Day 14 (a.k.a. Équipe Downhill’s Ultimate Day of cycling together) dawns with blue skies, and predictions for warm temperatures; a perfect day for cycling. We do a bit of desultory foraging at La Madeleine‘s breakfast buffet: an extra yoghurt for later; an orange; a couple of bits of baguette; but our hearts aren’t really in it. There’s some sadness in the air—as you’d expect when friends part after 14 days of living in close quarters, cycling together along shaded canals and rivers, exploring village squares and churches, picnicking, dodging rain showers, and discussing life. Sharing pastries for two weeks straight is just a sweeter version of breaking bread together, and we seem to take a few more group selfies throughout the morning, perhaps to help hold on to all the wonderful memories we’ve made.

It’s been an amazing trip: all the way from Switzerland under our own power (we describe it thus to distinguish ourselves from those who ride electric bicycles—for whom we have a lot of respect, too, I hasten to add). Even having skipped a short bit by train on Day 2, we will have pedaled more than 700 km by the end of Day 14 (743 km for those who prefer precision). As A phrases it while we’re trying to put this into perspective: that’s like cycling from Vancouver to Prince George, or Stratford to Montreal, or Nice to Rome.

From Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire we continue west along the Loire towards Châteauneuf-sur-Loire, where we plan to have our final Équipe Downhill Official Pastry Tasting. As with much of Day 13, the cycle path is along the top of the levees, which guard against seasons of heavy rain. We’ve occasionally seen high-water marks engraved on the sides of buildings located near the river, so we know the risk is real, even though the Loire seems quite tranquil now.

Just before Châteauneuf-sur-Loire, J announces that we’ve cracked the 700 km barrier, which seems a good excuse for another group selfie.

In Châteauneuf-sur-Loire we find an excellent patisserie (excellent patisseries seem to be the rule rather than the exception in France), one which claims to make all of their pastries in-house. We join the queue, and salivate while considering: Pavé Castelneuvien or Charlotte Framboise? Sabatier, or another Paris Brest? One pastry? Or might two be better?

By the time we reach the register we’ve decided: two pastries seem appropriate for this special occasion; our selections: a Millefeuille Nature (with the optional green glazing) and a Trois Fruits Rouges. These are documented, divided, and eaten with our coffees at a nearby café, A sporting a rose in his bicycle helmet for the occasion. Meanwhile, across the street, bells sound a melancholy funeral toll, and mourners watch as a flag-draped coffin is carried solemnly from the local church. Memento mori.

Friday happens to be market day in Châteauneuf-sur-Loire, and the merchants have set up their stands around, and beneath, the town’s old (circa 1903) roofed market shelter. We walk our velos carefully through the aisles, admiring the things we don’t have space to carry (though J does make one purchase from a crazed—or is he merely leering?—day-vendor: an extensible magnetic device for picking up boules: a birthday gift for M).

Châteauneuf-sur-Loire is the first bridge over the Loire west of Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire, so it’s the first opportunity for J & I to veer off the Eurovelo 6 route to head towards La Ferté-Saint-Aubin. After crossing the bridge (which is undergoing maintenance work) we finally reach the point of parting: another group selfie, a round of hugs, and before you know it we’re each pedaling off on our respective ways.

A’s route will take him into Orléans (hopefully via a proper cycle path); J & I will pick our way cross-country, using a combination of GPS, maps.me, and a photographed section of Michelin map. The terrain is mostly flat, and forested; we picnic at a crossroads in the forest, about 12 km from our destination.

In La Ferté we select some bio wine, and (why not!) some pastries for our hosts: D, and the lovely L (who introduces us to her menagerie of escargots). Later, we are joined by E, who is returning from a conference on Ursula Le Guin and the Anthropocene, held in Paris (“Héritages d’Ursula Le Guin : Science, fiction et éthique pour l’Anthropocène”).

And this is where we’ll end Day 14—and our adventures on the Eurovelo 6; all’s well that ends well.

The members of Équipe Downhill thank you for your kind attention; we hope that you’ve enjoyed the ride.

Next stop for us is Paris. A bientôt!

Hard to believe that A, J & I have just two more days of cycling together. One and a half days actually, since early in Day 14 we will part ways, with A continuing to Orléans while J & I veer off the Eurovelo 6, away from the Loire, to head towards the village of La Ferté-Saint-Aubin, where we will spend a couple of days visiting with friends.

