchen sink or go upstairs to the bathroom, which has no toilet. Or maybe just pretend and use the towel. The house in Saclas had mirrors everywhere. This place has lights everywhere, like Christmas decorations. Strings of coloured lights line the jars arranged on top of the kitchen cupboards. There's a large glass vase stuffed with another string of lights and so on. Everywhere you look there are motivational slogans and sayings: don't cry, be happy (in English), it's normal to make mistakes, make your own happiness, and so forth. The kitchen sinks are full of dirty dishes and there's a toothbrush and toothpaste in one of the kitchen cupboards (which I came across by chance when looking for a glass). Presumably the latter is in the interest of saving time going upstairs to the bathroom in the morning after breakfast and before going out to work.

Chateau-Renault

I head into town to have a look around. Château-Renault is a town we've driven through more times than I can remember, but we've never really stopped to have a look around. The only place I really know is the supermarket where we've sometimes stocked up on supplies. The name of this town, by the way, is hyphenated for a completely different reason to what I've described above, and has to do with the history of the town. In this case it was apparently named after the son, Renaud, of one of the lords of the count of Blois. Why they spelt his name wrong when naming the town will have to remain a mystery. There's actually not a whole lot worthy of seeing if truth be told, although that may also be due to a bit of château-and-impressive-and-big-old-buildings overload on my part. The namesake Château is well located at the top of a hill (just below the ruins of its 12th century predecessor) and now serves as the Mairie (Town Hall).

So here I am at the checkout of the local Carrefour supermarket. I am holding my purchase, three bananas for the ride tomorrow, and am waiting in line behind all the people with trolley loads of stuff. In front of me is a little old man. He's holding a walking stick, which in this case is an actual stick and at first I think he might be a pilgrim on the Chemin de Compostelle (who often pick up suitable sticks on the way and use them as a sort of Nordic walking stick). He has a cap on and is dressed in pretty old and threadbare clothes. He turns to look at me a few times, with a look that I take to be something along the lines of 'all this waiting to buy something at these new-fangled shops, it wasn't like this in my day'. Then he says something to me, which is completely unintelligible mainly because he appears to have no teeth. Fortunately he does not appear to expect any response from me. He's holding a large plastic shopping bag and when it's almost his turn he takes out a 10 litre plastic 'barrel' of wine; this is the type of wine that's a couple of levels below cask wine and is essentially sold by the quantity and definitely not for its quality. "George" says the checkout lady, who's probably around 60 and has seen a thing or two in her time, and obviously knows this guy, "really George, do you need this?" "Mmpphh mrroph phrgh" mumbles George, looking uncomfortable. "Do you have money to pay for this George?" asks the woman. She knows better, I suspect. "Ouhhsm" nods George, in the affirmative. The woman looks doubtful but starts to scan the bottle. But it soon becomes apparent that George in fact is expecting credit and doesn't have any money. A discussion ensures, goodness knows how the woman can makes sense of anything George says, but I get the drift: George thinks it's unreasonable for the store not to give him credit and claims other stores do. "Well you'd better go try Intermarché [the other supermarket in town] George" says the woman who's running out of patience. She takes the bottle and puts it aside, out of reach from George and moves on to me, standing there with my bananas. I hand them to her and she looks at me with with clear disdain: "you haven't weighed these" and gives them back. Now I'm as annoyed as she is, because not only do I have to go and weigh the bananas, but I have to go all the way to the back of the line again. She mutters something about this not being her day. George leaves with his stick, but not his wine. I go and weigh my bananas.

I treat myself to a dinner to celebrate the penultimate day of my ride. The restaurant is reasonably good, which is just as well since it's effectively the only restaurant in town. Tomorrow I will ride home.

Riding through wide open spaces near Saint-Nicolas-des-Motets

2019 Bike Ride - Day 10: Meung to Blois

In the morning I walk to the local boulangerie and get a fresh baguette. I can see the racks of baguettes in the back of the shop, having just come out of the oven. Mine is still warm and of course it doesn't survive the walk back without a part of it being eaten. Although I'm not a fan of white bread, there's definitely something to be said for a crunchy crusty warm baguette.

Cups with moustache rests (really!)

I've planned a short day today and decide that it's time for a little bit of tourism. I'm staying in a town with a château; one that I didn't even know was there but which is well regarded. It doesn't open until 10:00 but that gives me the luxury of a lazy morning and I'll still have enough time for the day's ride. When I get to the château, a full minute's ride from where I'm staying, a bike riding couple I'd seen the evening before has just arrived. Both the guys are very slim and dressed in decidedly non bike riding outfits. No Lycra for them! It's more sequinned shirts, colourful scarves and tight pants.

The château is definitely worth the trip and must be one of the better ones in the region that we've visited over the years. I particularly like the very original attic and the fascinating underground spaces. There's also an "icebox" which is like a wide and very deep well in which they stored ice collected during the winter. According to the description, they managed to keep the ice frozen for at least a year in this way. All it needed was the manpower to cart 100 tonnes of ice from the river and dump it into the well every year. Not something that would be very economical nowadays I would imagine!

