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