August 27 St. Flour, southern part of the Massif Central. This is a temporary stop on our way, most likely, to Provence. After much discussion, some of it fairly heated, we have decided to head that direction and try to find an area where the biking suits all of us. R and I have learned important things from cycling in this mountainous area. Here is Robb's haiku on the subject:
Going up thighs burn,
Going down brakes burn:
Cycling in Massif Central!
The bike is heavy, the grades are intense, probably from 7 to 10% in some places. We labor going up; our granny gear is not as low as the granny on the Ks' bikes, undoubtedly because of the sheer weight of the tandem. They can sit and spin at as little as 3 mph and get up those grades. We labor at perhaps 5 mph, but going down, build up frightening momentum. That in itself is certainly no surprise to us after riding a tandem for 23 years. What is very upsetting is that our rear brakes do not seem to be engaging, despite a change of brake pads. I have been forced to pull with might and main on the rear drum brake which I control while Robb pulls the regular brakes. Yesterday at our lunch stop, the drum brake was scalding hot from the friction, and our front brake pads have worn down alarmingly. The rear brakes? Cool. It is nervewracking to face these long steep downhills, through hamlets or towns, with twists and turns, and having to coordinate the brakes to give us the minimum of control we have got to have.Therefore! We have decided, and so announced, that we want to ride on more gentle ups and downs, where the reward going down is something of a brief rest for the work of the up. Jane, however, like the long, steady and even steep climbs. The challenge now is to find a place where we can all find places to cycle, although not necessarily together at all times, as well as do some sightseeing.
Today enroute we stopped at a large sports emporium called Decathalon, a chain here in France, and bought new tires and tubes for Jane and Bruce's bikes, and two new sets of brakepads for the tandem. All were installed on the spot, and as a crazy treat, we walked across the parking lot to the McDonald's. For more than twice American prices we chomped down Big Macs, chicken sandwiches, hamburgers, and because there was a patisserie counter, two big chocolate chip cookies. Besides the patisserie counter, we found that the most notable differences were the better quality of the buns, and much larger "quarter pounders." The place was crammed with every sort of consumer. Saturday at the mall in France!
Backing up a little further, we began the morning with the teleferique ride up to the Puy de Sancy above Le Mont Dore, which peak is the highest place in the Massif Central (some 1,886 meters) and the origin of the Dordogne River. We climbed very high tho only Robb made it to the very top. It was windy, chilly, and the only other people there were German and they were all hiking. And monly 23 Eost of them with gray hair! On the way down in the tram, the attendant showed us a little building part way down where the Dore and the Dogne rivers join. That was fun!
At 9:45 pm: Oh boy! Probably our best dinner ever! What a surprise. This is a smallish three star (but not elegant) hotel in the newer district of the town below the historic center, and we just stayed in, so to speak, for dinner. But it was just wonderful. Everything so beautifully prepared, so delicious, and the service, wonderful. Robb raved over his boeuf borgonogne (sp?), me over my vegetable soup, Bruce over his fish, and everyone had a little bit of my cheese selection (4 kinds, collectively selected). The guys had sorbet and ice cream. Jane and I shared a half bottle of an St. Emilion 2005 wine, and our dinners were only $23E apiece. This was a treat. We have had an occasional dish that was really good, but no meal as outstanding as this.
August 26 Le Mont Dore; northern part of the Massif Central.
From the little balcony off of our room at the aptly named Panorama Hotel, I am resting ater two strenous days of mountain biking. Little Le Mont Dore is a resort town: spa (mineral baths are big), hiking, skiing. Only about 5 streets wide, it sits in a deep canyon underneath towering cliffs. A small stream runs through town, and it turns out to be the great Dordogne River, one of several great French rivers (including the Loire) that are born in the Massif Central. Just above us at a site we hope to visit tomorrow by tramway, the Dore and the Dogne rivers join and cascade down into the town on their way west. Our first ever bike trip, in 1997, was in the Perigord region, home to the Dordogne. So we have in a way come full circle.
This area is just beautiful. Old volcanic cones worn down by time are covered at the higher levels with pastureland and dotted with cattle. Lower down are forests, streams and rivers. The vistas are huge, so big that from the side of one mountain, the cows on the other side look like tiny dots. There are no highways here! The roads are two lane and wind and twist their way through. Americans don't come here, but the French sure do, and so, I think, do the Germans. There are hikers everywhere these days, and even the littlest kids have their own hiking sticks. Camping spots and picnic pulloffs abound. In this town, the lame and the halt take advantage of the waters. The French are enjoying their national heritage. Good for them!
The biking here is a challenge! We found a bike map when we arrived hee two nights ago, and after much cogitation - and without really knowing much about the area - we chose a "medium difficulty" route slightly northwest of here. We never expected to be able to do the entire 70K route (42 ml; 1K=.6ml) although by the end of a very looong day, we had done 58K (about 34 miles!). But the altitude gains were tremendous and the route was all up or all down. I estimate that about 75% of our time was spent climbing, 20% on screaming downhills, and the other 5% on something resembling flat. The ride began with a 10K climb out of a little town up to a gorgeous pass; this took an hour. After that a very fast and long downhill to another town. From then on, up-down-up-down and so on. These little villages, or settlements, are often situated on streams or rivers - thus, the "down", but once you pass through, it's all up to the pastures above. The views could not be more gorgeous, and once we got used to it, we accepted the terrain in an "it is what it is" frame of mind. One pleasant interlude came in a little farm town, at the central fountain. A large black dog came up to make friends and be scratched. Then a jovial young farm-type came out with watering can to fill up at the fountain. He, with my help, got the dog into the fountain (the dog was eager but timid) and that was fun. The monsieur poured water over Robb's head to help him cool off. I love these kinds of friendly exchanges. This one made me remember on that trip to Perigord, how I was cycling by myself back from a town where we had gone to see the Tour de France peleton ride through. It was incredibly HOT, and I stopped along the road for a cold Coke. The owner was watering his flowers with the hose. He held it up before me with a "Want some?" gesture, and I gratefully accepted being hosed down! With a Merci Monsieur, I headed back to the hotel, where I dove immediately, clothes and all, into the pool.