Château de Meung-sur-Loire (rear)

When I leave the château there's another couple of bikes parked next to mine. A his and hers electric pair although they are very different. Hers is a Dutch style bike, his is a mountain bike (but electric) towing a single-wheeled trailer with an enormous pack on it. He's obviously towing both their luggage as her bike has no bags at all. The couple come out of the château just after me and it turns out they are French, despite the Dutch bike. They're riding the Loire from Nevers, the source, to where the river flows into the sea. I tell the woman she has a good deal, having her husband tow all her luggage. "Yes" she agrees with a grin, "it wasn't his decision." We say our goodbyes and I head off, but 15 minutes later I spot them coming up behind. "Excuse me for overtaking you" apologises the woman, "The electric bike makes it too easy."

Centrale Nucléaire de Saint-Laurent-Nouan

The ride today is again into the wind, although it's not as relentless as it has been on previous days. I make several stops including a relatively leisurely lunch stop (I have the rest of the baguette and some cheese and paté to finish; all very French). Some of this route I've ridden before and of course the nuclear power station near Blois, which is just by the river, is an obvious landmark that's hard to forget.

Despite the forecast of rain for today, the ride is dry until I'm just 3km from my destination, when there's a shower that's enough for me to have to put my jacket on, but no more. At Blois, which I'm a bit familiar with from previous visits, I am met by the owner of the apartment I have a room in. The apartment is right in the centre of town and is an unexpectedly upmarket place - all high ceilings and parquetry floors. It turns out that Hervé, the owner, is a real estate agent, which probably goes some way to explaining the obviously expensive apartment. I do the usual chores and then remember that I need to get my stamp at the château, which closes soon. Luckily it's not exactly a long walk and in a few minutes I'm there, only to find the ticket office already closed. Of course, they stop allowing entries at least half an hour before it closes so there's some logic in the ticket office closing early. I walk into the main entrance area just as one of the staff members comes out, on her way home  I tell her I'm here for my pilgrim stamp and to my surprise, instead of disinterest she says: "We're closed, but give me your credencial and I'll get it stamped for you." And sure enough, a minute later she's back with my stamped credencial. So acts of service and kindness are not quite dead yet here, thankfully.

As I walk back from the château, in the distance I see the blue flashing lights of some police cars parked at an intersection. Getting closer I see that there's a significant police presence and at the same time somewhere in the distance I hear the sounds of a protest. That's two large towns in two days and in each one a protest. As the marchers approach, the police block the intersection. They've done this before and have an air of nonchalance about them - protests like this one are not uncommon in France after all. I have no idea what the march is about, but the main chanted slogan is 'we are not content'. Whether this is a general statement of their attitude to life or whether there's something specific they are not content with isn't clear. From the look of some of the protesters I'd say it's just their general attitude, but I could be wrong.

Blois - Escalier Denis-Papin & bike couple

I've asked Hervé for a restaurant recommendation; he seems like the type to know his restaurants. I'm walking around until it's late enough to actually go to the restaurant, and there, riding up the street, is the French bike couple; the ones on the electric bikes with him towing a trailer with their luggage. They are late. I wave hello and although they acknowledge me, they ride on, probably looking for their accommodation for the night.

At the restaurant I ask for a table for one. Given that the place is empty except for two guys having an obviously early dinner, I don't expect any issues getting a table. The girl makes a show of leading me to a table then, in an apparent admission that they are not exactly busy, gives up and says that I can sit where I like. So I choose the window table, looking out over the Loire as well as the people passing by. It's nice to have something to look at over dinner, especially when you're dining alone.

So here I am sitting at my window seat looking out to the Loire. There's too many interesting things for me to write about - like the guy in the black t-shirt who has walked back and forth several times now, or the guy with the dreads and colourful knitted jacket who looks at me looking at him. Then suddenly I see the two guys who were at the château this morning walk by (scarves and tight pants, riding bikes). Clearly all of us visiting the château in Meung-sur-Loire this morning had the same idea in terms of how far to ride that day.

There's live music at an outdoor bar set up in the square that my room overlooks. Luckily the windows are reasonably effective at blocking the sound.

Blois - Pont Jacques-Gabriel Blois

2019 Bike Ride - Day 9: St Denis-de-l'Hotel to Meung

I take my time this morning since I've planned a relatively short ride for today. By the end of the day I'll be glad that I did, because of my good friend, the wind. But more about that later. First I'm off to the local patisserie, which is conveniently across the road from my apartment, for a breakfast croissant. I have my croissant with a big bowl of coffee (this is France, breakfast coffee comes in bowls, not cups) chez moi in my apartment. The rain is holding off although the weather looks questionable. In addition to my normal morning chores, I also have the dishes to do; the downside of cooking your own dinner. So it's a late departure today.

Workshop tools

When I come down to leave, I find my host already at work in her workshop. She's making a bird bath in mosaics, complete with a little border of mirrors. So the birds can watch themselves take a bath I suppose. She shows me the garden decorations she's made, including an impressive ceramic snail. There's also a little bird house she's been restoring, "It was made by my father", she explains. I should note here that she is probably in her mid 70s, so it's an old bird house. The garden is all her work too as is the workshop where my bike is stored. I compliment her on the neatly arranged tool board which I'd admired yesterday when I parked my bike. "I like things to be organised" she explains, and it's obvious in her attention to detail in the apartment as well.

