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A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.
Lao Tzu

Orléans to Roses

My third year of cycling through France, this trip started in Orléans, followed the Loire to Nevers, then switched rivers to follow the Allier, went through the Massif Central, down to the Med and then back inland before going over the Pyrenees and to Roses (pronounced RosAs by the way).  1121km not including 50 or 60 not counted along the way.

The second part of the trip, from the Massif to Spain was largely the route I'd done two years ago and had enjoyed so much.  I'd started in Orléans largely because the dates that European Bike Express offered allowed me to arrive in Allègre to coincide with the Human Powered Vehicle Festival (VPH) held there every year.

Date of event: 7/8/2011

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Neuvy-le-Barrois
<p>Au Petit Chez Soi the restaurant is called on the D41 just as it leaves the village. &nbsp;An uninspiring exterior, nicely decorated inside and wonderful food that wasn't expensive.</p><p>OK, detail. &nbsp;I sat and had a demi-p&ecirc;che while browsing the menu waiting for the food to be ready since it was only just after 12.00. &nbsp;In the end I went for onion tart, magret of duck, and a ppr (petit pichet de ros&eacute;).</p><p>The first dish arrived: a huge tureen of soup. &nbsp;Not what I thought I'd ordered but it was very tasty so I served my'self four bowls of it from the tureen. &nbsp;Then a portion of onion tart arrived. &nbsp;Oops, the soup was just a 'get you started freebee'; perhaps I shouldn't have gorged my'self on it?</p><p>Next course, magret of duck with saut&eacute; potatoes and a wine sauce. &nbsp;Then a plate of cheeses but since by this time I'd finished the ppr and the proprietor was also concerned that ros&eacute; just wasn't the thing to drink with cheese he gave me a free petit pichet of red. &nbsp;Then the dessert, I chose fromage frais with honey. &nbsp;All that for 9&euro;!</p><p>I could barely cycle and whatever aerodynamic advantage a recumbent bike might have was rapidly being lost because of my pot-belly. &nbsp;Then it rained, cats &amp; dogs. &nbsp;Luckily I was wearing my swimming trunks as underwear (that chafing problem), since below the waist, below my waterproof in other words, I was soaked to the skin. &nbsp;It only lasted half an hour then it was scorching so very humid with steam coming off the road.</p>
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Neuvy-le-Barrois

Au Petit Chez Soi the restaurant is called on the D41 just as it leaves the village.  An uninspiring exterior, nicely decorated inside and wonderful food that wasn't expensive.

OK, detail.  I sat and had a demi-pêche while browsing the menu waiting for the food to be ready since it was only just after 12.00.  In the end I went for onion tart, magret of duck, and a ppr (petit pichet de rosé).

The first dish arrived: a huge tureen of soup.  Not what I thought I'd ordered but it was very tasty so I served my'self four bowls of it from the tureen.  Then a portion of onion tart arrived.  Oops, the soup was just a 'get you started freebee'; perhaps I shouldn't have gorged my'self on it?

Next course, magret of duck with sauté potatoes and a wine sauce.  Then a plate of cheeses but since by this time I'd finished the ppr and the proprietor was also concerned that rosé just wasn't the thing to drink with cheese he gave me a free petit pichet of red.  Then the dessert, I chose fromage frais with honey.  All that for 9€!

I could barely cycle and whatever aerodynamic advantage a recumbent bike might have was rapidly being lost because of my pot-belly.  Then it rained, cats & dogs.  Luckily I was wearing my swimming trunks as underwear (that chafing problem), since below the waist, below my waterproof in other words, I was soaked to the skin.  It only lasted half an hour then it was scorching so very humid with steam coming off the road.

Le Veurdre campsite
<p>The campsite at Mornay looked nice enough, I realised I'd cycled through there last year on the main road that thundered through the village, but the village didn't seem to have any shops, so I carried on another 8km to Le Veurdre.</p><p>A good decision, the campsite was a small municipal one, quiet and cheap. &nbsp;When I first arrived at the campsite there was no one there, so I did my usual thing of wandering around with my compass trying to figure out which pitch would be best given I prefer: not under trees since if it rains under a tree rains twice, trees or other shade to the west so it's cool in the afternoon, clear view to the east so the rising sun can wake me up. &nbsp;You rarely find that of course but that doesn't stop me from looking.</p><p>So, tent up, washing done and hanging to dry. &nbsp;In fact if you click this photo you'll see the view through those trees, from the fence where I'd hung my washing. &nbsp;Then the guardienne arrived and watched my things (and the powermonkey on charge) while I nipped into the village to buy fruit and rice pudding for supper.</p><p>Once set up I sat and read for while: 37&deg; le Matin, my french novel to help me resurrect the french learned 45 years previously. &nbsp;I was reading to the sound of rustling leaves &nbsp;with the hot sun coming through to my shady seat, hot but with a breeze. &nbsp;Perfect.</p><p>There was an orange weather warning and it pee'd it down with rain later that evening and I thought, because of that, that the group of youngsters that the guardienne had said would arrive later weren't coming. &nbsp;No such luck, they arrived at 10.30pm and were noisy enough to make me wonder about getting out from my nice warm sleeping bag to complain. &nbsp;In the end I just put in my earplugs and went back to sleep.</p>
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Le Veurdre campsite

