In March 2006, I went along to the Lateral ski trip as I have done for several years. I decided to cycle there in order to try out my French language skills after taking night classes, and to try and get fit.
Average speeds were calculated by the cycle computer which stops timing when the bike is stationary hence elapsed times and speed averages will not match up.
Main picture gallery is here.
My cycling trip started in Fontainebleau, just south of Paris. I took the Eurostar to Paris and then a local train out to Fontainebleau itself. I had dropped my bike off at the Eurostar luggage office the night before and it was waiting for me when I arrived.
I had cycled across Paris before on a previous trip partly along a similar route and had written down some basic directions to get me to Gare de l'Est. With hindsight, a proper streepmap would have made navigation easier and I quickly learnt to keep of the cycle paths which were littered with pedestrians.
I
arrived at the station, purchased my ticket and started waiting for the
train which was at 19:00 according to the girl in the ticket office.
This was still several hours off and so I looked at the departure board
and saw that the next train was actually in a few minutes but on platform 19. This
gave me what turned out to be an accurate assessment on my ability to
understand French. I managed to catch the train and headed out through
the drizzly Paris suburbs.
I found the hotel easily and it was very nice. I had a wander around the town and then went to an Italian to eat. It may seem sacrilege to skip French food on the first night in France but lasagne was shouting "carbohydrate cycling fuel" louder than foie gras.
On the way back to the hotel, I was pleased to see an Australian bar, something that this historic picturesque town had obviously been missing until its opening. I turned in early and listened to a few Michel Thomas French Language CDs in the hope of preventing more misunderstandings like the one at the station.
Travelled 117km at an average
speed of 22.4 km/h. Stayed at Hötel Des Voyageurs -
€41 including breakfast
Breakfast was good and I had some yoghurt with oat
cereal as well the usual bread, croissants and coffee.
I chatted with the proprietor who was staring wistfully out onto the
garden whilst
listening to a funeral march.
I
headed out at 9:50 and had a fantastic morning though the
forest before hitting the N7 and following the Loing river. I had
covered nearly 60km before lunch and averaged over 25 km/h. There was
what I thought a cross wind but given that I managed to sustain 35 km/h
for a little while it may have been more behind than across. The
sensible part
of my brain was also pointing out that riding myself myself into the
ground on the first day of a 7
day ride was not something that someone who had told everyone he knew
what he was doing before he left should be doing.
Lunch was a huge salad nicoise in Montargis and then
I followed the river a bit further on smaller roads
past Châtillon-Coligny. I needed to get into the
Loire valley
which meant crossing the valley tops. There was a strong,
cold wind but mainly across than in front. As I stopped to turn the map
I nearly lost a glove as it shot across a field. The landscape was
rural but bleak but I did see a couple of deer. It was good to get back
on the N7 which by now was alongside the Loire. It was busier but
smoother and more sheltered. I started hearing a noise from the gears.
It didn't sound good so I pulled my ear flaps down and it reassuringly
disappeared.
There was a hotel in Bonny Sur Loire that was recommended and outstanding for food in the area but I as I was tired I just picked the first place I found. Well, actually the second place because the first place I found wasn't very nice.
I struggled to get a room as the woman in the hotel deviated from the script by informing me that the restaurant was full that evening. After a bit of back and forth I understood what she meant and went up to my room. Turned out I had accidentally stumbled upon the recommended hotel but rather pointlessly as I couldn't eat there. I had a wander around the town and recognizned a camp site I had stayed in with a friend when we rode from Dieppe to Nice several years ago. I found a little pizzeria open and although I was suspiciously the only one eating in there, the food was good.
I went back to the hotel, did another French CD and read for a little while before going to sleep. I felt okay but knew that I should get going earlier and keep the pace down.
Travelled 133km at an average speed of 21.0 km/h. Stayed at Le Bel Air €43.60 including breakfast and pizza for tea.
Got up late but tried to make up for it by upping the pace. Breakfast had been the standard affair and I had taken the time to do a quick check over on my bike and give the chain a clean and lube - the gear noise disappeared.