When you spend the day riding your bike you see a lot of interesting people. Today's selection:
A tall slim man, wearing a hat and yellow trousers, with a long dark green overcoat. A 'gentleman' you might call him; he was perhaps a notary before he retired (I imagine). A short and rather large woman walking her tiny dog, probably taking it out for its morning shit on the footpath. The old tramp on his bicycle laden with his worldly possessions, checking out the rubbish bins. The kid following me on his bicycle as I ride through his village. The young mother at the supermarket checkout, holding a baby and trying to manage a toddler while paying for a frozen pizza for dinner tonight. The old man pottering in his veggie patch, and the old woman bent over tending her tomato plants. Two women walking along the path determinedly with their Nordic walking sticks, click, clack, click, clack. A weathered woman who's probably younger than she looks, walking her equally weathered bicycle along the path, probably because she can't ride into this wind (I don't really blame her; it's not easy). She doesn't look impressed with the whole thing. The group of bored policeman hanging around the big iron gates to the main police station on Orléans, one of whom sees me coming and pulls open the gate to let me through (the police station is in the same place as the place you get your pilgrim stamp). The Asian guy on his bike, who is standing straight up on the pedals, staring ahead, like he's holding a yoga pose, as the wind pushes him along. Not once, but twice I see a black guy, wearing jeans and a suit jacket striding purposefully along the path, a long way from anywhere. Where is he going? Where did he come from? Why is he wearing a suit jacket?

Two guys of a certain age (but younger than me!) are riding on the dyke into the blustery headwind. "It's blowy" says one. "We're not going to make it to Tours today". Tours is a long way away, I am thinking, you're not going to make it to Tours from here any day. The older of the two is carrying two panniers, a random bag, a rucksack on his back and a big beer belly. The other has lightened his load by taking off his helmet and trying it to the bike.

I come up behind a couple riding fairly lightly laden bikes. I pull up alongside  the woman. By her calf muscles I can see that she's been doing this sort of thing for a long time. She's well weathered and probably older than me, or maybe she just looks that way. It's a bit blowy, I volunteer, staying with the theme of the day. "You could say that", she responds. "If this keeps up we're going to take the train at Orléans."

Up ahead I see a couple of riders coming towards me, both decked out in matching brightly coloured tops, riding neat and matching bikes, wearing matching helmets. A young couple, probably not locals (French bike riders just look, somehow, French). I've seen more bike riders this morning than I've seen all week I realise.

Later in the day I see another young couple, also riding essentially matching bikes and wearing matching gear. But these bikes are more loaded than any I've ever seen: they both have panniers front and rear. I can also see sleeping mats and what's probably a tent tired to one of the bikes and there's probably a kitchen sink in there as well somewhere. I don't think they are here to ride the Loire a Vélo with the day trippers, they are more likely to be on the EV3 to Norway, or maybe the EV6 to Switzerland. Both these routes follow the Loire here.

I am entertained by a dogfight (or should that be birdfight) between what looks like a seagull and a bunch of crows in the blustery wind. Are they attacking each other, or just playing?

I've stopped for the usual break. It's blowing a furious gale; the forecast was for winds of up to 45km/h and it certainly feels like it. The bike is wobbling on its stand but I've got the angle right this time, so it stays upright. Now a word about tissues. Why is it that every time you stop at a likely spot to discreetly do whatever it is you have to do, the ground is littered with little white signs that people before you have had the same idea? There should be a campaign to stop people using those little packets of facial tissues, which don't degrade and so stay there marking their spot for ages, and instead use good old toilet paper which does degrade and won't hang around for years.

The sun comes out and it actually starts to get a bit warm, despite the wind. So I stop and take off a layer of clothing and put on some sunscreen. I sit a little while enjoying the sun and then set off again. Predictably, within a minute or two, the sun disappears behind thick grey clouds and stays there until I get to Orléans. I probably should have known better.

Farmers protesting in Orléans

I ride into the city centre, which is familiar from previous visits. It's amazing how you can go from riding all alone on a little path to riding through city streets full of cars and people, all with in the space of a few minutes. Reaching avenue Jeanne  D'Arc I come up to a group of motorbike police standing at an intersection, looking rather disinterested. It's only when I enter the intersection and look right, towards the cathedral, that I realise what's going on. There's a huge farmers protest. The first thought that comes to my mind is along the lines of, only in France. This is of course not strictly speaking correct, but at the moment protests in France are certainly popular (as they have been in France various forms for centuries in fact. Since the French Revolution the French have a reputation to maintain, after all.) The whole length of the main avenue leading up to the cathedral is blocked by a seemingly endless line of tractors, many decorated with various protest signs. I ride past the line of tractors to the cathedral and then to the tourist information office, to get my stamp. When I arrive, thanks to the wonders of Google, my phone remembers that I've been here before (even though this phone hasn't) and automatically connects to the WiFi while I am standing outside. It's here that I go the main police station and the bored policeman opens the gate for me.

The Loire from Pont de l'Europe

A new experience: I'm riding across the Pont de l'Europe which crosses the Loire at Orléans, And the wind is so strong, blowing directly from the side, that I find I'm having to lean the bike into the wind to be able to ride straight ahead. It's a bit like a 'wing down' crosswind landing in a plane.  Except that you'd never be able to land a plane with this much crosswind. Amazing.

"A bit blowy" says a woman with a grin, as she effortlessly glides past me on her electric bike.

Since Orléans I've been riding out of sight of the Loire. Near Meung, the path meets the river again. There are white caps on the waves on the water. I have not been imagining that it's very windy!