On Day 13 the sky looks dangerous: dark clouds in the west, but no rain falling as we pack up and prepare to depart. While we are taking our starting selfie in front of the Auberge du Pont-Canal, our “stalker,” Urs, photobombs us. He’s taking a different route, cutting across a section of the Berry region via small roads to bypass Orléans, then rejoining the Eurovelo 6 and continuing to the sea at Nantes. We say our goodbyes and wish him bon route.

Before crossing the Pont-Canal, A, J & I head into Briare, to visit the church, with its simple but beautiful floor mosaics. In the town square stages and awnings are being set up, preparing for a town fête. We watch their labours with interest from our café table (this is one of the particular pleasures of retirement: watching other people work).

There’s a fine patisserie on the square, so we decide to do our Daily Pastry Tasting here in Briare; a bird in hand etc. We are particularly intrigued with a pastry called Gland. But I can’t shake the thought that the pastry chef might have some sort of special arrangement with a local surgeon—so the Gland remains untasted.

Instead of the Gland we choose a Délice de Briare, which you see above (for those wishing to reverse engineer: pastry crust, whipped chocolate ganache; almond paste, liqueur-soaked cherry; white chocolate shavings, meringue).

Departure is delayed due to rain, but eventually we start out: across the Loire via the Pont-Canal. Through the morning we admire flowers in the fields, a tasteful chateau in Sully-sur-Loire, and the view of Gien with its beautiful stone bridge, from the opposite bank of the Loire.

J and I in front of our chateau

Lunch in Lion-en-Sullias, with its 11th C church and amazing 16th C caquetoire (such a great word: a place where people chatter). For some reason the town has decided to distinguish itself from other French villages with 11th C churches and 16th C caquetoires, by encouraging its citizens to do clever things with decorated plastic chairs at the end of their driveways. A bad idea.

In the early evening, checking into our hotel in Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire (La Madeleine), we’re offered a choice of rooms: one under the eaves, with an angled ceiling (the hotel manager forms a small tent with his hands to illustrate), the other with a more standard ceiling (hands illustrating a rectangle). We chose the room under the eaves, and bang our heads repeatedly while unpacking.

Due mainly (but not exclusively) to the poor WiFi at our hotel in Briare, today’s posting has been delayed; we apologize to our Premium Subscribers. By way of compensation, head office staff has been instructed to issue a special discount code, good for 25% off all merchandise sold in our online shop; use code EV6 when placing your orders.

After 11 days of cycling, routines develop: wake to a 6:50 alarm; a bleary breakfast at 7:30 (croissant, bread/butter/jam, cheeses, yoghurt, coffee, juice); forage for a picnic lunch; check out of the hotel/auberge/chambre d’hôte/gîte (& pay any foraging fines); load panniers onto our bikes; start another day on the Eurovelo 6; Day 12 followed this pattern.

As has been mentioned before, the Eurovelo 6 route is extremely popular: we’re always crossing paths with other long-distance cyclists, from many nations: German, Swiss, Belgian, French; today we had a good chat with a couple of experienced cyclists from South Africa (he: a New Zealander; she: South African) who’ve been cycling in France since April.

As we’re exchanging anecdotes and notes (recommended app: bicycle.travel; recommended place to stay in Bourbon-Lancy: Chez Mimi), a young German cyclist joins us. He’s heading east, and points to his two partially flattened tires, asks for help. He’s cycled all the way from Germany, camping along the way. He’s heading to Lyon—but had not thought to replace his worn tires before setting out; nor had he brought a proper patch kit or a set of tools; now he’s got two slowly-leaking tires. He’s left his tent and gear about 6 km back, hoping to find a bicycle shop in Belleville-sur-Loire—which is in the opposite direction to the way that he’s heading. “Do you have a GPS?,” we ask, concerned. “Oh yes,” he says. “Everything is under control.” Faced with such unbounded (and unfounded) optimism, there’s not much I can do but help him patch one of the leaks, give him some extra patches and my extra tube of rubber cement, and wish him well.