Well, we felt quite victorious when we got back to the car yesterday. It had taken us about 6 hours to ride 58K, and we were tired, but it felt wonderful to have done it. We celebrated with a nicer than usual dinner at a local restaurant.
Today, another story. The route we chose was labeled "Facile" (easy) and only 36 K. Beautiful territory, again, but Jane left her waistpack at our picnic spot along the way, and Bruce got a flat tire - and then, a second one on the same wheel. Jane didn't notice the missing waistpack until after the first flat. To make a long story very short, she had to cycle back on a very tough "up" to look for it, while Robb and I took off on a shortcut back to retrieve the car. Bruce was left waiting for all of us. The good thing is that Jane found the waistpack. Someone had put it on top of the picnic table (she had left it on the bench) and absolutely nothing was missing. How wonderful! The bad news? R and I had to ride a continuous climb for some 6 miles before the short "down" to the car. The relentless "up", while not particularly steep, was hot and very tiring. R was pushing because he didn't want the Ks to have to wait too long. We managed to get to the car in an hour, completely exhausted. Threw the tandem in the car and drove back down to retrieve the Ks. It is now clear that the tire that blew is defective and needs to be replaced and that we must find a bike shop. And a good one. That ... will be our next priority.
It's not easy for us to know exactly how much elevation gain we have done on these rides. However, by carefully scrutinizing a number of maps, R thinks that in yesterday's ride, the gain was as much as 4,500 feet. In other words, all of the "up" distance together probably amounted to that much. Just the first climb up the the pass could have been, he thinks, 1,200'. The bike map itself listed a gain of 1,800 meters for the whole 70K ride, which we did 58K of. Today, certainly less, but that final ride that R and I did: whew! I'm a lucky kid that he is so strong!
We are discussing where to go next. It may be Provence, where none of us have been. Or it may be an area close to the Pyrennes, where the Ks have cycled before. That would be mountains, but they assure us that it is long, more gradual climbs rather than the short, steep ones we've done these last two days. Whichever it is, we welcome a day off the bike! We will hunt for a bike shop on the way, and bike again once we land at our next destination
We have made a running joke out of a quotation in my Rough Guide, which noted the particular charms of the natural waters in a nearby spa town: Apparently the tourist brochure for the town states: "You will be able to put your vital node to rest in Bourboule." As to what exactly might be my vital node, I can't be sure. But you can bet we are working on a haiku on the subject! Meanwhile here is one which captures my view on the difference between French and American approaches to food:
Le pain francais:
le baguette, le boule, le croissant.
Ya want fries with that?
Friday, August 27, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
And the cycling begins
Aug 19 A short summary of a strenuous travel day: Paris-Blois, or Cabs, Trains and Automobiles
Good: cabs arrive promptly at hotel, loaded efficiently, take off for train station
Bad: Kenamores get dropped by sartorially elegant (suit/tie) cab driver in bowels of station opposite where B/Gs are dropped, in FRONT
Worse: Jane becomes hopelessly lost in search for B/Gs; Bruce and B wait biting lips by mounds of luggage until R's roaming encounters Jane going figuratively up the down staircase, leads her out of bowels of station and all are joyously reunited.
So-so: brief encounter with ticket machine finally results in stamped ticket. Off to train:
Good: Train upholds French reputation for superb service by leaving exactly on time.
Better: We have not just entire compartment, but entire railcar, to ourselves! Train arrives in Orleans - exactly on time. See prior comment.
Mediocre: Stoop to Subway sandwiches in view of time and ease of comsumption.
Good: Avis station in RR station, helpful attendant pulls up chariot, we load up and drive to main Avis terminal for processing. Chariot is largest van Avis rents: think of a sawed off.Sprinter.
Also good: We have half a parking lot to unload crates and assemble bikes. Takes 2+ hours. Weather most cooperative.
Excellent: Bikes fit in van, front wheels removed on K's bikes; front/rear tires plus front 1/3 removed from The Beast, luggage stowed in 3rd seat. Off we go.
Nice: drive through small towns to Blois.
Bad bad: Jane yells Stop Stop Stop at driver Robb trying to find hotel on roadside signs in Blois. This is in the middle of a medieval city with narrow lanes, turn lanes, whizzing traffic. R gets mad. Go around again - ah - there it is: Anne de Bretagne. Pull up to old-style three story hotel with plenty of parking. Relief. Leave bikes in car. Check in. Walk to dinner.
Good: simple dinner at cafe,
Very good: Cafe upholds French reputation for good wine by providing a delicious demi-pichet of merlot for 6 euros. We suck it down.
Bad and good: We are exhausted. It is late. We collapse in bed.
FIN
Aug. 20 After two days of "adventure cycling."
