Biking (MTB) along the Canal between the Two Seas (France) (page 5 of 16)

I’m proud to announce the opening of the first rest stop for hikers along the Green Way of the Garonne lateral canal in my town!

Located by the canal just before the port of Valence on the way from Agen, it will open to the public for Easter. Well-equipped for picnics with a barbecue and cooking plate, it’ll offer a pleasant break and information spot. You’ll also be able to take a shower and nap in the bunks—but unfortunately, no overnight stays. (Photos to come.)

My dream of turning old lock-keeper houses into stage lodgings along the route isn’t close to becoming a reality. The downside of bike travel, when you’re like me and don’t have the energy to carry a tent, is that it gets really expensive.

With its 5,000 residents, Valence d’Agen offers:

http://www.valence-dagen.com/hebergement.php

As well as its municipal campsite, where renting a bungalow might be a good deal for a group: http://valencedagen.fr/tourisme/logement.htm It’s right next to the swimming pool, the equestrian center, and the rugby stadium—unavoidable in the Southwest. Even more unique is the roller-skating speed ring, where my town has already hosted European and World championships.

You know my dislike for competition, but I have to admit there’s something appealing about inline speed skating. A certain elegance and a rush of speed when the skaters, in single file for better aerodynamics, pass close to the crowd—evoking a train with the sound of the wheels and the draft they create.

For the 25th year in a row, Southwest France will host the International 3-Track Trophy, the world’s biggest inline speed skating race on a track, on April 23, 24, and 25. A thousand skaters from all over the world will gather in Pibrac, Valence d’Agen, and Gujan-Mestras.

Footage from last year’s event:

http://www.vodemotion.com/video/8385-trophee-international-des-3-pistes-1ere-journee-a-pibrac

Hi, I’m taking the opportunity of your last email to agree with your statement that the greenway from Bordeaux to Lacanau is indeed pretty tedious; I also found the greenway along the canal quite monotonous. The difference is that the canal route is longer.

As for Valence d’Agen, I also agree that it’s a charming little town, especially since it’s only a few kilometers away from our fantastic nuclear power plant—which, as everyone knows, is super secure and spotless, given that we in France are the best and there are never any accidents here (except for AZF, the Mediator scandal—our drug safety is just as strong as our nuclear safety—and so on), but that has nothing to do with cycling, though...

But seriously, Valence is cute.

...My dream of old lock-keeper houses turned into stage lodgings along the route isn’t about to come true anytime soon. The downside of bike travel when you, like me, don’t have the courage to carry a tent is that it gets really expensive. ...

Your dream might become reality with time. In fact, there’s already an example not far from Valence d'Agen. In Saint-Jean de Thurac, there’s a hostel called "La Poule à Vélo" set up in a lock-keeper’s house by the canal. It serves as a bar, restaurant, gourmet grocery, and lodging. Of course, you’ll need to book ahead.

http://www.servimg.com/image_preview.php?i=265&u=11455007

Philippe

Thanks, Philippe, for sharing this lovely spot. I’d already noticed it and hope to take my wife there for lunch since the distance from our home to La Poule à Vélo matches her round-trip range.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite match my dream of stage lodgings all along the Canal des Deux Mers in the old lock-keeper houses. Because it *is* a dream: Sleeping accommodations and sanitary facilities available on a self-service basis for 5 to 10 € per person, left before departure in a wall niche. A bit like some municipal campgrounds open off-season without staff. When you leave, you drop your payment with a little thank-you note in the mailbox.

Here are the promised photos from the opening weekend of the rest stop in VALENCE D'AGEN. Congratulations to the municipal team.

Day 1 – 26/05/11

Hello friends, here I am again on my favorite Greenway. You’re probably thinking: "Here he goes again, see page 3 30/05/10." Yet it’s the same scenario: a north-westerly wind as I head toward Agen train station, following the lateral canal of the Garonne. But this time, I left a quarter of an hour earlier (forgetting my jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves, which might’ve come in handy).

I left Valence d’Agen at 6:45 AM. After 9 km, I left the Tarn-et-Garonne department for Lot-et-Garonne. Just 13 km in, my right knee reminded me I was riding into the wind and that my MTB was heavily loaded. The handlebar bag alone weighed 4 kg, carrying not just my phone, camera, and GPS, but also—for the first time—a 10-inch netbook (1.3 kg) plus its charger, which stupidly added another 300 g (we could do without its 16 A plug and bulky 220 V cable). Two VAUDE panniers (known for being waterproof) were also loaded to 4 kg each.

That’s 12 kg, plus the bike’s 17 kg and my water bottle, bringing the total to 30 kg—without even camping! Luckily, at 1.82 m, I only weigh 55 kg, making the total rolling weight (which might make some people laugh) 85 kg—still reasonable, all things considered.

I reached the station at 8:15 AM after 27 km, not a drop of rain despite the storms forecast for the Southwest. Having avoided the stress of missing the only daily Agen–Nantes train at 8:57 AM, I had time to grab a sandwich, drink, and dessert before facing the dreaded climb into the Corail carriage. Thanks to SNCF for equipping this Intercité with 3 bike-friendly wagons (only 2 hooks per carriage, though), despite the train’s short length.

It was the last carriage that stopped in front of me, and I chose to board it because of the small white bike logo on a blue background. Unfortunately, many passengers had the same idea, as it was parked right by the platform entrance. This infuriated the conductor, who had to delay the train’s departure. I squeezed through the crowd with my handlebar bag slung over my shoulder to load my two panniers. Then I went back down against the flow and waited for everyone to board before hoisting my bike through the narrow door and up the two large steps. Once the bottleneck cleared, the train started moving while I was still struggling to hang the front wheel—the hook’s opening was too narrow. I had to force it, lifting the MTB with all my strength. Thankfully, my panniers weren’t attached to the rack like on my first trips. I managed to hang it, but I think it’d be impossible with knobby tires.

Now I’m on the rails toward Brittany’s canals: http://www.canaux-bretons.net/pages/presentation.htm It was Francis I who, in 1539, authorized the canalization of the Vilaine, which crosses Rennes and meets the Ille there. Already used by the Saint-Sauveur Abbey of Redon in 830 as a commercial trade route, the Vilaine made Redon a river-maritime port. The works faced resistance from fishing weirs and mill dams. Locks with chambers and double gates didn’t exist yet. Boats that ventured through the single-gate maritime doors took great risks. But in 1542, the first wine-laden boat was welcomed with great fanfare in Rennes. The Vilaine is temperamental, and its destructive mood swings caused many entrepreneurs from Flanders and Italy to fail in succession. It wasn’t until 1575 that the first chamber locks appeared. In 1784, a massive project began on the Vilaine between Redon and Rennes, with a regiment of 800 men deployed. To escape poverty, just as many men volunteered, including salt workers used to digging canals. They were fed only grains, replaced by chestnut or acorn porridge during famine.

In 1804, work began on the Ille-et-Rance Canal, linking Rennes to Dinan, with navigation continuing along the Rance to Saint-Malo. River navigation between the English Channel and the Atlantic became operational in 1832.

Hence the origin of the riddle: Mr. and Mrs. *Sinmaloalanagesépadelatarte* have a son—Ferdinand. After that, I’d better take a nap. I used my eye mask and earplugs. So effective that I only noticed the conductor’s presence when I saw a small hole in my ticket, which I’d clipped to the seat tray’s closure. 20 € for 512 km—that’s a steal thanks to a PREM’S ticket. Especially compared to the 0.27 €/km final cost of my previous car. Even if the trip took nearly 6 hours due to a 20-minute stop in Bordeaux (to lengthen the train). It was during this interval that I heard the *toot-toot* of the horn attached to my frame as passengers boarded.

At 3 PM, I left Nantes station after restarting my GPS, which still struggled to locate me after a long (very long) stop. I managed to program it for Nort-sur-Erdre (30 km), where I’d booked a spot at the Vault gîte. Leaving Nantes was tough—I couldn’t always hear the GPS instructions due to traffic and because I’d given up looking at the screen in the bright sun (see page 1 09/06/08 for the pros and cons of my EVADEO). The route continued on a departmental road that briefly became off-limits to bicycles—something my GPS (in bike mode) didn’t know. Luckily, I treated myself to a gourmet break with a view of the Sucé-sur-Erdre marina. After 39 km and a detour to Intermarché (tabbouleh, gray shrimp, tomato, and 2 Norman tarts for breakfast), I arrived at an old converted mill with 8 bunk beds on the ground floor and 10 in the mezzanine, complete with restrooms, a kitchen, and a bike garage. For 8.45 € a night, the welcome was friendly, the comfort sufficient, and the equipment very complete. Only a public service could offer such a great value for money. I’ll keep fond memories of my first night in a *gîte d’étape*, especially since I was the only one sleeping upstairs, with just two people on the ground floor (luckily, because the metal beds creaked and there was already a snorer).

Day 2, Friday 27/05/11: Vault 7:30 AM – Redon 3:30 PM, 76 km.

