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