Repeat after me: "It's not about distance, it's not about distance, it's not about distance..." We have cycled through such beautiful country, starting out on a bikepath along the wide, shallow, slow-moving and beautiful Loire. But as Robb noted last night: "I think we're going to get lost a lot on this trip." This is definitely biking country. It's also a UNESCO World Heritage site. The French advertise it and it's full of all kinds of people from all kinds of places on all kinds of bikes, many of them touring and fully loaded. But the maps and reality do not always match, and you are unexpectedly at an unmarked crossroad with nothing but your sense of direction and intuition to lead you. Hence it takes a lot longer to actually get to a destination than you imagined. With four of us, not always agreeing on the right direction, this can be somewhat tense. And yesterday, we split off on our way to the mother of all chateaus (Chambord), each couple convinced they knew the way. All ended well awhile later since we all eventually got to the correct path and arrived at the chateau within minutes of each other. So we have agreed that when in doubt - evidence is to rule! Each shall present his/her evidence and the majority shall decide whicyh way!
I can attest that Chambord is one hell of a structure, an enormous pile of stone built for Louis XIV centuries ago as a "hunting lodge" and used but rarely actually inhabited by many royals in following year. (It's got more turrets, chimneys, and generally pointy features than I've ever seen on one structure, and the keep, or central part, has an immense spiral staircase of stone--in a double helix). One royal owner, to impress, would escort a huge entourage to the chateau for a few days of hunting, and upon departure, break down and remove all the furniture until visiting again. The only guy who actually lived at Chambord for any time was exiled there. The grounds are fabulous, of course, but mais oui, what a prison!
Today we took the other way down the river to Amboise, location of the house where Leonardo da Vinci spent his last days (who knew? In France?). Unfortunately, it took us so long to get underway, and to get there (rest stop and lunch stop on the way), that upon arrival R and I decided to hop the train back to Blois in order to find an open bike shop (keep reading). So the K's went on to the chateau and took a later train back.
Train adventure: Managed to find the train station (very well signed in this country) and buy a ticket, told them we had a bike but not ... um ... the size. Train arrived spot on time (of course), but, where to get on. Long train headed to Paris. We saw a guy with a bike and ran with him to a second class car. He pointed to a door, we heaved the bike on just in time. He spoke good English, said we would be fine. Only one extra stop, 20 minutes, OK. Well, maybe, but we happened to be completely blocking the passage between cars.Totally. For each of the 3 ladies who wanted access to the Toilettes, Robb reared the bike up like a steed and they good naturedly passed under. The three gendarmes kindly stepped over the rear bar. Tout bien, apparently. The intermediate stop occurred without incident, but mon Dieu! No sooner were we on our way than The Boss showed up, a fat slightly officious Conductor who clearly did not like our position! But Monsieur, we don't speak French! Here is our ticket! We are getting off at Blois! After some muttering and teeth gnashing, he left us alone (and silently smirking to ourselves - if he had not been so officious we might have felt a little guillty, but there wasn't time because we were soon in Blois). To be fair, now, I must mention that as we walked down the platform, we did see that the last car of the train was for Velos. Next time, if there is one, we shall be informed!
The countryside is so beautiful, large fields of sunflowers hanging their heads of heavy seeds, corn, sorghum, rows of airy asparagas hedges, vineyards, vegetables, and flowers flowers flowers! We see tidy vegetable gardens with bright orange pumpkins and ripe tomatoes hanging off the vine. Huge planters in the towns are exploding with flowers, carefully tended arrangements at the height of form and color. Here they enjoy mixing flowers of many colors and habits. In some places we see fields or roadsides with cosmos and other wildflowers mixed in. The towns often have very old churches, narrow winding lanes, old stone buildings with wooden shutters, and very few people actually in evidence. We have also seen surprisingly few farm animals. The French adore their dogs, of course, even taking them into restaurants, but for a country that lives on cheese, it is surprising we have not seen cows or goats. In general, though, all is in order in the Val de Loire!
We are still in the shakedown phase in terms of cycling, trying to get organized and on the road before lunch! Part of it is just getting the bikes together. This morning Jane's rear tire was flat. Before that Jane and I took off walking lookiing for a market "just five minutes walk" from the hotel. Perhaps, if someone also mentions that you have to go over a bridge to get to it. Finally found it and bought stuff for lunch because the day before, we couldn't find any open market on the road, only a restaurant where we finally settled for lunch. It's not the cost since you can get a three course lunch for 12 E or so, but the delay. The French do love their food and covet a leisurely meal, but if you want to get anywhere and see anything, you need to do it yourself. Add to that the summer vacation, where many shops are closed for weeks, and you can see our challenge. So this is something we are still getting a grip on. Add to that the need to replenish water on the road - just another small challenge...
Speaking of vacation, the French are just as out here as everyone else, and we have seen hundreds and hundreds of RVs - they are everywhere. Much smaller than in the US, big enough for a family of four, and a few look like they can handle six. But none of the ersatz buses that we see, which never in a million years could navigate these towns! All the RVs are about the size of a small class B (Robb thinks that is just right), and we have yet to see a slideout......
Bike: R has been concerned about one of the cables on the bike and so today we set out to find the bike shop in town. Ferme until next week! Now what? What do you do when you don't know the town or the language? Well, you sit down and have a cold drink and people-watch and think about it. (Noticed a coin-operated dispenser of condoms hanging off the pharmacie. As R noted, in France in August, you may be dying of a life threatening emergency, but the pharmacie will remain closed for vacation. Sex, however, never takes a vacation... ) Anyway, you review the options, all bad. You are relieved that the bike is working for now but you worry about the future. Cycling back to the hotel, however, we found a tiny place with a lot of rental bikes in front. Voila! The nice young man produced a cable, a cable cutter, worked with Robb to make the repair, and sold us two new brake pads as well. What great relief!
