Here’s hoping you enjoy the READ!

Sunday, July 6, 2003
Paris to Etampes 75 Kilometers

Hank called at 8:30 AM and asked if we were ready to go. Far from it, we hadn’t even had breakfast. I told him to take his time, it would be 10:00 before we would be loaded. Perfect timing on our part and Hank was there just minutes after we pushed out the front door of Hotel Elysees. He had been studying maps and has sort of chosen a route out of town.

Our first stop was the Trocadero for one last picture of the Eiffel Tower. This one was for a promise I made a year ago in Wisconsin. Remember the day we rode into Sullivan, Wisconsin, USA and slept in the park? I promised the boys of the East Troy Trojans that I would take a picture in front of the tower, wearing the baseball cap that John Silbernagel had given me. (I forgot to bring it along yesterday.)

From that point on we were in the hands of our “Guide’ par excellence”. We wound our way south through a variety of neighborhoods. Hank stopped often and checked his map. Like our pal Alex in Russia, he also asked, asked, asked. We did pass and enjoy the view of Chateau le Parc. Hank and Lucienne are having a picnic later this afternoon here, if the dark clouds don’t begin to weep.

He led us until we were on Highway N2 and saw signs for Etampes, our goal for today. We got a picture, hearty hugs and promises to communicate often and get together in California in the fall of ‘04’.

Alone and on our own again! We fell into the traffic, tried to ride the sidewalk then back over the curb and into the flow of cars. Traffic is heavy, no trucks because it’s Sunday, yet a lot of cars and they are moving fast. N2 became almost a freeway. It was pretty much a no fun ride.

We bought sandwiches in a Shell Station Mini Market and found a park bench in a playground. The weather was perfect and we enjoyed the moment. Shortly after we got back on the road Cat began to feel some stomach problems. Urgency, the search for a toilet failed as we passed through the next small picturesque village. They virtually close every business on Sundays here. It was back to the bushes and yes, the dreaded diarrhea was again visiting WorldRiders2.

Inside Paris we climbed and rolled down some pretty steep hills. That remained the ride until we decided to take a turn into the countryside at Arpajon. This new route gives us less traffic and it is moving slower. It also gives us an additional 13 Km to ride. The rural road was flat and often slopping down. Then it was pay back time and we had to climb. We were in a leafy forest, tall trees lined the road and created a tunnel of green. Though the climb was long and we sweated profusely it was enjoyable. The summit brought sunshine and rolling plains. It was like being in South Dakota or Minnesota again.

 Déjà vu en Francais

Studying the map, we came up with an alternative, Highway D449 wanders off to the east/southeast to the village of la Ferte Alias. There it connects with Hwy D191 and ambles back to the west, into Etampes. It will add 13 or 14 Km but diminish the traffic by 200%. It was a tough decision because time was already fleeting due to our late start and slow city riding. As we cycled up the off ramp and exited N20 we experienced a rare moment of dispute. I wanted to go around the corner before crossing to give cars in both directions a visual on us. Cat wanted to get across and questioned the decision. Then, when I did make the dash I found that we were trapped on an island with traffic coming fast from the same direction on each of the two lanes. Cat expressed her frustration by saying that this was stupid. I took it personally and yelled out, the decision is made, go for it. We made it across thanks to a kind motorist who stopped for us. On the other side I told her to take the lead. We must either lead or follow, we can’t hold a conference every time we make a decision. I was also disturbed that she called me stupid. She explained that it was the idea she thought was stupid. She apologized then I admitted that it was a bad decision and we rolled on.

An interesting aside, as we topped out we came upon a guy, definitely a French guy, on a bike. He was stopped and working on it. We pulled up and I asked if he needed help. His hat looked like a beret but had a small bill. He had a mustache and small goatee. His coat was a ¾ length and it looked like it would be hot. He rattled off something in French, between us we decided that he was saying that the bike was okay but he had run out of steam on the hill. His bike was held together with bubble gum and bailing wire. A homemade clamp held the handlebars in place and the seat was pretty much Duct and packing tape.

Finally, what we thought would be a 49 Km ride ended up at 71. The extra was due to the zigzag course Hank chose to keep us safe and out of terrible traffic and our countryside ride. We rolled into Etampes a little after 5:00 PM and turned into Auberge de France, the first hotel we saw. It was priced right, offered a nice room and they stored the bikes in a Conference Room.

Some of the comforts of home including CNN on our TV. Dinner was good, dessert was great. The stomach problem kept Cat running to the toilet.

July 7, 2003
A day of Toil and Toilette in Etampes

The night was full of trips to the toilet for Cat. I got a banana and juice for her to see if she might start to hold food before we went to breakfast. She didn’t make breakfast. I ate and brought her a few morsels that she had a tough time looking at, much less eating.

I stayed chained to the computer and she the toilette, most of the day. Hunger set in for me late in the afternoon. I checked the Hotel but all they offer mid day is dessert. They suggested MacDonald’s or a Chinese place across the street. I tried the big Mac but nothing looked edible. They had a buffet at the Chinese Restaurant but not for take out. I decided to eat there then take some soup back to the ailing Cat.

She was worried because I had been gone so long. She loved the noodle soup and got over the lonelies, quickly. Since she has eaten nothing and had a steady stream of escaping fluids, the soup hit the spot.

I worked on the pictures of our Berlin to Paris experience while she slept. At dinner we both chose the fish plate. She finished hers then trotted back to the room. I did the entire Prix Fix including dessert.

The pictures were all in the computer by 11:30 PM. Cat had been in and out of dreamland for 3 hours.

July 8, 2003
Etampes to Orleans 72 Kilometers

The decision to ride was in Cat’s hands. We had breakfast and she had an appetite. In fact she only had one bout of the big ‘D’ during the night. We had almost finished our eggs when she was hastily called away. I finished my coffee then went back to check on her. She was packing and ready to ride.

As we prepared to push off I spoke with a guy who had been typing at breakfast both days. I asked if he was writing a book or doing bookwork. Noriyasu is here from Japan with his company, they sell cast iron teapots. He is well traveled and his best friend lives in Los Angeles.

We pushed out and loaded then as I checked out another cyclist came into the lobby. Peter’s from England and he’s headed toward the Mediterranean. We won’t see him again because he rides 120 Km a day. Well, we may catch up because this is only day 3 and he admitted that his Butt is really sore.

Up the main street, looking for Highway D49, we stopped and |I asked a Policeman for direction. He spent a lot of time and wrote directions for us. We followed then turned where he said we should but felt lost. The Bar Tender at the corner Tavern told us we were on the right track so we pressed on, only to find a Deviasion. (Detour)

Turned out that we almost backtracked to where we met the Policeman then turned south and onto the route to Orleans. It was mostly a climbing morning. Cat felt better and better with each hill? At the tiny village of Autruy we found a Patisserie with fantastic bread. We had to climb back up to the Charcuterie we passed on the way in, to get cheese and ham.

About 4 Km out of Autruy, we picnicked in the warm sun, at the side of the road. Maybe because the Tour de France is in day three, or maybe the French just love bicyclists, but we were showered with honks, waves and well wishes. We laughed because they may have been saluting us for not getting in their ways?

The terrain flattened and dried at that point. Fields of grain that were green were now golden and being harvested. One great expanse of Sun Flowers brought thoughts of Vincent to our minds. They seem to raise their heads and look toward the sun as it travels across the sky. It was almost hot but the wind was with us and most of the ride was slightly down hill.

Orleans was ours by 3:30 PM. We rolled into the Tourist Office and got maps and info. After a quick stop at the CarreFour Market across the street we went seeking a Hotel. Our first choice was completely booked. Shocked, I went across the street and found that they had a room but no room for the bikes. Just down the street we saw a cute two star, the Hotel De’l Abeille. Although we had to carry the bags up two flights, the price was only 49€. They were good about the bikes, storing them in a hallway in the back.

We watched the Second Stage of the Tour but understood little. They have French TV only.

