Crossing the Alps from Italy by the Col du Montegenevre, and then soaring over the Col du Lautauret in sub zero temperatures, over 2km above sea level, was physically euphoric. A constantly shifting sky provided a glimpse of those glorious mountains through all the seasons. In minutes the warm Southern sun would disappear behind a peak, and around the corner would blow a harsh gale bringing snow or rain. The mornings would be spent climbing, then a lunch on the Col would lead to a descent unrivalled throughout the world. Zipping down switchbacks that at times seemed determined to throw me over the edge and into the abyss of an alpine cascade, and at others, feeling like my wheels were glued to the road and I could lean into the corner at 65kmph.
No matter what happened throughout the course of the day, arriving at the foot of an Alpine desent makes all the world seem right.
On my third day, I took on Alp D'Huez. "THE ALP" as it is affectionately known in the Lycra-clad world. I would spend hours talking about each of the 21 hairpin bends that lead to the summit, scaling 1.1km in altitude over a distance of just 14km flat, but there are numerous writings of Fausto Coppi, the Schleck brothers, or Tommy Voeckler making much more drama than I did, so I'll just sum it up by saying "It is tough and exhilarating."
I thought my momentous moment was going to be when I screamed with joy as I arrived on the deserted summit, and lay down sweating in the snow, but in fact it was as I began the descent that I had that day's experience of a lifetime, and met the first Angel of the road, in France.
I was into the second corner, and stopped to try and blow some heat into my hands that felt like they were coated in broken glass, when I thought to myself, "I am an idiot. Leaving all my heavy winter clothing at the campsite was a stupid idea. Reducing weight is not a priority. I am not a professional. I did not need to shave seconds off've my time. I should have brought my coat up here. This descent is going to be so shit because I can feel every muscle in my body clinging for dear life to the bones underneath. Even a bin bag to wear might just heat me up a fraction of a degree."
A car pulled alongside.
A BIN BAG SHOT OUT OF THE WINDOW!
"Here, take this! I use if for MTB, but I have more. Do you need one for your face?"
I was close to tears, although I had to turn down the face bag. Didn't seem wise...
This man had been strategically placed to help me. In no other minute in the existence of the human race could that interaction have happened. It is moments like this that I live for every day. I cruised down the Alp in the sunshine that I seemed to have found a revived appreciation for. Thank you Jean Paul.
The best thing about France is that this interaction was the first of many. Leaving the life changing mountains behind I descended to Grenoble- a city that is currently a labyrinth of roadworks. In an effort to ease my passing through, I spent an hour pushing my bike up and down the footpaths of the one way traffic AND TRAMMED city centre, trying to find a tourist office. No success. I ended up deep in the heart of the city centre searching for a shop that in turn, didn't sell what I needed.
After a sufficient amount of precious daylight had been lost, I decided I needed out of the city, and so set off vaguely North. Again another hour ebbed by as I pointlessly tried to work out a sensible bicycle route out of the city. I was just about to give over to the main road and dodge trucks for a few hours when I, rudely, called to a man standing by a bus stop,
"Est-ce que c'est un route du velo dans le direction St. Etienne?" (horrible French effort.)
To my amazement he called back, in a perfect London accent, "I'm English!"
I almost fell over. Only because I'd been lost in the city, and only because I'd gone looking for stuff I wouldn't find, had I arrived here at this PRECISE moment, meeting a man I could understand entirely who; 2 minutes earlier wouldn't have been there, and 2 minutes later, would be on his bus and out of my life! Another little guide sent from another life to help me on my way. Within a few sentences I'd found the Val d'Isere cycle path and was flying along the riverbank on a sheltered, golden avenue for cyclists.
That took me to Vinay- where a woman, surprised to see a cyclist in her little town, offered her garden as a camping site for the night. She owned a B&B but it was full, so allowed me to camp amongst the bamboo forest and relax on her hammocks in the winter sun. KIND KIND KIND.
A few days later, after long windy days crossing both the Rhone and Loire rivers, I reached St. Just en Chevalet. The home of Alison and Andrew. Out of the goodness of their own hearts they invited me to rest up in their beautful old town house, overlooking the market square of this little mountain village. Two nights was the perscribed rest period, and boy did I rest! I slept, I read, I watched rugby, I listened, and we ate. The new piece of French vocab I'd scribble into my little blue notebook if I still studied hopelessly in Ms. Park's GCSE class would be "Gourmand". A word only the French would have, that means, "not quite greedy, just to enjoy your food." I have a lot of respect for this ideaology.
We had wonderful homemade soups, fantastic breads, charcuterie, COFFEE, glorious cheeses, muesli, yoghurt, honey, jams, rilletes, and upon the invite of a village friend, a fantastic invention called Raclette. A warped form of a cheesy fondue. Cheesorama. A perfect meal.
