As my teeth clenched and my arms trembled to smash someone in an SNCF uniform, I struggled to control my rage. The only thing I could rescue from this mess was that we had enough time this time not to miss our connection. I waited patiently as I watched the fonctionnaire turn away four people in front of me with different problems. Her face was surlier than a waiter in a Bordeaux restaurant. This was my third attempt to get a refund. She told me “Non.” I asked to speak to a manager. She pointed down the hall, then closed her window. I found a manager who agreed that the first three people I talked to could have issued the refund, but now it was too late. She gave me an address in Paris to which I could write for a refund. At least her Gallic shrug and arched eyebrow appeared courteous and understanding. Cheryl came back from the ticket machine with our tickets. While we waited for the train to Lyon, I got control of my anger…
Our séjour in France started under sunny skies and mild temperatures. Landing on the morning of the 31st of May in Toulon, we had ridden north from the ferry port to a quaint hotel in the historic district. There was a large, busy market on the Course Lafayette. Cheryl loves open-air markets, so we walked through that, planning to come back later.
I had looked forward to Toulon very much, and on our way there, I had shared my memories of staying on the French Arsenal (naval base) for two weeks while assigned to the analysis team after a Nato exercise. I had been on sea duty in ships since graduation from the Naval Academy; that was my first experience going to work nine-to-five and not standing watches. I recalled the Independence Day celebrations later, when the Commander US Sixth Fleet invited all the VIPs in town to the French officers’ club on the waterfront for a 4th of July party and a fireworks show in the harbor. We had brought the fireworks with us on the flagship, and I had arranged for a professional artificer from Abruzzo to launch the show from a barge in the harbour.
Just two of the memories I had of this city. And, of course, Toulon is where I bought the red 1975 Velosolex bicycle which featured in several sea stories in this blog.
In 2016, Cheryl and I had gone up to the Mont Faron, 600 metres overlooking the bay, and the site of an Allied World War II cemetery. This time, we only spent the night in town.
In the morning, we visited the Cathedral of Notre Dame and checked out the market again. Then we headed east on the coast toward the Cׅôte d’Azur. The Véloroute Littorale took us through pinewoods and coastal wetlands, most often between the water and the autoroute. Between Hyères and Les Salins, the vast salt flats that supplied gourmet Mediterranean sea salt to the world stretched into the distance.
The last ten kilometres involved an unpaved gravel trail, which caused Cheryl’s thin road tyres no end of trouble. We were glad to find the Camping Bonporteau across the street on the D559 when we finally reached the road again. Nestled in a pine forest, the site overlooked the town of Cavalaire-sur-Mer. A pleasant surprise was an excellent restaurant in the campground, which restored us nicely after the 65-kilometre trek we had just finished.
On the 2nd, we spent some time riding back and forth in Cavalaire-sur-mer. We wanted to climb the promontory to Saint Tropez, but the best accommodation we could find near the famous resort town was the Camping Yelloh! Village campground in Ramatuelle. It was only about 20 km away, so I used the ATM in Cavalaire-sur-mer, and we stopped at a large farmer’s market in the hills west of the town. We climbed the twisty littoral highway to the farmland that covered the plateau around Ramatuelle. Cheryl found the Yelloh! Village long before I got there. Thank goodness for texting on cellphones.
The Yelloh! Village rose from the vast estate of Les Tournels on a small pine-covered mountain rising out of the farmland. This was the first time we used cabins instead of a tent site. It was affordable, and we enjoyed two nights of relaxing with all the luxuries of a European campground. 
There were shows for the kids, concerts, bars and coffee shops, a restaurant, and the comfort of a fully equipped little house.
The market at Saint Tropez was a bucket list item for Cheryl, so we timed our arrival in town for the 4th of June. As usual on a sunny day, Saint Tropez was packed with tourists. Luckily for us, the bike paths in the area and the bike lanes in town allowed us to flow easily past the bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I could not help noticing that the shipping tied up in the yacht harbors had changed. Starting in Saint Tropez, mega-yachts slowly replaced the more modest 8- and 10-metre sailboats and small motorboats.
Credit: Tripadvisor
We camped at the Camping Marvilla in the Plage d’Argens, only 30 km from Ramatuelle, convenient to the places we hoped to visit the next day. It was mostly cabins and campervans, but the staff let us pitch our tent in a vacant site.
The next day, we rode to Saint Raphael. I thought we would continue to ride east, but Cheryl made the point that we were too close to Nice, her departure airport. She wanted to show me the interior, so we rode to the train station in Saint Raphael, where I bought tickets to Marseille and Lyon. That is when my woes with the French railway began.
The train from Saint Raphael was delayed for more than an hour and a half, so we missed the last train to Lyon. Thunderstorms were gathering over Marseilles, so we caught a train to Narbonne, which was on the other side of the front. 
After punching through the rain, we found ourselves in that old Roman town. I intended to apply for a refund of the EUR122 for the missed connection to Lyon. [For those of you reading this during the Paris Olympics, no one had sabotaged the French rail system yet.]
With the stormfront pounding the valleys to the east, we stayed in Narbonne for two nights. In addition to visiting the medieval center around us, we rode to Decathlon on the south side of town to pick up some small camping items, and check the air in our tyres.
Narbonne is a pleasant city, not as crammed with tourists as other places in southern France, but still offering all the amenities: good food, interesting monuments, museums and churches, and easy accessibility.
Between the kiosks in the train stations and the SNCF app on my phone, we were becoming fairly skilled at moving around on the iron horses. On Friday, the 7th, we resumed our trip to Lyon, switching at Avignon.
We spent three days in Lyon, staying at the Ibis Hotel. Normally, this is one of my favourite chains, with simple, clean accommodations at an affordable price. In Lyon Part-Dieu, the room did not match the description and many features were not working. Things were not so bad that we needed to move, but having a trusted chain let us down was disappointing.
The hotel staff would not let us bring our bikes in, even to unload. However, they did point us to a bicycle parking garage that was part of the 12-story parking garage next to Les Halles de Lyon, a big, upscale, gourmet food court across from the hotel.
Fearless Female Travels
The Saône and Rhône rivers meet in Lyon, which is why the city has always been a major meeting place for human beings. The rivers flank the old city, moving swiftly under the many bridges. Well-paved bicycle lanes and wide sidewalks run along the shaded streets, so getting around is easy. We enjoyed excellent restaurants, markets, and even took in a movie at the Pathé Bellecour.
Much as we liked Lyon, we were looking forward to getting back on our bike tour. We planned to ride the Via Allier, a bike path to the source of the Allier River, the first major tributary of the Loire. I booked tickets to Vichy, which sits on the Allier west of Lyon.
The Via Allier was as beautiful as any ride I have ever taken. Come back next week to read about it and the unplanned glories we discovered along the way.
Smooth roads and tailwinds,
JT
© 2024, JT Hine