After showers we took the Managers advice and walked through the Jeanne de Arc Square for Pasta. Good fuel food and a bottle of vitamins, minerals and LIFE. Apres le Diner we walked to most of the sights. The statue of Joan of Arc was cordoned off with plastic tape and little signs that we couldn’t understand. As we sauntered past a group of young girls who were sitting at the base of the big statue, walked toward us and tore down some of the tape and sign. I had to ask, most of them just stood there but one cutey spoke up, in English, and told us that they were just rebels. The signs were a sort of protest about an event of art and music but she didn’t know why or who had sealed the area off. She and her friends didn’t seem to care, either.

MPlatitudes in Orleans

Picturesque, as we shot pics, the swallows swooped and screeched. We headed home at 10:00 PM. It had been a long day for us and we were ready to relax.

July 9, 2003
Orleans to Beaugency 31 Kilometers
A day of Frustrations

The plan developed over breakfast was to try to camp this afternoon. Cat set out for to mail our excess things home and get groceries. I went to the Internet Shop. My first frustration was that the slip of paper given us by the Tourist Info clearly stated hours, 9:00 AM to 21:00. The shutters were down and the door locked tight. I stopped at an Insurance Agency and the nice lady called but no answer? She said, “I think they oversleep, maybe they no open today?”

I hoofed it across town to the Poste and caught her there. The lady at the Agency had suggested an Internet Machine at the Poste. Cat was in mid process of the mailing. She said it had been tough, waiting in line then trying to communicate and learn, once again, the process for mailing packages. We bought a 7€ card and I went to the machine. It wouldn’t work? It said the Carte was Muette, dead? The nice lady gave me another but it wouldn’t work, either? A young man came out, tried to get it going then got his card and finally, after re-booting twice, that the machine was broken.

At the young man’s suggestion I hoofed it back across town to the Grand Poste. The machine there had a large red X across the screen and wouldn’t even try to open. He checked with someone in the back then popped his head out and said, “Sorry!” in that sweet, thick French accent. I asked for our 7€ back but he laughed and said a lot of things in French, none of which sounded like he would. He got the point across that I should go to the other Poste. I argued and told him that I just came from there. Then a nice older woman, probably my age, said, “Let me help you.” She took me to the steps out front and pointed down the street giving explicit directions to another Poste. I fast walked there and stood waiting to talk to a Postal Clerk. The window girl shook her head, she didn’t understand but another came out and gave me the bad news. They didn’t even have a computer at this branch. I was about to go Postal, as we say in the States.

As a lost resort I zigged back to the Internet Shop and found it was open. We have several things that need to be taken care of. One of importance is taxes, we filed for an extension and aren’t sure when we must get the information completed or if our accountant has everything he needs to file for us. There were more than 120 messages. Apres weeding out the junk there were still 94. I would have loved to sit and answer but felt pressure so only got to a few of them. Read all of importance then fast walked back to the Hotel.

Cat was in the street with both bikes and the bags. She had to clear the room, check out time was 11:30 and the girls had suggested that we might have to pay for another day. They were actually really nice and even helped with some of the bags.

We loaded then they let us sit at a sidewalk table, in the shade, and eat the picnic goodies that Cat had picked up. It was getting warm, we watched as workers unloaded furniture from a 2nd story apartment, down a ladder elevator. They were really sweating.

It was after 1:00 PM before we got on the bikes and rolled. It was easy to see why they had been sweating. City traffic was typical, we got on a wrong way and had to backtrack then rode for a while along the levy above the Loire River. We had to take to the street then a very narrow bike path. It wound around and crossed under the Expressway then into a small village. We saw a sign with the picture of a bike and the word, Beaugency. We didn’t realize that was a city name until we caught the sign for the opposite direction with Orleans on it.

That took us into a small street lined with wonderful old French homes. Then, we were suddenly out in the country and on another levy. This one had a small paved road with virtually no traffic. This 10-15 kilometers would be the highpoint of the day. Riding high above the farm fields we looked down on greens and browns, even a huge field of sunflowers. As the rapture of that ride ended onto a busy highway we were treated to a view of a huge church in a tiny village off to our left.

I thought we were rolling into Beaugency but it was only Meung-sur-Loire. Another wonderful place with narrow cobble stone streets and old buildings. There was a camping area but it was open space with few trees. They do offer pool, spa and a dozen other features like a resort hotel. It was only 3:00 PM, too early to stop. We found a Tourist Info and they helped us make a decision to ride on, down the National Highway, N152 to a Super Marche then another 8 Km to Beaugency where there is a camping place.

As we started off Cat had a catastrophe. The chain seized and she couldn’t pedal. It was easy to see the problem, difficult to see a solution. Somehow when she shifted gears the chain slipped between the small and mid gears on the front derailleur. I tried to pull it free and only succeeded in turning my fingers black with chain lube. It was hot in the sun, we moved to the shade and continued the struggle. Finally, I used a wrench handle and spread the gear rings just enough to work it loose. Another half hour frustration but it did feel good to work it out, a small win in an otherwise, thus far, winless day.

N152 was tight and tough. We rode on the dirt along the side until we reached the SuperU. I went in and got a few missing supplies and a bottle of wine. The ride into Beaugency was tight, in traffic heavy with trucks, campers and motor homes. The good news, we were with the wind.

Our first attempt at camping was thwarted by the style of Campgrounds these French offer. They have sights but no tables or fire pits, not even a barbeque. There were a few tents set up but they were either in an open field or next to a camper. We really explored the table thing, they suggested cooking on the ground then bringing the food to an area where they serve, like a barbeque. After surveying the situation we decided that we would ride on.

There is a wonderful looking Abbey at the north end of the bridge. We stopped there and Cat made a hasty dash to the nearby Restaurant Toilette. She is much better but these moments of urgency remain. I checked on the rooms. It would be great to experience a night in the Abbey. A little old man, in disheveled clothes and house slipper got up when I came through the door. I asked about a room and he said, “Oui, 93€.”

I tried my hand at French and said, “Velo avec luggage.” And pointed out the window. He said, “Do you mean bicycles with bags?” then took a puff on his cigarette and wheezed.

I looked at the room but it was up 2 flights of stairs, then inside, it was a townhouse with the bedroom and bath up another flight. We declined and rode, up a steep hill to the heart of the village. With two Hotels there to choose from, Cat struck out because no one could understand her and my attempt ended when the nice young guy called the boss, trying to figure out where they could keep the bikes.

He pointed on down the street and we ended up at Hostellerie de l’Ecu de Bretagne. An old place with a barn for bikes. There were 8 other bikes, French bikes, parked inside so we felt okay about leaving them. Carrying bags was tough, the sweat really poured. They offered a choice of rooms, the big one was 78€ and Cat said it was nice but, we’re only here for tonight. We took the small, 48€ room but it has a window overlooking the courtyard and barn. No AC and it could use some. The room was hot but opening the window helped and as the sun set behind the barn roof it did start to cool.

Cat walked the neighborhood and decided on the spot for dinner while I showered. It is a Bistro with several tables on the wide sidewalk. Cat had Pizza and I went for the special, a veal dish. We also had some Loire Valley wine. As we ate we began to hear English and French being spoken at the table next to us. A wonderful family, some from Maryland, USA and some from France, were seated there. We started talking and became family, for an evening. The French, Bernard, Monique and Charles are parents and son. The Americans are Kevin, Candice, Jack and Celine. Monique is Kevin’s aunt, her sister is his Mother. Kevin and Candice both lived in CA so we had something in common. The kids, Jack, age 11 and Celine, age 6, played games, even hid drink umbrellas on me and did the “You’re getting warm, hot,” well you know the game. Cat worked on getting Charles to speak the English that he’s studied but seldom has the opportunity to use. Ultimately I convinced Monique and Charles to do the French version of “You’re riding your bicycle around the world?” It is always so great to connect with someone local and a real bonus when some of them speak English. The best part of this meeting was the US and French family connection. Kevin says that they, like us, have not had any bad times with French people. We agreed that the problems lie mostly in the minds of our fellow Americans.