On the morning of my departure, Andrew, a cyclist himself, went to the huge effort of planning a perfect route for the day, avoiding all major roads and including a Chateau, country lanes, disused railway cycle networks, and a fantastic patisserie for our morning snack! He even decided to ride 70km with me! Inspiring. I felt so at home and at peace with these wonderful people and their wonderful cats. Thank you.
And so after my glorious rest, I powered through 130km to reach the community of Taize, in the Bourgogne region. I planned to stay for two days, having a quick insight to life here, then making good speed north, then I met the people.
An amazing bunch of young travellers from all over the globe coming together to discuss, laugh, think, meet and enjoy.
I STAYED FOR A WEEK.
The experience I had within that little community was a true highlight of the adventure. I will sum it up simply with the phrase "Silence, Solitude, Laughter, and Love." To go in to any more detail wouldn't do justice. An indicator of the relationships formed over those seven days may be the fact that a Californian lad will now be spending Christmas in my family's home in Belfast, and I've been staying at the home of Jean Baptiste, a truly hospitable Parisien; a guide, a host, a friend, for the past 4 days.
The rest wil remain unsaid. We can talk about it another time. It was amazing.
An emerging thought developed with the help of words from Brother Roger, the founder of the community is "How can I show that I am not made for despair?" A great question I now pose to myself every day.
My road to Paris was a long and magical one. As I rode North, eating and drinking my way through wine country made mystical by the heavy fog, I slept in forests and had birds of prey as alarm clocks. Cockerels have nothing on the abilities of huge buzzards at wake up calls.
I followed the Yonne river all the way up to its convergence with the Seine. I love rivers. The provide so much safety and trust. It allowed me to switch off from navigation and just cruise along the bank, knowing that it knew the way. Covering 160km in a day was a new record. Doing distances like this allows me to eat what ever I want. Most of which is chocolate and bread. Traditional baguettes and local pain au chocolat have replaced lion bars and pasta as my staple foods!
Arriving in the stunning Chateau town of Fontainebleu I was mesmorised by the amount of leaves dancing in the strong wind. Proper dancing. They actually were blowing into different shapes and seemed to be choreographed by some strange natural dance lord. I decided it was time for a celebratory beer as I was now on the doorstep of Paris, about to roll in to complete what I'd been thinking of as the third leg of my journey. What a great idea. I had a short conversation with the bar tender, a great man called Liliane; and within minutes I had his house keys in my pocket and was rolling to ANOTHER free bed! It was so nice to shower and then, having eaten a great meal cooked in a proper kitchen instead of my increasingly toxic trangia stove, return to a bar to play pool and chat the night away.
Paris just upped the game. Jean Baptiste. What can I say? The man is just an incredible host! After taking the ceremonial photograph of myself by the Eiffel tower and grabbing some food we met at his glorious central Parisien apartment and had a well deserved chill out evening. While he went to work the next day, I explored the city. Notre Dame, Latin Quarter, Saint Michel, Opera, Arc du Triomphe, ITS ALL REAL! Riding up the Champs Elysees in the early evening as it filled with traffic and people visited the Christmas market set up along the side was a ride to remember. The magic of Paris flooded over me and I slowed right down just soaking everything in.
Having lunch with an old friend from Sweden proved to be a great idea. Rotissere chicken and spuds lined the stomach for some afternoon beverages accompanied by great conversation, before I headed down to Centre St. Georges Pompidou to catch Pierre Bensusan play the most enchanting guitar I've ever heard, in a tiny little underground theatre! How funny that it was my old friend Nathan, that I actually sat beside in French class SEVEN YEARS ago that is now Pierre's road manager- now we're both in Paris and trying desperately to remember all the things the poor Miss Park tried to teach us! We should have listened. My most vivid memory of that class was the day a dog followed me all the way up the Jackson building starcase, down the hall way, and in to the class room, WITH NO COAXING FROM ME AT ALL....
Jean Baptiste and I then did some socialising in Pigalle, eating Bolognaise Crepes at 4am, before walking through a delightful Paris by moonlight. The climax to my time here ad to come when JB invited me along to the annual wine salon of Paris; an enormous wholesale of wines from all over the country and the possibility to taste every last one of them! JB's friend, Francios, accompanied us with his vin catalogue and guided us in the direction of some of the finest glasses I've ever tasted. There was quite a lot of tasting done.... Although I promise I wasn't as drunk as I look in the photograph at the bottom of this page. Promise.
From there we had a dinner with his friends in an apartment overlooking Hotel de Ville, Notre Dame AND the Eiffel tower! IT was very cool. Charcuterie, cheese and more wine completed an altogether very French event before heading again to Saint Michel to "let off some steam." Fantastic fun.