I wake up early to the sound of birdsong. Not that they sing louder at dawn than the rest of the day, but the atmospheric turbulence is still very low, making the air more conducive to sound propagation. At 6:15 AM, after scraping off some leftovers from yesterday’s meal with my fingernail, I try to boil water for my tea in a saucepan on the electric stove. But the warped bottom heats the air more than the water. In the chilly early morning, it’s not a big deal. In summer, it’d be ridiculous. I prefer to place my headlamp and GPS at the bottom of a bag to lighten the load on the handlebars. I won’t need either. My goal is to follow the Nantes-Brest canal, and the superb guide I got from the Rennes tourist office will be more than enough: http://fr.calameo.com/...00001315a4af9c366225 Actually, the canal doesn’t start in Nantes, nor does it end in Brest. Boats first sail on the Erdre (which you can’t follow by bike—no towpath ever existed, and a towing service was set up as early as the late 19th century). The canal only begins at Quiheix. To get there, I have to cross Nort-sur-Erdre again. You might’ve noticed I took a first photo of the canal yesterday. I couldn’t resist the temptation while passing over it on the road to the guesthouse.

Quickly, I come across a stop sign with no direction indicated. I take a chance and go left, but after 3 km without any signs, I start missing my EVADEO. I catch up with a young man on a bike who’s just turned onto the road. Before he starts his phone conversation, I ask if I’m on the way to Nort. He confirms it, and we soon enter the town. It’s 10°C, and he’s in a T-shirt. Maybe that’s what normally constituted people wear, but having forgotten my jacket, I’m layered in three synthetic long-sleeve tops, including a turtleneck I’m glad I brought since I forgot my scarf. One thing still surprises me: why don’t people dress warmer in summer when, at the same temperature, they would in winter? Of course, I know why—they’re waiting for it to warm up during the day. For me, when it’s cold, I bundle up, and vice versa. Others crank the AC to max in summer while blasting the heat in winter. It’s beyond me!

After biking 7 km toward Blain, I reach Lock No. 4 of the Nantes-Brest canal. Indeed, Lock No. 1, St. Félix, is in Nantes, on the Erdre. The towpath is sandy yellow with small gravel. It’s pleasant to ride, and the route is marked with nice wooden posts. There’s even a sign to switch banks. But after passing a few fishermen and only one cyclist, I find the surface less smooth and am surprised the canal has a drivable path on both sides. Of course, the grass is always greener on the other side—I get the impression the opposite bank is better. Thanks to the signs, I learn that one side is reserved for cyclists and pedestrians, the other for horses. The landscape really evokes the countryside, with lots of greenery and cows. After 22 km, the steeple of La Chevillais village catches my eye with its steep slate roofs, like those of the houses. The stone walls remind me that the Armorican Massif is nearby. At the foot of the church, I find, of course, the bar and bakery. I savor two croissants and a *large* hot chocolate, the only customer on the terrace. Farther on, I stop to photograph a stone spillway for draining excess water. A Dutchman arrives, and we exchange a few words in English. He’s heading to Roscoff to catch a boat to Ireland, doing 140 km a day. He rides off at about 20 km/h, while 18 km/h is enough for me on this stretch. He’s relatively bundled up, which reassures me. It’s not until 11 AM that I shed one of my three layers because a headwind has started blowing, canceling out the warming air.

After spotting my first grey heron and first crêperie (too early to try it—or two croissants too late), I stop in Guenrouet.

The buckwheat galette with Guéméné andouille is made too acidic for my taste by the mustard and crème fraîche. Even as a kid, I loved andouille, and I remember ordering it with my parents at a restaurant in Boos (Rouen airfield). When the waitress brought the plate and asked, *‘The andouille?’* I said, *‘That’s me!’* Not just my tastes haven’t changed.

I call a group guesthouse near Redon, using the number from the canal guide. The man tells me he won’t host me alone—it would disrupt his setup for the group arriving Saturday. Far from public service, I’m not profitable. He teaches me that it’s *Guenrouet*, not *Guenroué*, while yesterday, when I asked for the road to Vault, they said *Vau*. Go figure! I reach Redon against a strengthening wind but still with the sun. In front of a city map, I can’t locate myself because the town is at the crossroads of the canal and the Vilaine River. Two teenagers can’t figure it out either. The *‘You are here’* marker is nowhere to be found (as usual). The girl adds that, on top of that, she’s a girl. That motivates the boy, who manages to point me toward the city center. The tourist office tells me there are only three hotels nearby. At my request, they give me a brochure for the Inland Waterways Museum without mentioning it’s only open on weekends this season.

I choose the Hôtel de France, which, for 39 € + (6 € breakfast), offers a pleasant welcome, a cellar for my bike, Wi-Fi, comfort, and cleanliness. http://www.hotellefrance.com/index.htm The pedestrian street lets me stop at a pastry shop/tea room. Later, I buy a slice of fisherman’s terrine and some piémontaise. Redon still bears the marks of its river past. A tidal basin was built to accommodate many boats sheltered from the tides. Unfortunately, it was quickly oversized with the advent of the railway. The old buildings bear witness, like the salt granaries sometimes threatened when the Vilaine River was too *vilaine* (nasty). The town’s name comes from a young girl of modest condition who, desperate not to win the favors of a young lord, gave birth to it through her tears. I’m surprised by the number of young people in the streets and café terraces and ask if there’s a university. I’m told it’s only due to the Catholic high school at the Abbey of St. Sauveur. Having lost its economic aura, it retains the intellectual one—I doubt the religious one. I once knew someone who, after an accident, had his nose redone at Redon Hospital. He developed an allergic reaction to the feathers coming out of his nose.

It was in 1804 that the project to create a navigation route from Nantes to Brest was launched. The goal was to connect four river basins (Loire, Vilaine, Blavet, Aulne) and link eight rivers (Erdre, Isac, Oust, Blavet, Kergoat, Doré, Hyères, and Aulne) via three water-divide points—a real challenge for the time. Despite the difficulties, the project was completed. Spanish war prisoners and deserters from the Brest penal colony, along with the local impoverished population, were put to work on it. Many paid a heavy price. But in 1842, the 360 km waterway, complete with its 236 locks, was opened to navigation. The Nantes-Brest Canal flows in every direction. It’s like a water staircase you climb, descend, climb again, and descend once more, with as many steps as there are locks and reaches.

Day 3 – Saturday, 28th: Redon 9 AM to Josselin 3:30 PM – 68 km

No offense to the Bretons who’d claim Nantes and Mont Saint-Michel, but when I set my wheels in Redon, I’d only just entered Brittany—and only for a few kilometers in Ille-et-Vilaine before crossing into Morbihan. A change in region means a change in road surface: the ochre turns gray, and the signage shifts. A little white bike on a green background now reads *Canal Vilaine* in my direction, and the opposite way for the return. That doesn’t reassure me at all. In fact, it makes me think I might be heading the wrong way (I’ve made that mistake before, like when I took the Briare Canal toward Montargis instead of coming from the Orléans Canal—see page 3, 13/07/10). I pull out my keychain whistle-thermometer-compass from Québec, which confirms I’m indeed heading north. I already miss the beautiful wooden posts of Loire-Atlantique. Then the towpath disappears, forcing me onto the road for a bit. Back on the path, a sign showing the tangled waterways—a testament to the Herculean labor of the time—doesn’t inspire confidence. The Oust and Aff rivers connect to the canal. Soon after, I find myself in a field that dead-ends (on the wrong bank). Forced to turn around and backtrack 3 km to the bridge. On the other side, I meet fishermen, one of whom is on a bike almost as loaded as mine, with all his gear. A regular has rigged a handcart with a trailer hitch head to drive his car to the canal, then roll his equipment along the towpath. http://www.google.fr/...sp=14&ved=1t:429 A jogger passing by tells me, “Wrong side.” I don’t go unnoticed with my orange flag. Facing the kilometers of rock carved by convicts, Alain’s song (under his pile of curls) comes to mind: *“So many days, days, days of hardship…”* It matches the rhythm of my pedaling. The wind is still moderate but unfavorable. If I hadn’t been so foolish, I’d have ridden in the opposite direction. It’s obvious you should follow the canal from Brest to Nantes—the prevailing winds are northwesterly. To have the wind at my back, I could’ve taken a connection from Nantes to Lorient. Then I’d have been in *“Panic for the Lorient Express.”* The lockkeepers compete in beautifying their little domains. I pass my first boat. The ground has been recently scraped to level it. I ride past an assortment of materials used to stabilize it. A thick layer of gravel slows me down. After 42 km, I reach Malestroit at 12:30 PM. A typical village where I lunch on snail pasta. Then a change of bank brings me onto the EV1. The EuroVelo Route No. 1 http://www.departements-cyclables.org/...2ea392855cd5eb4c2f88 The surface improves. Don’t confuse it with the EV1 electric cars designed and scrapped by General Motors after a three-year lease because they were too successful with users: http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/General_Motors_EV1 I use my horn to warn walkers, who hate being surprised by a bike coming up behind them. But getting the *pouêt-pouêt* just right isn’t easy. You have to anticipate so as not to disturb the walker’s reverie with too loud a sound, while accounting for the wind, which can muffle it. The result? I squeeze the bulb too hard, it falls to the ground, and I have to loosen the clamp holding the horn to the stem. Given its conical shape, the tighter I fasten it, the more the bulb gets pushed toward the end. 67.62 – 45.53 = 25.09 km. That confirms my new odometer after the sign for Josselin (25 km) welcomes me with its charming château. (I had to replace it after breaking the old one by forcing in a slightly too-thick battery instead of buying a new one and leaving this one unused—against my principles.) Josselin is so popular that, of course, the *gîte d’étape* is full. I’d heard as much by phone but still knocked on the door—only to close it quickly when I saw a young girl asleep on the couch. At the tourist office, I learn the hotel is also full and have to settle for a *chambre d’hôtes*. After choosing based on price and Wi-Fi, and confirming availability by phone, I hand the brochure back to the employee, asking her to just note the details on the map she gives me. She’s touched by the gesture, used to seeing people take brochures only to abandon them. I offer to drop off the map and city guide when I leave. (For those who think I’m doing it for her pretty eyes, I’ll remind you I did the same thing spontaneously in Agde.) http://www.le14stmichel.com/ As often happens in large buildings—here, a *maison de maître*—hot water takes forever to arrive, so I do my laundry before showering. It’ll dry on the balcony with the wind and sun. The village is lovely, and the pretty Basilica of Notre-Dame du Roncier offers its spiral staircase to reach the bell tower. From up there, you get a view of the rooftops, the gargoyles, and the château as a whole. On the other bank, a neighborhood has been restored by the English. Why is it always foreigners who rediscover our heritage? At the supermarket, where I buy a pre-made salad since there’s no deli, I’m given a rose for Mother’s Day. I offer it to the hostess, explaining where it came from, and warn her that with Wi-Fi, you can directly access one of her Orange email addresses, which could cause problems.