“You Must Be Crazy” French

Our time with this family from two different worlds eased an otherwise very frustrating day. It was after 11:00 PM by the time we got back to our humble abode.

July 10, 2003
Beaugency to Blois 48 Kilometers

It was back down through the cobbled streets, through a small square in front of a Middle Ages Church, past the Abbey, to the river and over the bridge. Strange, the same green grain fields that we were wondering at in Poland and Germany are now brown here and being harvested. We took a turn to the left onto D 112 toward Chambord. The farms suddenly gave way to a walled wooded area and the road, D 112 became Francois I. Now we were winding through a forest and there is little or no traffic. At a small round about we saw a woman walking but she was wearing cycling gloves? Then we found the reason, her companion had one of their bikes turned up on its back and was struggling with a flat tire. We stopped and offered help but they were doing fine so we cycled on.

 Harvest

All of the signs pointed straight ahead but we caught a glimpse of a huge house off to the left. The road leading to its front door is blocked to cars, caravans and trucks but was easy for us to enter. What a wonderful feeling, riding toward this fabulous work of art. Of course, we must always remember that it is only a house. A house that was built for a King. Francois I chose the site because it was an easy two day horse or carriage ride from Paris. Though Francois was King for 32 years he only stayed in Chambord for 42 days. Royalty has its privileges. The building kept 1,800 workers busy for 15 years. (Chambord was built between 1520 and 1535.)

 It’s Just a House

Hungry, we had a sandwich under a tree where we could still see the Chateau. There was a huge pile of Horse manure nearby. We hope that the smell isn’t always part of our memory of Chambord. Whether it is or not, one good memory is meeting Piet from Holland. He rode up on a bike then was joined by his wife Marja and daughter Lara. He has done several cycling trips with his wife but is now traveling in a car with his bike on a rack. We talked for quite a while, telling about our ride through Holland and hearing of his trips around Europe. 

We rode around the perimeter of the Chateau but decided not to take the tour of the interior. We have seen so many museums with the same kinds of furniture that it wasn’t interesting. I would have liked to see the interior architecture but not at the expense of leaving the bikes outside, unguarded.

We rode on, to Cheverny. This would be a two Chateau day. Cheverny was disappointing in the sense that it is walled and not visible at all from the road. They charge 12€ for a tour and 5€ just to visit the grounds. We thought about one of us going in just to get a few exterior pics but decided not to split up.

Our best memories will be of meeting Are Vee (Harvey) and his girl friend. They have cycled from Marseille. It was difficult to talk with them because they don’t speak English and Cat’s French was having a hard time getting through to them. As they rode away a guy with a thick Scottish accent struck up a conversation with us. Angus and Valerie are also traveling on their bikes. What a story he had about their visit here. His family name is Nimmo, not very Scottish but his name, anyway.

During a visit to a Palace here they came upon a story that he says, “Made the hair on his arms stand up”. Back when Mary Stewart, the young heiress to the British throne was sent to marry French Royalty to link the two countries. She lived in France for a short time then slipped back into Scotland. She was Catholic, England was not. She became Mary, Queen of Scots and was a prisoner of her own family in the castle at Edinburgh. The revelation that Angus discovered was that her French servants were all named Nimmo and accompanied her when she made the clandestine night time trip back to Scotland.

Angus, “You must be Crazy” Scotch/Irish

Rode into Blois and found the Ibis right in the center. Got settled, then down the street to a touristy corner Latin restaurant for Margaritas and some form of Mexican food. We then ventured out to see the sights including the Chateaux and House of Magic, which was lit up in purple lights. The evening was warm and the sun still out, so it is so comfortable to walk around. Another late night.

July 11, 2003
Blois to Amboise 66 Kilometers

I found a bike shop and had a new shifter installed. The technician, spoke no English but seemed to know his business. The shop was in the basement. I watched and tried to supervise. He was trying to be fast and I was trying to keep up with him. The other guys all had to come look at the Auto Shifter.

Cat went to the Poste for Internet but it was not working? She went up the hill to an Internet Bar that opened at 7:30 a.m. When I got back from the bike shop the desk clerk told me where I would find her. The place reminded us of local bar at home, The Rudder Room that opens at 6:00 AM and is full of locals all day long. The Bar Tendress was in control and you knew it. She smoked, talked, poured and snarled. The customers seemed to like it or at least take it in stride. We cleaned up most of the messages and watched her antics during the almost 2 hours we were there.

The wooded route to Chaumont is on small country roads. I needed a cold drink and found it at the Service Station. As we stood talking a young guy filling his tank said, “Hey, you’re Americans”. He, Mathew, is from Maine. We think his wife Pauline is French, they live in Paris. They loved our stories and took our card. He explained a little about Chateaux Chaumont, they had just visited it. They thought we could ride up the hill, the chateaux is overlooking the Loire River Valley.

After goodbyes we rode around the corner and tried to go up the walkway that the arrows told us went to Chaumont. Super steep, it was tough to even push up. Near the top we met a couple who told us that we could have cycled up the road fairly easily. Oh well, we don’t ever do things easily? Once you’ve seen Chambord it’s easy to be let down by chateaus. Chaumont is under reconstruction with one of the round towers enshrouded. Between not wanting to leave the bikes and not wanting to pay the 7€ each, we enjoyed the grounds, took a couple of pictures and rode the road back down.

Back on the route along the Loire River we came upon caves, real caves in the white cliffs that have been used to store wines for centuries. We stopped at Caveau Leonardo da Vinci. They are called Troglodytic dwellings, caves in the limestone hills in which people still live today and they have wine tasting in them, too. Though we didn’t taste or buy any wine we did enjoy looking around. Most of the big opening is a tasting room, the storage area is like a small tunnel reaching deep into the cliff. I took a couple of pictures then a couple from England asked and I took pics of them and the sales lady using their camera.

Why Leonardo? As we rolled into Amboise we saw lots of places named for him. It came to pass that he spent his few final years here thanks to patron Francois I. He arrived here in 1516 and died 3 years later at age 67.

The village, Amboise, is quaint and of course, picturesque. The Chateau hangs ominously above the road as you enter. Cycling in circles, we finally found the Hotel de Ville. (City Hall) Cat went in to see if they have a Tourist Info Office there. She came back with a woman who had her in tow and she wasn’t sure why? The woman, her name was something like Echy, spoke little English but kept insisting that we follow her. Voila, she wasn’t a huckster or hustler, she was just a nice lady helping some nice folks. She led us directly to the Tourist Office, asked for nothing and even shied away at first when we asked for her picture. Another lesson in human nature and trust!

The Hotel we chose from the list they hand out wasn’t much but it was the closest one to the T.O. A fair deal for 40€ with tiny shower and toilet in the room. We did have to leave the bikes down in an open carport but the area is locked and used only by staff.

Dinner would be at a lovely Italian Restaurant we had seen near the Hotel de Ville. They have courtyard seating, we took a table with vines around it. The leaves and small grape looking things fell in and around our food as we ate. Though it was outside and shaded it was still warm, muggy warm

Amboise & Art

The Chateau is just across the street, but it was closed. We wandered around, took pictures and enjoyed Amboise. Even found an Internet place and spent the evening checking e-mails until 11:00 PM.

July 12, 2003
Amboise to Tours 28 Kilometers

I had made a new disk of the pictures that were missing from the website and we went right back to Internet this morning to e-mail them to WebMaster Wally. We had some problems, but the owner, Regis, is very good at the computer and said he would email them for us, but it would take some time. Over 5 hours later, we were still there. We had a lot of emails so we worked on those as Regis worked on our email. A couple of guys Lucas and Yintan, from Chicago came in and I talked with them for over an hour about their Chinese and Polish heritage. They are just roaming around for 2 weeks, checking out the sights of Europe.

It was after 3:30 PM by the time we finally got away from the Internet. That sealed our decision regarding where we would ride to this afternoon. Vouvray sounded good, we enjoyed a nice bottle of Vouvray with dinner last night. However, we never saw a sign for the turn off. It was hot, we rode straight in to Tours. We made a good deal at the Best Western Hotel, across the street from the train and bus station.