When we reach Belleville-sur-Loire we stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant decorated with music posters (and the best collection of politically incorrect scale model musicians I’ve seen…)

On the pastry front: regular readers will know that Équipe Downhill takes its responsibilities as Roving Pastry Samplers seriously. Which is why we’re discouraged at the lack of pastry and café opportunities along this section of the route. We detour from the Eurovelo route to investigate Beaulieu-sur-Loire; café: check; patisserie across the street: closed. The ever-hopeful J goes on a foraging expedition, returning shortly with a big smile, and carrying a cleverly constructed paper pyramid, which contains not one, but two of the pastries requested by readers through our Pastry Tasting Service: a Baba au Rhum and a Tarte au Citron.

Post-pastry, we rejoin the Eurovelo route, crossing the Loire just south of Briare, where we wait out a brief downpour.

Threatening rain cloud

…J trying to outrun it

Tonight we’re staying at the Auberge du Pont Canal in Briare, in their last-remaining room, booked earlier this morning. The Auberge is one of those slightly-faded places, with a great terrace, and a perfect location overlooking the north end of the Pont-Canal at Briare. The Pont-Canal is a Jules-Vernian marvel, and was a remarkable engineering achievement in its day (it was built between 1890 and 1894, and for 107 years was the longest navigable aqueduct in the world).

As I think was noted in an earlier post, the Pont-Canal was built to carry the waters of the Canal Lateral à la Loire over the Loire, connecting with the Canal de Briare. The decorative parts of the Pont-Canal are the work of Gustave Eiffel, with the overall design done by others; but Gustave seems to get credit for the whole thing.

DInner time the Auberge

Tarte Tatin for desert

As we’re locking our bicycles behind the Auberge, A thinks he recognizes Urs’s bicycle, also locked, and sure enough: our “stalker,” Urs, is staying at the same hotel; we’ve been leapfrogging each other since Verdun-sur-le-Doubs. The four of us have dinner on the hotel’s terrace, Urs suggesting that we might be the stalkers, rather than he. After dinner: a stroll to admire the Pont-Canal at dusk. Returning, we are amazed to spot a large, beaver-like critter paddling in the canal with one of its young. Wildlife experts among our readership are encouraged to help us identify this creature.

Tomorrow we will cross the Loire once more, this time via Gustave’s Pont-Canal, to start our penultimate day of cycling.

After a delicious petit déjeuner at Le Nid du Marinier we set out from Cuffy, following the Loire and the Canal Lateral à la Loire, which parallels the river between Digoin and Briare. Along the canal path we see the bornes, or distance markers (anyone else play the card game Milles Bornes as a child?). Every now and then we spot one of the old cylindrical markers, which show the kilometers to the canal endpoints. I’d wondered: why Briare? Why not give the distance to Orléans, a more important city? A’s suggestion: another canal? And in fact Briare marks one end of the Canal de Briare, one of the oldest canals in France, connecting the Loire to the Seine.

A & I cycled this first section of canal in 2015 in the opposite direction. At one point, as we pause to photograph a scenic section with its lock, things click into place: I’d photographed this same lock before. J takes a photo of the two of us beside the lock keeper’s hut to commemorate this encounter with the past.

At times we’re cycling along long sections of a reclaimed railway line. It can in fact become a bit monotonous (the railway lines tended to avoid trees, perhaps because of the risk of fire from sparks, while the canal paths are shaded by trees).

We take our morning café and bakery stop in the first sizable town: La Charité-sur-Loire, site of an ancient priory, one of the satellites of the great abbey at Cluny. Later we learn that this is where Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orléans, was captured by Burgundian forces. The steeple of Sainte-Croix-Notre-Dame towers above us from across the street while we trisect (and photograph) our Patisserie du Jour: une Pêche.

I’d remembered seeing a recent reference somewhere that La Charité-sur-Loire was the village where Barbara-Jo, a much-loved Vancouver foodie and bookseller, had moved after closing her Books To Cooks bookstore. She’d written a bit about her plans on her blog, with a contact email, so I’d sent off a message the previous evening to say that a couple of Vancouver cyclists (and an Irishman) would be passing through her town. She’d responded with an invitation to drop by, so when we arrive at La Charité-sur-Loire we use GPS to find her door, not far from the église. We knock and are ushered into the cool interior.

She’s done amazing things in restoring the ancient stone house, which has a hidden courtyard garden and a deep well, which may at one time have served as the town’s well. She plans to offer food-themed stays to guests when the renovations are complete. Visit Barbara-Jo’s website for updates.