Le Veurdre
<p><strong>Wed 13th July. Le Veurdre to St Pour&ccedil;ain: 71km, avg 13.8km/hr, max 52.6km/hr, 5hrs riding 11hrs time.</strong></p><p>After the heavy rain in the night I ferried stuff to the covered play area to pack up, no one else on the site. Got going late because of the rain though, 8.45am.</p><p>One of many unsuccessful attempts to photograph birds. &nbsp;That small white dot just in the treeline a third in from the right is a heron. &nbsp;Magnificent in real life. &nbsp;A small white smudge in my photo.</p><p>The first bird passed overhead, easy to see when you're lying back on a recumbent and I wondered whether I was going to be able to get the phone out from my zipped pocket, turn it on, start the camera, say "OK" to the warning it would alway's give about incurring roaming charges, before the bird flew off. &nbsp;I decided I couldn't. &nbsp;Then a flock of eight flew overhead and I cursed not having started, so I did. &nbsp;Sure enough by the time I'd gone through the above rigmarole I was left with the small white smudge you now see. &nbsp;Somewhat. &nbsp;If you look closely.</p><p>As you can see the sky is grey and the light drizzle quickly changed to rain, persistent and then heavy. &nbsp;So, upper body largely dry, other than sweat, and lower body utterly soaked and legs cold. &nbsp;Better to wear shorts though and keep warmer long trousers for later. &nbsp;It was also hilly again with some long bottom gear ascents. &nbsp;Odd how struggling up long, steep hills in pouring rain can be fun.</p>
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Le Veurdre

<p>Not sure why I took this: the small humbly-crumbly cottage at the end, the perfect tarmac, or the high hedge through which one can't see but a dog still knew I was there and was barking at me.</p><p>My entire journey through France had a soundtrack of barking dogs. &nbsp;Whether they could see me or not they'd start barking at one end of the fence and chase along barking until the other end. &nbsp;Sometimes the high soprano of small dogs, sometimes the deep bass of dogs as big as pit-ponies. &nbsp;I figured all of them were more or less saying the same thing: 'come here and I'll eat you'. &nbsp;Except in French.</p><p>Luckily, for the most part, though not entirely, they were all behind fences. &nbsp;Also luckily, the few that were roaming free I managed to out-run.</p>
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Not sure why I took this: the small humbly-crumbly cottage at the end, the perfect tarmac, or the high hedge through which one can't see but a dog still knew I was there and was barking at me.

My entire journey through France had a soundtrack of barking dogs.  Whether they could see me or not they'd start barking at one end of the fence and chase along barking until the other end.  Sometimes the high soprano of small dogs, sometimes the deep bass of dogs as big as pit-ponies.  I figured all of them were more or less saying the same thing: 'come here and I'll eat you'.  Except in French.

Luckily, for the most part, though not entirely, they were all behind fences.  Also luckily, the few that were roaming free I managed to out-run.

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The campsite at Mornay looked nice enough, I realised I'd cycled through there last year on the main road that thundered through the village, but the village didn't seem to have any shops, so I carried on another 8km to Le Veurdre.

A good decision, the campsite was a small municipal one, quiet and cheap.  When I first arrived at the campsite there was no one there, so I did my usual thing of wandering around with my compass trying to figure out which pitch would be best given I prefer: not under trees since if it rains under a tree rains twice, trees or other shade to the west so it's cool in the afternoon, clear view to the east so the rising sun can wake me up.  You rarely find that of course but that doesn't stop me from looking.

So, tent up, washing done and hanging to dry.  In fact if you click this photo you'll see the view through those trees, from the fence where I'd hung my washing.  Then the guardienne arrived and watched my things (and the powermonkey on charge) while I nipped into the village to buy fruit and rice pudding for supper.

Once set up I sat and read for while: 37° le Matin, my french novel to help me resurrect the french learned 45 years previously.  I was reading to the sound of rustling leaves  with the hot sun coming through to my shady seat, hot but with a breeze.  Perfect.

There was an orange weather warning and it pee'd it down with rain later that evening and I thought, because of that, that the group of youngsters that the guardienne had said would arrive later weren't coming.  No such luck, they arrived at 10.30pm and were noisy enough to make me wonder about getting out from my nice warm sleeping bag to complain.  In the end I just put in my earplugs and went back to sleep.

 

Wed 13th July. Le Veurdre to St Pourçain: 71km, avg 13.8km/hr, max 52.6km/hr, 5hrs riding 11hrs time.

After the heavy rain in the night I ferried stuff to the covered play area to pack up, no one else on the site. Got going late because of the rain though, 8.45am.

One of many unsuccessful attempts to photograph birds.  That small white dot just in the treeline a third in from the right is a heron.  Magnificent in real life.  A small white smudge in my photo.

The first bird passed overhead, easy to see when you're lying back on a recumbent and I wondered whether I was going to be able to get the phone out from my zipped pocket, turn it on, start the camera, say "OK" to the warning it would alway's give about incurring roaming charges, before the bird flew off.  I decided I couldn't.  Then a flock of eight flew overhead and I cursed not having started, so I did.  Sure enough by the time I'd gone through the above rigmarole I was left with the small white smudge you now see.  Somewhat.  If you look closely.

As you can see the sky is grey and the light drizzle quickly changed to rain, persistent and then heavy.  So, upper body largely dry, other than sweat, and lower body utterly soaked and legs cold.  Better to wear shorts though and keep warmer long trousers for later.  It was also hilly again with some long bottom gear ascents.  Odd how struggling up long, steep hills in pouring rain can be fun.