Despite the wind and the numerous stops, I arrive within 15 minutes of my planned time, not bad going! I find my little apartment for the night, all codes and key boxes to get in, and it works exactly as advertised.  The apartment isn't quite what I'd expected but will be fine for the night. My thoughts of eating in tonight disappear however; after last night's cozy little place this place feels just too sad to be sitting here eating by myself. As it happens that will prove to be a blessing in disguise. I do my usual chores and then go for a quick ride to the local shops to buy some things for breakfast, which I will eat in my apartment, after going to the boulangerie in the morning for dinner fresh bread. Then I lock my bike inside my apartment (I'll sleep next to my bike tonight) before heading into the town to look around.

It turns out that, exceptionally, there's a concert on tonight at the château. It's at 19:30, which is dinner time. But I've seen a quirky looking little restaurant which caught my eye riding into the town, which has a board that says 'service continu', so I decide to give that a try. It is indeed a very quirky place, very casual with various handwritten signs listing their offerings (which seem to be mainly centred around drinking). There's a piano, some wind chimes, random pieces of furniture, some paintings, sculptures, shelves of books, games (two sets of Pictionary) and various other things. The woman at the, rather random, bar counter says: "You want to drink something?" I ask whether it's possible to eat this early (it's 18:00, much too early for dinner by French standards). "A dessert?" she proposes. No, actually I'm looking to have dinner, I respond. I'm not sure how it comes up in the conversation, but I mention that I am Australian. "Really?" says the guy with the red beard in the background in what is, presumably the kitchen area, although it's just in the area behind the bar. Up until now he hasn't participated in our conversation, "where?" This is an unexpected development since French people don't normally exhibit much knowledge of Australian geography, but I follow his lead and tell him Sydney, why does he ask? "I spent two years in Perth" he explains, and somehow, now that we have this bond, all doors open and my request to actually eat something is dealt with by him going out of his way to help. Ten minutes later I'm seated with a simple meal and a carafe of local wine and we're discussing the relative merits of Australia and France. It's that sort of restaurant. I ask him if he liked Australia so much, why did he come back to France? "You know, the culture" he explains, assuming, correctly, that this statement needs no further explanation. I'm thinking, this is so much better than sitting in my sad little apartment by myself.

Mozart in Meung

I've finished dinner in good time for the concert, so I stroll over to the château (you can do that in this sort of village, just pop over to the local château) and am seated in plenty of time for the concert, which as it happens starts 15 minutes late anyway. It's a full house (it's not such a big house, it must be said) and everyone is enthusiastic. There's some welcome speeches, including thanking some local dignitaries for showing up (they stand and now to the rest of the audience), and then it's Mozart for the next hour or so. Not a bad way to finish the day.

Meung-sur-Loire - Château by night

2019 Bike Ride - Day 8: Briare to St-Denis-de-l'Hôtel

Yesterday when I was repairing my second puncture I was a little less organised than I might normally have been, given that I was out in the open with rain threatening, and so under a little bit of time pressure. So despite arranging all the bits I was working with in as orderly a fashion as I could manage, I still managed to lose the little valve dust cap. No big deal, it's just a dust cap, but somehow it was annoying. I looked everywhere for it, but of course a little black cap on a wet black path with lots a bits of gravel and so forth is hard to see. So no more dust cap. This morning as I am packing my things in the B&B, suddenly, there on the table next to my handlebar bag is the dust cap. It's almost as if during the night the dust cap fairy has come and put it there for me to find.

I've seen quite a few squirrels running across my path in the last few days. Today there's one on the side of the path, complete with an acorn in its mouth, a bit like a caricature. Just how you'd imagine a squirrel if you were going to draw one. Very cute.

My route will take me past Gien and I decide to stop here to visit the Musée de la Faïencerie de Gien (Ceramic Museum - really a factory outlet). I want to do something a little unusual - for me - which is buy a souvenir to take home. And this place has a few memories as well. Not that something ceramic is really a very practical souvenir to be taking on a bike ride! I buy a couple of small decorative plates, which I carefully pack into the panier bags.

Bicycle Flowers

The route goes past a little village called Saint Gondon. I make a short detour into the village, passing a house with an obviously avid gardener. He has big pots of roses along the footpath in front of his house, each with a little name tag. His (or maybe it's her) garden is a mix of flowers and vegetables, of all sorts. He also has some old bikes, complete with baskets of flowers. In fact that's a bit of a thing I've noticed in various places; people seem to take their old bicycles and put them out on display with plants and other decorations. In this village it's definitely a theme because it turns out there are lots of decorative old bikes on display.

So I've stopped for a pee break. I put the bike on its stand as usual and am standing a little way away doing what I have to do. The wind is quite windy, and then it becomes very gusty. I have a passing thought that with this much wind my bike could be blown over and just as I'm thinking this I turn around to see my bike topple over into a ditch, rather ignominiously. Somehow I must have known this was going to happen. And you can guess that this wind is not a helpful tailwind today, so the ride is hard.

Speaking about being clairvoyant and seeing things happen before they actually happen, the night before last I had a dream about riding my bike, as you do when you're riding a bike I suppose. I dreamt I was riding down a really steep gravely path and my rear wheel kept sliding and skidding as I tried to brake and I couldn't slow myself down. I looked down and realised the rear tyre was flat so I had to use the front brakes to try to stop myself from losing control going down the steep hill. And the next day I get two punctures (both on the rear wheel). Very strange.