This night we’re staying at a hotel in Saint-Satur, which is situated just below the hill-top town of Sancerre. After checking in, and performing the usual end-of-cycling-day rituals (shower, hand laundry, a change of clothes) we set off, uphill, walking through the fields and vineyards planted (mainly) in Sauvignon blanc.

Barbara-Jo had recommended three restaurants in Sancerre, and after scanning menus we opted for La Tour, where we had a sumptuous multi-course meal (I think our digestive tracts were stunned, being more accustomed to bread and cheese). Afterwards, we stroll downhill through the warm night air, lighting our way with iPhone flashlights, and watching the just-past-full moon rise over the vineyards.

Day 10 is a record day for Équipe Downhill. At the end of the day, in Cuffy, when J adds our day’s km to the running total, she gleefully confirms that we’ve cracked the 500 km barrier: 531 km from Basel to here (we’re not including the ~100 km we skipped—and looked longingly at through a rainy train window—on Day 3).

In an even more astonishing development, we realize that Day 10 has been our first no-pastry day! We’re not entirely sure how to explain this derangement: distractions, fatigue, lack of opportunity (most bakeries close on Monday; and we think Day 10 has been a Monday…) This lack of pastry may explain the trembling in A’s hands: withdrawal symptoms. We apologize to our followers, and vow to redouble our efforts; there is a growing backlog of requests which have come in through our Pastry Tasting Service hotline.

The highlight of Day 10, though, is our lunch with Monsieur et Mme B, the parents of D, whom you first met on Day 7. As readers will recall, D is one of the children of la famille B, whom I’d met in 1980, on my first bicycle trip though France. After 39 years, I’d managed to contact D via Facebook, just before this trip. I’d learned from D that her parents’ health had declined, that they had sold the family home in Cuffy to move into assisted living in Nevers, about 15 km away. Monsieur et Mme B had invited us to have lunch with them there.

We leave Decize by 8:00, our earliest start yet, in order to make it to Nevers by lunch time. The sun is low, and the air cool beside the canal: perfect cycling weather.

Nevers is a large, busy, noisy town, and we approach it with caution, sneaking in from the south on a branch of the Canal Lateral à la Loire. We do a minimum of tourism—a quick peek into the cathedral; a respectful pause as we cycle past the Ducal Palace—while picking our way through the twisting streets.

Outside the assisted living facility, we take a group selfie with the decorative blue hippopotamus—because this is what one does when confronted by a blue hippopotamus outside an assisted living facility in France.

Monsieur et Mme B meet us in the lobby, and I am quite moved to see the effects of time, and failing health. They, in turn, have some difficulty recognizing me, since time spares no one; but eventually we sort everyone out. I present Mme B with a small gift—some maple syrup—that we’ve brought from Vancouver. After lunch, as we say our goodbyes, we thank them both for their welcome and their generosity, and I thank them again for their kindness to a solitary cyclist so many years ago.

Later that afternoon, about 11 km from Nevers, the Canal Lateral à la Loire crosses the Allier: another pont-canal. As we walk our bikes across the Allier, I see below us the beach at le Bec d’Allier, the setting for the photograph of my younger self with the four B children, nearly 40 years ago.

After checking in to our chambre d’hôte, le Nid du Marinier, I walk down a lane just behind the hôte, and find the B’s family home, where Monsieur et Mme B had lived, and raised their family, from the mid-1960s until their move into assisted living a couple of years ago.

The new owners of the B’s old family home have been renovating; they’ve coated the stones with something that gives the front facade a contemporary sheen. A woman watches me curiously from an upper window of the house; after she descends, I explain why I’m there. I show her the old photograph of myself standing in her front doorway with Mme B beside me; the post box is gone, but the stones around the doorway match.

So much has changed since those photographs were taken, but I expect that the home will still be standing a hundred years from now, long after Monsieur et Mme B—and we—are gone.

At 8:45 precisely Mme Mimi knocks on the door of our rented home in Bourbon-Lancy. She’d come to collect the key (and to be paid, of course). Her business has been down drastically this season (“C’est mort”; “It’s dead”) due to an accidental fire in April which destroyed the roof of the local thermal spa, the town’s main tourist attraction. “Please tell other cyclists about Chez Mimi” she says, so if you’re ever in Bourbon-Lancy, with or without a bicycle, give Mimi a call.

