Monday, 10 June 2024. The light rain that started as Cheryl and I rode to the Lyon Part-Dieu train station grew to a violent thunderstorm as we watched out the windows of the regional train to Clermont-Ferrand. In Vichy on the other side of the front, the sky was clear and sunny, but the air was still cool. Crossing town, we found the paved Véloroute 70 easily, and followed it to the town of Pont-du-Chateau, which was as close to a major city (Clermont-Ferrand) as we would come that week.
Camping Les Sablons was officially open, but only barely. Only a handful of camper vans occupied by contract workers shared the mosquito-ridden property with us. The facilities were in a poor state, and it seemed to me that they did not intend to be ready for the tourist season at all.
On the other hand, Vic-Le-Comte, where we stayed the next day, was a delightful little town. With a population of only 5,000, it was big enough to offer choices of pastry shops, boulangeries, and supermarkets, but small enough to be quiet at night and easily walkable.
The pleasant weather held along the river on the morning of the 12th, but the sky began to darken. By the time we reached Brioude, it was clear that we would be exposed on the bike path, and the front coming seemed quite large. Cheryl remembered Le Puy-en-Velay as a beautiful mediaeval city, so we jumped on the regional train to another new place for me. I had not known of Le Puy as the jumping-off point of the Camino de Santiago, or the stunning scenery and history of the area. Pushing our bikes up the cobblestones of the almost impassable historic center was as physical a challenge as any grimpe on the Tour de France, but the four-story, fully equipped house made it worth it.
The Cathedral of Notre Dame, a 12th-century church, contained beautiful frescoes, and a gift shop, where I obtained a stamp for my credencial. Everywhere in Le Puy is steep, so the various levels of the church were built in different centuries, and making one’s way around it is an exercise in three-dimensional navigation.
In such sharp mountains, I found myself agog at the beauty of the scenery, and glad that I could enjoy so much of it just walking to the edge of the city.
We stayed two nights in Le Puy. This was the Haute-Loire, and the Loire River originates nearby. We enjoyed the traditional lentils of the region, and I studied maps to understand how our travels intersected the famous bike routes of both the Loire and the Allier.
Getting out of LePuy to resume our travels represented something of a challenge, so we found ourselves taking the train back to Lyon and spending the night in the 1st Arrondissement, near the City Hall in the old city. The owner would not let us bring our bikes near his establishment (literally: he did not even let us lean them against the wall outside). However, we learned that the nearby parking garage by the river had a large, modern bicycle parking facility, even bigger than the one at Les Halles. I can’t see why anyone would own a car in Lyon.
The next day, we returned to the Via Allier by taking the train to Saint-Georges-l’Aurac on the Allier river. From there, we rode to Langogne, which is the end of the VR 70, the Via Allier. I began to understand deeply why Cheryl wanted to show me this part of France. All day, we crossed from Lozère to the Haute-Loire and back, until we passed the big reservoir at Naussac and crossed into the Ardèche briefly before stopping in Langogne.
Sunday, the 16th, we followed the D906 all day, with the region of the Ardèche on our left and the Lozère on our right. I remembered the Lozère from crossing the Gran Causses in 2017. The Causses had left me exposed on a naked, sun-baked plateau. The mountains of the eastern Massif Central, on the other hand, hid under thick forests as far as the eye could see.
By now we had climbed above 1,000 metres so gently that I never felt the effort. The forests and ridges provided spectacular views on all sides. Along the way, we left the Ardèche and the Lozère and slipped into the Gard. We were back in the southernmost part of France.
All too soon, we rolled into the city of Alés and checked into les Jardins del la Fontaine. With its crystal chandeliers, shiny hardwood floors, and classic furnishings, the Jardins was an experience of its own. Cheryl studied the routes: we were still too close to Nice, too early.
On Monday, we set out for another river run, parts of which we had enjoyed in Lyon: the Eurovelo 17, the Via Rhona. This bike path is mostly paved, all the way from the source of the Rhône River in Switzerland, to the delta of that great river on the Mediterranean. First, we hopped on a train to Valence, where Cheryl plundered the tourist information office before we picked up the Via Rhona heading south (downstream). We planned to stay in Les Voultes-sur-Rhône, but the owner of the place we had reserved on booking.com called me to say that he had already booked the place, and had forgotten to tell booking.com. While the shadows lengthened and I tried to find another place quickly, we rode south to Le Pouzin. We found the Hotel Restaurant Les Alizés at sunset. The place was very bike friendly: we were invited to park our steeds with the other five bikes in the lobby. Supper in the hotel’s restaurant was excellent, as was the people-watching. An eclectic mix of locals and cycle-tourists.