As for how we ourselves are functioning on the bike, I would say well. Not many real hills here, though a few climbs out of the valley here and there, with eventual swoops back down through tiny towns with narrow streets to the river. Feels good to be out in the sun and fresh air, getting some exercise and loving the scenery. A haiku:
Cycliing by the Loire,
Each village is a postcard
We get lost again.
The wine: does not disappoint! For a few euros, a demi-pichet worth several glasses of local wine can be yours. My wine last night was a deep red verging on purple, and the taste: Mon Dieu!
The language is beginning to stick to my ears. I 'm getting the sound and the rhythm, and I enjoy the mandatory politesse of the salutations, pleases and thank yous that make this world go round.
Aug. 21 Sancerre
A small but dramatic hilltop town more like those in Tuscany, settled since Roman times. Known for wine. We drove through Amboise on the way and stopped for R and me to go through the chateau where Da Vinci lived. Knowing Robb's interest in things mechanical, the Ks really encouraged us to stop. It was nice because the chateau/museum has loads of Da Vinci's drawings and a whole floor of models, made by IBM (yes) from his drawings with materials that would have been at hand in his time. In addition the large garden of the chateau has life-size models of many of these machines that people can get on, in, or operate themselves. Our drive to Sancerre was beautiful, much of it along the Cher River. Close to Sancerre the view widened out and we could see miles of rolling farmland, most of it fallow fields which appeared to be wheat or hay. I had just asked: Where were the vineyards that Sancerre is so famous for, when we dropped over a rise and there they were spread out in front of us as far as the eye could see! And in the middle, this medieval Hershey's kiss of a town! We had some very tense moments driving up into the town in search of our hotel. The Centre Ville is a tangle of very narrow, winding streets - a wrong turn and you will be backing up, not turning around. We took one corner so tight, to get our long and wide van around, that Robb had to get out to direct and even so, we ran up on a curb. We made the turn with a couple inches to spare. Eventually and with great relief we found our hotel (good one!) and gratefully settled in. To cap off the day, a concert in the Notre Dame church this evening: an organ recital followed by a Belgian group playng and singing medieval music. Their encore was a piece that R and I have sung many times: Alle Sallite. Hard not to sing along! Medieval music in a stone church in a medieval town. What's that the ad says? Priceless!
R has just discovered an ad in an Atlantic he brought along, shows a luggage tag with the name: Barbara B. Geiger! Ad for Flexjet (?).
Aug. 23 (I think) This is Monday. We have just had a very nice ride along the Loire. The bike path was mostly crushed gravel, which means a leisurely pace, and there was no one on it. On the way to the path we happened upon a German couple (from Trier: I went to New Trier high school) going the other way, toward Orleans and had a very nice chat. These European bikers have it made - they virtually fall out their front doors into wonderful biking territory, and they certainly take advantage of it. The clouds were low, gray and threatening, and a wind was blowing, but we never got more than a brief sprinkle. We ate our cheese and bread at the side of the Loire, contemplating the river, the clouds, the wind, and a small white heron hunched over on a sand bar. A few people were out paddling yellow canoes. On the way back we decided to take a road and it turned out to be a nice one - pretty, not much traffic, with just enough ups and downs to make it interesting. The climb up to Sancerre was tough but rewarding: a 3-4 K steady climb with the view of medieval Sancerre above and a broad panorama of beautiful vineyards slowly retreating below. Now, at 4:30, it's raining.
My father would approve: I have just washed my entire outfit of the day, top to bottom, inside and out, in the sink.
Yesterday, Sunday, we were wakened at 7 by claps of thunder, flashes of lightning through the curtains and rain. R and I took off driving back to Blois with two goals: retrieve a skirt I left at the hotel there (oops) and see a chateau called Cheverny. I was very interested in seeing it because the guidebook said it was not only beautiful, but has been inhabited, and owned, by the same family since it was built in 1624-1640. It was a wonderful visit! It's a beautiful white stone building surrounded by vast lawns and shade trees, and the public rooms are beautifully decorated and clearly explained to visitors. Furthermore, the family still owns some 100 hunting dogs - hounds - and we saw these in their kennels sleeping together in big piles or leisurely stretching and walking around. Apparently they are fed at 5 pm daily, a spectacle. which the public can witness. Unfortunately we decided we had to get back to Sancerre, a considerable drive because there is no direct route. As it turned out, thousands of French tourists were on their way home. In one small city we went through, we passed by the tollroad back to Paris and it was a parking lot! The line of cars going the other way to get on the tollroad was astonishing. Fortunately, we got through ourselves without incident and came back to Sancerre in time for dinner and the K's stories of cycling on some very scary white roads outside of Sancerre. They made it up some murderous grades and lived to tell about it, but Jane was so exhausted she barely made it through dinner!
Robb's haiku about the standard French breakfast:
Petit dejuener-
Bread, croissant, coffee, juice, jam.
Careful with Jane's cheese!
I (B) have a haiku forming about food. It's not exactly right yet. Stay tuned...
Good: cabs arrive promptly at hotel, loaded efficiently, take off for train station
Bad: Kenamores get dropped by sartorially elegant (suit/tie) cab driver in bowels of station opposite where B/Gs are dropped, in FRONT
Worse: Jane becomes hopelessly lost in search for B/Gs; Bruce and B wait biting lips by mounds of luggage until R's roaming encounters Jane going figuratively up the down staircase, leads her out of bowels of station and all are joyously reunited.