Day 4 Sunday 25/05/11 Josselin 9:30 AM Pontivy 3:30 PM 56 km Since the towpath is paved, I wipe the sand off the chainrings and chain with paper napkins saved from meals and add a few drops of oil. Before leaving this charming village, a flowerbed invites me to take one last photo of the castle. It’s overcast and the wind is chilly. The fleece gloves worn by an elderly man I pass on his bike remind me of the ones I forgot. They aren’t essential, but wearing them for a few hours in the morning would’ve saved my hands. The leaned-forward position of a mountain biker puts pressure on the wrists and hands, which adds to the shocks from uneven paths all day. That’s one reason my wife doesn’t use her MTB (same as mine, but feminine) and prefers our daughter’s hybrid bike (when she’s not using it in Toulouse). In 25 km, I reach Rohan by 11:30 AM. A small market catches my eye, especially a roasted half-chicken. But it’s reserved. The vendor offers to carve the young chicken I buy and invites me to use the only table on the nearby bar’s terrace. I think I’ll be pressured to order something. Despite the modest temperature, I’ll give in to a draft beer. No one seems to be serving outside. Some young people, still recovering from their night out, are setting up tables themselves. Their order finally arrives with a crash of glass on the floor. I end up fetching my beer at the bar and drink it with two English guys who join me at my little table. Michka the clown arrives on his trike to announce the bread festival in the next village. Along the way, he says he’s going to Rouen (Rohan) with his tricycle. I tell him I was actually born there and tackle a good kilometer-long hill to take him up on his invitation. I arrive just in time for the bread unloading. The loaves with the Breton symbol of the white ermine look tempting but are too bulky.

On the way back to the canal, I hit 44 km/h. The lock ladders (series of closely spaced locks) also indicate a bit of elevation on the towpath. The lock-keeper’s houses are abandoned, and I operate the lock myself just long enough to take a self-timer photo (an amazing digital camera you can trigger without counting. Something I couldn’t stand with expensive film—costly both financially and chemically. However, my son’s camera doesn’t work with rechargeable batteries because they only provide 1.2 V, while regular batteries are 1.5 V. Fortunately, I discovered lithium batteries in Canada that last six times longer and are lighter. I hesitated a long time about taking my wife’s mini camera, but like all SONYs, it has a proprietary memory card and a unique connector, requiring you to carry the video cable with the USB output. So, with its charger, it weighs 375 g—exactly like the CANON with its two batteries. But since the latter has a standard USB cable, it lets me charge my GPS from the computer, avoiding the need to bring its charger).

Between Rohan and Pontivy, no fewer than 54 locks follow one another over a distance of 20 km. Here, the Hilvern watershed (water divide) connects the Oust and Blavet valleys to the Roz ponds. A few dozen meters separate the locks. This alignment of cascades (weirs) offers a stunning spectacle.

A homemade wooden directional sign for the "Maison de l’Environnement" 2 km away encourages me to leave the canal. Finding myself both uphill and sheltered from the wind among the trees, I take off my jacket to climb the gravel path. I continue until I cut across a road marked "usine" (factory). I keep going for 2.5 km toward a nature reserve, but there’s no Maison de l’Environnement. Just the characteristic smell of a waste sorting center. Turning back, I ask a couple in a camper van who also saw the sign but not the house. Another person tells me it *is* there. I spot an exhibition building and its poor prehistoric animal. It endorses SUEZ’s commitment to Sustainable Development. I’m at the Gueltas recycling center, which, of course, is closed on Sundays. Sure, why not let a company profit from our waste—we produce so much of it! Me first, with my addiction to new technology. But that it passes for environmental protection? Don’t be fooled. "Green is green," as the Americans say (translation: ecology is dollars). Translating the translation: sustainable development is just business. This oxymoron combining two incompatible words is the scam of the century. I really got worked up following that rustic, "sustainable" sign (I’ll remember it for a long time).

My company also uses this mask (to grow better) by being a Sustainable Development sponsor for the London 2012 Olympics. To make it look good, they organized sports meet-ups for employees. Me, who hates competition, I signed up for table tennis. As Pierre said, the important thing is to participate—and that’s my "favorite sport." For Coluche, "sportif" was an insult. He mocked Jacques Secrétin (23 French championship titles; in 1976, he was voted the best French ping-pong player of the century) by saying his friends called him "the sausage." Well, during these meet-ups at the CREPS in Toulouse, with a garden party lunch under the beautiful park’s trees, Sustainable Development didn’t even provide recycling bins. Like most events, don’t do collectively what you’re asked to do at home.

My other "favorite sport"—boules courts line the canal, but signs ban playing there. I ask a couple of cyclists and learn they’re reserved for Breton boules. Once made of boxwood, they’re now synthetic (thanks, Sustainable Development). So no plombing or carreaux here.

At the junction of the Blavet and the Nantes-Brest canal, I discover the Île des Récollets. The former convent garden houses a playground and picnic tables. Next to the old mill is the youth hostel: http://www.hihostels.com/dba/hostel020138.fr.htm

“The rooms are available,” the answering machine message said, and while waiting for reception to open, I lock my bike out front. Since I don’t want to explore Pontivy loaded like a mule, I lighten my handbag into the panniers, leaving a pair of socks visible on top. On this Sunday, the city—formerly called Napoléonville due to the work ordered by Napoleon—is very quiet, and the castle visit is dull because some exhibition rooms are closed for renovations. The immense Place de l’Empereur is deserted. He chose Pontivy as a river communication hub to bypass the seas then dominated by the English fleet. A monument commemorates the 1794 union of Brittany and Anjou. The youth hostel staff is very friendly. They give me a two-bed room. I also have to buy a 15 € membership card, but I don’t mind supporting such an organization.

Day 5 Monday 30/05/11 Pontivy 9:00 AM - Inzinzac-Lochrist 4:30 PM 62 km

Tired of having the wind in my face (and irritated from constantly blowing my nose with cotton tissues), I give up on continuing to Brest, saving that goal for retirement. After 265 km, I turn off toward Lorient—or rather, I keep going straight along the Blavet Canal. That’s the one to Brest that bends past the windows of the youth hostel.

The towpath is less smooth, with a few ruts. The first jolt from the plane tree roots reminds me of the Canal du Midi (see page 1, 09/07). Aside from lockkeepers and fishermen, I only pass one jogger and a woman walking her dog. I manage to time my bell right. It takes 30 km before I come across two couples of cycle tourists. The locks are much less flowery. Yet, there are activities for tourists, like canoeing and kayaking, taking advantage of the current created by the drop from several small dams attached to the locks and operated by EDF. At Pont-Augan, a sightseeing boat is loaded with retirees. A hiker with his dog watches the maneuver. I wouldn’t want to carry such a heavy backpack all day. The lockkeeper confirms she works year-round, maintaining the canal. She advises me to switch banks right away to go to Poul-Fétan: http://sagemorw.alias.domicile.fr/poulfetan/index.php3

She kindly tells me about a nearby workers’ restaurant. As I enjoy the contents of my scallop shell, the conversations bring me back down from my little eco-cloud. Since there are only men at the bar and in the dining room, the removal of speed camera alerts is a hot topic. With the andouillette, fries, peas, and carrots—served piping hot—it’s all about soccer, kids’ training, and parents’ attitudes. Then it’s back to fines for overdue vehicle inspections, weekend cannabis detected on Monday leading to point deductions, or speeding. All of which can result in job loss without unemployment benefits due to license suspension. I quickly swallow the two pieces of cheese wrapped in a paper napkin. They’ll go well with the bread offered by the hostel (the young people there for restaurant exams in Pontivy hadn’t eaten any).

As always, when leaving the canal, the roads go uphill, and it’s time to use the big gears (on the 7-speed cassette, I always wear out the 4th and 5th). Around lunchtime, there’s a bit of traffic, and a car overtakes me just as another is coming the other way. If everyone cooperates, it works, but it’s not as nice as the canal! I didn’t check the odometer, but it’s nearly 10 km to reach the reconstructed village. When paying for entry, the cashier confirms there’s no other road except the hiking trail and the footbridge to get back to the towpath. The footbridge turns at a right angle, as the lockkeeper warned me, which isn’t easy with a bike. I tell her I could take off my panniers but don’t really enjoy the visit. I’m too preoccupied with the route and the worsening weather. Even the activity schedules aren’t being followed—maybe because of a group of schoolchildren.