The day seemed to have escaped us. We ate our first Salad Gourmande for dinner. Normally we need more calories and substance if we are riding the next day, but we will take tomorrow off to do complete the journal and get a little rest. This salad is a very popular French dish. It is filled with chicken, tuna, salmon, corn, grilled potatoes, beans, eggs and lettuce. Good tasting and it felt good to eat a lighter meal, since it is still hotter than hot this evening. We didn’t do too much walking since it was late by the time we finished eating. We did stop at our favorite for desert, McFlurrys at McDonalds.

Sunday, July 13, 2003
Day off in Tours

Sunday is a good day to take off in France since most of the French take the day off, too. Shops and businesses are closed. Cat called the family that she stayed with during her post college graduation trip almost 30 years ago. They live in Matha, a small village near another small but better-known village called Cognac. She was glad that their son, Hubert was there. When Dr. Fievet answered Cat stuttered and stammered trying to talk with him. Hubert (UU Bear) is a pilot with Air France and he speaks great English. Cat was able to make a plan to visit them when we get near, in a few days.

Cat did laundry, while I finalized the Berlin to Paris portion of our journal. When she returned the clerk told us that we would have to change rooms. They didn’t understand that we would stay for two nights. I talked with him on the phone and reminded him that he had given us the big room as a sort of bonus. He asked me to come get a key and see the new room, he was sure that we would like it. In fact, the new room was larger, better located and we loved it. They just needed our old room because it had 3 beds

I typed, Cat went out to get sandwiches. We had a working lunch together. I went right back to typing and stayed chained to the computer for the rest of the afternoon. Cat found an Internet Shop and cleaned up the few new messages. She returned at about 4:00 PM. We watched the Tour de France, it was a very intense stage. Lance Armstrong did take the Yellow Jersey. His lead has now shrunk to only about 1 minute.

During her wanderings Cat found the Cathedral. We walked back to the area and took some good photos. It is located in a crowded, international, neighborhood. We saw restaurants with Russian, Indian, Turkish, and Italian food. You guessed it, we ate Italiano. Dinner was OK, but lacking in volume. As it worked out, the sauce was so rich that we were glad they served less than normal sized portions.

There was a group of people seated across from us who would struggle with French then break into English. Most spoke the British style but one guy was definitely from the US. He even told stories about living on the desert of California. The thing that they all have in common is school. They are here attending an intense French Language course. We enjoyed listening to them and talking, even after we finished eating we walked down the street together. As we listened we thought of our friend Annette and her cooking school. One of the things I did today was copy the pictures we took while with her so that we can mail them to her.

As has often happened, we walked around and stumbled upon a treasure, the local celebration of Bastille Day. A big crowd had gathered at Hotel de Ville, the City Hall. There was a reviewing stand and lots of military, young and old. We joined in the cheering as a parade of Gendarmes, Bombieres and Military Men passed in review.

Bastille Day

After another stop at McDonalds for ice cream we went back for more computer time. Cat sat with me and reminded me of stories that were missing from the text.

July 14, 2003
BASTILLE DAY
Tours to Chattellerault 70 Kilometers

The National Holiday will affect our ride today. We planned for an early start but it was 9:30 before we pedaled away from The BW Le Grand Hotel. We took the big breakfast then got the bikes and bags into the lobby. Frederic, the front desk manager was friendlier this morning. He had checked our web site and now had a better understanding for our Odyssey. He only charged us for Continental Breakfasts and I asked for two sandwiches that he billed at 2€ each. Then he spent time drawing a map and making a list of cities that we should look for on the road signs. He suggested some small roads but we would be setting out on Highway N 10.

Just breaking free from large towns always feels good. We were in farmland and open space. Climbing slowly we both spotted a shade, the kind that you put in your car window to cut the heat and light of the sun. This shade had the face of a cat on it. We had to stop, it found a place on the back of her bags and looked great there.

Though Frederic’s directions were perfect we chose not to turn off N 10 because the Holiday traffic that we hade feared would appear was non-existent. The road surface was excellent and the terrain flat to rolling. We were making great time.

A short stop for cold drinks in St. Maure gave us the chance to sit in the shade. It is hot, how hot? They’re saying 30 C. that’s about 86 F. The down hills always feel good when the sweat from the up hill pulls cools. We were half way to Chatellerault and feeling strong. The guy at the Station Service as they say here, had the Tour de France on his TV. It motivated us to see those guys giving it 110%.

We pressed on, another 19 Km and stopped at another Service Station in Dange to eat our sandwiches. Sitting inside, under a fan, the temperature was at least the same as outside. We ate and drank then I had a huge Popsicle. We were back out in the sun in just 30 minutes. Cat was in a trans as we climbed a hill in the heat or she has been watching too much Tour de France. We both heard the buzz, her front wheel was running against my back wheel. An adrenalin rush then laughter!

The final 15 Km flew by and we were in Chatellerault by 2:00 PM. Of course we then had to find a place to stay and food. I saw a sign for Ibis and it had the word, Climatize. That means Air Conditioning and it sounds pretty good to us! The place is a ghost town, virtually no one on the street, very few cars. We stopped at a Patissirie, found a cold Perrier drink that really hit the spot. The lady there confirmed our feeling that the Hotel was just ahead.

Pretty amazing, we were out of the heat, bikes parked and off loaded, cool showered and watching the final 50 Km of the Tour by 4:00 PM. This is the 9th Stage and it will be remembered as the one where the Basque rider, Joseba Beloki was sprinting ahead of Lance Armstrong on the downhill to the finish and his rear wheel went out from under him. He fell hard and Lance swerved left to miss him and hit the dirt. He sensed that he couldn’t get back to the road so he continued to roll through the field the did a great long jump across the ditch while carrying the bike and got back in the race in time to save his yellow shirt finish. We have no idea how Joseba is doing? They may have said but we only get about every 12th word, thanks to Cats French lessons.

Dinner at the Hotel Restaurant, and it was great. Cat chose salmon, remaining conservative wither meals. I opted for the Pork Knuckle. How could Knuckles pass up a Knuckle? (It was at least as good as the first one I ever tasted, in BernKastel-Kues while driving Lil’ Scotty up the Mosel.)

July 15, 2003
Chatellerault to Melle 94 Kilometers, 94 Degrees F.

Our early start plans were again thwarted? We dawdled with breakfast and loading but did get out by 9:00 AM. Well, that’s pretty early for us! The air was fresh and cool but we knew that would change. That’s what the weatherman’s map with those little suns and numbers read, though we have no idea what he said.

The old N10 was a far cry from yesterday. We had to dodge trucks and cars just to get across in front of the Hotel. The ride to Poitiers, 34 Km, was pretty uneventful until we got close to town. The highway became a freeway. We now had even more traffic moving even faster and we had to contend with on and off ramps. Yes, we shouldn’t have been out here but, we don’t have any alternatives on our map and there are no signs forbidding cycles. Okay, I know that some of you will send messages telling us not to be stupid but, we were stupid for about 20 Km.

There were fields of Sunflowers, even a couple of vineyards. One of the off ramps, a popular one, led tourists to a theme park called Futurescope. We could see the interesting buildings but that was as close as we wanted to go.

In the midst of the Super Highway we stopped at a Service Station and had soft drinks and cookies. As we ground our way up the hill and away from the air conditioning we heard that familiar buzz again. Cat had gone to sleep at the wheel or should we say handlebars, again. Another phenomenon, the clouds were barely visible but we started to feel raindrops. The best thing about the moment was that it did cool things a little.

Finally about 10 Km out of Poitiers we made a right onto N11. It was much less traveled by car and truck but narrow with no shoulder. We did stop at a Super Market, I stood the guard while Cat picked up lunch. We rode on for maybe 10 Km then sat on a bridge rail and ate our turkey, cheese and bread. Maybe because of the “Tour”, or maybe these French just appreciate bicycles but we got a lot of honks and thumbs up as we ate. Seated in the sun, we were glad when the cloud cover thickened. The shade and a gentle breeze along with the well wishes really made our lunch.