Just as we’re leaving town we spot a large supermarché, where we stop to pick up some basic supplies: bread, soft cheese, yoghurt, fruit, chocolate etc.; the yoghurt does not make it out of the parking lot.

The Eurovelo 6 route in this section is some distance from the canal, passing through gently rolling countryside. We’d already gained most of the necessary altitude yesterday (to reach our rented “home”), so the day’s ride starts out fairly level.

As we climb a short hill, admiring the surroundings, a bicycle bell sounds from behind us; it’s Urs, who’d started late, but easily caught us up. By now we’re starting to consider these encounters to be fate (Urs doesn’t seem the “stalker” type) so at the top of the hill we trade email addresses (Urs promising to follow the blog).

A shortage of time the previous night, and general fatigue, means that yesterday’s blog entry has yet to be written. And our Premium Subscribers pay through the nose for this content (they do get other generous Subscriber perks, such as the “Équipe Downhill” cycling jersey, the keychain, and a copy of our upcoming calendar of French pastry photos). They would be understandably miffed if we missed our noon deadline. So our next stop, urgently: a café.

We find a suitable one, the Hotel des Voyageurs, in Cronat, the next village down the road. It has a shaded terrace; it faces onto a quiet square; it has wifi—and there’s a bakery nearby. The bakery’s selection of pastries is meager, but attractive; it being a Sunday, we reverently select a Religieuse (which loyal Downhill readers will recall being described as “two choux pastry cases, one larger than the other, filled with crème pâtissière, most commonly chocolate or mocha”). Later, in what might be an instance of divine intervention, we receive a request from Finola, a faithful Downhill follower, who has taken advantage of our new French Pastry Tasting Service, asking us to sample a Religieuse on her behalf; we live to serve.

Sophisticated readers might appreciate the above sequence of photos: the demure Religieuse awaits its unveiling; in the second: unveiled; the third: well, we leave the choice of verb to you.

The route rejoins the Loire at Port Thareau, where we find a perfect picnic and/or swimming spot. In Charrin we investigate the local church, and pay our respects to the widow Pioux and other members of her family.

Decize, our destination for the night, was originally built on an island in the Loire, at the junction of Loire with the Aron. At some point the right branch of the Loire was dammed, and the old stone bridge leading to the town now crosses a river of grass.

We’ve got two rooms at the Hotel Port Decize, just beyond the old town centre, in a new complex that caters to boaters as well as cycle tourists. Among the other cyclists staying: a group of three Americans, who are heading east, riding what might be described as novelty bicycles, propelled by a kind of elliptical mechanism: they ride them standing upright, pedaling in long, looping strides.

There’s also a group of seven Frenchmen, in matching jerseys. For dinner they change into slightly more formal attire: cargo shorts, and identical polo shirts. For reasons unknown to us they’ve brought a blonde, long-haired female wig along on their group holiday, which they each take turns wearing while they dine. The curls brush against the wearers’ shoulders, and it seems as if the others’ glances linger just a little bit too long.

Today, after eight days of pedaling alongside canals from Basel, Switzerland—the Rhône to Rhine Canal, then the Canal du Centre—we finally reach the Loire, at Digoin, where the Canal du Centre is carried over the Loire in a canal-bridge, becoming the Canal Lateral à la Loire.

Just past the Loire, the Canal de Roanne à Digoin heads south to Roanne: it really is an amazing network of waterways. The reason for the Canal Lateral à la Loire, which we will follow for several more days, is that the Loire itself is too shallow still to accommodate barges.

All along the Canal du Centre in particular we see signs of its early history as an industrial artery: old factories and brickworks, built right along the canal, with loading docks where manufactured goods would have been loaded directly onto barges for transport throughout Europe. The highways have taken over most of this work now, and many of these factories are abandoned, with windows either boarded up or broken.

But the canal paths themselves have been turned into this remarkable network of cycle paths; in some places (such as the approach to Bourbon-Lancy, where we are spending this night) we leave the canal path and follow another dedicated cycle path, along what was once an abandoned rail line.