At the exit, I program my GPS for Inzinzac-Lochrist, where there’s a hiking lodge listed in my guide. I called and left a message on the answering machine. As soon as I leave the dead-end, the screen shows no road. The only directions are north and the destination. I’m in front of the path and try to venture in with 85 kg on two wheels. Quickly, the path slopes, and I descend slowly on the dirt, dead leaves, and stones. I’m relieved it hasn’t rained in a while when a water flow forces me to step into the mud. As usual, this little stream cuts across the trail, which winds along the hillside, and I end up with both feet wet, unable to stay on the pedals to cross the flow. Further on, a tree trunk blocks my way. Luckily, I’d heard the sound of a 2-stroke engine and thought of chainsaws. The crew is on break, and I ask them if they plan to remove the obstacle. They say they’ll mention it to the town hall. I ask for their help lifting my bike over the trunk and realize, seeing their brush cutters (like Rotofil), that they can’t tackle the tree.

As it starts to rain, I decide to continue on the road on the opposite bank from the towpath. I won’t attempt the footbridge or see the beach. As soon as I hit the pavement, the GPS finds the route. I then ask a group of elderly people chatting after a forest walk. The rates are posted, but there’s no one at the lodge. http://be-at-home.fr/

However, the gate isn’t locked, and I enter the courtyard. The reception office is empty. I dial the posted number, which is the same one I already called in vain. I settle at a table on the terrace and can access the internet with my 3G dongle. I could wait comfortably if my feet weren’t soaked. Which I really don’t like (what *don’t* I find unbearable?), and on top of that, it starts raining. I pack up my laptop and discover that the kitchen door, meant for guests, is open. I call again before transferring the day’s photos. Finally, I boil water, always having tea bags in my pannier. With each call, I specify I’m in front of the reception, then inside, giving my number—still no answer.

Finally, a car with Dutch plates parks in front of the barrier. Opening it, I say good evening, ladies, thinking they’re guests. But it’s the owner and her sister, whom she just picked up. She seems annoyed that I’m there and even more surprised that I waited 1.5 hours. I ask about the lack of response and the missing mobile number. With so much work managing a lodge that can host 30 people, she doesn’t want to be constantly bothered. She thought she wouldn’t have any guests and is surprised I didn’t book. I understand it’s absolutely necessary in July and August, but I can’t say where I’ll stop tomorrow. It depends on the weather, especially the wind direction, visits, and unexpected muddy patches.

She can still accommodate me after tidying up. The lodge was rented for a wedding this weekend. She adds that I could’ve showered. I didn’t dare without a response. After washing my socks and myself, and once her sister is settled, she shows me the main building where I can use the Wi-Fi and asks if I want to use the pool. I say not now, regretting that this offer—which I hadn’t dared dream of—didn’t come earlier. I ask if I can eat the leftover crêpes from the wedding with all the toppings. No problem, she doesn’t eat sweets. She entrusts me with the entire property, built on the site of an old farm. The whole place, modernized and expanded, is eco-friendly.

She only prepares breakfasts for groups, but when I wake up, I find an impressive selection of herbal teas. I put my tea bag in the bio-bucket because here, biodegradable waste is collected separately. Next time, I’ll book to make sure I don’t miss anything.

Day 6, Tuesday 31/05/11 – Inzinzac-Lochrist 9:15 AM to St Pierre-Quiberon 6:00 PM, 84 km

Before leaving the village, I drop off at the post office the envelope I had stamped to return a book carefully wrapped in bubble wrap. A superb work by Kader Benferhat: *La Bretagne des canaux* (West-France editions), which a colleague’s wife lent me. As a child, she used to swim in the Ille-et-Rance canal. I add the canal guide. I won’t need it anymore. My goal now is to follow the Atlantic coast to get back home. I lighten my load by nearly 1 kg of unnecessary weight. Ideally, I’d like to shed about that much every 300 km. I could send my dirty laundry to my wife—she’d be thrilled. Just kidding. Today, my love, on our 25th wedding anniversary, it’s tenderness I’d like to send you. I hope you’ll see the big heart I drew on the free newspaper I picked up on the train to use as extra padding, where I crossed out *Métro Boulot* to leave only *Cadeau*. Either way, my wish might come true if I lose some weight (yes, it’s possible!).

I reach the old forges of Hennebont. Founded in 1860 for the production of black, white, and printed iron for Breton canneries, they expanded in the early 20th century but couldn’t compete with the large industrial sites in the North and East (which would later struggle themselves). The closure decree came in 1966. At this early hour, I’m the only one visiting the ecomuseum. What’s the point of my hard work If Petit Navire white tuna Is canned in China. Do we really want everything to capsize? Yet we must take action If we want to save the bluefin tuna. The Earth will never run smoothly As long as man is at the helm. I then head in search of the boat graveyard of Kerhervy but get blocked several times by the Lorient business park and have to ask for directions. I decide to picnic there, saying goodbye to the Blavet River as it flows toward the ocean. I’ll end my pleasant journey along the Breton canals in Lorient, where so many sailors and captains set off into the unknown, making my adventures seem small. Bad luck—I arrive at 1 PM, and the tourist office is closed. Though it has a large glass facade, no city map is displayed—just information about the surrounding area. So I wander around Lorient for a while, looking for an old fortified town I’d imagined. I pass by navy buildings, step into a few courtyards, and when a squall hits, I decide to leave, having completely missed my visit. All I saw was the floating basin, like so many others, and the *Thalassa*. In Lorient, kenavo Since I’m leaving soon I’ll have the wind at my back Goodbye to all its sailors But I’ll be back soon To admire Brittany by bike Following all its canals I arrive in Port-Louis just before a ferry I assume would’ve made for a pleasant crossing. Missed again! I write a postcard to my colleagues, telling them that after 300 km of warm-up, I’m tackling the 1,000 km (along the coast) of the return trip, worried I won’t make it back in time to join them at work. Then I head toward Plouharnel to enjoy the Youth Hostel: http://www.fuaj.org/Plouharnel Thinking I’ve arrived, I stop by the tourist office to say hello. There, I learn the youth hostel is 7 km away, and a greenway leads to it—one I could’ve taken earlier. The director is very eco-friendly, and with my key, I’m given a trash bag and recycling instructions to slip into the bed pocket and return upon departure. In the two-bed room, there’s already a pair of pajamas and a towel in the bathroom. I think it’s a mistake and go back to the front desk. No! Yet the center is far from full. Not knowing who I’ll be sharing the room with, I take my laptop to go have dinner at *Le Petit Marinier* nearby. I can get a meal negotiated by the hostel, whose restaurant is closed tonight. But it’s charcuterie and meat—a bummer! I opt for mussels *marinière*, beer, and finish the evening with an herbal tea and Wi-Fi, happy I was forced to bring my laptop. I share the room with a man who admits to snoring and has already been unable to sleep because of a loud snorer in a neighboring room. I tell him my wife sometimes snores, but it doesn’t bother me because I think kindly that she’s very tired and needs deep sleep. I can’t imagine feeling the same about a stranger. Luckily, he uses a very effective anti-snoring spray. We have breakfast together over a friendly chat. Here, the milk is organic, and there’s no individual packaging—you’re invited to squeeze your own orange, and leftover bread goes to the director’s chickens. My bike didn’t sleep alone either. It shared its space with an electric-assist bicycle. At the Pontivy youth hostel, a woman told me she uses one effectively for all her trips in Rennes.

J7 Wednesday 01/06/11 9:00 AM Auray (moving north in latitude) 3:00 PM 59 km

I want to take advantage of the peninsula’s location to visit the Pointe de Quiberon. The greenway ends at the Youth Hostel, but there are bike paths I take heading south. Actually, there are tons of them, probably used by summer visitors, but with no signs. Choosing at random, I end up in the dead end of a vegetable garden and can’t manage to follow the coastline, even though it’s so close. I eventually go back to the road to return to my starting point. I’ve ridden 20 km when I find myself back at the hostel where I could’ve left my panniers, without having seen anything picturesque except for a swallow and the souvenir shop where I buy a gift for my wife (I can’t reveal what it is here to keep it a surprise, but I promise it’s very light).

Since the V5 La Littorale isn’t described on the AF3V website (French Association for the Development of Greenways and Cycle Routes, of which I’m a benefactor member): http://www.af3v.org/index.php I take the time to describe and photograph it: Departure from Étel with the option, from June 1st to September 30th, to take the ferry from Plouhinec. A 15 km route between the Étel River and Penthièvre, part of Saint-Pierre-Quiberon. This temporary endpoint (waiting to reach the tip) drops you off at the youth hostel in Plouharnel, though it’s actually 7 km away. Not knowing about this greenway before visiting the Plouharnel tourist office, I can only describe the southern half. Its main role is to run parallel to the D786, the unavoidable axis of the Quiberon peninsula and thus very busy. It’s well isolated from the road, even though it touches it at points where they had to create a refuge for a car that might stop. It also offers a few detours inland and sometimes under trees. The surface, made of macadam squares, is good, but the expansion joints created can lead to cracking, some of which have already been patched. The section between Plouharnel and Erdeven isn’t paved. It’s dirt and small gravel, which might only deter road bikes. And to pass this information on to Julien Savary, the tireless manager of the site.