Forest chair

I pass a chair tried to a signpost at a small side road. A bit odd I think, maybe the person that lives up that path has put it there it as a marker? You know, along the lines of: 'Turn right at the sign with the chair tied to it, you can't miss it'. A little later I pass another one. Definitely odd. Then another. This is not a coincidental hanging of chairs. There's plastic chairs, metal chairs, and now I've stopped at a signpost with a wicker chair. What's going on here? In the next town there are more chairs, some decorated with all sorts of interesting things. One with carved cats, several with flowers, one with a dummy sitting in it, chairs that are painted in bright colours. There's even chairs attached to trees in the forest as I leave the town. Like the dust cap fairy and the tin of fish, this is probably a mystery that will never be solved. [edit] A bit of Internet research shows that the council of the village of Lion-en-Sullias has encouraged the residents to brighten up their street frontage with an imaginatively-decorated chair - apparently in order to promote tourism.

I'm riding on the dyke that goes along the Loire River. So I have lovely views and am also ideally positioned to catch the full impact of the wind. The crows (there are a lot of crows) are enjoying playing in the wind, gliding, hovering and swooping. I am not enjoying it quite so much.

I ride into Châteauneuf-sur-Loire and just as I arrive at the church, right on queue, the bells toll the hour. It's four o'clock. This is another one of those dust cap fairy mysteries; how is it that so often I arrive in a town or village just as the bells chime?

In a field off to my left there's a tractor towing a shit spreader. He's a long way away but since the wind is blowing from that direction, I get the full olfactory benefit of his labours as I ride past. Lovely! It reminds me of the first day's ride when I saw a shit spreader in the distance heading at an angle towards the road I was riding on. Clearly our paths were going to cross, depending on who got there first. I had no chance of course and so was preparing myself for the worst, but luckily before he reached the road he turned off the shit dispenser and turned around for a return run. That day the prevailing wind was in my favour, at least insofar as me being exposed to the shit spreader; it was most definitely not in my favour for my rate of progress.

Castell de Sully-sur-Loire

I ride into a village - more a collection of farm buildings than anything else really - with the interesting name 'Lazy'. Of course in French this word has no other meaning, it's just a place name, but if you look at the name with English eyes, so to speak, it does seem a bit odd. 'Messy' is another place like that I've ridden through, although in that case the name of the place was a pretty good reflection of the condition of the town. In Lazy there is a pervasive sweet smell of beetroots in the air, and I soon discover why: there's an enormous sugar beet factory here (most of the sugar in Europe comes from Sugar Beets and not sugar cane). This is the destination of those huge tractors towing huge trailers laden with piles of beets that I've seen negotiating impossibly small and narrow streets in little villages.

I arrive at my destination 15 minutes before the time I'd estimated to my host yesterday. Not bad, considering it's been a long day's ride with multiple stops and lots of wind and my departure time was dictated by the size of the breakfast I was served this morning (it was enormous). It's also the longest ride so far on this trip. My home for tonight is a lovely little studio apartment above the host's house. She is also lovely and clearly wants to make sure everything is just right, which it seems to be. On a table there's a jar with a handwritten label: "Petits gâteaux de bienvenue" (Little welcome cookies). It's that sort of place. There's a supermarket within walking distance and rain is threatening and the restaurant choices seem pretty sad. Since I have an apartment with a little kitchen at my disposal I decide to eat in tonight and cook my own dinner. I manage to make it to the shop and back with my groceries before the rains finally come, and I can smugly sit inside and cook my own dinner knowing I won't have to get wet today after all.

My apartment comes with a little courtyard garden, with lots of flowering plants and - of course - an old bicycle with a basket of flowers growing from it.

The Loire near Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire

2019 Bike Ride - Day 7: Montargis to Briare

A dark morning with rain (as forecast). I get my wet weather gear on and set off. The first stop is at the tourist office to get a stamp for my credencial (pilgrim passport). I also ask about the condition of the route path along the Canal de Briare which I plan to follow. This morning is asked my host and she thought that some of it may have been sealed and also told me that they'd spoiled it by putting fences along it so you couldn't fall in anymore. We used to go swimming when we were kids, she added. True to form, both these pieces of information will prove to be less than accurate (the fences and the path surface, not the part about them swimming as kids). But back to the tourist office. The woman there tells me proudly that their region has sealed the whole length of the path, at least the past that's in their region. I don't know about the other regions, she adds unhelpfully. So far, the entire length (I've ridden about half) has been sealed and is in excellent condition.

Along the canal there have regularly been small platforms, like mini jetties. I had thought that these might be for boats to tie up to for short stops, although there are other obvious areas for that, equipped with bollards and often even picnic facilities. Then I discovered what they were for: fishing. I've seen lots of fishermen along the way. They are always men and almost always come in pairs, although you do see the occasional solitary one. Then I came across a pair sitting on one of this little platforms and it dawned on me that this might be their intended use. They've probably been installed by the French federation of fishermen. There seems to be a federation for just about everything in France; fishing, camping, caravanning, kayaking and so forth. So why is it that fishing is a predominantly male pastime? It's like cycling. You don't ever seen to see female cyclists decked out in their Lycra riding past in their pelotons. Actually I realise that I've made these observations before but there's still no good answer.