N11 sort of hooks around Lusignan and we took a turn to the right, again, onto D150. It looked like we would be out in the middle of nowhere and in a sense, we were. The area is all agriculture. There are small villages but no services, no cold drinks or Popsicles.

A swoop down followed by the usual slow drag up and we were in a tiny village called Chey. There was what looked like a tiny store so we parked and walked across the highway. It was cool inside, not AC cool but the deli case and freezer let a little air slip out. Cat went for a cold bottle of water, I had Bitter Lemon. The lady was very nice and spoke slowly enough for Cat to understand her. Melle is another 15 Km and according to Madam, it has two Hotels.

More farms then, voila, an Intermarche and the city sign for Melle. We pulled across and I went questing for a Popsicle. The AC in the store felt good but, no Popsicles. A nice girl in the Tabac/Café next door confirmed that there was a Hotel and pointed the directions to the Centre Ville.

Of course there was another big downhill followed by a tough pull up. We circled the Ville then Cat spotted Hotel ** Bar** Restaurant, Les Glycines. She took a look and approved the room. The guy pointed to a place in the lobby where we could leave the bikes but offered not to help get them in or get the bags upstairs. Yes, they have no elevator and we are on floor 2, remember, in Europe that is the third floor. This is the same Hotel Group, Logi de France, as the wonderful little place where we stayed in Arles. The room is modern but the building doesn’t have the same charm and character. We missed the nice family in Arles who seemed to really care about their guests, too. The manager did tell us that we had his most private room. When we pulled the drapes back we were pleasantly surprised to find a small balcony and courtyard below but no windows staring back at us.

By the time we washed the sweat away it was 8:00 PM, and we wanted food. There is a pizza place somewhere in Melle but neither of us felt like exploring so we took seats in the dining room. The menu is very French and very expensive. We chose the lowest priced prix fix, plate du jour menu. Not a lot of food but what there was of it was tasty. An interesting looking woman, red, red hair and flowing dress in the lobby as we checked in had caught our attention. She was seated in a little sidewalk café across the street. As we ate she came back across and went up the stairs. Her dress, a different long flowing white, and a scarf that almost reached the floor made her stand out. Partly because of the unique look and also because it looked pretty uncomfortable in this heat. The dining room isn’t air-conditioned, there is a lazy ineffective fan that slowly oscillates but we were out of its range. The humidity and heat did little for the ambiance or the dining experience.

We took a very short stroll around the village square and it was 9:40 by the time we returned to the room. From the balcony we see a church spire and the gathering clouds of a storm promised earlier by the French weatherman. I decided to get a video as it rang out the 10 o’clock hour. Waiting, the skies darkened and began a show of lightening and thunder. We were disappointed when the bell failed to toll ten but Mother Nature showered us with sound, light and huge drops. We left the balcony doors open and lay, watching and wondering.

July 16, 2003
Melle to Matha 46 Kilometers

The rain poured and the skies were alight then huge claps of thunder followed for most of the night. We slept with the doors to the balcony open. A few drops hit the hardy looking carpet but the cool moist air was too good to pass up. We even had to pull the blanket up during the night.

Cat called Dr. and Madam Fievet, we estimated that we would be in Matha by 12:30 or 1:00 PM. They invited us for luncheon so our plan was to spend some of the afternoon with them then cycle on another 22 Km, into Cognac. They had indicated that they couldn’t “lodge” us, which fit our plans pretty well. It has been 28 years since Cat stayed with them for a week after her college graduation. They also stopped by her parent’s house for dinner when they were visiting California years ago but that is the extent of their relationship. Cat is anxious to see them, she has wonderful memories of her week with them.

A guy from England shared our area at breakfast and we exchanged stories. He is here, house hunting. They made and offer on a place near here but got over bid so he is back and having a tough time making a decision even as to where to buy. He has 3 kids and they can get twice the house for half the price of properties in Yorkshire.

The wet and wild hadn’t completely run its course so we rode out in drizzle. It’s down at first then up a steep one, away from the little river that had carved the valley over the eons. The road is fairly narrow and at times there are curbing and upright barriers in the center. This slows the traffic, really slows them if they’re behind us in one of those areas. They just have to fall in at our pace and wait.

Out in the countryside we were faced with small rolling hills. As we crested one a car pulled past then pulled over and the guy jumped out and ran back toward us. In guarded mode we continued to pedal as he took a position behind a sign and pointed something at us. The size of the lens was the give away. He was shooting pictures of us. Nitto is a pro photographer from Tokyo. He and Anna, from Holland, are following the Christian Pilgrimage Route, writing the story and taking pics along the way. We had a fun time talking with them. He asked if we were pilgrims and we told him, yes, pilgrims of the world. They were both enthused about our voyage and wished us well. I held up my right hand and made the peace sign. As they drove away he was almost hanging out the passenger side window yelling “Peace,” and holding up his two fingers.

We didn’t get very far beyond there because my wheel started making strange noises. Stopping in front of a couple of farmhouses, I found through the process of elimination that the setscrew on the small pulley to the shifter had come out. How could that happen? I only pondered for a few minutes as I searched our tools. I still had the old shifter we had just had changed out and could use the screw from it, but -- we didn’t have an Allen Wrench small enough in our tool kit.

An Allen wrench, my kingdom for an Allen wrench. Sound familiar, that was back when the King or Commander-in-Chief led the troops into battle. What would the battle of Little Big Horn have been without General Custer leading the charge? Who would even know who he was if he had just sat in Command Central and ordered air strikes? For that matter, what about Geronimo, Chief Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. Could they have led from an office in Washington DC? Don’t you think that the Generals and others, who play the dangerous game of War, as Jacque Brel put it, should get a real feeling for the life and death of it? Maybe stand guard duty at night on a dark street in Baghdad? It might change the way we think about that dangerous game, No?

Day dreaming won’t get us back on the road. We found a farm wife picking haricot vert (green beans) and explained in Cat’s best French, what we needed. She immediately went inside and returned with two pathetic looking bags of tools. She had fewer real tools than we did. The neighbors pulled in and she asked them to take a look. The man seemed to want to get away from our problem and us. He headed straight for the barn. She rushed inside, probably in need of a toilet, then returned and applied blush to her cheeks as we talked, or tried to.

I couldn’t have been more wrong about the man. He re-appeared and shook his head, he didn’t have any that small. He talked with the neighbor and his wife then they indicated that they would take us into town in their car. Of course that wouldn’t work, we would never get the bikes in their small car. Somehow they came to the conclusion that they would drive me in to Brioux, 5 km south, and find an Allen Wrench.

They had to re-arrange the junk to make room for me in the back seat. She drove and she wasn’t shy behind the wheel. Fast and furious, enough so that I dug around between the seats, found the seat belt and buckled up. They drove down the main street and turned into a dirt alleyway. There at the end, was a motorcycle/bicycle shop. The young guy there had a hard time understanding that I just needed to borrow the “petite Alain”. I offered to leave a deposit, I’m not sure that he got that but he handed me the wrench. I took it, turned and jumped back into the back seat and we were off to the races, again.

Amazing what having the right tool can do. Within minutes I removed the setscrew from the old shifter, tightened it into the pulley and we were ready to roll. After a pose together for photos we shook hands and mounted up. The two ladies and the man stood waving and saying, “Bye bye, bye bye,” in unison as we rolled down the driveway. (The farmer and his wife are Yves and Annette, we didn’t get the neighbor ladies name.)

Back in Brioux we returned the wrench and Cat thoroughly thanked the guy in her best French. Across the street, the InterMarche would fill some food needs for us, too. As Cat shopped I stood by the bikes. A guy sort of sidled up and looked the bikes over. Dr. Potts has a home nearby. He is retired and they live part time here and part of the time in their hometown of Stratford-Upon-Avon. In his very British accent he invited us to stop for a rest, spot of tea or soft drink. We were so far behind schedule that we feared being late for our lunch with the Fievet’s. He was almost insistent, suggesting that we could use his phone to call Dr. Fievet. We really hated to pass up his kind offer but he lives out in the forest, a couple of kilometers off the highway. We thanked him but decided that we had to try to get to Matha by 1:00 PM.