You might think that on a bike, you can stop anywhere, anytime. In reality, for the MTB to stay on its kickstand, you have to turn the handlebars to the right if there’s a slight inward slope and to the left if it’s outward. If the slope is steeper, don’t even try. It’s better to choose a post or a tree, as long as it’s thick enough. Otherwise, the bike will use it as a pivot and end up on the ground, pulled by gravity. Despite constant precautions, it takes its first fall of the trip without any damage. I’m especially careful because of the mirror at the end of the handlebars, which I’d now struggle to do without.

The greenway doesn’t pass through Plouharnel, so I have to backtrack a bit, and I arrive there at noon, only 7 km from my starting point (the hostel). I’m drawn to the unique position of a crêperie’s terrace, right in front of the house, where I have a salad for lunch. The owner confirms that this setup was done gradually, with a craftsman’s help at the end. He tells me that in the area, there isn’t a single mobile home left available for this weekend. But on this Wednesday, it feels far away, and I shouldn’t have any trouble finding a place to sleep in Vannes. It’s only when I pass through a village advertising a festival for Ascension Thursday that I realize it’s a long weekend. Biking through Breton landscapes, out of time, I’d lost track of this long weekend, which was obvious when I requested the time off. These long weekends create crowds and boost the economy. In my opinion, it’s a mistake to remove a public holiday to make France more productive. Contributing more to support the elderly is fine, but not if, at the same time, the 2007 TEPA law exempts overtime from charges. How can we favor people who work more when so many don’t have jobs? If such an idea had crossed my mind, I wouldn’t brag about it—I’d bury it deep. Even though I benefit from this law (I work one weekend a month), I find it unfair. Instead of getting paid for them, I choose to take back some of my overtime hours (earn less to live more). That’s what allows me to take trips on two wheels (soon three). Of course, it’s easy to say because my wife works, so we have enough income.

After finding the Carnac menhirs and stopping by La Trinité, I visit the La Trinitaine factory store. The stacks of cookie boxes are impressive, but I can’t buy any. I have a beer and a prune far at the bar. Then I head straight to the Auray tourist office, which is in an old chapel. Being slightly inland and arriving early lets me find a reasonably priced hotel, though it’s outside the center. This time, my laundry won’t dry. My room faces north, and even with the window open, the heat doesn’t come in. I end up turning on a little heat for the night, placing my few clothes nearby. Nuclear power plants have to keep running at night. With some factories closed, they need to lower the output, which strains the equipment and wears it out prematurely. Ideally, if all French people charged an electric car, there’d be no need to reduce the load at night. But in Brittany, there are no nuclear power plants. The Bretons didn’t want them. They’re right—after all, they’re sold electricity produced elsewhere. In France, many national roads have been renamed departmental roads and are now the responsibility of the general councils. In Brittany, they remain national roads. They didn’t want toll highways, so they got free expressways instead. Those Bretons are clever; we could learn a thing or two from them.

http://www.hotel-auray.fr/fr/

Not wanting to scramble for accommodation, thanks to the internet and my credit card, I book a hotel for Thursday of this long weekend, which could get busy. I choose Saint-Nazaire, a nearly unavoidable stop for crossing the Loire.

J8 Thursday 02/06/11 Auray 8:00 AM – Saint-Nazaire 5:00 PM 108 km

The advantage of the hotel is that it serves breakfast from 7:00 AM and the buffet is overflowing with choices. The D781 is practically all mine. A young rabbit hops along before jumping into the ditch as I arrive. On the parallel N165, cars glide by. At this hour, I find them almost friendly since they’re far enough away—though by the end of the day, they’d drive me crazy. Three lines from ViaMichelin are enough to guide me. Luckily, I copied down "traverser Ploeren" because it makes me take a Lorient sign I would’ve struggled to follow without that detail. Then the D127 takes me to Vannes in 19 km as planned. All I have to do is follow a couple of cyclists who confirm they’re heading to the port.

As a colleague’s father used to say: "A worker earns his bread in the morning." For a cyclist, just remove the *c*. At 9:15 AM, I can enjoy the festivities of the Semaine du Golfe du Morbihan without the crowds: http://www.semainedugolfe.asso.fr/ Next to the old rigs, rowers struggle to synchronize as they try to exit the tidal basin. The swing bridge is closed until 11:00 AM to let the entire flotilla out. I can’t go see the bagpipes whose sound has been drawing me from the other shore.

Anyway, it’s time to fire up my GPS for the big stage. In bike mode, it guides me cleverly and via the shortest route, even taking me through a wooded path used by local cyclists and joggers. It leads me to the D104, where I put it on standby to save battery. I pass the MICHELIN depot where the Michelin Man offers air. A man offers help since the seal on his car’s valve connection didn’t hold (as often happens). He controls the pressure while I hold the connection on my rim. It’s the first time I’ve used a compressor to inflate a bike tire—usually a hand or foot pump is more than enough (even for inflating a car tire). But since I don’t have a pressure gauge, it lets me see that the pressure had dropped to nearly 2 bar, so we bring it back up to 3. Really, this day is starting off on the right foot. With this timely service (it’s much nicer to ride well-inflated on smooth pavement than on rough paths).

After filling up on air, I fill up on fluids at the local post office in Sulniac, which has a vending machine. However, just when I hoped I was done with headwinds, they’re back on the D104 heading east. An older cyclist on a road bike overtakes me, cursing the wind. In the opposite direction, a group zooms past. Plus, climbs and descents keep coming. The advantage is that when climbing, there’s no wind if it’s coming from the front. But it gets hot fast, and when descending, it gets cold. To make the most of the downhill, I lower myself by resting a thigh on the frame and sometimes even resting my chin on the handlebar bag. After 44 km, I walk a bit up a steep hill, and by 48 km, I arrive in Questembert at 12:00 PM. A quick calculation gives me 12 km/h, including the stop in Vannes. But this average might drop after lunch. Only two restaurants are open, plus a pétanque competition. Luckily, arriving early at 12:45 PM, I finish my Breton pizza (with andouille).

Heading toward La Roche-Bernard, a more favorable wind and rising temperatures let me pedal in shorts for the first time. A sign points to Branféré’s animal park and the Nicolas Hulot School. Our helicopter enthusiast chose to end his ties with TF1 to run in the presidential elections. If we’re going to make the French vote, we could have them pick the people who’ve polluted the planet the most. I think he’d rank pretty high, just like Yann Arthus-Bertrand.

Crossing the Vilaine, I take one last look at the waterway. My fascination with the Canal du Midi and bike trips led me to create this travel journal titled: "Why cycle (MTB) along the canal between two seas?" To my surprise, the Ille-et-Rance Canal and the Vilaine form a waterway with the same name: The Interdepartmental Institution for the Management of the Ille-et-Rance Canal took its current name in 1990: *Institution du Canal d’Ille et Rance Manche Océan Nord* (I.C.I.R.M.O.N). This Public Territorial Establishment is responsible for the maintenance, management, development, and tourism promotion of a remarkable heritage in Upper Brittany: the 140 km Rance-Ille-Vilaine navigable waterway. The Canal d’Ille-et-Rance, whose final project was approved in December 1803, was opened to navigation in 1837. Designed under the Ancien Régime, Brittany’s canals were largely built under the First Empire and completed under the July Monarchy. Their initial purpose was to ensure, during the Continental Blockade, the supply of the ports of Brest, Nantes, and the city of Rennes, as well as the ports of Redon, Saint-Malo, Hennebont, and Lorient. Later, the canals allowed Breton barge traffic to complement coastal shipping by transporting heavy materials in rural areas. Thus, Brittany’s canals formed a Manche-Océan link connecting the Rance to the maritime Vilaine. This stage is really long, and with the heat, the water in my insulated bottle—even though it’s supposed to keep drinks cold—no longer quenches my thirst. I bought it in preparation for my first group ride along the 540 km of the Lot in early July: http://www.zefal.com/...oduit.php?key=165001 At first, I thought it was leaking from the spout, then from the cap’s threading. Finally, I saw that water was stagnating in the double wall, where it gets in when you squeeze the bottle to drink. Since mold was developing and I had a bit of a stomachache, I stopped using it. I didn’t realize you could remove the inner container (it’s written online but not on the label) to clean it. When I did, I had to force it with a knife blade and ruined the aluminum shell. I emailed ZEFAL, who quickly replied and informed me they were working on welding the top of the two walls. Later, they offered me a prototype to test and, just before my departure for the Lot Valley, sent me an old model to replace my bottle and a new one to test. The bottle with the two welded shells worked well. At the bottom, it has two small holes to drain condensation between the two walls, which can no longer be separated. Kudos to ZEFAL for making their products in France, too. My GPS, choosing small roads, lets me enjoy the countryside, but I can’t find a bar to cool off. It even takes me down a rocky path. Luckily, it guides me onto the expressways around Saint-Nazaire. It’s tough to get on the ramp for La Baule, which is packed. Before it leads me to my hotel’s door, I stop at a café terrace. I never thought a simple mint water could feel so good.

http://chambre-hotel-soiree-etape.hotel-le-bretagne.com/

J9 Friday 03/06/11 St Nazaire 8:45 AM Bourgneuf 3:00 PM 57 km + 15

Actually, it took me a while to wake up my GPS (I have to move around for it to locate me, and restart it because I accidentally turned it off by habitually pressing the button to reactivate the display while it was still in its one-minute startup phase), so I didn’t leave until 9:00 AM.