I
saw lots of cyclists who all
appeared friendly and shouted things I didn't understand but am pretty
sure most of them had the word "allez" in. There were sunny patches in
the morning before turning into a lovely afternoon.
The N7 turned into the A77 (A is the designation for a motorway in France) just after Cosne-Cours-Sur-Loire so I crossed the river and took the quieter roads. It was a pleasant change and they followed the canal for a bit so were flat but unfortunately very quiet. I had seen a few cafes open earlier and remembering it was Sunday decided that I should stop soon. I hadn't seen anything for a while and arrived at La Charité-sur-Loire. Had a pedal around and there was nothing open though there was a very pretty church. I headed back towards the bridge and found a Vietnamese take away open. They only had unprepared dishes left but I got some lychee juice and they kindly filled up my water bottles. I was very pleased that I remembered the meaning of portable as that was not a question to answer incorrectly. Why they thought I would want non-drinking water I don't know.
I
had lunch at the side of river sheltered from
the wind but still in the sun and watched a girl and father feed the
ducks and swans. I've never fancied letting a swan eat out of my
hand but I'm guessing being allowed to eat an animal
gives you a sort of confidence over it and the animal knows that.
Given that, I reckon the swans in France are not as bolshy as the
ones in Britain.
Lunch consisted of a combination of my on the move snacking food (cereal bars, bananas and mixed nuts) and the emergency backup Kendall Mint Cake. I had never read the ingredients on a Kendall Mint Cake but for some reason I assumed that it would involve a mixture of sugars and carbohydrates to provide both readily available and slow release energy, as well as maybe vitamins, protein or other essentials. Those ingredients in full: Sugar, Glucose syrup, Water, Peppermint oil.
Lunch was pleasant but I was a bit down knowing I still had a full afternoon's cycling before a decent meal. I decided a bit of music might help and so stuck my MP3 player on. First track up was Cut Copy's "Going Nowhere". This had the desired effect and I happily rode on for while. Part way through the afternoon I decided to try the language CDs whilst I was cycling but I couldn't concentrate.
Heading towards Nevers I caught up with a cyclist who had overtaken me earlier who had pulled up near some bins. I slowed down to ask if everything was okay which baffled him totally. Then he realised what I was asking and thanked me and said he was fine. I said goodbye and pedalled off. I subsequently realised that the best way to describe the look of bafflement on his face is to imagine you were trying to take a sneaky pee and a stranger started incomprehsively babbling at you.
I was starting to get very tired by this point (around 85 km). According to the RAC route planner, Decizes was 25 km away and I only had one hotel listed for it. I thought about it... I was keen to press on and get as close to Lyon in 3 days as possible but 25 km was over an hour away and that assumed I could keep a reasonable speed up which was proving difficult. On the other hand, I had a long list of hotels that were within a few kilometres. I studied the map for a bit. If I carried on, I had two route options; the first was to stay on quiet roads, the second was to cross back over the Loire and take the N81 which also carried a chance of having a hotel before Decizes as a backup plan. Despite thinking these options through and knowing the correct answer was to stop, or at the very least take the main road, I chose to continue on the country roads. I knew before and still do that people make bad decisions when they are tired.
I was regretting that decision within 5 km. Unfortunately kilometres 1 to 4 were downhill and there was no way I was going to get back up. I plodded on. As well as being tired I was starting to get cold and very miserable. I stopped for another cereal bar, nuts, banana and mint cake "meal" and finished the last of my water off about 15 km in. I arrived at Decize exhausted but a sign for the Agriculture hotel cheered me up immensely. I soon came upon it and rolled up to the door. I cannot remember the exact French wording of the sign but the general gist was "closed due to exceptional circumstances". This was not good. I cycled around the town for a while hoping to find another hotel. The next town was 40km away and was a very daunting prospect at this point. I still had stacks of snack food and an hour or so of light (plus dynamo and backup lights) and was well hydrated but I still had no water. Worst case was I could knock on someone's door and ask.