So-so: brief encounter with ticket machine finally results in stamped ticket. Off to train:
Good: Train upholds French reputation for superb service by leaving exactly on time.
Better: We have not just entire compartment, but entire railcar, to ourselves! Train arrives in Orleans - exactly on time. See prior comment.
Mediocre: Stoop to Subway sandwiches in view of time and ease of comsumption.
Good: Avis station in RR station, helpful attendant pulls up chariot, we load up and drive to main Avis terminal for processing. Chariot is largest van Avis rents: think of a sawed off.Sprinter.
Also good: We have half a parking lot to unload crates and assemble bikes. Takes 2+ hours. Weather most cooperative.
Excellent: Bikes fit in van, front wheels removed on K's bikes; front/rear tires plus front 1/3 removed from The Beast, luggage stowed in 3rd seat. Off we go.
Nice: drive through small towns to Blois.
Bad bad: Jane yells Stop Stop Stop at driver Robb trying to find hotel on roadside signs in Blois. This is in the middle of a medieval city with narrow lanes, turn lanes, whizzing traffic. R gets mad. Go around again - ah - there it is: Anne de Bretagne. Pull up to old-style three story hotel with plenty of parking. Relief. Leave bikes in car. Check in. Walk to dinner.
Good: simple dinner at cafe,
Very good: Cafe upholds French reputation for good wine by providing a delicious demi-pichet of merlot for 6 euros. We suck it down.
Bad and good: We are exhausted. It is late. We collapse in bed.
FIN
Aug. 20 After two days of "adventure cycling."
Repeat after me: "It's not about distance, it's not about distance, it's not about distance..." We have cycled through such beautiful country, starting out on a bikepath along the wide, shallow, slow-moving and beautiful Loire. But as Robb noted last night: "I think we're going to get lost a lot on this trip." This is definitely biking country. It's also a UNESCO World Heritage site. The French advertise it and it's full of all kinds of people from all kinds of places on all kinds of bikes, many of them touring and fully loaded. But the maps and reality do not always match, and you are unexpectedly at an unmarked crossroad with nothing but your sense of direction and intuition to lead you. Hence it takes a lot longer to actually get to a destination than you imagined. With four of us, not always agreeing on the right direction, this can be somewhat tense. And yesterday, we split off on our way to the mother of all chateaus (Chambord), each couple convinced they knew the way. All ended well awhile later since we all eventually got to the correct path and arrived at the chateau within minutes of each other. So we have agreed that when in doubt - evidence is to rule! Each shall present his/her evidence and the majority shall decide whicyh way!
I can attest that Chambord is one hell of a structure, an enormous pile of stone built for Louis XIV centuries ago as a "hunting lodge" and used but rarely actually inhabited by many royals in following year. (It's got more turrets, chimneys, and generally pointy features than I've ever seen on one structure, and the keep, or central part, has an immense spiral staircase of stone--in a double helix). One royal owner, to impress, would escort a huge entourage to the chateau for a few days of hunting, and upon departure, break down and remove all the furniture until visiting again. The only guy who actually lived at Chambord for any time was exiled there. The grounds are fabulous, of course, but mais oui, what a prison!
Today we took the other way down the river to Amboise, location of the house where Leonardo da Vinci spent his last days (who knew? In France?). Unfortunately, it took us so long to get underway, and to get there (rest stop and lunch stop on the way), that upon arrival R and I decided to hop the train back to Blois in order to find an open bike shop (keep reading). So the K's went on to the chateau and took a later train back.
Train adventure: Managed to find the train station (very well signed in this country) and buy a ticket, told them we had a bike but not ... um ... the size. Train arrived spot on time (of course), but, where to get on. Long train headed to Paris. We saw a guy with a bike and ran with him to a second class car. He pointed to a door, we heaved the bike on just in time. He spoke good English, said we would be fine. Only one extra stop, 20 minutes, OK. Well, maybe, but we happened to be completely blocking the passage between cars.Totally. For each of the 3 ladies who wanted access to the Toilettes, Robb reared the bike up like a steed and they good naturedly passed under. The three gendarmes kindly stepped over the rear bar. Tout bien, apparently. The intermediate stop occurred without incident, but mon Dieu! No sooner were we on our way than The Boss showed up, a fat slightly officious Conductor who clearly did not like our position! But Monsieur, we don't speak French! Here is our ticket! We are getting off at Blois! After some muttering and teeth gnashing, he left us alone (and silently smirking to ourselves - if he had not been so officious we might have felt a little guillty, but there wasn't time because we were soon in Blois). To be fair, now, I must mention that as we walked down the platform, we did see that the last car of the train was for Velos. Next time, if there is one, we shall be informed!
The countryside is so beautiful, large fields of sunflowers hanging their heads of heavy seeds, corn, sorghum, rows of airy asparagas hedges, vineyards, vegetables, and flowers flowers flowers! We see tidy vegetable gardens with bright orange pumpkins and ripe tomatoes hanging off the vine. Huge planters in the towns are exploding with flowers, carefully tended arrangements at the height of form and color. Here they enjoy mixing flowers of many colors and habits. In some places we see fields or roadsides with cosmos and other wildflowers mixed in. The towns often have very old churches, narrow winding lanes, old stone buildings with wooden shutters, and very few people actually in evidence. We have also seen surprisingly few farm animals. The French adore their dogs, of course, even taking them into restaurants, but for a country that lives on cheese, it is surprising we have not seen cows or goats. In general, though, all is in order in the Val de Loire!