Emergency reserves?

The rain isn't very heavy and lasts less than an hour. I get brave enough to take off my wet weather gear and although there's the occasional drizzle it's not as bad as I had thought it would be. At Montbouy I ride into the little village (which has, like so many little villages in France, an impressively large church) and spot a boulangerie. Since I had only a banana for breakfast I convince myself I'm entitled to a morning croissant. Once inside I throw caution to the wind and buy a piece of the freshly made pizza for my lunch. Not very French, I know, even if they call it a 'fougasse' and not pizza. I eat my croissant under a little shelter tacked onto the side of the church; it's raining a little. Something in the wall of the church catches my eye. There's a small niche in the wall, nothing more than a couple of the stones that the wall is made of are missing. But what's caught my eye isn't the niche, it's the tin of mackerel (unopened) and plate which is in the niche. There must be a story there; is it some form of offering? Or maybe a cache left there by someone for later use? Just another one of those little mysteries that will never get solved.

I continue my ride and the rain gets a bit heavier. I stop under the shelter of a large tree and put on my jacket. I get back on the bike to ride off, but something's clearly not right. Sure enough, I have a puncture! My first puncture in 4,000km of riding, so really I can't complain. But I do anyway. It's raining; not the best conditions to be repairing my tyre. And it's the rear tyre, slightly more difficult to work with. Still, it could be worse. I'm near Dammarie-sur-Loing, a little town, so there's a backup if it turns out that I need it. And the next lock is just a short walk ahead, maybe I can find some shelter at one of the buildings there. So I walk the bike to the lock and as luck would have it one of the buildings there does indeed have a little bit of a sheltered spot, just enough for me to set up my bicycle repair workshop and stay relatively dry. I unpack the bike, take the wheel off, find the puncture, repair it and put everything back together again. Could be worse. Except now it's raining heavily so I decide it must be Pizza time. Anyway, I feel I've earned it. By the time I've finished my pizza then rain has eased if a bit and I continue my ride.

I've been riding along the canal for two days and have yet to see an actual boat. They appear to be doing maintenance work on one of the sections of the canal, so perhaps that explains the lack of traffic. I later hear that this is also related to the fact that there's not enough water available to 'run' the canal. Yesterday when I was riding along the Seine there were, of course, quite a lot of boats and a lot of barges. The barges tend to double as houseboats and often have a car parked on them, and often also have homely things like a BBQ and out plants on the decks. The other thing that I find interesting is they all seem to have Lace curtains, I guess perhaps this is the influence of the lady of the house(boat). I even passed what appeared to be an impromptu barge workshop, complete with a very derelict looking barge; it had lace curtains.

Canal riding

So my puncture is repaired and I'm on my way again, following the tow path, enjoying the new bitumen. Until it suddenly ends. There's a big sign saying end of the resurfacing works. Find your own way from here, or words to that effect. So I navigate along some local roads until I spot a bike route sign again, back to a sealed surface on the tow path. I stop at Rogny-les-sept-ecluses which is a little place that seems to exist because of the fact that the famous seven locks (now incorporated into the name of the town) were built here. A little bit of history: the canal de Briare, which I am following, was actually built in the 17th century, in the time of Henri IV. That in itself I find just astounding. The lock keeper's houses all have dates marked on them, mostly around 1888, which is already old enough. But the actual canal and its innovative system of locks, dates from 1642. The canal is a so-called 'summit level canal', meaning that it joins two rivers, but passes over terrain in between which is higher than both the rivers. There's 36 locks and the canal rises 41m and then falls back down 85m. Which explains why although I'm riding along a flat tow path I've also been gaining and then losing altitude. The 7 locks was an interesting system of directly connected locks, to change the level quickly. It turned out that this wasn't very practical once the amount of traffic on the canal increased and the height change was subsequently managed using more widely spaced locks.

Just after the 7 locks, the path abruptly ends again and becomes grass, but at least it's been mowed. I remember reading about this section, something along the lines of that it's an impassable forest unless it's just been mowed. I figure this should be ridable so we'll see how that goes. As it turns out, it doesn't go for long because as soon as I get back on the bike I sense that same 'deflated' feeling again. Sure enough, I have another puncture! This must be a sign that I should stay on the sealed path.

Canal-side repairs

So there I am with the bike in pieces and my bags arranged on the ground around it when a guy arrives in one of those mini cars you don't need a licence for (a rather odd concept, only in France.) He's friendly and helpful and explains that with the wet weather the rubber gets softer so it's obvious that I would get punctures. "If you want to cut rubber, you wet it first",  he explains. "They use flint for the gravel paths here and it can be really sharp" he continues. I'm not sure whether this information is meant to reassure me, but it doesn't. My second puncture is right next to the first, meaning I either missed it the first time or there something still in the tyre which has re-punctured the tube. Neither should be the case since I was pretty thorough with the first repair. But I check the inside of the tyre again, obviously more carefully this time, and sure enough discover a tiny sliver of flint inside the tyre. I must have missed it the first time. The guy obviously has experience with these paths!

Did I mention wind in an earlier post? That wind was from the NE when I was riding in that direction and so was a headwind. Now I'm riding to the SW, so that same wind would have been a nice tailwind now. But of course it doesn't work that way in real life: yesterday and today there has indeed been wind, and there's quite a lot of it,  but it has turned and it's now from the SW bringing the rain with it and meaning that, yet again, I have a headwind.