I headed back though town and turned to get out the east side to carry on to Bourbon Lancy. There was a sign for "Le Bel Air". Was I going to be lucky? I pushed on towards the edge of town and saw the hotel on the left. It looked very quiet. I pulled over and started pushing my bike up the pavement to the front gate. There was a small garden but I could see a sign on the door saying that the restaurant was closed on Sundays and the hotel was only open until 6pm on a Sunday. I looked at my bike computer - 6:30. Just at this point the front door opened and a very friendly woman came out and said they were still open if I was interested in staying. I will carry love in my heart for that woman until the day I die! She helped me get my stuff off the pavement and I went in to check in. This was the first proper French conversation I had on this trip which made me realise that 9 months of lessons might have been vaguely worthwhile. She spoke slowly and took time to re-explain things in a different way if I didn't understand. She said that the restaurant was closed that evening but would I like a pizza? Have I mentioned that I love her? I ordered and she said it would be here around 8pm. She then showed me up to my room and I started unpacking and showered.
I went down to the main part of the hotel at 8pm and she explained that the pizza was on its way. We sat and watched the news whilst we waited. The weather came on. I tried to estimate where we were on the map and saw -4 degrees. "Bugger" I thought. The woman asked if I was cycling in the morning and I replied I was. "Moins huit" she said pointing to where we actually were on the map. "Bugger" I thought.
The pizza turned up a here I think I made a faux pas. The table was set for 3 and she had called out to the back when the pizza arrived. She passed me one of the pizza boxes along with some cutlery and a napkin so I assumed that her and her family were eating privately. I started leaving and she asked a question which I didn't understand but after a bit of time to think about it I think it was along the lines of "are you alright eating in your room". As I went out I also noticed that the table settings didn't have cutlery so I think I just rudely snubbed an invitation to eat with them.
After
dinner, I watched TV and then slept well.
Travelled 72km at an average
speed of 18.0 km/h. Stayed at Hotel de La Gare - €43 room only.
Had breakfast and both
the woman and her husband were friendly so I don't think I offended
them too much. Did a quick bike check and lube and then hit the road.
It
was very cold and the dikes along the side of the road were totally
frozen. There were also lumps of ice randomly in the road which I
later realised had probably fallen off the tops of lorry trailers. The
start was slightly sheltered but I could really feel my legs
struggling after 2 long days. As soon as the road got more exposed it
was apparent the wind was coming from the east and it became a real
mental struggle to keep pedalling. After a while the road turned
almost due east and the wind was piercing the wind-proof front of my
bib tights including areas where I really rathered the wind to not
pierce. The road beared more south for a while and a break from a
full on head wind was almost pleasurable. The wind started dying down
and I cheered up quite a lot until I realised it was because I was
descending down behind a hill and the road was about to turn to go
back up it. The climb was painful and my legs would rather have been
doing something else but it was far less demoralising than the wind.
I got to the top and it levelled out for a bit before going down
again. And then up. And then down. This carried on all the way to
Bourbon Lancy where I was planning to stop for lunch. I arrived there
urgently in need of a break and grateful that I hadn't had to this
the night before.
I went into a café which was far too smoky and after hesitating ordered one of the the set menus. It was wonderful; a lovely fish gratin, followed by beef bourgogne with lumps of tender beef large enough to injure people with if thrown, vegetables and a pile of spaghetti so big that I was worried it would hurt if I finished it. When it didn't I ordered a Creme Brulée and waited for the top to stop sizzling and harden so I could crack it. The small jug of wine that came with the meal was proving a wonderful anaesthetic and I started feeling immensely happy with my lot even with the knowledge I had an afternoon of cycling either through undulating countryside or strong head winds. I sat around reading for a while with a coffee and then headed off. I meant to make a note of how much that feast had costed but forgot. I think it was about €14!