We are still in the shakedown phase in terms of cycling, trying to get organized and on the road before lunch! Part of it is just getting the bikes together. This morning Jane's rear tire was flat. Before that Jane and I took off walking lookiing for a market "just five minutes walk" from the hotel. Perhaps, if someone also mentions that you have to go over a bridge to get to it. Finally found it and bought stuff for lunch because the day before, we couldn't find any open market on the road, only a restaurant where we finally settled for lunch. It's not the cost since you can get a three course lunch for 12 E or so, but the delay. The French do love their food and covet a leisurely meal, but if you want to get anywhere and see anything, you need to do it yourself. Add to that the summer vacation, where many shops are closed for weeks, and you can see our challenge. So this is something we are still getting a grip on. Add to that the need to replenish water on the road - just another small challenge...
Speaking of vacation, the French are just as out here as everyone else, and we have seen hundreds and hundreds of RVs - they are everywhere. Much smaller than in the US, big enough for a family of four, and a few look like they can handle six. But none of the ersatz buses that we see, which never in a million years could navigate these towns! All the RVs are about the size of a small class B (Robb thinks that is just right), and we have yet to see a slideout......
Bike: R has been concerned about one of the cables on the bike and so today we set out to find the bike shop in town. Ferme until next week! Now what? What do you do when you don't know the town or the language? Well, you sit down and have a cold drink and people-watch and think about it. (Noticed a coin-operated dispenser of condoms hanging off the pharmacie. As R noted, in France in August, you may be dying of a life threatening emergency, but the pharmacie will remain closed for vacation. Sex, however, never takes a vacation... ) Anyway, you review the options, all bad. You are relieved that the bike is working for now but you worry about the future. Cycling back to the hotel, however, we found a tiny place with a lot of rental bikes in front. Voila! The nice young man produced a cable, a cable cutter, worked with Robb to make the repair, and sold us two new brake pads as well. What great relief!
As for how we ourselves are functioning on the bike, I would say well. Not many real hills here, though a few climbs out of the valley here and there, with eventual swoops back down through tiny towns with narrow streets to the river. Feels good to be out in the sun and fresh air, getting some exercise and loving the scenery. A haiku:
Cycliing by the Loire,
Each village is a postcard
We get lost again.
The wine: does not disappoint! For a few euros, a demi-pichet worth several glasses of local wine can be yours. My wine last night was a deep red verging on purple, and the taste: Mon Dieu!
The language is beginning to stick to my ears. I 'm getting the sound and the rhythm, and I enjoy the mandatory politesse of the salutations, pleases and thank yous that make this world go round.
Aug. 21 Sancerre
A small but dramatic hilltop town more like those in Tuscany, settled since Roman times. Known for wine. We drove through Amboise on the way and stopped for R and me to go through the chateau where Da Vinci lived. Knowing Robb's interest in things mechanical, the Ks really encouraged us to stop. It was nice because the chateau/museum has loads of Da Vinci's drawings and a whole floor of models, made by IBM (yes) from his drawings with materials that would have been at hand in his time. In addition the large garden of the chateau has life-size models of many of these machines that people can get on, in, or operate themselves. Our drive to Sancerre was beautiful, much of it along the Cher River. Close to Sancerre the view widened out and we could see miles of rolling farmland, most of it fallow fields which appeared to be wheat or hay. I had just asked: Where were the vineyards that Sancerre is so famous for, when we dropped over a rise and there they were spread out in front of us as far as the eye could see! And in the middle, this medieval Hershey's kiss of a town! We had some very tense moments driving up into the town in search of our hotel. The Centre Ville is a tangle of very narrow, winding streets - a wrong turn and you will be backing up, not turning around. We took one corner so tight, to get our long and wide van around, that Robb had to get out to direct and even so, we ran up on a curb. We made the turn with a couple inches to spare. Eventually and with great relief we found our hotel (good one!) and gratefully settled in. To cap off the day, a concert in the Notre Dame church this evening: an organ recital followed by a Belgian group playng and singing medieval music. Their encore was a piece that R and I have sung many times: Alle Sallite. Hard not to sing along! Medieval music in a stone church in a medieval town. What's that the ad says? Priceless!
R has just discovered an ad in an Atlantic he brought along, shows a luggage tag with the name: Barbara B. Geiger! Ad for Flexjet (?).
Aug. 23 (I think) This is Monday. We have just had a very nice ride along the Loire. The bike path was mostly crushed gravel, which means a leisurely pace, and there was no one on it. On the way to the path we happened upon a German couple (from Trier: I went to New Trier high school) going the other way, toward Orleans and had a very nice chat. These European bikers have it made - they virtually fall out their front doors into wonderful biking territory, and they certainly take advantage of it. The clouds were low, gray and threatening, and a wind was blowing, but we never got more than a brief sprinkle. We ate our cheese and bread at the side of the Loire, contemplating the river, the clouds, the wind, and a small white heron hunched over on a sand bar. A few people were out paddling yellow canoes. On the way back we decided to take a road and it turned out to be a nice one - pretty, not much traffic, with just enough ups and downs to make it interesting. The climb up to Sancerre was tough but rewarding: a 3-4 K steady climb with the view of medieval Sancerre above and a broad panorama of beautiful vineyards slowly retreating below. Now, at 4:30, it's raining.
My father would approve: I have just washed my entire outfit of the day, top to bottom, inside and out, in the sink.