After 5 km through the city and, of course, the industrial zone, I see a white sign for St Brévin (the green ones are reserved for major roads), and I immediately spot the bridge. I could turn off the GPS then, but I prefer to leave it in standby so it reboots faster. Then begins a slow climb up the narrow bike lane. The wind is crosswise but moderate. Any awkwardness in my load becomes noticeable, and even more so on the descent with speed. I stop at the top to take 2 photos. My eyes aren’t wide enough to take in the vast estuary. I limit my descent speed to 30 km/h, especially since there are small bumps at the joints and traffic. On the ground, red or green lamps mark the traffic lanes.

I immediately turn right toward Mindi, a neighborhood in St Brévin that the GPS didn’t want as a destination. From there, I get a better view of the majestic structure. This is where the EuroVelo 6 route begins, connecting St Brévin-les-Pins to Constanta (Black Sea) over 3,800 km: http://www.eurovelo6.org/ I hope it’ll be ready by the time I retire. In the meantime, I’m a benefactor member of the association supporting the project. No big deal since 60% of this donation is tax-deductible. Every July, the Transeuropéenne organizes a ride on a section to encourage its completion: http://transeuropeenne.free.fr/index.html For next year, I’m tempted by Warsaw to Moscow, via the Baltic countries and St. Petersburg in June 2012.

With the hard part behind me, I look forward to a relaxed day with no time or distance constraints. Since my goal is to follow the Atlantic coast, I head southwest (using the sun’s position as a guide). This leads me through long residential streets, and it’s only in St Brévin Océan that I find the coast. I stop at a pharmacy to buy more sunscreen, which lets me generously apply some from the previous tube to protect my face and legs while sitting on a low wall by the beach. At the tourist office, the hostess gives me a brochure about the bike route while shooing away wasps.

The St Brévin–Bourgneuf bike route is just a series of small roads marked with green paint on the ground—sometimes faded or thick—and Vélocéan signs. You can only go wrong in 3 situations: - Going too fast to see either the arrows on the ground or the small Vélocéan signs. - Following a bike path that the route only uses briefly because it zigzags constantly. - Getting carried away down a gravel descent toward St Gildas. I didn’t miss the chance to do this, earning myself a hike back up under the already scorching sun. As a result, I don’t reach Pornic until 12:30 PM, just as many tourists arrive for lunch. I manage fine with my mussels, fries, and beer.

Heading toward La Bernerie, the bike route takes more detours through the countryside (reminding me of the Loire à Vélo—see page ¾), so I get the wind from different angles. Even though the forecast said it’d be from the north, it feels like it’s coming from the southeast. That’s why the temperature hits 29°C. On this route, it quickly becomes exhausting. I hummed a few notes from Laurent Voulzy’s song: “vélo, vélo, vélocéan” until I realized the scam. Over more than 30 km in over 2 hours, you only see the sea for a few minutes—and only if you stop. So when the bike route heads back inland and dives into a tunnel under the D13, I decide to take the D13 instead, which goes straight to Bourgneuf-en-Retz. I just have to check my mirror. When a car approaches, I move to the right onto the shoulder, which is less smooth but, given my slow speed due to the wind, it doesn’t shake me up too much.

My goal is to check at the tourist office for available beds. The hostess can’t help because it’s just an annex. However, she marks the 3 hotels on a map. When I ask about the rest of the bike route, she has to go to the storage room to get the brochure for nearby Vendée.

Even though we’re in Loire-Atlantique, this is the Breton marsh. “Brittany grows on you!”

I drop off my panniers at the family-run hotel La Bourrine and put on my swimsuit. The plan is to go back to the part of the bike route I skipped, which seems to follow the coast. I reach the port of Le Collet, but there’s only water upstream of the lock. Farther on, boats are lying on the bottom, and the *carrelets* (large square fishing nets) are suspended in the air. At the beach, the water might be 500 m out.

I’ll have to postpone my dream of coolness. This is a salt marsh and aquaculture zone. Bourgneuf gets its name from the fact that the town had to be rebuilt closer to the sea because the water no longer reached far enough inland via the *étier* (a narrow channel with seawater). The gulf, now called Bourgneuf, continues to silt up. Continuing toward Moutiers, I see a sign for Pornic via the coast. There you go—all the ocean views the bike route deprived me of. I’d advise against using it except on busy days. It’s worth noting that paths along the beach are off-limits to bikes to ensure peace for walkers. In Moutiers-en-Retz, the tide is high enough. The water isn’t clear, and you first step on pebbles, then seaweed, and finally mud. Even moving away from the shore, you can’t get water above your waist. But my efforts to move in these conditions are rewarded by the water temperature, warmed by the sun-exposed mud at low tide. So I swim in shallow, warm water. Back at Le Collet, the stilts of the *carrelet* fishing huts are already in the water, and the wind is still against me.

After a shower, I visit the Musée des Amis du Retz (you have to say *ré*). http://museepaysderetz.free.fr/HomePage.html In the hotel garden, I choose the eel for 15 €, and the owner suggests taking it in a menu for 18.50 € including dessert. That seems like a good deal, and it’s just as well if the portion is smaller. But I’m disappointed. It’s quite tough to cut, fairly firm, and doesn’t have much flavor. I make up for it with the chocolate crunch dessert. When I point out that she forgot to charge me for my tomato juice, the owner proudly tells me they kept the rooms cool because she suffered from the heat at noon. I reply that I find it too cold (it almost put me off going for a swim), but others will appreciate it. At 10:30 PM, I go out to better secure my bike to a roof drain in the courtyard. It’s so nice out that I could’ve slept outside if I hadn’t found accommodation, and I go back to freeze in my room, which I couldn’t warm up through the only window facing the street with constant traffic—and I couldn’t leave it open while I was out.

Day 10 – Saturday 04/06/11 Bourgneuf-en-Retz 9:00 AM → Saint-Hilaire-de-Riez 3:00 PM – 59 km

I quickly realize it’s hot and slip into shorts, digging out the sunscreen. I could’ve saved a quarter-hour by picking the right outfit from the start. Vendée welcomes me with 24 °C in the morning and its network of bike circuits. But the right side of the road is in bad shape, and the signage disappears. I decide to head toward Boin via a better-paved road. Is Vendée still Brittany? The less steep tiled roofs confirm it’s not. In Boin, I should find 18 km of bike route, but with no signs, I take the direction of Noirmoutier. There are lots of cars from neighboring departments, from everywhere, even farther away. Already yesterday at the hotel, a man explained he’d given up on going to the island. Still, I’m riding on a billiard-table-smooth road at a cruising speed of 25 km/h. The wind is still from the east. In Beauvoir, few vehicles are heading toward the Passage du Gois (submersible) since the tide isn’t right. The closer we get to the island, the more the price of mussels and fries goes up. Now that I’m so close, I think about checking out the bridge, but with no distance signs and crossing the bike route, I give up and head toward Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie. The path is sandy but pleasant to ride. It winds under the pines with a series of small ups and downs. This feeling is shared by many cyclists, with lots of families.

But we still can’t see the ocean, and a bike sign pointing to Plage de la Braie (0.6 km) tempts me. A little detour of 1.2 km—no big deal. But the descent is sandy, so I prefer to climb back up via the car road, which is also covered in sand, making progress slow and risky when the front wheel twists. It delays me enough to arrive at Notre-Dame-des-Monts just before noon. No need for GPS to turn onto Rue de l’Atlantique. I skip the packed beachside bistro to enjoy an *océan* salad on the terrace of the boulevard of the same name. The owner invites me to move a bit farther inside to avoid the storm bugs gathering on my orange jersey. She even moves my things and, seeing my empty water bottle (I’d just emptied it into the hedge), fills it with fresh water. She puts down a yellow towel (their favorite color), where insects start accumulating.

I never get tired of this path, but progress is slow. Even though the air cools occasionally with short cloudy spells hinting at a storm, I decide to switch to a T-shirt. Since it’s my first time, I don’t know which pannier it’s in. I start emptying both and forget, when I find it, that I’d protected my mouse inside. Luckily, it falls into the pannier, not the sand. I decided to buy a laptop for traveling so I can look up bike-friendly routes and accommodations online. I went for the smallest size: a 10-inch screen (1 inch = 2.54 cm). I picked a 1.1 kg Compaq, but all brands sell the same thing (same processor, same hard drive, etc.). Cdiscount and RueDuCommerce were selling it for 200 € on supplier order. I chose the first virtual store. After 3 weeks, I receive a big package and worry about the weight. It’s a laser epilator (very useful for biking) and a full skincare set. With the Colissimo tracking number, I’d received a woman’s order who’d also had a wrong delivery. I call Cdiscount, telling them I want my PC before returning the beauty items. No way—I accepted the terms when ordering! I hesitate to keep the items, which total 300 €, but neither my wife nor my daughter wants skin cancer. The return label Cdiscount sent me is just a return number, and I have to pay 12 € in shipping. They take several days to send me a 24 € credit for a future order. I think it’s a goodwill gesture, but I actually get another voucher for the full amount of my order, minus the 10 € shipping. They gave me a 2 € gift, and I still don’t have a computer, even though it’s available for 195 € on their site! Since I’m kind of forced to order, I pick an HP for 250 € with better battery life but weighing 1.3 kg. HP refunds 50 € if you buy an accessory at the same time. For example, a 15 € wireless mouse, which will be handy since the touchpad is tough for a fifty-something like me to master.