Started very gently as I was still quite full. My legs were still not happy but I was. I had seen signs for a cycle path along the river in Bourbon Lancy but had decided I was better off sticking to roads that were on the map and definitely made of concrete. I saw a roller blader on the path and that it was running parallel to the route I was on. Having been caught out by cycle paths before I stayed on the road until several kilometres later it was still there and there was a makeshift crossing across a ditch to get to it. I pushed my bike over the bridge and looked about. The path was very smooth and had rows of trees on both sides totally sheltering it from the wind. There were however lots of broken branches and debris on the floor and I remembered seeing something about storms on the weather forecast a few days earlier. Given the increased risk of a puncture or going back into a head wind I continued on the cycle path (and luckily avoided the puncture fairy). I had a pleasant 15km pootle until it ended and then headed across the Loire again to continue on a country lane that ran alongside a canal running parallel to the Loire. The road was well maintained, flat and straight. It was also exposed and I was back heading into the wind again. After a hard slog I arrived in Digoin at about 16:00. I had hoped in my 3 days to get to Roanne but that was 50 km on from here and I had had enough. I had a long list of hotels for the area and I knew that the trains ran from here to Lyon. I had a quick scout around and decided on a 3 star hotel because I deserved one. It was also near the station and didn't look as soulless as some station hotels.
The
proprietor looked like Arsene Wenger and was friendly. The hotel was
very nice with a marble looking floor and stair case in the lobby. I
tried very carefully to keep my weight on my heals and not my
cleats whilst walking over this. I went for an unenthusiastic walk
into the town having decided that Digoin was a pit on the way in. I
then realised that Digoin is beautiful but the ring road is
not. I went to the station to get my ticket to Lyon (€18.40)
and
there were a few trains available so
I opted for mid-afternoon rather than early morning. The hotel had a
very classy restaurant downstairs with pictures of the proprietor
with various dead things dressed in chef whites (he was dressed in chef
whites, not the dead things) and various
awards and certificates including something indicating he was an
"auteur de boeuf". Under normal circumstances I would have
been straight in there but was not in the mood for another big
meal so picked up some snack food and went back to the hotel
to
watch more TV and sleep.
Travelled 140 km at an average speed of 70 km/h (okay, this was by train). Staued at Hotel Altinéa - €52 including breakfast.
A lie in and then a slow start. I left my luggage in the hotel and sat by the Loire reading in the sun. I went for lunch in an Asian restaurant and went back to my bench near the river for more reading and French CDs.
I
went to the station and waited for my train. It was
going to be a local train and from my trip a few years ago knew that
these can sometimes be awkward to get bikes on and off. Before, there
were two of us so one person could pass the panniers and bikes up to
the other whilst making sure the doors didn't close but this time I
was going to have to get it all up in one go. The train pulled it and
it was very new. I saw a bike symbol and pushed my bike through the
door. There were a load of fold up seats so I rested my bike next to
them where it wouldn't block the passageway in the same way the bike
carriages work on some trains in the UK (South West Trains perhaps?).
I took the panniers off and started bungeeing it up to stop it moving
when I realised what I was supposed to be doing - there is a hoop on
the ceiling above the gap between each of the seats which you put
your front wheel in and then a slot between the seats themselves for
the back wheel to keep it steady. Genius.
The train journey was pleasant enough except for some school girls who were watching rap videos loudly on a lap top. One of the passengers went up to them to complain and if I had paid more attention to the reply I would have learnt several choice French swear words.
I tried a couple of hotels near Lyon Perrache station before getting in at Hotel Altinéa. I went out for a walk around Lyon, dinner and then back to the hotel to read and watch TV.
Travelled 55km by train to La Tour Du Pin. From there. cycled 76 km at an average speed of 18.2 km/h. Stayed at Formule 1 - €31.40 including breakfast.
I had a quick breakfast in the hotel then a quick scoot around Lyon to find a mobile phone charger for a newish model Sony Ericsson phone. Just because a phone says it's charging from your powered USB cable, doesn't mean that it is! The man in the first shop said that they didn't stock that kind of phone and I re-emphasised that I wanted a charger and not a phone. He repeated that they didn't have one. Whilst he had been looking up the model number I had been browsing through the phones on display and there was another phone with the same socket. I asked if he had a charger for that phone. He said they did. I said I would like to buy one. It is not for my phone he said. I sized up my opponent – he was not going to sell me a phone charger and seemed convinced that each phone model had its own charger type. I thanked him, and headed towards another phone shop down the road. Less than 3 minutes later I walked out with the correct charger.