Time was fleeting, we were heading toward gathering clouds and into blustery winds. By the time we pressed up the hill into Aulnay it had begun to pour rain. It was now 12:30, and there was no way that we would be in Matha by 1:00. Cat found temporary shelter in a phone booth and called. We felt that, with only 20 kilometers to go, if the rain and wind didn’t get any worse we should be there between 1:30 and 2:00. Madame Fievet was worried about us being out in the weather but told Cat not to worry, they would save lunch for us.

The wind didn’t let up, the rain finally did. Then the hills, we turned off D 950 onto D 121, a smaller road that rolled up and down with the farmland it traversed. A breakdown, wind, rain and now, large rolling hills. There couldn’t be many more things that would slow us. Then the wind really picked up, maybe 30 Km per hour. We were doomed to being really late.

We found Matha by 2:30 but couldn’t find the Fievet’s house. A gal at the Tourist Office pointed back up the street and told Cat that they lived there. We learned from her that there is a small hotel here and she would help us get a room. Even with fairly concise directions we still couldn’t find Fievet’s. Finally a guy on the street pointed to a commercial looking building. Madame Fievet rushed out and hugged Cat. It was like old home week. They even accepted me as though we had known each other for years.

Dr. Fievet invited us to take the bikes to their back yard. The drizzle of rain had returned so he had us park in their pool house. Cat chatted with Madame while the Doctor and I sat trying to communicate in his den. When the ladies came in Cat told me that we would stay with them tonight. Jules, we were now on a first name basis, told us in French/English that their children had spent the weekend and they hadn’t been able to dry the sheets because of the rain. They did find a set of sheets though and wanted us to stay.

The Tour de France route passes right in front of the Fievet’s house. We were astounded but when Cat asked about it Maryvonne said, “Yes, we are eeeating zee dejeuner and cycles go by, I say, Zhere goes zee Tour de France. Jules says, "Oui," zhen we eat.” Well not everyone, not every Frenchman is a cycling fan.

We had tea and cookies, I usually have a problem with the taste of tea, my Mother always made us drink it when we were sick. I relate the smell tea to the flu. This was one time when it tasted pretty good. It and the cookies was the only food we would have before dinner. They probably thought that we had stopped for lunch? The time was a wonderful chance to hear about their lives and their children. They have two sons and three daughters. We saw lots of pictures and heard lots of stories.

Les Fievets

We were treated to a Tour de Matha with Jules. He drove us around in his big new Chrysler and pointed out highlights. At the old Roman Church we ran into Dr. Henri Coker, now retired, he had been a partner of Jules. He was so excited that he left his family car to his family and joined us for a Tour de Churches. He is a plethora of knowledge about the two old Churches here in Matha. During the tour a girl came in who is planning her wedding at the Church. She fell in and we all listened to our expert tour guide. After thoroughly explaining the statues, carvings and stained windows, we drove by his home and he picked up a folder of material about the other, older Church.

Henri’s Church Tour

Though not as picturesque the old Church did hold some great Dr. Henri stories. He held the close up photos of the carvings up and explained their meanings. Like one with two tongues, chiding those who talk out of both sides of their mouth. What a treat for us and probably for him. He was as anxious to share, as we were to hear.

Back at Chateau Fievet, we had Pineau, the local aperitif, in the study and learned a little about the region. Those tall green vines we have seen all day bear grapes destined for Cognac, the king of brandy. In fact Jules, at one time, owned a vineyard and was involved in the production of Cognac. He says that grapes from Cognac, 20 kilometers to the south, make the best Brandy, to the north of here it is not as good and in Matha, they are in the middle.

As we entered the dining room Bernadette the Fievet’s eldest, came in and joined us. That was a good thing for us, not just to meet and get to know her but also because she speaks English. I should explain that Maryvonne has a pretty large vocabulary in English but it is a struggle for her to talk and understand. Let us also say that the more we talk with her the better her English skills get.

Bernadette is about the same age as Cat. They had a great time comparing notes about the time Cat spent here in 1975. Maryvonne served a wonderful meal that included tomatoes stuffed with mussels. Jules poured some lovely, local wines and explained the differences as well as the taste he enjoys most. One story was of how wine regions run together. He told us that the second bottle he opened, Beaujolais was from a vineyard that is adjacent to the northern boundary of Burgundy. Thus, according to Jules, it is either a lesser Burgundy or one of the best Beaujolais.

Apre dinner we sipped Cognac and looked at our pictures on the computer late into the night. They enjoyed it and we found as much pleasure in telling of our adventures as Dr. Henri did in sharing his knowledge of the Churches.

July 17, 2003
Matha to Montendre 78 Kilometers

Jules made a list of cities we will ride through. We talked about life and our journey. When we referred to ourselves as CRAZY Jules said, “No it is we are crazeee.” They have a wonderful family and a good life yet they seem to wish they could or had done more. We’ll probably all feel that way at 80? They have contributed in many ways and though Jules often says that he is an old man they both still enjoy life. He is on the cusp of 80, she is mid 70s. He just had successful angioplasty and has found renewed energy. Maryvonne is full of energy and Cat says that she always has been. Even now she swims every day and either walks or rides her bicycle rather than driving to shop.

It was 10:00 AM by the time we pulled the bikes around front and gave each other the wonderful kisses on the cheeks that are so French. There was a moment when we were almost tears. As we rolled out Jules went to the center of the street as though to stop traffic. When I rode close to him I put my hand out and he grabbed it and clasp tight for a moment. I reeled to the side, almost fell, but loved the feeling of the moment.

As we rolled away the flags above the street fluttered almost impatiently, waiting for the Tour, knowing that our over weight bikes weren’t a part of it. Most of our ride today will be on the 17th Stage route.

Rolling hills amongst lush vineyards, that’s what the boys of Tour de France can expect when they pass this way. The region of Cognac surrounds the town that lies 22 Km due south from Matha. Cognac, the village, will be one of those memories from the cycle seat. We rolled right through without stopping.

Cognac Grapes

Continuing another 21 Km, we stopped for lunch in Archiac. The restaurant, Le Petite Champagne, was local food and drink. Even the crowd was locals only. The food was imported, we ordered Pizza and salad. The salad was local but the Pizza had been shipped in, frozen. It may have been frozen but it was filling and we were hungry.

Apre Pizza it was just head down, up and down and hot sun for 37 kilometers. The hills and heat were taking their toll. We stopped for juice at a bar, the gal served then when asked, told us that Montendre was only one more Kilometer. It turned out to be a little farther and hillier. We stopped at the Intermarche for essentials then slowly made our way up the hill toward the only accommodations in town, Les Chambres D’Hotes Du Jardin. A note on door had a phone number to call. Cat walked around the corner to a fireplace shop, borrowed their phone and called. She thought that the owner was in route because it sounded like he was on a cell phone. He told her that he would be there at 7:00 PM. We sat on a park bench in the back yard, a huge yard, and drank our wine while we waited.

Francois, our host, walked around the corner of the Petite Chateau at 7:00 and said, “Bonjour”. We were shocked. Had he been inside all along? Was he resting? Was he working? Well none of that mattered, he was here and we were in. It wasn’t like we could go somewhere else. He led us to a door and we parked the bikes in his garage. Once past the first few minutes we really liked the place. Once we had our bags up the three flights of stair we really loved the room.

Francois suggested what he called a typical French Restaurant then insisted on walking with us a way in order to point out the direction. Interesting, how so many French do that. On the way around the corner he stopped and yelled at a guy who was working inside a house. The guy, Roger (Row jay) was manager of the PX, Post Exchange on the nearby American Army Base for 11 years before it closed. He did well and has been buying and fixing up property since then. He was working on a new stairway in the house we stopped in front of. We think Francois wanted us to meet him because he spoke English.