In many ways it seems a golden age for cycle touring, with hundreds of km of dedicated bike paths. It has been such a pleasure to ride along, admiring the scenery, occasionally going under noisy highways (or over them) but for the most part being quite happy to leave the world of automobiles and trucks to do its own thing, somewhere else, away from us.

Today’s pastry tasting, of un Succes (“traditionally, two almond meringue disks covered in a praline butter cream”; ours had a chocolate ganache filling) in the town of Paray-le-Monial, was a grand success; photos above.

This prompts me to announce the Downhill blog’s French Pastry Tasting Service, available exclusively to our Premium Subscribers. Just let us know via a request posted to the comment section, which French pastry you would like us to sample on your behalf. We have between us three sets of teeth, and taste buds that have been through a rigorous training regime: we are standing by, ready to do your bidding.

At our café in Paray-le-Monial we were able to observe at close quarters some of the local mecs, for who this particular café seems to be a kind of headquarters. They sit solitarily, or in small groups, nursing their petit café noirs, brooding a bit, and chain smoking, the smoke drifting steadily from their table to ours. Whenever another of their circle passes by, there is a ritual shaking of hands, an exchange of bises.

It starts to rain about midday, just before we reach Digoin, so we take shelter there under an overhang to wait it out. It takes about an hour and a quarter for the rain clouds to drift east and pass over us, but we have a place to stay already booked for the night, so there is no particular hurry. We read, we watch the passing boats, we nibble on cheeses, saucisson au noisettes purchased at the market in Paray. We chat with other touring cyclists who also stop for shelter. One particular pair, two older Frenchmen from Orleans, have been cycle-camping for a month already. They started in Bratislava, and regale us with descriptions of the places they have camped: tipis; small wooden cabins; in one place they had a huge tent all to themselves, which would have accommodated ten. We also meet up again with Urs, who we have been playing leapfrog with ever since we first met by chance at a café in Verdun-sur-Doubs. In some ways it feels like the Camino de Santiago, where you repeatedly encounter the same pilgrims, sometimes several times a day, all heading in the same direction as you.

And I have to take a moment here to sing J’s praises: she’s done amazingly well, especially considering the fact that she hasn’t cycled much for the past few years. At one point today J was in the “sweep” position, with A and I pedaling slowly along just ahead of her, chatting loftily about the usual things: philosophy, politics, literature, engineering and sport. Feeling a bit boxed in, J put on a burst of speed and zoomed past us and inward down the path, exhilarated. If her hair had been longer it would have been waving in the breeze. Seriously though, it has been such a joy for me to share this cycling adventure with her — and it’s not over yet!

Tonight we have an entire two-story private house to ourselves: Chez Mimi, on a side street a few blocks from centre ville in the spa town of Bourbon-Lancy. J&A found it last night on the Internet, for an amazingly low price. Mimi, the woman who rents it out (I expect it’s on AirBNB as well) lives 28 km away, so we were instructed to pick up the key from Mme Vincent, the neighbor across the street. Mme Vincent shows us the location of the little shed where we’re  to store our velos, after which we start to open shutters, turn on lights, shower, wash clothes, and change for dinner. In town, as we wait for our meals, we meet up again with Urs, who joins us to discuss cycle-touring gear etc. He’s doing the Eurovelo 6 from Basel to Nantes, as a way of resting up between stages of his longer cycle-touring project, a huge loop which will take him up through Norway, beyond the Arctic circle, and then south again, by one of the other Eurovelo routes.

Our food eventually arrives, and as A&I savour our Burgers Maison Charolais, we try not to think of the gentle, accusing eyes of the many Charolais cows we have seen along the way.

Époisse marks the beginning of the watershed which divides that part of France draining toward the Mediterranean, from the part which drains to the sea. The first lock that we encounter today has a sign (in a lovely antique font) identifying it as “Écluse No. 1 (Méd ée)”; 4 km down the road is its companion lock and sign: “Écluse No. 1 (Océan)”; imagine the important decision facing every raindrop which falls between these two markers: which way am I supposed to flow?

Today’s pastry and café stop is in Blanzy, where we find a patisserie with a better-than-average selection of the classic French pastries, among them the Paris-Brest (a wheel of choux pastry stuffed with praline-flavored buttercream, named after the famous bicycle race); the Baba au Rhum; and the Religieuse (“two choux pastry cases, one larger than the other, filled with crème pâtissière, most commonly chocolate or mocha”). After some hesitation we select a wedge of flan coco, and a Paris-Brest (we are, after all, Experienced Cyclists).

