It's cold this morning; 5 degrees according to the weather report. The sun is out (that will change during the day) but when I start riding in the shade I can feel that it's actually quite cold. I ride in the general direction I need to go, following my (cold) nose. I spot a morning market and go there to buy an emergency banana and an apple. Riding all day requires food (there will be visits to the boulangerie later as well.) I find the people at the market impressively friendly; the guy selling fruit isn't put out by the fact that I want just one banana and one apple and even offers me a sample of his (very good) melon although he must realise that I am unlikely to be buying a melon for my bike ride. He wishes me a bonne route just the same. An old lady next to me, when she hears I am on the Chemin de Compostelle: "It's beautiful in Spain, you'll love it. I'm from Spain but I haven't been back in 34 years."
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| Another cross on the way |
Later, after having left Orléans, I have stopped to take a picture when I hear the crunch of bike tyres on gravel behind me. It's François, from Quebec (note the introduction, he's from Quebec, not from Canada - he's a separatist he explains). He seems very relieved to have found another rider and wants to ride together. I am a little conflicted, since on the one hand I quite enjoy the freedom of riding alone, being able to do as I please. But on the other hand he is so obviously in need of some company and I can't help but feel somehow sorry for him. So we ride together to Beaugency.
Riding with someone means lots of conversion and the subjects vary widely, although there's a theme of left versus right, bemoaning the world's focus on the economy rather than education and health and so on. He's young and idealistic and interestingly is well aware of it. So I challenge some of the points he's raising and we have a good debate. It's interesting, but the downside of riding together is also soon apparent because I miss a planned detour to visit a particular town and he is slowed down each time I stop for a photograph. He wants to make it to Tours today, an ambitious 120 km. Given that we are riding together and therefore he didn't leave early, and I am only planning to go halfway to Tours, I think his plan is wildly optimistic. "How fast are we riding?" he asks at one stage. He has no trip computer and says not to want one (so he's not constrained by knowing his speed or distance) but he does want to know how far we've ridden. He's on his way to Cahors to study pilgrims for his anthropology thesis. He's walked the Camino last year (yet another person I meet who has been on the Camino) and also ridden his bike across America with a friend. Despite all this he seems surprisingly inexperienced.
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| Coffee and sunshine |
We stop at Beaugency for a coffee but he goes to the bakery to buy some bread and doesn't order a coffee "I have to watch my pennies". I'm not sure the owners of the café are impressed that he brings his own food and orders nothing but to their credit they don't say anything. We part ways and I am left with my own thoughts until an Irish guy on a bike turns up. He's part of a group of guys who have come from Ireland and rented bikes to ride along the Loire river. He's lost the others, but seems quite happy to be riding alone: "I'll find them eventually" he says.
The planned route follows the Loire for much of the way and it's very pleasant riding. The weather however is highly variable with alternating sun and rain showers. At one point I hear a 'clack' on my helmet, followed shortly afterwards by more of the same sounds: there's a hail shower! Soon afterwards the cooling towers of the local nuclear power plant loom in the distance and it's an impressive sight against the black sky, with the bright white clouds of steam pouring out. I stop for a picture just as an older Japanese guy walks past purposefully, carrying a shopping bag. We exchange bonjours as he passes. Then he stops, and comes back. "Is that a nuclear power plant?" he asks in broken French. It's obvious the recent accident in Japan is on his mind. We switch to English (which is only marginally better than his French) and have a nuclear power safety discussion. The things you talk about while cycling along the Loire. Then it transpires that he is - wait for it - walking to Santiago on the Camino. With a shopping bag? I think this to myself, but he senses the question and explains he's decided for this section to set up "base camp" as he calls it, in Orléans and walk sections because he's worried about finding accommodation. He's planned 80 days for the whole walk, and somehow, surprising though it may seem, I suspect he's going to make it (although perhaps not in 80 days).
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| Loire cycleway and power station |
Although my route doesn't go there, I realise that the Château de Chambord is not that far away. It's not every day you can say: 'I was riding my bike and thought I'd pop over to the Château de Chambord since it was close' so of course I take the opportunity and visit the famous castle with its double-helix staircase supposedly designed by Leonardo da Vinci. It is still as impressive as when I first saw it.
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| Château de Chambord |
I finally make it to my destination, Blois. As I am approaching the bridge over the Loire I spot a familiar looking bike and rider waiting there at the lights. It's François! This is just just like on the Camino in Spain: you keep coming across the same people. Except that François was supposed to be going to Tours, which is another 60 km away. He's exhausted and a bit demoralised. It's going to be a cold night and his bravado of camping is failing him. He proposes that he share the place I have booked for the night, but I explain that it's only a single room and he can't expect the owner to accept that a second person just shows up unannounced. I offer to search for places to stay for him but after a little looking he decides to move on to the next town and we say our goodbyes again. I do not see him again.
Later, as I am having dinner in an unexpectedly expensive restaurant (the only one within walking distance of my bed and breakfast) I think again of François and our various discussions. And I have to admit that I'm glad that I no longer have to travel without the safety net of being able to afford unplanned higher expenses if I have to. And I pour myself another glass of rather good red wine.
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| Blois in the distance - almost there |
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