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