And so France is almost at an end. Tomorrow I will try my very best to follow the Avenue Verte; the new cycle route linking London to Paris, out towards the coast at Dieppe. From there I'll cross to Brighton, then over towards Bristol, up the Welsh borders area to Liverpool, then to Carlisle, turn West to Newcastle following Hadrian's wall- the end of my Roman journey, then up in to bonny Scotland, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Oban, over the Irish Sea to Ballycastle, and finally down to Belfast!
France has been a whole adventure in itself. I could write for days on each of the individual encounters. I am very glad for the thoughts shared at Taize in particular; because it is due to them that ever since, I have asked myself the question "How can I show the world that I am not made for despair?"
The answer normally allows me to realise that we are not supposed to just survive each day, but we are supposed to thrive each day on earth.
See you soon Britain. I am very excited to cycle through those pastures green.
After a sufficient amount of precious daylight had been lost, I decided I needed out of the city, and so set off vaguely North. Again another hour ebbed by as I pointlessly tried to work out a sensible bicycle route out of the city. I was just about to give over to the main road and dodge trucks for a few hours when I, rudely, called to a man standing by a bus stop,
"Est-ce que c'est un route du velo dans le direction St. Etienne?" (horrible French effort.)
To my amazement he called back, in a perfect London accent, "I'm English!"
I almost fell over. Only because I'd been lost in the city, and only because I'd gone looking for stuff I wouldn't find, had I arrived here at this PRECISE moment, meeting a man I could understand entirely who; 2 minutes earlier wouldn't have been there, and 2 minutes later, would be on his bus and out of my life! Another little guide sent from another life to help me on my way. Within a few sentences I'd found the Val d'Isere cycle path and was flying along the riverbank on a sheltered, golden avenue for cyclists.
That took me to Vinay- where a woman, surprised to see a cyclist in her little town, offered her garden as a camping site for the night. She owned a B&B but it was full, so allowed me to camp amongst the bamboo forest and relax on her hammocks in the winter sun. KIND KIND KIND.
A few days later, after long windy days crossing both the Rhone and Loire rivers, I reached St. Just en Chevalet. The home of Alison and Andrew. Out of the goodness of their own hearts they invited me to rest up in their beautful old town house, overlooking the market square of this little mountain village. Two nights was the perscribed rest period, and boy did I rest! I slept, I read, I watched rugby, I listened, and we ate. The new piece of French vocab I'd scribble into my little blue notebook if I still studied hopelessly in Ms. Park's GCSE class would be "Gourmand". A word only the French would have, that means, "not quite greedy, just to enjoy your food." I have a lot of respect for this ideaology.
We had wonderful homemade soups, fantastic breads, charcuterie, COFFEE, glorious cheeses, muesli, yoghurt, honey, jams, rilletes, and upon the invite of a village friend, a fantastic invention called Raclette. A warped form of a cheesy fondue. Cheesorama. A perfect meal.
On the morning of my departure, Andrew, a cyclist himself, went to the huge effort of planning a perfect route for the day, avoiding all major roads and including a Chateau, country lanes, disused railway cycle networks, and a fantastic patisserie for our morning snack! He even decided to ride 70km with me! Inspiring. I felt so at home and at peace with these wonderful people and their wonderful cats. Thank you.
And so after my glorious rest, I powered through 130km to reach the community of Taize, in the Bourgogne region. I planned to stay for two days, having a quick insight to life here, then making good speed north, then I met the people.
An amazing bunch of young travellers from all over the globe coming together to discuss, laugh, think, meet and enjoy.
I STAYED FOR A WEEK.
The experience I had within that little community was a true highlight of the adventure. I will sum it up simply with the phrase "Silence, Solitude, Laughter, and Love." To go in to any more detail wouldn't do justice. An indicator of the relationships formed over those seven days may be the fact that a Californian lad will now be spending Christmas in my family's home in Belfast, and I've been staying at the home of Jean Baptiste, a truly hospitable Parisien; a guide, a host, a friend, for the past 4 days.
The rest wil remain unsaid. We can talk about it another time. It was amazing.
An emerging thought developed with the help of words from Brother Roger, the founder of the community is "How can I show that I am not made for despair?" A great question I now pose to myself every day.
My road to Paris was a long and magical one. As I rode North, eating and drinking my way through wine country made mystical by the heavy fog, I slept in forests and had birds of prey as alarm clocks. Cockerels have nothing on the abilities of huge buzzards at wake up calls.