In Saint-Jean-de-Monts, on the seafront, a gorgeous surface is shared between cyclists and pedestrians over a wide area. The vast sandy beach is packed—no photo could capture it all except Yahn’s. Thanks to the sound system, I realize it’s a gathering of 5,000 young soccer players. Even *Le Monde* covered the event.

I plan to ask the Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie tourist office for lodging, as it might be tough. But I try my luck in Saint-Hilaire-de-Riez. The Hôtel Frédéric, despite its shabby facade, is a 3-star. I ask if the 68 € room is still available. They offer to lower the price of a larger room to 80 €. I say I’ll think about it and head to the tourist office, which also doesn’t know real-time availability. Since I’m alone at the hotel, the *large* 50 € room is left to me for 42 €. It’s kept the 1970s style, with almost-original wallpaper. There’s even a bidet in the bathroom—a relic of past generations. The backyard, where I’m allowed to store my bike, is a dump. The only modern thing, besides the flat-screen TV, is a shop display in the lobby showing beach towels and toiletries. I have a balcony overlooking the beach, but the beauty of the landscape is hidden by poles and electrical wires.

Apart from a few tiny waves, a grandma getting out of the water, and a group of girls in short-sleeved and -legged wetsuits, people are just sunbathing. It’s much harder to get into the water than yesterday. Here, the *estran* (the part of the shore between high and low tide marks) is too narrow to warm the water, which I estimate at 13 °C. The news doesn’t mention it, even though millions of French people are on the coast. After 10 minutes of swimming, I walk back on the burning sand. Using my balcony, covered by the upper floor, I soap some clothes. But it faces north, so I’ll leave with damp laundry.

In the evening, a few drops fall. Locals say the storm turned to wind. But the forecast predicts rain all week. We can only hope for it, as many departments are already under water restrictions.

Day 11, Sunday 05/06: Saint Hilaire de Riez to Longeville sur Mer – 70 km

As expected, the long-awaited rain finally arrived, but not in sufficient quantity since it only lasted a few hours. Still, it had the advantage of arriving gently, allowing the earth to absorb it. Vendée has made major improvements for cycling, but the trails are sometimes marked without direction signs, and since several bike routes intersect, I get lost.

I pass through St Gilles Croix de Vie, where I went to my first summer camp. I remember feeling a strange attraction toward the counselor.

I think I’ll easily find accommodation on this last day of the weekend, and I’m lucky to come across a digital information board when arriving in Jard sur Mer. But it shows that two hotels are located on Rue de l’Océan. I head toward the port, passing a first hotel that’s permanently closed, then a second one that’s fully booked, with no street name indicated. The receptionist advises me to go to the Chalet St Hubert in Saint Vincent sur Jard. Some pedestrians help me find the hotel-restaurant, but no one answers. I walk around the building. A room is being cleaned, which gives me hope it’ll be available. A machine is running in the laundry room, but there’s no one in sight. I wait while eating a few cookies. Suddenly, a cat comes out, and I hear a door or window closing. So there *is* someone, but still no response when I ring or knock. I decide to call the number painted on their catering van. A woman answers, telling me the hotel and restaurant are closed on Sundays. It would’ve been too simple to write that at the entrance! I continue toward La Tranche but suddenly change direction when I see a hotel sign in Longeville sur Mer. It’s exceptionally closed this Sunday (which is why it’s indicated). The tourist office is also closed, though it does display a list of accommodations, including homestays. I call a woman who just returned from the weekend. Her husband is parking the car in the garage. She gives me directions and just has time to finish preparing her daughter’s room. As the listing says: it’s a room in the house exactly as it was used (with furniture, knick-knacks, personal items) that’s made available. It’s actually this woman who asked the tourist office to post information. It seems tourist offices think you don’t need info when they’re closed—yet that’s precisely when it’s necessary. Some display city maps and hotel locations, but it’s quite rare. On this Sunday, I’m even stuck for dinner. Kindly, she calls the bakery to see if they can still make me a sandwich. A quick round trip, and I enjoy a sandwich, drink, and dessert in the garden. http://www.longevillesurmer.com/...rique=Craipeau-fiche

J12 Monday 06/06/11 Longeville-sur-Mer 8:30 AM Ronce-les-Bains 6:30 PM 131 km

After packing my panniers, I show up at 8:00 AM as planned for breakfast.

I wonder why the traditional orange juice is always served ice-cold. It might be necessary to keep it in the fridge if the container’s been opened, but even when I break the tamper-evident seal, the carton is freezing. It’s because the juice is more refreshing and thirst-quenching when it’s cold! So why do we (in most cases) insist on having a hot drink to wake up and warm the body every morning?

With my route sheet to Rochefort tucked into the back pocket of my jersey—all the turn-by-turn directions copied early this morning from the ViaMichelin site—I tackle this very long stage without rain.

The coast is so jagged that it juts out into the sea to varying degrees. To follow the shortest route, I have to head east, where I run into a headwind. Even though the forecast still called for a northerly wind, I feel it coming from the east. It’s my own estimate based on the sun, which I can just make out like a moon through the clouds. I pass signs for guesthouses—we’re in the Poitevin Marshes. After just 1 hour and 18 km, I push my bike up a hill. Need to save my strength. At 10:30 AM and 30 km in, a light rain starts to fall. It’s no big deal (as the ad says), but I’ll end up soaked and start looking for a bus shelter. Under some trees, the far left edge of the road is dry. I stop there to check the map again. But the rain has stopped. Good thing I didn’t gear up.

Despite all the notes on my scrap of paper, I miss the turn for the D10a. Maybe out of reflex to avoid what looks like a highway.

It must be because it falls right at a page change on my road maps, and near the spirals, some names are hard to piece together. A little further on, I take the D10, which runs alongside the Clain Canal.

I end up back on the D10a, but at the yield sign, there’s no indication except for the bike path that runs alongside it for a while—nothing that looks promising. I call on a friend: my keychain compass.

There’s heavy traffic on the D10a, with Dutch, Belgian, and English drivers, as well as trucks. It narrows and becomes the D9 as it crosses the Sèvre Niortaise. I’ve just left Vendée for Charente-Maritime and Pays de la Loire for Poitou-Charentes.

By noon, I’ve almost hit the halfway mark of my goal, with 57 km in 3.5 hours. At Andilly, the bar-tabac-press doesn’t make sandwiches. At the COOP, I buy some tabbouleh, a slice of ham, a tomato, and a beer. I manage to eat on a bench without rain, but I can’t finish my beer, so I pour it into my water bottle, which I couldn’t refill. The result isn’t great at all, but I’m sure it’ll be more thirst-quenching than water, which always stops quenching my thirst by the afternoon, especially when it’s no longer cool. The restart is tough, and I’m sluggish. After 25 km of winding roads on the D112, the 20 km straight stretch of the D5 to Rochefort feels long. Coluche once said: "Cycling is tough—what an idiot you have to be to do it as a sport!" Luckily, two arched stone bridges that pass overhead echo the songs keeping me company. I stop for a moment to enjoy it, despite the passing cars.

A bakery doubles as a tea room before entering Rochefort. I hesitate in front of the pastries and go for a whole-grain chocolate-cranberry bread to go with my tea. The glass cup is way too small, so I ask for a refill. After rinsing and refilling my water bottle in the restroom, I’m ready to get back on the road after charging up the GPS. It’ll have enough battery to guide me to the finish (which wouldn’t have been the case for a full day).

It helps me cross Rochefort without having to think. I’m surprised to have to tackle the climb up the bridge over the Charente. I hadn’t looked at the route. The bridge is tall, and the river is narrow but surrounded by marshes. It turns into a highway, and a mandatory bike path runs alongside it for a few meters. As usual, the path doesn’t let me access the roundabout where the GPS lady tells me to take the second exit (go straight), and I end up taking the first exit (turn right). Instantly, the GPS recalculates a new route and tells me in 200 m to turn left. After riding a bit in this new direction, I think it’ll take me back to the D733. But following these directions, I go around the block twice (the second time to make sure I didn’t miss anything). I could’ve kept going like that all night, so I backtrack to the left turn where it finds the right route—which unfortunately sends me onto the highway. It’s not off-limits to bikes, but a car honks at me, and I ride to the right of the dashed line bordering the road. This goes on for a few kilometers, and I start to worry if my GPS is even in bike mode. Nothing changes, and I have to ride 5 km before switching to the D123, where cars are just as fast, and the shoulder is even more degraded. I have to ride on rough asphalt with gravel and other debris thrown up by the flow of vehicles. Since I’m getting jostled around, I slow down to 15 km/h, whereas when I use my mirror to move onto the smooth road, I cruise at 25 (with a northeast wind). If this is what cycling trips are like, I would’ve stopped a long time ago. The ordeal lasts another 12 km. It must be because the only alternatives are tiny roads through the marshes and then the oyster parks. Finally, in Marennes, the D728 has a bike path for La Tremblade. Now I have to cross the Seudre viaduct. What a day!

It’s only at 6:30 PM sharp, after 131 km, that the GPS says the magic words: "You’re close to your destination." Just as I spot my dad, whom I’d called 20 km earlier to say I’d arrive at 6:30 PM.

Day 13 Tuesday 07/06/11 Ronces-les-Bains 0 km The AZUREVA reception is open all day. I’m given the key to a room at the very end of the holiday center, which is hard to assign to retirees who currently make up the majority of the clientele.