I packed up and walked back to Lyon Perrache to catch a train to La Tour Du Pin around midday (bargain at €8.60). Managed to carry my bike and luggage up to the bridge that traversed the platforms before realising that I needed to carry it back down to the platform right next to where I had started. At this point a kind gentleman approached me and explained that there was a lift and pointed at my bike and then where the lift was. I thanked him and headed in the direction he had indicated pleased with myself for understanding someone talking at full speed. I had a look around but there was no lift. I dropped my head to think and saw my glove on the floor.
I got down to the platform and the train departed shortly thereafter. It was the same model as the one had brought me into Lyon and was comfortable and easy to access with my bike. I had a short conversation with a French gentleman about cycling and the merits of cycling in the country compared with the city. It wound down quite quickly when we both realised that a sentence clause was taking about 2 minutes to convey and involved a physically tiring amount of gesticulation.
As we neared La Tour Du Pin I could see patches of snow outside the train. This did not amuse me as we were still quite near sea level and I had 4 days of up to go. At around 13:00 I got off at the station which was about two-thirds of the way up a long steep hill. There was a quite a bit more snow but it was confined to the shaded side of the hill and as I descended into the town it cleared almost totally.
The
roads were
undulating but the mountains were in clear sight and looked very
beautiful. I was also heading straight for them which was daunting.
The N6 turned south east towards Les Echelles and climbed steeply
before descending into the town itself. After somehow getting lost I
continued north on the N6 up a steep and long climb which culminated
with a tunnel that cut through the mountain to Grottes Des Echelles.
It was incredible – it wasn't very long but the temperature
was
dropping noticeably as I went through. I went from warm sunshine to
cold shade as I emerged into the valley. Where there had been no snow
whatsoever, there was now snow piled up alongside the road. I put my
jacket on and looked out at the absolutely glorious Parc Naturel de
Charteuse around me.
The road continued to go up and I was getting a bit worried about making it to Chambery at the pace I was going. A cyclist pulled up beside me and asked me where I was heading and where I had come from. He told me that it was downhill all the way to Chambery (still some 20km away). I laughed and said goodbye as he zoomed off on his lightweight bike with a distinct lack of loaded panniers.
I turned the next corner and started to descend. I stopped descending at Chambery. The cyclist had not been mocking me. I was relieved and pootled through the town looking for somewhere to stay. I found the hotel mentioned in my guide but it was closed for another half hour. It was only 17:00 so I decided to head to Montmelian a bit further down the N6 so that I could just get going in the morning and not have to navigate through the town. I found a sign post for a bike route towards les Marches which was in the right direction for me and decided to head down it. I was getting tired and it would enforce a nice easy pace. I didn't have a street map either and so it was going to be hard to avoid the motorway if I followed road signs. It was a pleasant ride though pretty parks and I turned off at what I thought was the appropriate crossing over the motorway. After getting totally lost I managed to hit the N6 again. It was uninspiring and none of the few hotels I passed caught my eye. When I saw the Formule 1, I knew I had to give it a go as I was intrigued how cheap it was going to be, and what they sacrificed (or rather what I was going to) to get it so cheap. It was also next to a rustic looking restaurant.
I
pulled up to the
front and noted the Office of Tourism accreditation on the front
–
nil stars. I started entering my details into the computerised
check-in system but got buzzed in by a receptionist who checked me
in. I asked if there was
somewhere I could leave my bike and she said I could take it into my
room. I wheeled my bike and gear in and had a look around. Bunk bed,
window facing onto the N6 but quiet, TV, sink and desk. Perfectly
adequate though it did look like it was designed by Ronald McDonald.
The theme continued in the shared shower and toilet facilities, the
toilet itself being a continuously moulded affair and therefore no
seat but the signs stated that the whole unit was disinfected
automatically after each use. I wondered how it decided what was a
use and whether it could accidentally be tripped whilst I was still
in there. It seemed to work fine as it was always clean and never
cleaned me.