Yesterday, Sunday, we were wakened at 7 by claps of thunder, flashes of lightning through the curtains and rain. R and I took off driving back to Blois with two goals: retrieve a skirt I left at the hotel there (oops) and see a chateau called Cheverny. I was very interested in seeing it because the guidebook said it was not only beautiful, but has been inhabited, and owned, by the same family since it was built in 1624-1640. It was a wonderful visit! It's a beautiful white stone building surrounded by vast lawns and shade trees, and the public rooms are beautifully decorated and clearly explained to visitors. Furthermore, the family still owns some 100 hunting dogs - hounds - and we saw these in their kennels sleeping together in big piles or leisurely stretching and walking around. Apparently they are fed at 5 pm daily, a spectacle. which the public can witness. Unfortunately we decided we had to get back to Sancerre, a considerable drive because there is no direct route. As it turned out, thousands of French tourists were on their way home. In one small city we went through, we passed by the tollroad back to Paris and it was a parking lot! The line of cars going the other way to get on the tollroad was astonishing. Fortunately, we got through ourselves without incident and came back to Sancerre in time for dinner and the K's stories of cycling on some very scary white roads outside of Sancerre. They made it up some murderous grades and lived to tell about it, but Jane was so exhausted she barely made it through dinner!
Robb's haiku about the standard French breakfast:
Petit dejuener-
Bread, croissant, coffee, juice, jam.
Careful with Jane's cheese!
I (B) have a haiku forming about food. It's not exactly right yet. Stay tuned...
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Paris
Aug. 15 We made it, and best of all, so did the bike. One person at O'Hare asked what was in those boxes, and especially, were there any liquids. Robb thought it was a ridiculous question, most of all because they don't ask that question of people who check regular luggage. Anyway - they heaved them onto the belt and sent them through. On the other end, we spent an anxious time waiting for them to appear. Finally they were wheeled out in solitary splendor on a separate trolley, safe and sound with the exception of one small "pimple" poked slightly out from inside by an axle. Everything appears safe and sound, so now we can anticipate the next stage of our private Tour de France.
Paris skies seep.
We walk through sodden streets
To closed museums.
It is seriously raining in Paris, which is a sea of umbrellas capping an eclectic assortment of clothing and languages--it made me think of that impressionist painting of Paris in the rain (whose was it, again?). The Parisians may not be here, but plenty of other people are. This afternoon we hiked under our own umbrellas through the Ile St. Louis to the Right Bank, only to find that, today being the Feast of the Assumption - and this being a largely Catholic country - our target museum was shut up tight. Back to Notre Dame for another surprise. Not the normal Sunday afternoon free organ concert but a huge mass piped through earthshaking speakers to the square in front, masses of people under umbrellas waiting in lines (for what?) or just milling around. It was that kind of day, a milling around day with everyone trying to find something to do in a sodden city with almost everything closed. Eventually, back near our Left Bank hotel, we were rewarded with the sight and sound of a procession of pilgrims (ordinary citizens, really, under ... well, you know ...). We ended the day in a tiny cafe feasting on a HUGE salad, HUGE sandwich, and a lip.smacking onion soup. Much more food than we expected, but so, so good after a tiring day!
Aug. 17 We succesfully reunited with the Kenamores. Their hard sided bike cases arrived intact although TSA opened them at O'Hare and failed to close one correctly. So this morning Bruce, with the aid of The Horse (his nickname for Robb), managed to wrestle it closed; all is well. Until tomorrow anyway when we take on our next leg, train to Orleans, cab to rental van (will it really be big enough - R worries...), van to bike shop (will they store our bike cases for 3 weeks?), and on to destination Blois.
Great walking tour of Montmartre yesterday! Young John Paul, guide, was from St. Louis, specifically from where Jane and Bruce grew up, so much comparing of notes about that. Really enjoyed the many anecdotes about famous artists who lived, drank, smoked, ingested various other mind-altering substances, and slept their way through short but super-creative lives. Few seem to have survived through their 30s, a notable exception being Picasso, who lived in a closet of a place in Montmarte for 8 impoverished years. His obsession with art must have outweighed the potential for addiction. Although he certainly indulged the id along with the ego!
Today we did the one thing that Jane wanted to do: go to the map store. This is an amazing place! The ground floor is full of guidebooks for every country you could name; the basement is nothing but maps, including one whole room of nothing but maps of France. Every square meter of France is in a map in that room, at a scale of 1:25,000, all topographic from the French Academy of Geography. I wish we had stores like that in the U.S.
A note about bicycles: the much touted Velib program is much in evidence. Stands of as many as 20 bikes, perhaps more, each attached to its own post, are conveniently located here on the Left Bank, home of the Sorbonne. The bikes are sturdy, with front wire baskets and fenders front and back, all one speed. They have to be sturdy! We just witnessed a young man kicking the seat handle repeatedly to loosen it when he couldn't manage to twist it by hand. Just needed to adjust it to his height. There are marked bike lanes along the river, and elsewhere. Curiously, lanes in very narrow streets in Montmarte had bikes going OPPOSITE the traffic. Strange!
No one can arrange a scarf like a Parisian woman......
The weather teases with a taste of sun before retreating to gray. Although the rain is mostly gone. John Paul said: August 15, Feast of the Assumption, is something of a French groundhog day. That is to say: the weather that day predicts with considerable accuracy the weather for the rest of summer. Not good news! That would mean cool, gray or even rainy weather ahead! Cool for biking: OK. Gray for biking: tolerable. Rain for biking: Non!
Paris skies seep.
We walk through sodden streets
To closed museums.