It’s a 3-star residence. The accommodations are recent, spacious, and very comfortable. The park is well-maintained and full of flowers. With full board, it’ll cost me 70 € per day.

It rained last night, and the temperature dropped. I appreciate that the heating is still on in my bathroom. This morning, a few raindrops are still falling, and I’m the only one in the outdoor heated pool at 26°C. After a few laps alternating breaststroke, crawl, and backstroke, my ears hurt from keeping my head above water. Diane de Poitiers suffered chronically from ear problems because she bathed in moat water to fight a skin disease. Her status as the official mistress of a King of France didn’t give her access to hot water. More than 10 years older than her lover, she wanted to stop the effects of time. Thinking that gold, an unalterable metal, could give her eternal life, she consumed it. This had no consequences as long as charlatans just ran water over gold leaves. But when one too honest added real gold to her potions, she slowly poisoned herself, weakening her bones. After falling off a horse, she suffered a fracture that Ambroise Paré treated. She later died with her kidneys blocked by the golden poison. It was through the analysis of her bones, resting in a tomb next to Henri II’s, that the cause of her death was understood. We too can make *Bones*-style deductions.

I also consume gold every day. A homeopath (the only doctor who’s managed to improve my health) prescribed me OLIGOSOL Copper, Gold, Silver: 2 ml under the tongue on an empty stomach. Over many years, I’ve noticed that this immune system stimulant helps me avoid pharyngitis, which replaced tonsillitis after my tonsils were removed at age 12. If I stop the treatment within a month, my throat hurts. Of course, I buy the product at the pharmacy without a prescription since I almost never see a doctor. In any case, it’s no longer reimbursed, considered either a comfort medication or ineffective. Yet I’m living proof of its effectiveness. You might say it doesn’t change anything for me. Well, it does! Since it’s no longer reimbursed, its price has tripled.

I don’t see doctors because in 30 years of work, I’ve only been off sick once, laid low by tonsillitis. In my entire working life, that’s the only time I told my boss I couldn’t come in and asked my wife to call a doctor to my bedside.

I only understood a few weeks later, when I discovered I had a tapeworm, that the parasite gobbling up my food was also depriving me of the precious trace elements my body needed.

What industrial agriculture ignores—by stuffing the soil with nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium—is that it leaves plants deficient, forcing them to undergo horrific phytosanitary treatments to fight parasites and diseases.

So I continue to poison myself with 1 mg of Cu, 0.1 mg of Ag, and 0.002 mg of Au per day.

In the afternoon, we visit the Gardens of the World in Royan. Ten years ago, my father took beautiful photos there. This year, with the drought and obvious lack of maintenance, there are only bare slopes and a few sad flowers. In the greenhouse, 3 or 4 butterflies flutter about. Even the Zen garden, which is just mineral, is run-down. Only the Mediterranean landscape, with its thousand-year-old olive tree, has kept its charm. For 9.50 € (8.50 € with my AZUREVA keychain), it’s a scam.

At a CARREFOUR Market, I buy a VGA cable to show my travel photos to my parents. My PC’s N455 processor doesn’t support high definition, so it doesn’t have an HDMI output. I hesitated to buy a VGA cable to connect it to hotel room screens. I would’ve preferred 3 or 5 meters for the necessary distance, but this type of connection is heavy due to the plugs. I can’t use the screws to secure it because my laptop doesn’t have threading to hold them. Plus, it only transmits video. You end up with a big image and the sound coming from the PC’s tiny speakers. All this made me give up on buying one.

There’s only a 1.80 m cable, which I buy for 9.30 €. Luckily, before leaving, I realize it’s just a male/female extension, but I need two male VGA plugs. I get a refund. No more options at Super U either.

So I invite my parents (84 and 83 years old) to my room to look at the photos on my 10-inch screen, all three of us sitting on the two available chairs.

Day 14 Wednesday 06/08/11 Ronces-les-Bains 0 km Visit to the Begonia Conservatory: http://www.begonia.rochefort.fr/default.htm and the Royal Rope Factory in Rochefort: http://www.corderie-royale.com/

Day 15 Thursday 09/06/11 08:30 Ronces les Bains – Hourtin plage 18:30 102 km

I decide to head to Royan along the coast (36 km). Thanks to my 3G key, I know there’s a ferry to Soulac at 08:55, 10:25, and 11:55, so I’ve got time to enjoy the scenery before taking the last one. After 4 km, I find a bike path through the woods with a rougher surface than the road. It improves after the Spanish Point. It’s humid, and frogs are having a "choir practice" in a pond below. I make a quick stop at La Palmyre to withdraw some cash. Then the road and the path run parallel, but a sign warns: localized difficulties on the bike path. A series of 10 bumps follow one after another. "Dune one, dune two, dune three…" Sometimes the momentum from the previous one helps me climb the next without effort. Other times, I have to stand up on the pedals to finish.

I arrive in Royan at 11:05 after 38 km and see a ferry leaving. I immediately think there won’t be another one at noon given the schedule this time of year. I’d look pretty silly if my son gets bad grades on his exams while I missed my ferry. At the dock, I realize I read the schedule backward. The next ferry to Soulac is at 12:30. That leaves me almost an hour and a half. Having seen enough marinas, I don’t follow the sign pointing to one. I head toward the residential areas. I loop through administrative and residential neighborhoods without spotting any shops. Just past the marina sign, there’s a downtown marker and even a tourist office… I struggle to find it even after asking passersby. Since I didn’t bring any maps for the end of my trip (feeling almost home), I ask if they have the Gironde cycling paths guide (neighboring department). I’m worried the Soulac tourist office might be closed when I arrive. Before leaving empty-handed, I point out that the ferry schedule would be clearer if it said "departing from Royan" or "departing from Le Verdon" instead of just "departure Royan, Le Verdon."

All this doesn’t leave me enough time to enjoy my steak with fried eggs. I have to leave behind some perfectly crispy fries and wilted salad. At the ticket counter, I pay 4.80 € for the crossing, including 1.60 € for the bike. The employee confirms that 50% of people get it wrong! I’ll have to write to the Gironde General Council, which manages this public service. It’s much cheaper than building a bridge. Despite the Pointe de Grave narrowing the estuary by half, the crossing is still 6 km, and the Loire seems small compared to the Gironde.

I’ve barely secured my bike when the engines shake the ship. Many passengers are on deck admiring the view. I offer to take a photo of a couple posing in front of the waves. On board, there are restrooms, a comfortable lounge, and a buffet. I now know where the Cordouan Lighthouse is—celebrating its 400th anniversary—far out in the estuary. You have to take a boat to see it. For this anniversary, more boats are taking tourists out to admire it.

I finally get to explore the Pointe de Grave, which I’d tried to reach from the Arcachon Basin without success on a round trip from my base camp (see page 3, 11/09/10). I linger a bit to wait for the Soulac-sur-Mer tourist office to open. The Gironde welcomes me with a brand-new bike path at km 0 of the little train railway: http://www.sudouest.fr/...ogue-385458-2192.php Also parallel is the Camino de Santiago for English travelers fresh off the boat. But no bike path maps in Soulac—the hostess gives me a local route brochure. No luck in Montalivet-les-Bains either, where I learn Gironde hasn’t reprinted the precious document: http://www.cg33.fr/...pistes_cyclables.pdf It’s disappointing that a cyclist arriving in Gironde can’t be tempted to explore its amazing cycling network due to a lack of a reassuring guide. If needed, charging 1 or 2 euros for this small document could be the solution. Does the General Council realize the tourist impact? Others do it—like Brittany with its much richer canal guide, and no ads.

I pass a school group biking. Another class is trying out sand yachting. I think I’m lost because the bike path doesn’t follow the coast and cuts through other paths in the woods. I make it to Hourtin plage in light rain. Having been to its beach before, I’m worried there’s no hotel in Hourtin, and there are still 10 km to the town. After 102 km, I don’t have much energy left. Someone confirms that only the 5-star campsite I passed has hotel rooms. Luckily, the rooms are only 2-star rated for 55 € (72 € starting July 1st, with a bar playing music until 12:30 AM). I can store my bike in the room where they keep rental bikes for tourists, mostly foreigners. It’s impossible to leave the light on when leaving the room. The coded keycard is needed to power the lights. After paying an extra 5 € for Wi-Fi, I download the photos from the previous days. I’d given up at AZUREVA, where the free Wi-Fi was capped at 512 KB.

I’ll need three more days to get home, but I won’t recount that part—it’s already described in previous trips.

Friday 10/06 Hourtin 08:45 – Arès 14:00 68 km A nice downpour greets me in Arès—I hide under my poncho. Then, 200 m later, I spot a bus shelter and take refuge there for the next one.

Saturday 11/06 Arès 09:00 – Casteljaloux 21:00 140 km During this Pentecost weekend, I thought I’d end up sleeping on the street—everything was fully booked.

Sunday 12/06 Casteljaloux 09:00 – Valence d’Agen 79 km

Total: 1,311 km and still no flat tires…

Hi,

First off, thanks for all the super detailed info on the different sections of the canal—I’m prepping for the crossing from the Atlantic coast to the Mediterranean and really appreciate it!

I’m planning to head out this summer and bring a tent to camp near the canal, so I’m looking for anyone with experience to share their thoughts on wild camping options close to the direct route...

Do you think it’s doable, or is it necessary to stick to gîtes or hotels?

Thanks in advance!

Quack.