After a shower I walked over to the restaurant. It was indeed rustic. It was also closed and by the looks of it, last open some years before. I walked back a bit dejected and visited the vending machine in the hotel. Chocolate, biscuits and crisps wasn't the ideal food for exercise recovery but the Famous Five seemed to do well enough with it though maybe their secret was lashings of ginger beer. Watched some French TV before turning in early.
Was
up, fed and ready
to go by 9am. As I walked out the hotel I met an nice English man who
was on his way to some cycling anniversary event in Italy. We got
chatting and it turned out he knew the route I was taking very well.
I had nothing much to worry about in terms of terrain until the other
side of Modane
which was the nearest station to my destination. He was planning to
do as much of the Col du Telegraphe as the snow allowed on his way to
Italy.
We
parted company and I
headed on down the N6 at a nice easy pace. My plan was to stay at
either St Jean or St Michel du Marienne a bit further along depending
on what was available. That made for another very short day but I
couldn't
have guessed how easy it was - almost totally flat! The riding was
boring but the scenery made up for it. I stopped for an early lunch
at a small café and ordered a coffee and a sandwich. The
woman
behind the counter brought over my coffee and explained she would
have to go out to get some bread. There were several signs for
various bread based snacks outside and inside but it was a little
early, around 11:30 by memory. I had learnt my lesson from the
previous Sunday and didn't want to get caught out again without
something reasonable to eat. It was large and so I ate half and wrapped
up the
other half for later. I paid and headed off. My concern was now that
I was going to be too early for a hotel rather than struggling to get
there. I carried on at a light pace and even stopped after a hour in a
layby to read and eat the rest of my sandwich in the sun. I looked
at my guide book and there was a very good hotel in St Jean du
Marienne. Even though it was the nearer of my options I decided it
would be a better place to spend a long afternoon and checked into
the Hotel Restaurant du Nord. It was a lovely building with a clock
tower and a friendly greeting. The proprietor helped me lock up my
bike in the garage and I went up to look at my room. It was very nice
– clean, obviously, but nicely decorated and had a balcony
with a
lovely view. It was €48 but worth every cent.
I
showered and had a
wander around the town. It was very nice and home to Opinel knives.
The Opinel museum itself was shut but I managed to replace my knife
lost to customs in a nearby shop. I returned to the hotel and went
down for dinner. The dining room was a stone room that looked like an
old vault but was only slightly below ground level so the windows
were at street level. The food and wine were magnificent and I
happily gorged myself before rolling up to my room and passing out.
Travelled 30km at an average speed of 14.5 km/h. Stayed at Le Perce-Neige - €51.15 with breakfast
Today was to be a short day so whatever the terrain I was feeling pretty confident. I was even looking at the Col du Telegraphe on my map. Maybe I'll give it a quick look – I would just pick a granny gear, take it easy and turn round when I've had enough. I went down for breakfast which was large and fantastic. I departed late morning and was soon back on the N6. The going was a lot harder than the day before. My legs seemed heavier and there was a slight incline all the way. As I approached the road leading to the Col du Telegraph, I looked up at the mountain towering over me. “F@*k that”, I thought. I carried on down the road on another rather boring cycling day. For several kilometres I was in the shadow of the motorway where it was bitterly cold and there was snow piled up at the side of the road and still the odd patch of slush and ice on it. There was deep snow alongside the road as I approached Modane in the shade of a mountain.
I
trundled into Modane
only a few hours cycling, and stopped at a pizzeria to eat and
pass some time before trying to check into my hotel. As I was
finishing my main course, a man came in, asked for a table and was
told something along the lines of he was too late. An argument ensued
and he tried unsuccessfully to pull me in on his side. He finally
left hungry and angry and the waitress asked if I wanted dessert. I
asked if that was okay and hadn't she said that the man was too late?
She beamed, said something I don't think was very complimentary
about the man and took my order.
I
went to my hotel and
checked in. It was small, and quiet and was last decorated at some
point in the seventies judging by brown plastic padding on the doors.
It was pleasant enough though and the couple that ran it
very friendly. I unpacked, decided to take a stroll around town and
sort out my return train ticket to Paris for the following week.