It is seriously raining in Paris, which is a sea of umbrellas capping an eclectic assortment of clothing and languages--it made me think of that impressionist painting of Paris in the rain (whose was it, again?). The Parisians may not be here, but plenty of other people are. This afternoon we hiked under our own umbrellas through the Ile St. Louis to the Right Bank, only to find that, today being the Feast of the Assumption - and this being a largely Catholic country - our target museum was shut up tight. Back to Notre Dame for another surprise. Not the normal Sunday afternoon free organ concert but a huge mass piped through earthshaking speakers to the square in front, masses of people under umbrellas waiting in lines (for what?) or just milling around. It was that kind of day, a milling around day with everyone trying to find something to do in a sodden city with almost everything closed. Eventually, back near our Left Bank hotel, we were rewarded with the sight and sound of a procession of pilgrims (ordinary citizens, really, under ... well, you know ...). We ended the day in a tiny cafe feasting on a HUGE salad, HUGE sandwich, and a lip.smacking onion soup. Much more food than we expected, but so, so good after a tiring day!
Aug. 17 We succesfully reunited with the Kenamores. Their hard sided bike cases arrived intact although TSA opened them at O'Hare and failed to close one correctly. So this morning Bruce, with the aid of The Horse (his nickname for Robb), managed to wrestle it closed; all is well. Until tomorrow anyway when we take on our next leg, train to Orleans, cab to rental van (will it really be big enough - R worries...), van to bike shop (will they store our bike cases for 3 weeks?), and on to destination Blois.
Great walking tour of Montmartre yesterday! Young John Paul, guide, was from St. Louis, specifically from where Jane and Bruce grew up, so much comparing of notes about that. Really enjoyed the many anecdotes about famous artists who lived, drank, smoked, ingested various other mind-altering substances, and slept their way through short but super-creative lives. Few seem to have survived through their 30s, a notable exception being Picasso, who lived in a closet of a place in Montmarte for 8 impoverished years. His obsession with art must have outweighed the potential for addiction. Although he certainly indulged the id along with the ego!
Today we did the one thing that Jane wanted to do: go to the map store. This is an amazing place! The ground floor is full of guidebooks for every country you could name; the basement is nothing but maps, including one whole room of nothing but maps of France. Every square meter of France is in a map in that room, at a scale of 1:25,000, all topographic from the French Academy of Geography. I wish we had stores like that in the U.S.
A note about bicycles: the much touted Velib program is much in evidence. Stands of as many as 20 bikes, perhaps more, each attached to its own post, are conveniently located here on the Left Bank, home of the Sorbonne. The bikes are sturdy, with front wire baskets and fenders front and back, all one speed. They have to be sturdy! We just witnessed a young man kicking the seat handle repeatedly to loosen it when he couldn't manage to twist it by hand. Just needed to adjust it to his height. There are marked bike lanes along the river, and elsewhere. Curiously, lanes in very narrow streets in Montmarte had bikes going OPPOSITE the traffic. Strange!
No one can arrange a scarf like a Parisian woman......
The weather teases with a taste of sun before retreating to gray. Although the rain is mostly gone. John Paul said: August 15, Feast of the Assumption, is something of a French groundhog day. That is to say: the weather that day predicts with considerable accuracy the weather for the rest of summer. Not good news! That would mean cool, gray or even rainy weather ahead! Cool for biking: OK. Gray for biking: tolerable. Rain for biking: Non!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Packing & Anticipating
Aug. 13, 24-plus hours to liftoff. We are 95% packed, and the crates containing our bike are screwed shut, wheels attached, ready to go. Robb built them, regulation airline size (26x26x8"), out of plywood, attached handles from two mail order boxes, wrapped strapping around... He disassembled the bike and carefully, strategically arranged the pieces in each box. He took a photo of each box, packed, and taped each inside the appropriate crate to remind him how to repack. Observe attached photos - he deserves much admiration!
As for me, Barbara, I am channeling father Herb, who died three years ago this month. Thanks to being unable to walk well or far in his later years, he became a master packer and always took the absolute minimum. He would crow that everything he took could be washed out in the sink and with the addition of a clip-on tie, looked positively natty! His suitcase resembled a simple overnighter, from which he would whip out the latest find with a triumphant sense of glee. He was awfully fun to travel with, and most especially, in France, which he adored. For my part, I will think of him in Paris, sailing toy sailboats in the Tuilleries as a boy with his brother Bill. I will think of him at Luxembourg Gardens, where we spent time just enjoying the passing scene, and at the Pompidou where we laughed at the performance artists. I will raise a glass of vin rouge in his honor. Ah, Paree!
Also note photo of Oliver, who will be guarding our house for the next month. Owner Rebecca will share the space, albeit in her own bed...
As for me, Barbara, I am channeling father Herb, who died three years ago this month. Thanks to being unable to walk well or far in his later years, he became a master packer and always took the absolute minimum. He would crow that everything he took could be washed out in the sink and with the addition of a clip-on tie, looked positively natty! His suitcase resembled a simple overnighter, from which he would whip out the latest find with a triumphant sense of glee. He was awfully fun to travel with, and most especially, in France, which he adored. For my part, I will think of him in Paris, sailing toy sailboats in the Tuilleries as a boy with his brother Bill. I will think of him at Luxembourg Gardens, where we spent time just enjoying the passing scene, and at the Pompidou where we laughed at the performance artists. I will raise a glass of vin rouge in his honor. Ah, Paree!
Also note photo of Oliver, who will be guarding our house for the next month. Owner Rebecca will share the space, albeit in her own bed...
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