I'm getting closer to my destination when I come to a bridge where two guys are working; they're replacing all the timber decking and the bridge is barricaded. I start a mental calculation of how far I am going to have to double back to detour and it's not a nice number. But then I realise they are packing up so I approach the guy and plead my case; can I cross? It's going to cost you, is his cheeky reply. Actually, we were just about to open it, you can be the first to cross, he continues. Just think, if I hadn't had those two punctures is have arrived her while they were still working on the bridge and probably would have had to detour around it. Funny how things work out sometimes.

Briare after the rains

I arrive at Briare, where the famous bridge is that takes the canal over the Loire river. The heavens open with an impressive downpour forcing me, and several others, to shelter with the rubbish bins under an awning until it passes. Then the sun comes out, there's an equally impressive rainbow and the bridge looks stunning, glistening in the bright sunlight.

I'm staying at an old farm complex near a small town. According to my host, who does actually know something about the local amenities, there are three restaurants and two fast food takeaway pizza places. Not bad for a little town, although I suppose it's location on the Loire cycle route might have something to do with this. The first restaurant I know from my research, and it's highly rated. It's also closed tonight. The other two are both open. I ride into town and find both of the open restaurants closed. One has a little sign saying 'closed for renovation' and the other has a single light on inside but otherwise no indication of any activity nor why it isn't open. One of the pizza places is not doing table service tonight, only takeaway. The other looks decidedly dodgy. Given that I had a piece of pizza for lunch, pizza isn't at the top of my things-I-want-to-eat-tonight list. It's not looking good. I ride back to the restaurant that had a light on and notice that there are now some more lights on. There's a woman looking out the door. I ride up and, even though the place doesn't look very appealing, I am happy to discover that it's now actually open. So in I go. The woman, who obviously has seen me coming offers to go round the back and open up her courtyard for me so I can park the bike safely.

It turns out to be an unexpectedly good evening, with my low expectations being significantly exceeded. The woman is the owner, and she's running the show alone tonight. For a while it looks like it's going to be just her and me, but a bit later two other guys arrive, Parisians who are passing through for work. My entire meal, including the wine, is essentially custom designed according to my requests. She opens a bottle of the local wine for me, so I can have a small carafe of it instead of the standard carafe wine (even though this wine is technically only available by the bottle), she makes various changes to the meal based on our discussions and my requests, she prepares some cheese that's not on the menu and so forth. It's like eating at her place, which I suppose I am.   A nice outcome after all.

It is, of course, pitch black during the ride along the bike path to my farm B&B. Again, I am glad to have good lights on the bike. Dinner has taken over 2 1/2 hours although it didn't seem like that long.

Briare - sleeping at the farm

2019 Bike Ride - Day 6: Fontainebleau to Montargis

This morning I decide that maybe I've been eating too many croissants and baguettes and other nice things found in French boulangeries. So I decide that I'll have fruit today and buy an apple and a banana at the local Carrefour City, conveniently close to my apartment. Then on the way back to the apartment I pass a nice looking boulangerie and buy a pain aux raisins for morning tea. I justify this because the raisins are fruit after all.

Some time later I'm sitting on a bollard. That's less unusual than it might sound given that I'm riding along the Seine River and I've stopped at the first set of locks I've come to. And at locks you need something to tie the boats on to when they're waiting for the lock to open, hence the bollard. It's quiet. In fact that's something that you notice when you ride a bike through rural France - the place is so quiet and there's almost nobody around.

This barge is "rooted"

Last night I was looking at various potential bike routes from Fontainebleau heading south when I discovered the Eurovelo 3 route. The Eurovelo routes are a whole network of bike routes throughout Europe, very well organised and covering some impressive distances. The EV3 is a pilgrim route that goes from Norway to Santiago and would be quite a ride if you did the whole thing. I discover that it passes close to Fontainebleau and then follows the river and canals south. Perfect! Bike paths along rivers are generally a nice choice: they are flat, and there's generally lots to see along the way. Easy choice.

The route makes a little detour through a small town (near the lock and the bollard). I'm riding along a narrow street and up ahead is a group (a gaggle?) of teenage schoolgirls. They are all, predictably, looking at their smartphones as they walk to school and are, of course, completely oblivious to their surroundings. I ding my little bell. No response. I ding it some more. Still no response. It's not until I am literally riding amongst them that they suddenly become aware of me. Just as well I'm a bike and not a car coming out of a side street.

Some time later, on a smooth gravel section of the path along the Canal du Loing, I hear the scrunch of tyres on gravel coming up behind and then a guy on a bike pulls up alongside. We chat; the usual stuff about where you're from and where are you heading and so on. He's not your normal French bike rider by a long shot. No Lycra to be seen, and an easygoing conversational attitude. Then he says: "I went to Santiago once, in a truck. I hated it." I'm thinking he might have been a truck driver or something (he is wearing work boots and orange work pants). "I hate them but my wife likes camping cars", he explains. His 'truck' is in fact his camping car. "This is my commute" he adds a bit later, now talking about the bike ride. "5 km along here every morning and afternoon, I love it." Sure beats sitting in traffic like other people, I add. "Yes I did that for three years, lost three hours every day and hated every minute. I'm a high school teacher", he adds by way of explanation; not that this really explains anything. "Four hours every day, that's enough", he adds with a grin.

