overnighted in a rather beautiful old farm, built from chunks of the red limestone that gives the commune its name, amid its renovation into a chambre d’hôtes that may well be catnip to people about my age. one of my hosts, a lanky, friendly gen xer, enthusiastic about his project–c’est chouette, non?–let me leave my bicycle in the barn-cum-construction depot. we discussed my plan to slip away in the morning. I washed my clothes in the shower with hand soap and jumped into bed.
I think until arriving I had harbored some optimistic doubts about my predicted travel times. as usual, however, common sense overpowered optimism–my predicted travel times, though slow, were pretty spot on. the last casualty of that willful blindness was that I was wearing my pajamas before reality sank in: I had no morning meal plan. My hosts, I’m sure, would have assembled an excellent breakfast, but, their workflow involving driving down to the village after a reasonable wakeup time, there was no chance of getting anything to eat before about eight o’clock. with a long, hot day planned, I decided to enjoy as much emergency trail mix as I could in my room, the issue, as always, being how to precipitate a high-quality movement at a predictable moment, and leave as early as I could, which turned out to be around seven.
sunday morning, church on the horizon. approaching this one from below, I saw the crosses against the morning sky. I’m pretty consistent in fumbling the camera, which otherwise lives more or less peacefully in the left pocket of my shorts, so that I get a picture some time after I see the image I want to steal away with. so trust me–this, like many others, was a little too late to be great.
red limestone blocks, as advertised
my original plan for the trip had been to start in Clermont-Ferrand. in the next draft, I started in Lyon. a few drafts later and I started in Geneva, and in the interests of avoiding cities, I missed out on Lyon. too bad–a wonderful city–but these roads through the wine country and beautiful (though in some cases too-beautiful) red towns of the iconiens would be hard to skip.
temperatures still cool, perfect roads, unlimited confidence
soaking in the dawn sky still
the balloons’ rapid rising, surprising. at a distance, the flame is inaudible–all I hear is the clank of my metal fenders on the climb.
“could be california”, chapter 38
sorry for the self-portrait. sun still low, morning air still all promise
breakfast destination in view, strategy devised by L and I the night before.
the site of a max “perceived speed” for the trip, or at least a top 10
thank god for bakers. supplemented my pastries (“votre boulanger“, very good) with some orangina from the chain supermarket off camera to the right. fleeting thought of my declining dental health, a refrain for these trips.
after a grocery store stop, a 10 km road climb
on the way to the Donzy medieval area. there, too many people to take out the camera without embarrassment–carrying a bicycle and stumbling in my mtb shoes was embarrassment enough. sunday festivities, market, tired, game, costumed players in between scenes at their van. dusty parking lot. cheese stands, save the bees people, babies, dappled light.
in the Loire valley, headed to the center of it all (the river).
the time for lunch comes and is about to go. just after crossing the Loire (big, lazy, majestic, at Feurs; I’m on something like the main road), I make a snap decision and turn into a dirt driveway to sit down for lunch. the restaurant is, amazingly, a buffet–suffering from the combined effects of my normal snobbishness and germaphobia, I nevertheless see that it suits my purposes nearly perfectly. and the staff were extremely nice.
it’s sunday, early afternoon, big family groups are eating outside under a transparent cover. temperatures are now about 35 ºC and, at least for me, they will continue to rise. so I’m happy when the host shrugs apologetically at the crowd outside, but nevertheless, out of whatever stupid social reflexes I can’t control, see myself act magnanimous in my acceptance of a seat inside–even though I’m about as sweaty and dusty as anyone you wouldn’t want sitting on your furniture.
I shuffle around the buffet. it’s some sort of multi-course situation, and there’s something for everyone. the (again, extremely nice) waiter fills up my bottles with water from the fridge on the way out.
now on the other side of the Loire. and on the other side of lunch. temperatures approaching 40 ºC now. I’m mostly running parallel to the main road on very sleepy tracks. long straights. the day will last forever.
every moment in the trees raises the spirits.
approaching Montverdun, hot all around.
in Montverdun, stop in at a tabac (always a friendly sight). the owner is a talkative fellow, brings me my requested two coca colas with great assiduousness. he is traveling to tahiti next year. have a chat with a kölner pilgrim doing the chemin de st. jacques in stages, boots and pack and seashell. we’re headed in more or less the same direction. he’s long-haired, philosophical over a slow cigarette and beer. “we won’t see each other again,” he smiles by way of goodbye.