I followed the Yonne river all the way up to its convergence with the Seine. I love rivers. The provide so much safety and trust. It allowed me to switch off from navigation and just cruise along the bank, knowing that it knew the way. Covering 160km in a day was a new record. Doing distances like this allows me to eat what ever I want. Most of which is chocolate and bread. Traditional baguettes and local pain au chocolat have replaced lion bars and pasta as my staple foods!
Arriving in the stunning Chateau town of Fontainebleu I was mesmorised by the amount of leaves dancing in the strong wind. Proper dancing. They actually were blowing into different shapes and seemed to be choreographed by some strange natural dance lord. I decided it was time for a celebratory beer as I was now on the doorstep of Paris, about to roll in to complete what I'd been thinking of as the third leg of my journey. What a great idea. I had a short conversation with the bar tender, a great man called Liliane; and within minutes I had his house keys in my pocket and was rolling to ANOTHER free bed! It was so nice to shower and then, having eaten a great meal cooked in a proper kitchen instead of my increasingly toxic trangia stove, return to a bar to play pool and chat the night away.
Paris just upped the game. Jean Baptiste. What can I say? The man is just an incredible host! After taking the ceremonial photograph of myself by the Eiffel tower and grabbing some food we met at his glorious central Parisien apartment and had a well deserved chill out evening. While he went to work the next day, I explored the city. Notre Dame, Latin Quarter, Saint Michel, Opera, Arc du Triomphe, ITS ALL REAL! Riding up the Champs Elysees in the early evening as it filled with traffic and people visited the Christmas market set up along the side was a ride to remember. The magic of Paris flooded over me and I slowed right down just soaking everything in.
Having lunch with an old friend from Sweden proved to be a great idea. Rotissere chicken and spuds lined the stomach for some afternoon beverages accompanied by great conversation, before I headed down to Centre St. Georges Pompidou to catch Pierre Bensusan play the most enchanting guitar I've ever heard, in a tiny little underground theatre! How funny that it was my old friend Nathan, that I actually sat beside in French class SEVEN YEARS ago that is now Pierre's road manager- now we're both in Paris and trying desperately to remember all the things the poor Miss Park tried to teach us! We should have listened. My most vivid memory of that class was the day a dog followed me all the way up the Jackson building starcase, down the hall way, and in to the class room, WITH NO COAXING FROM ME AT ALL....
Jean Baptiste and I then did some socialising in Pigalle, eating Bolognaise Crepes at 4am, before walking through a delightful Paris by moonlight. The climax to my time here ad to come when JB invited me along to the annual wine salon of Paris; an enormous wholesale of wines from all over the country and the possibility to taste every last one of them! JB's friend, Francios, accompanied us with his vin catalogue and guided us in the direction of some of the finest glasses I've ever tasted. There was quite a lot of tasting done.... Although I promise I wasn't as drunk as I look in the photograph at the bottom of this page. Promise.
From there we had a dinner with his friends in an apartment overlooking Hotel de Ville, Notre Dame AND the Eiffel tower! IT was very cool. Charcuterie, cheese and more wine completed an altogether very French event before heading again to Saint Michel to "let off some steam." Fantastic fun.
And so France is almost at an end. Tomorrow I will try my very best to follow the Avenue Verte; the new cycle route linking London to Paris, out towards the coast at Dieppe. From there I'll cross to Brighton, then over towards Bristol, up the Welsh borders area to Liverpool, then to Carlisle, turn West to Newcastle following Hadrian's wall- the end of my Roman journey, then up in to bonny Scotland, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Oban, over the Irish Sea to Ballycastle, and finally down to Belfast!
France has been a whole adventure in itself. I could write for days on each of the individual encounters. I am very glad for the thoughts shared at Taize in particular; because it is due to them that ever since, I have asked myself the question "How can I show the world that I am not made for despair?"
The answer normally allows me to realise that we are not supposed to just survive each day, but we are supposed to thrive each day on earth.
See you soon Britain. I am very excited to cycle through those pastures green.
Taking it easy after the Alps.
Chateau with Andrew.
Taize.
Maybe 1000km to home?
The dancing forests of Fontainebleu.
A European cyclist's photograph.
Notre Dame by night.
Triomphe!
Wine salon... I suppose I was a little pissed...
Unbelievable! You'll have to come manger avec nous tres bientot. Everyone ALWAYS regrets not listening to their French teacher. I wonder how they convince themselves they are not made for despair- theirs or their pupils!
ReplyDeleteGod cares about our every need; He heard your cry.
ReplyDeleteIt all sounds so fantastic - would love to do it sometime!
ReplyDeleteBesides that my sister and brother in law live near Guildford - well about an hour away, I think. Small village of Steep near Petersfield and I'm sure they could offer you a bed if any use to you.
looking forward to seeing you soon.
not going to Plymouth on the way back?
xx Catherine