Canal riding

I am serenely riding along the Chemin de halage - the canal tow path - I hear the 'ting' of a bicycle bell. That's odd I think - rather illogically - to myself, I didn't ring my bell. You don't normally hear bicycle bells here so the only one I am used to hearing is my own. I come to my senses and move over to the side of the path and seconds later a rather large woman zooms past on her electric bike, with no visible effort at all. No sign of recognition either, apart from the bell.

I'm staying at a couple's house just outside the centre of Montargis. I navigate to the address and find myself at what at first impression looks like a 'standard' French house of the suburbs, probably about 50 years old. Something is a bit odd, but I can't put my finger on it.

I push the doorbell on the gate and a little while later one of the windows at the front of the house opens and a woman pops her head out. Just open the gate she says, there's a little catch at the top. It's only then that I realise what it is that was odd about this house: there's no front door. In fact, as it turns out, the front door is at the back. Or perhaps more accurately, there is indeed no front door (an architectural oversight?) And the only way in and out of the house is around the back through the kitchen.

I have my own room, and they've gone to some effort to make it homely and there's some nice touches. Their house is shall we say, interesting. It's small and cluttered. The stairs to the second floor are extraordinarily steep. The shower is one of those modular units that's seen better days. They are a little alternative, in a 60's sort of way. In the back yard there's a campervan that's definitely seen better days. It's too polluting so it doesn't pass the roadworthy test anymore, the host explains. Never mind the broken headlights, the rust and the general air of being a wreck. Now it just serves us as a garden store she explains (a little redundantly).

I ask my hosts for restaurant recommendations for dinner tonight. I draw a blank: we don't go out much, I am told. Fair enough, but you'd think if you're going to have guests staying, it might be an idea to have some information for them. At least some idea of what's available in the town to see and maybe where to have a meal. There's an Asian place down the road he volunteers. We've never been there but we hear it's good. I consult the internet and find a place that's not only open on a Monday night, but also has a lot of good reviews and sounds a bit quirky. Even better, I can book it online, which as we'll see turns out to be a good strategy.

I walk into town for dinner. As is often the case, the approach to the city centre isn't a particularly nice area. It was the same when I arrived by bike earlier; the route led me though an area of HLM (social housing) and groups of idle men hanging around the local shops and halal butchery. Now, as I enter the town centre, I am greeted by Whitney Houston, or at least her voice. I will always love you, she sings. Maybe it's the Montargis theme song? Clearly this is one of those towns you find all over France that has a public address system wired throughout the town and they like playing music, presumably because it's more pleasant than announcements. Maybe they feel that they need to get value for their investment in the system. But silence would be better.

Montargis

I'm walking the streets of the city centre, checking out the shops. Lots of them are empty, for rent, for sale, sold. There's Sushi Love, Kebab chez Unit (halal), la Maison de la  Praline, the ubiquitous Tabac, la Chocoteque, Valege lingerie, Réparation Express (smartphones toutes marques), the French Coffee Shop (sic), La Coiffure a petits prix, Asia Délices (Traiteur Chinois), Système D e-cigarettes, Don Quixote bar à tapas, le Griffon (chasse, tir, armurerie, Glock self-action pistols), le Tonic (spécialités Turques) and finally Le Gambetta (Sushi). So we're back to sushi again. Really, this place has it all!

Although they have clearly made some effort to make the place pretty, Montargis is not an attractive town. They bill themselves as the 'Venice of the Gâtinais' and there is some attempt to capitalise on the several canals through the town, together with their bridges. There's a way to go however. The pole with an empty dispenser of dog poo bags, together with a sign encouraging people to pick up after their dogs, placed in a small cleared area absolutely covered in dog shit is sort of emblematic of the problem facing this town.

The restaurant I've chosen is almost empty when I arrive and at first I think that perhaps I wasted my time booking. But within a half hour of my arrival, the place is packed and throughout the next hour or so the waiter is continually turning hopeful arrivals away. There's several larger groups who have all obviously booked. This is a popular place. I did well having booked after all. The decoration is eclectic and interesting. I particularly like the box graters used as lampshades in a couple of the hanging lamps. There's a Johnny Hallyday LP on the table as a placemat. It's from 1960 and one of the tracks is 'Itsy bitsy petit bikini'. Classic. Next to my table there's a little niche with amongst other things an old recipe book 'the real cuisine of the family' - 1000 recipes, all generous, healthy, economical and simple. Wonderful.

I step out of the restaurant to find everything is wet - rain! Well, at least it isn't raining right now or my walk home will be very wet. But I've left my washing, which was virtually dry before I left, still hanging on the line. It wasn't supposed to rain until tomorrow. Perhaps the fact that it's rained now might mean no rain tomorrow for my ride, I think wishfully. I arrive back to find my washing is no longer in the line, the host has taken it in for me. She greets me in her light blue fluffy dressing gown as I let myself into the house (I have a key). I get the impression they have been waiting up for me. She asks whether I found a place to eat, and when I tell her the name of the restaurant she says: "A yes, we had an anniversary dinner there once. One of the guests told us about it. It was nice." And I'm thinking; isn't it strange that this didn't come up when I asked her for a restaurant recommendation before I left?

Coffee and dessert