I think I broke a traffic law by coming back down this road, if I recall correctly. ordinarily I am pretty conscientious, but it was so hot and so quiet, and my planned route off the top looked like a hot, dusty, scratchy portage.
time for some sightseeing goddammit. the peak this priory sits at is prominent over the Forez. dope place for a clubhouse.
besides the obvious there are a collection of practical buildings and a small garden. I always find these kind of medieval terraria stimulating. there’s some kind of fancy lunch going on (judging by the cars parked outside). I pop into the church.
at some point I realize I’m headed into those hills.
moving time has ticked over about 8.5 hrs now. the riding is nonstop great, but the reality of what remains (about half of the day’s road) is beginning to swell at the edge of my attention. temperatures, nearly 45 ºC on the volcanic mound of the priory, have fallen now to 39 ºC, and will continue to drop for the rest of the day. it’s good. besides, though I’m not aware of it, I have some water rationing ahead of me.
I took very few pictures along here, in the Forez, because it’s all the same–quiet, lonely, rolling terrain, barely-used farms, quiet villages. beautiful trees, including some oaks that make me think of california. perfect stuff.
vain search for a fountain. I enjoy this great courtyard–I’m standing under the gate. I’m still a village or two away from finding water.
distant stone buildings
after a few of these villages I stopped getting optimistic about refueling
at some point, some pictures back, I’ve passed into the Puy de Dôme department. we are in the parc regional Livradois-Forez.
❤
at some point I got some water. I asked a slightly grumpy young man who was tidying up from an afternoon birthday party for his daughter. (it was a single digit balloon, but I forget the number.) his house and yard stood on the village square, where I had only found frustrating evidence of closed hostels and restaurants–we’re out of season, it’s late, it’s Sunday. he pointed me into a single occupancy cabin standing on the square or at the end of his backyard, which upon detailed inspection proved to be a public toilet. I filled up my bottles happily.
suddenly it’s a lot less remote. a nice town, Vollore-Montagne, smooth roads, rv campsites, hotels. I have some more miles under the belt, and about five more miles of descending ahead of me right now, but I’m beginning to get a little pessimistic about finding dinner. (maybe at the lac d’Aubusson ahead?) at any rate, there’s another tabac up there. I sit at a table outside. at the next table a roadie listens to his headphones.
the plan is to hit one more castle on a hill, in Mauzun. alas, it’s private property. so I walk up to the gate and get rolling.
at some point it gets dark, and the photos stop. I arrive in Clermont-Ferrand, much my biggest city so far, about 10 minutes before 11:00–with just enough time for an alcohol-free beer at the bar before last call. the run in to Clermont-Ferrand will eventually be unremarkable except for a detour on the bike path. I mean it’s fenced off, but it’s like 10 pm, and the fencing is kind of half-assed. so I give it a look. now that I’m nearly stationary there’s just the standlight from the dynamo. but it’s enough to see that this avoidable fence is preventing the public from stumbling into an irregular 10-ft-deep trench. I figure it’s best not to mess around with that kind of thing, alone in what feels like the middle of the night and nowhere.
but I’m getting ahead of myself. I pause in Billom, its medieval beauty somewhat gloomy, or at least sleepy, at this hour, where I find–along with what seems to be half the town–Délice Kebab, open till 10 on Sunday. my reaction is something like the old newman’s own lemonade copy. sweet joanna! unfortunately the locals know to order online in advance. but it isn’t too long until I get some food, and, what the hell, it’s dark already. this is the kebab taco. amazing.
(…for more coverage of “france 2023”, click here…)
a cozy place for odd rats i guess 