We had pasta with a French twist, it was loaded with moules (muscles) and it was good! After eating we walked up a steep hill to the old Chateau. There was a dance performance that was scheduled to begin at 9:30. We waited outside the fence until it did finally get started after 10:00 PM. We waited, it was well attended but only a so-so show. We held out for the first number then left.

July 18, 2003
Montendre to Bordeaux 80 Kilometers

Francois served hearty coffee and crunchy bread, the kind that Maryvonne dipped in her coffee, and called “grillade”. We had arrived bananaless yesterday so had to make due with what was served. He hovered over our table at first then sat and told us about his family and life. The B&B is his wife’s domain, he works in Bordeaux, takes the train in daily and commutes to and from it on bicycle. His Father is a farmer growing grapes, distilling fine Cognac and blending other local product like Pineau. The vineyards have been in his family for several generations.

Our plan to spend a night in St. Emilion faded as Francois confirmed what we had heard earlier, that every Hotel was booked in advance there. He felt sure that we would have no problem getting a place in Bordeaux. He got out his map book and wrote down the towns that we should be looking for along his proposed route.

He walked across and together we chatted with Roger. What a super guy, he is traveling to Louisiana later this year to visit a friend who was stationed here during the reign of Roger as manager of the PX. He works a lot, today he is finishing a stairway in one of the several houses he owns. He has bought many of the homes on the street and built or re-built his own place there. It’s hard to believe that he is 78 years old. Francios calls the street Rue de Roger, since he owns most of it.

Just up the street, the Champion Market drew us in for pastries and bananas. We needed more food than the grillade pain offered. It was a cool but sunny morning and Francois had said that we would see temperatures above 30 again, today.

Francois’s route was again a ride in reverse of the Tour de France course. He was correct, the signs announcing closure of the road were prominent along the route to St. Savin. It was a treat to be there in the countryside, forest, and farms, with the colors of summer surrounding us. The sign and flags for the Tour de France route veered off to the left there and Cat suggested that we go with them. Francois’s route had us going south to Bourg then across to St. Andre. Sure it would be a little longer ride but he told us that we would see some of the most famous vineyards in the Bordeaux region.

We rolled into Bourg, found a small store open and had a picnic in the market place building that is open air and vacant on this Friday afternoon. The scenic tour through famous vineyards was just that and more. It was hilly, very hilly. We coasted down at 25 Kmph then crawled back up at 5. The average may be 15 but each up took a little more out of our legs. Then too, there was the sun, that hot French sun. Finally we passed through St. Andre then over the Dordogne River. I remember the name because it was a famous, very bloody battle area in WWI.

Crossing the Dordogne

Twice we almost cranked out into the slow lane of the A 10. The first was stopped by a motorist who honked and waived his finger, no, no. The second time we were at the ramp but could see no alternative so were about to ride when a guy pulled up and jumped out of his car. He spoke only French but got the point across that we couldn’t enter A 10 then he outlined the best route for us. He used slow French and hand signals to get us around and down next to the river then in toward Bordeaux. As he turned back toward his car I took my wallet out to get a card for him. He thought I was going to offer money and said, “No, no,” then started to run. I held the card up, he stopped and came back. Cat explained, he took the card but said, “ I speak only French.”

Cat caught some green and white cycle route signs with arrows and the word Bordeaux on them. We followed into a seedy neighborhood and followed the railroad tracks into town. The bridge was under re-construction, the river Garonne was swirling and muddy, so much so that we could smell the scent of wet earth.

Bordeaux greeted us like most large cities, traffic and strange streets. There were two additional handicaps here, heat and construction barricades. We circled along the main street, asked a Gendarme for the Tourist Office and he sent us onward. Lost, I pulled up and asked a taxi driver. He got out of his cab to show us the route and tripped over a cement barrier. It was a long legged dance and side step but he saved himself from falling. He suggested going around the block but Cat was calling to me. She had a visual on the T.O. We pushed through the construction and up to the door.

There was a line so while I waited she ran across the street to Hotel Normandie. I got a city map, book of events and one with Hotels and price ranges listed. When Cat returned she felt that though the Normandie was nice it was too high priced. The desk had quoted 100€ per night. Checking the book we found that it was listed in the 3€ sign category with rates from 50-70€. We went back to the desk and got a nice young girl to help us. She called a place that was listed at 35-50€, they told her that they had a room for 47.50€. I asked her to call and find out why the Normandie was so far off the mark compared to the book. She resisted then gave in. We were all surprised when the manager came across and tried to explain the problem. We apologized, I hadn’t meant to cause problems but I did want to know how accurate the book was in the event that we didn’t like the small priced place.

After fast-talking, the Manager told us he did have a room with shower and air conditioning for 86€. We were tired and tired of the battle. He was a pretty nice guy, after all, so we took his deal.

The room is nice, large, cool and private. We parked the bikes in a locked hallway then got the bags up, showered and relaxed. Though we had talked about Mexican food we shifted back to French and took seats at an interesting Bistro on Rue Catherine. Interesting because we were in an annex across the small cobblestone street from the main restaurant. Also, the kitchen was on the first floor, and the waitress would take orders then shout them up through the window. Great salad and good main courses.

July 19, 2003
Day off in Bordeaux

There is a stand up coffee/brioche café across the square. Getting there is an obstacle course of concrete and barriers due to new trolley tracks under construction in many streets here. We chose to sit inside and watch the crowd as it ebbed and flowed, surging toward shopping bargains. The Normandie provided a fresh Herald loaded with news in English. The front page is smeared with questions about Dr. David Kelly, a weapons expert in England who had been under pressure for having talked with the BBC about what they call, “Sexed up”, intelligence reports. He appeared before a Parliamentary inquiry then went home, went for a walk and killed himself. Oh Lord where will this terrible soap opera take us?

There was a piece about moral among American troops in Iraq on BBC. The young guys on the ground there are disillusioned, even spoke out suggesting that Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld should resign. A General, covered in epaulets and medals, said that no one who wears the uniform has the right to question the Secretary of Defense or the President. Easy to say when you’re half way round the world from RPGs and bullets. But then, I note that war is usually contrived and controlled by older men who never put themselves in what they call, “Harms Way”! Why don’t we draft only people over age 55 to fight? They have less to lose and seem to be the ones who want war.

This is an original Pattersonism!

Okay, back to Business. We walked to the Internet Shop but it won’t open until noon. Back to Rue Saint Catherine where we looked for summer cycling shorts. No shorts but we did pick up some powdered sport drink. Looked at cameras but only bought a package of blank CDs.

There is a fountain, a wonderful fountain with horses, sea horses with webbed hooves that spray a mist from their noses. A great story, too. Back in 1942, after Germany took charge of France, they formed a non-ferrous metal commission to confiscate metal for use in weapon production, we assume. It disappeared then in 1944, after WW II ended, it was found intact and re-installed in 1982. It’s a wondrous work of art.

Back at The Normandie, I spent most of the afternoon working on the Journal while Cat did laundry, Internet and picked up food for an in room picnic. Late in the afternoon we walked in the heat and crowds to a sidewalk stand Cat had seen in her travels. They sell bicycle clothing and supplies. We bought sunglasses with 3 lenses, dark, yellow and clear. A good value, we hope, at 25€.

Bordeaux Street

As we cycled in I caught a glimpse of a huge gate, I thought, down one of the side streets. I had also seen a picture of it at the Tourist Office. We walked and looked and walked. It was almost 7:00 PM and the temperature was still clinging to 30, or 86 depending on which system you speak. We talked with a bus driver and woman passenger, well we communicated through signs and Cats French. They were kind and tried to be helpful but didn’t understand what it was that we were looking for. We finally gave up and went to dinner, Pizza, French Pizza.

Sunday, July 20, 2003
Day off in Bordeaux

How French of us. We walked to Place Gambetta as advised by the desk clerk. Strange, very French, the shopping streets that were packed with bargain buyers yesterday were deserted this morning. We sat on the sidewalk and enjoyed Café au Lait, Croissants and the look of locals as they shook the sleep from their eyes. Two guys and a gal sitting across from us were enjoying a little hair of the dog that bite them, so to speak. They were smoking, drinking beers and vacillating between laughter and argument. When they left they left behind a sidewalk strewn with wooden matches and cigarette butts.