The Paris-Brest is presented in a tasteful carrying case, which inspires the following set of unboxing photos, that we dedicate to the pastry fans out there:

Our café is on one of Blanzy’s main streets (and there aren’t that many streets in Blanzy); while we sip our coffees and nibble at our pastries, we can look directly across the street, where a young mother is proudly showing off her plump and phlegmatic son, Roland, to her neighbors, and to the world.

From Blanzy we cycle along the D974, a departmental road which closely follows the Canal du Centre. Most of our route today is along this road; gone (at least for now) is the dedicated cycle path. The official Eurovelo route is slightly different from the route we’ve chosen (it’s away from the canal), but their route would still have us traveling along roads, and since traffic on the D974 is so light, there’s really not much point.

We pass through many small towns (by our standards “small” means “without a café”), as well as one (Montceau les Mines) which is fairly busy, with an industrial fringe, where we consider stopping for a quick twistabdo tapis rameur at Squash Sauna; we even consider waiting for Godot.

In Génelard we experience another watershed moment, one which requires a bit of backstory.

In 1980, M was cycling solo in France, on his first ever such adventure. He (or rather, “I”, since the third person is so awkward) was following the Loire from its source: two nights camping sauvage, and the third night in a hostel. My route took me though the small village of Cuffy, where I found a fête in progress. To make a long story shorter: at the fête, in conversation, I mentioned that I would be camping sauvage that night, just up the road. “Nonsense! You’re staying with us!”

And so I spent several nights with a wonderfully generous local family, with their 4 small children (a few photos from that 1980 visit are shown above). For me, traveling solo, and far from my own home and family, it was a very special gift. We exchanged letters for a short while afterwards, but then lost touch. Which brings us to just before the present.

While planning this year’s trip, I noticed that the Eurovelo 6 route passed through Cuffy. “I wonder…,” I wondered aloud to J, “whether any of that family still live in Cuffy?” And now, thanks to the Internet (and to Facebook), I am back in touch with one of those 4 small children (who are, of course, now not so small). To follow the mildly anonymizing (and mildly annoying) conventions of this blog, I will refer to her here as D (in the photo above, of the children at the beach, D is the one on the far right). Which brings us to this afternoon.

Though no longer living in Cuffy, D now lives not too far away from there, in a village which happens to be a mere 5-minute drive from our cycle route (I know: small world). And so today, after being out of touch for nearly four decades, I once more had a chance to visit face to face with D, who drove to meet us at a small café in Génelard. She brought us a gift: a selection of viennoiserie from her local bakery (she’s been following the blog). Merci beaucoup D! C’était très généreux! And in a few more days, further down the road, we will meet up with D’s parents too. So stay tuned…

After coffee, D guided us though the wet streets of Génelard to the supermarché, so that we could pick up some supplies for our dinner. We’re staying at a gîte in the small village of Saint-Aubin-en-Charollais, and there are no restaurants for miles and miles (or: for many km, if you prefer). But when we booked our room, the gîte owner let us know that there was a shared kitchen we could use. (Three key facts you need to know about our gîte host: when shaking hands he offers just the first two fingers; he needed us to know, frequently, that his day had been “Très bousculé,” or “Rush, rush, rush”; and he seasons his conversation liberally with “Pas de souci,” or, in English: “No problem.” Nothing is more noticeable than someone else’s speech tics.)

We’re planning a filling pasta dinner (since cyclists need carbs to balance out all the pastries): spaghetti with a special combo sauce (half bottled, half home-made), and grated cheese. A&I will top ours off with sausages de Toulouse; J will add some tuna to hers.

And so our day of watersheds comes to a (ful)filling end.

We left our gîte after breakfast, our host taking the requisite starting selfie, and were soon back at the canal. By staying where we did (in the countryside) we bypassed Chalons entirely, without regret. “It’s all about the bike!” (though Lance Armstrong would disagree); J&I will have ample city time later, in Paris.

From Chalons we’re following the Canal du Centre, which connects the Saône to the Loire, at Digoine. It is another sunny day, without a cloud in the sky. Hawks hover above the canal, swiveling their tails to maintain position, probably hoping to find an unwary fish or frog. Yesterday I saw one hunting from high above a field, which suddenly stooped, returning to the air with a mouse in its claws.