Booking.com did refund my reservation in Les Voultes-sur-Rhône. Maybe booking.com could take over the French railways; it would be an improvement!
Riding down the Rhône was as pleasant as any river I have ridden, except maybe the Danube between Budapest and Vienna. Below Valence, the river is wide and majestic, flowing quickly with the pressure from the rains over eastern France and Switzerland. Now we rode with the Ardèche on our right and Vaucluse across the river from us.
We could have ridden much farther on the 18th, but Cheryl had fond memories of the Hostellerie Charles Foucault in Viviers, and wanted me to see it. Viviers was a surprise in several ways. The “hostel” was actually a very large facility, originally the first seminary and college in France. It was the biggest building in the city, and the reason for Vivier’s place in French history. 
We climbed to the cathedral and hiked the narrow, cobblestone streets to the overlook high above the river. From the placards in the park there, I learned that Giuliano della Rovere, one of the most significant popes of the Italian High Renaissance (as Julius II), was Bishop of Viviers 1478-1479. The confluence of history on my travels often catches me by surprise.
Road construction on the main highway along the river made Viviers a bumper-to-bumper route for large TIR trucks through town and past the hostel. The heavy traffic made us happy to hit the véloroute the next morning.
The next day subjected us to the hottest temperatures and the most sun of the entire trip. We rode hard and long, more than 80 km to Avignon, arriving sweaty and tired, but with a clear plan for our final days together. We arrived early enough to take the train to Aix-en-Provence, where we spent two nights. This university city has never lost its charm as a college town, and we enjoyed walking through the markets and small shops.
I booked three nights in the My Casa apartment in Nice, but this was mainly a logistical transfer point for us. On the 21st, Cheryl mailed home the things she would not need for the flight home. That night, we joined the revelle
rs for the festival in the streets. For her birthday, I bought us each a haircut. For her, just a trim, but for me, it removed the ponytail that had taken six years to grow. I can’t complain that a French stylist did the job. I have had many compliments since then.
On Saturday night, Cheryl and I went to the airport, where she boxed her bike and checked it. She planned to wait there for her flight at zero-dark-hundred. I could not stay, because I did not have a ticket. We parted at the security station, and I went out into the rain. There, I made my way back to the apartment by a combination of tram, bus and walking. The next day, I packed up all my camping gear, books and maps, too.
Monday, the 24th, I checked out of My Casa, and rode to the post office and the train station. My bicycle tour was essentially over, because I went to Ventimiglia, Torino, Lugano, Basel, and Frankfurt by train. I had never been to Torino, Lugano, or Basel, and thoroughly enjoyed seeing new sights. My high school classmate Arturo and his bride Claudia hosted me in Lugano, a jewel of a place on the eponymous lake. My niece and her family live in Frankfurt, so I revelled in my own guest suite and the company of my three little great nieces for two weeks.
Though I used my bike locally at those wonderful stops, I could hardly consider them part of 2024 Isole Grandi.
However, I must report on the return trip, which at the beginning of this tour would have been Space Available with the Air Mobility Command as it had been back in April on the way out. I spent two days in Ramstein Air Force Base trying to fly home before giving up, and buying a ticket on Condor Air from Frankfurt to Boston. Then I took the Northeast Regional home, stopping in Connecticut to visit my family and reset my body clock.
I learned that Ramstein, home of the 86th Air Logistics Squadron, is to military airlift what O’Hare is to civilian aviation. Hundreds of flights taking off at all hours for everywhere. However, the political and military realities are that nothing can be scheduled reliably. Thus, even though the personnel were courteous and friendly, and tried to accommodate us space-A passengers, in fact, last-minute changes forced us to stay behind too often. I was always at the head of the queue, but one day, the plane took on too much cargo, so it could not accommodate my bicycle. The next day, I arrived to find that my intended flight had been ordered to take off the day before, shortly after I had left the terminal. I will never try to fly through Ramstein again on Space-A.
Lest you think I was inconvenienced, know that time was the one currency I had in great supply. The area around Ramstein and Kaiserslautern is the setting for my Emily & Hilda novels and many of the E&H short stories, so I was able to ride around to verify that conditions on the ground matched both my recollection and my research. They did, and that made me happy. I also was delighted to attend the largest bicycle show in the world: Eurobike in Frankfurt. There, I posed in front of a VSF TX-800, the touring bicycle featured in two of the Emily & Hilda books.
I also learned that there are daily flights to everywhere from Frankfurt, and very affordable fares to be had, even on short notice. Next time, I may fly Condor Air to Frankfurt, and come back home through Naples or Sigonella. Whatever happens, you’ll read about it here…
Next week, please come back to my author blog, https://jthine.com/blog, where I will post stories for your enjoyment until my next tour.
Smooth roads and tailwinds,
JT