A stroll through the empty streets of the Latin Quarter then back to our Hotel Normandie. Voila, there was a small market open so we picked up bananas and some lunch picnic things. Back in the room, I typed and we BBCed, more news and a piece about Elizabeth, the virgin Queen of England. Interesting, they said that it was she, not James, that ordered the beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots. (Remember, Mary was married to a French King at age 16 in order to tie the two nations together. She was Catholic, Elizabeth Protestant and so just a part of the ongoing struggle that continues even today!)

Cat has heard of a Sunday morning Market down by the riverside. We sauntered down the Quai along the La Garonne, past the old French Navy Cruiser, Croiseur Colbert. Now a restaurant, its only battle these days is getting dinner out on time. The market was great fun. We bought a bottle of 1998 Chateau Grand Brun, Haut-Medoc from the vintner. We rode through the vineyards when we came in to Bordeaux. Before you jump to a conclusion that we blew budget on wine, you must know that it was only 7€. We saw a wonderful looking guy in black robe. I walked past him then back, trying to position for a picture. Finally I just walked up to him and asked. He said, “Oui, but I’m not a curiosity you know!” Friar Colombo is an Orthodox Monk from Cognac. He is here, living with and helping his Mother who is now dieing.

Market Cordion Bordeaux Marche

Haut-Medoc in hand we headed back to the Hotel for lunch and Le Tour de France on French TV.

As we watched the Tour De France, we munched on our typical bread, cheese and ham. After a little rest, we walked over to Internet and stayed there until 6:30 p.m.!! Back to the room, we typed a little more before heading out to dinner. We just walked around the corner of the hotel and found a typical French gourmande, big salade with grilled potatoes and smoked chicken. Great! Of course we needed another McDonalds dessert fix, then back to the room and early sleep. We know we have a big ride down the Tour de France road tomorrow.

July 21,2003
Bordeaux to Sabres 93 Kilometers

Leaving wasn’t easy, it never is in big cities. We got the cart and took the bags down then made our usual spectacle, loading them in the lobby. The gal from Cincinnati stopped and talked for a minute then offered to let us use her map book to find our way out of Bordeaux. That was helpful and so were the guy and gal at the front desk. They even made a copy of a map and high lighted the route.

We rolled out, over the temporary walkway, past the Tourist Office and to the Brioche de Ore, the same little stand up we sat in day before yesterday. In fact, the same booth! It was spitting down rain as we sipped and munched. Poor bikes and bags, they had to weather the elements while we basked in the aroma of rich coffee.

Starting out was slow, we chose to ride down the pedestrian street. There were quite a few bargain hunters and late for workers that we had to work our way through. Winding our way along, Rue Saint Catherine does that slow change from upscale to lower south side in about 3 Kilometers. Once on the street we pushed our speed up then stopped at a Poste to mail CDs to Web Master Wally. The line was almost out the door and slow as escargot. Forget it, we rolled on.

Like all cities, they don’t give up easily and when they do it is a slow transition. Chic Commercial gives way to run down commercial then comes industrial. Finally, patches of open space and small junky homes. Then around a round about and we were in Chateaux and Vineyard territory. This is the Region Grave de Bordeaux. The vines look crisp and the rows straight. Everything is green and fresh smelling thanks to the recent rains. We watched a tractor run up and down the rows of vines, mowing and shaping. Awe, to be in vineyards and on the route of the Tour de France, what a treat.

Trimmin’ Vines

Like all good things, the vineyards end and corn takes over. Well, corn, rains and other crops for French Folks. Forest and ferns took their turns at lining the road, too. We stopped at a wonderful little cheese, wine and meat stand for picnic supplies. The guy sliced everything by hand, some very well and some pretty thick on one side and thin on the other. He apologized but I told him it didn’t matter once we started eating. He didn’t get it.

Rare, two cyclists with bags came riding toward us. They seemed more interested in getting from point A to point B than in talking. We yelled out a big “Hello,” then they turned and one said, “You speak English!” I said that we did but a different brand than they were used to. James and Paul are from England, they started riding in Bilboa, Spain. They are roughing it, sleeping in the bushes in what they called “Bivvy Sacks.” I told Cat that it was probably a derivative from the word, Bivwac, a military term for an encampment. Nice young guys, on holiday from school and seeing a bit of Spain and France. They loved our story but questioned where we got the money to live the way we do, on the road. I told them to pay attention in school, learn there lessons well then work for 35 years and save a little money along the way. It worked for us!

Another 10 Km and we found a log to sit on and a tractor plowing the field for effect. A lizard zipped up and around a stump and limbs. We ate, waived at the tractor driver and watched le Liz. Good food and a show, what more could we ask for?

Our target for the day, Sore, was too small to even have a store. A friendly guy did tell us that Sabres, the next village on the map, had a Hotel. We put our heads down and cranked. It was just after 5:00 PM and we were thirsty so we hit the Elf Service Station for soft drinks and assistance, first. We had seen the sign for Auberge des Pin but decided to take a look around before leaving the main square. The Elf lady thought the Auberge was booked. She began trying to help us in spite of the language problem. Two other gals joined in then they all called out to another who was just walking in. Danielle speaks English and she knows about places to stay.

She got on the phone but told us that she thought everything was full today in Sabres. Danielle owns and operates a B&B but her place is leased for the summer season. After trying for 30 minutes she finally invited us to ride 5 Km and campout inside the house she is borrowing from a friend. We decided to try the Auberge first and if it was fully booked we would ride out to her place. It’s a 5 Km back track then back here in the morning but it’s a wonderful gesture on her part.

The lady at Auberge was just a little less than friendly and confirmed the fact that they were had no rooms. I asked about camping in the back and she waived her hand toward the right and said, “Camping”, something in French then, “pool”. I didn’t get it and asked Cat to come in and try. She got the message, there was a campground just down the street, across from the community swimming pool.

Okay, if we have to or want to, we camp. This was a combo deal. We sort of had to if we didn’t want to cycle another 5 Km to Danielle’s. We sort of wanted to because we need to practice setting up and tearing down the tent and other equipment. By the way, this is a ***, three star Camping Experience. They have a pool, tennis courts, even a bar with disco music. We were ready to rough it.

We chose a spot close to the toilets and set about setting up. Surprisingly, it only took an hour to get camp in order and get through our showers. We walked back down the road to Auberge des Pins for dinner. There is a group of musicians staying here and they were seated near our table. I was tempted to join in when they started playing “name that tune”. One of them started humming a tune then the other sang, “When we’re dancin’ cheek to cheek.” At that point they couldn’t remember the rest of the word and they were all in my mind. “Heaven, I’m in heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and seem to feel the happiness you I seek, when we’re out together dancin’ cheek to cheek,” and on and on. Why do we remember trivial things like that? Why didn’t I jump up and break into song? Cat and I could have danced across the room like Fred and Ginger?

Back to reality, Danielle, the gal that we met who invited us to stay came in so we invited her to join us. After explaining our need to practice with the tent and our need not to cycle another 5 Km just to turn around in the morning and ride back, we had a nice talk. She knows Morocco, she has friends in Morocco, she was raised there. She told us that she would get names and addresses and let them know that we are coming. We made a date to have coffee in the morning at a café in the village.

Dinner was disappointingly tiny and the price was disappointingly huge! We ate a lot of bread trying to get the calories that we need. We were pretty burned out when we got in tonight.

Back at Camp Pericat, we brushed and crawled in at 11:00 PM.

July 22, 2003
Sabres to St. Lon-les-Mines 76 Kilometers

I heard the church bell ring 2, 3 and 4 times. Cat heard the 5, 6 and 7:00 AM bells. I was awake but lazying. We got moving, to beat the crowd at the toilets and sinks. We also have a date for coffee with Danielle at 8:30. The tent was down and everything in the bags by 8:35, I wound up the packing while Cat went to check us out. I met her at the office, it was closed. We rode back toward the v