Parts of the route through this section are still “provisional,” which is a euphemism for “you will climb hills.” It also means:

1. that the canal-side cycle path is still being built (at one point we saw a stretch of fresh asphalt, but it was barricaded, and we were forced to take to the hills); or
2. that the canal-side roads in this section are dangerous for cyclists, either because they carry a high volume of traffic, or because there is no shoulder.

There was quite a lot of traffic along the first section of the canal, close to Chalons, both bike traffic and boat traffic: each lock we passed was in use. Occasionally we encountered clumps of guided cycle-tourists wearing identical vests, and I had the impression that they were all pedaling in lock-step. Canal boats were moored photogenically along the canal bank near towns: Le Saphire; Cornelia; Imponderabilia; Ulysse; as well as one mysterious boat, moored a bit apart from the others, painted all in black, with rust-colored trim, which sat very low in the water, and bore no name at all.

At one point we stopped to watch a lock in action, and started talking with a young French cyclist, Remy. He was from the Lorraine region, and had cycle-toured extensively along the Eurovelo 6 as well as other routes; this time he was leaving the Eurovelo 6 at Chagny, and heading north, through Beaune and Dijon. He’d decorated his velo with bits of wood, which he’d lashed on with cord; they’d kept him safe so far.

For quite a while we’d been concerned about three semi-circular loops shown on our map, where the Eurovelo 6 route leaves the canal and heads for the hills. The Cyclotourisme site fueled our concerns, at one point stating “Note that the way is along quite steep little roads and should only be tackled by experienced cyclists. You can avoid this difficulty by taking the train from Chagny to Montchanin.”

But we’d already taken the train once, with some regrets, and had endured derisive comments from one or two of our followers as a result (no names here, but you know who you are!), so we were motivated.

We pedaled for longer than we would have liked in search of a suitable café to take our mid-morning break, striking out in Santenay, in Saint-Gilles, and in Dennevy. Finally, in St-Léger-sur-Dheune, we found our spot: a canal-side café, where we could rest and refuel before tackling the first of the three loops: the shortest one, with just one steady climb. The second, which headed into the hills on the other side of the canal, was longer, but more gradual.

The third loop, the longest and the most challenging, began at St-Bérain-sur-Dheune, a roller coaster sequence of three noticeable hills, the last being quite steep: at least a double arrowhead. J received a bouquet of flowers upon reaching the top, and we all basked in the knowledge that we could now legitimately call ourselves “experienced cyclists.”

Action shot of M

Action shot of J

This night we’re staying at Entre Terre et Mer, a simple, clean hotel in the town of Écuisses. Our room, on the second floor, looks out over the canal, and we fall asleep to the sound of frogs.

Entre Terre et Mer

…their rates

The view from our room

For several days we have been observing the effect that A’s gilet jaune has on the various small insects which gather in clouds beside canals. They hang there in the cool, moist air, buzzing almost imperceptibly, discussing the many things which occupy the insect world: the stock market (Monsanto: up or down?), sports (Allez la France!); literature (“Lord of the Flies” and Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” continue to be popular). Such is a midge’s life in France—until we come along.

The three of us often ride in single file, with A (usually) in the lead, shining like a beacon in his bright and bilious yellow vest. When the midges first sense the approach of A’s trademark vest—and how they do this is still a mystery—they go mad.

That specific shade of fluorescent yellow appears to have a particularly potent aphrodisiac effect on midges; they become aroused to such an extent—frantic with such uncontrollable desire—that they lose all self-control, all decorum, and plaster themselves passionately against A’s chest and back by the hundreds, seeking some sort of tiny, insect-sized consummation. The only polite thing one can do in such circumstances, I feel, is to avert one’s eyes, and let the relationship proceed to its natural conclusion.

A, in his matching T-shirt

Later: a cluster of sated midges; if you look closely you’ll see that they’re all smoking very tiny cigarettes

NB: it should be noted here, for the record, that A’s wardrobe contains other, equally vivid garments: a matching fluorescent yellow T-shirt, and sunglasses trimmed in the same emphatic shade. Not many people can carry off so bold a fashion statement; A can.