There's not much to Modane which I guessed from the description of
the hotel in my hotel guide: "This is an ideal place for an
overnight stop in a town that is not sufficiently appealing for a
longer stay".
I went to the station and tried to book a ticket. I had checked online before I came out and knew there was at least one train on a Saturday that was direct to Paris and took bikes. At least, I thought I knew but the man in the ticket office knew better – there is no way to get back to Paris with a bike (I did check when I got home and he was perfectly correct, I had misread the timetable). He kindly spoke to a few other people and looked up the names and addresses of a couple of sports shops in town that might be able to sell me une housse (bike bag) or maybe an old bike box so that I could pack my bike away to get it on the train. I tried both the ones he gave me and the answer was predictably "non", they do not stock bikes or related items at this time of year. This was going to be a problem. I had bought a bike bag before coming out but after believing there to be a suitable train coming back, I had decided to leave it at home to save weight and space. I managed to get the number of SJS Cycles where I had bought it and asked if they had one in stock, and whether they could priority despatch it to France? The guy made a few enquiries and said that they could do it. I had a few days before I had to order and wasn't thrilled with having to fork out for another bag but at least I had one option. I returned to the station and booked the train which cost 90.20 Euro.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Nothing caught my eye in town so I got a Chinese takeaway and ate it in front of TV in the hotel. I had recalled a website where someone was describing a cycling trip in Japan and how they had improvised a bike bag with tarpaulin. I wasn't particularly hopeful of finding one so far from a large town but it was an idea.
Travelled 28km at an average speed of 13.2 km/h.
I had a lie in and headed down for breakfast. Nothing special but something special did happen – I understood my first native French sentence! It was only “do you want milk with your coffee?” but I understood every single word, not just grabbing hold of a couple of key words and context, but every single word! Buoyed by this victory I went back upstairs and got ready to make a move. After a week on the road on my own, I was now really looking forward to seeing my friends. I spoke to a few of them and they were not arriving until late afternoon. I hung around until midday and then set off.
As I got to the end of the town, I saw a largish DIY shop not quite shut for lunch. I locked up and legged it inside. I quickly found some garden tarpaulins, string and the ever essential gaffer tape. I loaded up the materials for my improvised housse and headed towards Lanslevilliard.
There
was now snow and
sometimes slush at the sides of the road all the time, with deeper
snow still lingering in shaded areas. The climb was not too steep but
a head wind made it feel so. The scenery was amazing and took
my mind off the slow progress I was making. After I while the terrain
evened out and I saw a fort I had remembered from the coach on
previous trips.
I
went through
Termignon and saw the chair lifts heading about the mountain, and
knew I was getting to a very steep part. From the village, the road
made several zigzags up the side of the mountain. I dropped down to
the lowest gear and headed for the first one where I could see a
track heading off that gave me room to stop off of the road. I got
there with my heart racing and rested for a few minutes. It was only
a few hundred metres of road, but I still struggled.
I looked up and saw the road twisting around to the left after a similar ascent. Once my breathing was settled, I set off up it. My legs were burning within a hundred metres but there was only mountain and one side, and crash barriers on the other so I could not safely stop. As I reached the turn, I looked down to my left down on to the chair lifts – it would have been a great photo to show the size of the climb had I been able to stop! As I rounded the corner I was depressed to see I still had another 30 or 40 metres to go before the crest but at least it was a little flatter. At that point though an incredibly strong wind hit me and I could barely keep the bike moving forward. I managed to get to the end of the crash barriers and rest. Even after I got over the crest of the hill and started descending towards Lanslebourg, it was a real effort to keep momentum. Fortunately the wind died down a bit as I reached the town and I trundled through and started the gentle climb up to Lanslevilliard. I turned into the village and powered up the steeper hill. I was drawing a bit of attention and even heard a few shouts of “Allez!” and “Bravo!”. As I dismounted a couple came over and enquired where I had come from and asked to have their picture taken with me. A quick beer and a few phone calls and I found out that my friends were already in our apartment so I headed over. And then, the Lateral ski trip began...
