Kenneth:
First, pictures from the beginning of the trip are on Facebook! The best pictures are on my camera, but all of the iPhone ones are up.
We had a few options for the route from Charolles to Mâcon. Perhaps the most tempting was to find the nearest farmer and see how far he would drive us, and more than a few times along the hilly route we chose, that seemed like the best choice. You see, we chose to take the 'route touristique,' which apparently is French for ever so many hills. (Alex: Route of DEATH) Still, the payoff from these giant, half-hour long climbs was a view from the top of the world, and we were reminded why we chose the route. Small town after small town passed, each more nestled in the valleys and hillsides.
The trip ended with a downhill ride into the Saone river valley, a descent that lasted at least 20 minutes. After that whole day of climbing, there was nothing better than watching the hills disappear behind us as we came down into Mâcon.
The campsite for tonight was everything we could ask for after a grueling day, complete with a lake. Jumping in and lying on my back, trying to begin the task of repairing my biker's tan, was better than sleep.
Biker's Tan Status: Scary.
Alex:
The toughest day of biking with the biggest payoff. We were in fairytale France today, with vineyards, brownstone castles, and little mountain villages--each more precariously perched on the hills than the last.
We finished the day pleasantly with the longest downhill of both of our lives.
Part of the way down, we stopped at an inn for water. I stumbled through the door, looking every bit the haggard vagabond (I'm growing a beard) to interrupt what seems to have been (up until then, at least) a lively kids' birthday party.
After ruining the party, we made it to Crèches-sur-Saone in no time. The campground we're staying at is next to a lake, so we were able to go swimming until 7 pm.
Tomorrow, we ride to Lyon at sunrise.
Beard Status: slightly scruffy.
30 June 2010
Day 7: More in Charolles
Alex:
Fifth day on the road and we're really getting in stride. We did 100 km from the little town of Decize down the Loire to the picturesque city of Charolles--The nicest town we've visited yet, made evident by the view from the citadel overlook we accidentally staggered up to while looking for our hotel.
This is the first time in three days that we have slept in beds, much less inside. We had a world class (but expensive) dinner and managed to do our laundry.
Kenneth:
We did manage to make it 100 km earlier, but that does not mean we are prepared for what lies ahead. You see, for the duration of this trip we have paralleled the 'canal a lateral la loire,' for which you can probably figure out the translation. The payoff of following the canal, of course, is that the trip is pleasantly flat. Today, however, we must climb across foothills to make it from here in Charolles to Macon. While the scenery should prove to be spectacular, I am worried we will drain ourselves on this trip.
Otherwise, everything is great! Aside from that nice meal we had yesterday, we have been eating local baguette, salami, cheese, and as many gherkins as we can buy. At a rate of four meals a day, the food goes quickly, but there is always another small town with a bakery along the way.
PS the laundrymat has the wifi we are using!
Fifth day on the road and we're really getting in stride. We did 100 km from the little town of Decize down the Loire to the picturesque city of Charolles--The nicest town we've visited yet, made evident by the view from the citadel overlook we accidentally staggered up to while looking for our hotel.
This is the first time in three days that we have slept in beds, much less inside. We had a world class (but expensive) dinner and managed to do our laundry.
Kenneth:
We did manage to make it 100 km earlier, but that does not mean we are prepared for what lies ahead. You see, for the duration of this trip we have paralleled the 'canal a lateral la loire,' for which you can probably figure out the translation. The payoff of following the canal, of course, is that the trip is pleasantly flat. Today, however, we must climb across foothills to make it from here in Charolles to Macon. While the scenery should prove to be spectacular, I am worried we will drain ourselves on this trip.
Otherwise, everything is great! Aside from that nice meal we had yesterday, we have been eating local baguette, salami, cheese, and as many gherkins as we can buy. At a rate of four meals a day, the food goes quickly, but there is always another small town with a bakery along the way.
PS the laundrymat has the wifi we are using!
29 June 2010
Days 5 to 7
Alex:
You know things are going well when every day is better than the last. We packed trail today like no one's business while still stopping at friendly butcher shops and bakeries along the way.
The real tour de force for the day happened when Kenneth spotted some people with baskets of cherries. Soon after, I happily spied the cherry trees which were overhanging the road.
To Kenneth's alarm, I swerved in the road and then pulled over. Heedless, I loped over to the low-hanging branches and seized a bunch of cherries, mottled orange, red and white.
My pillaging was interrupted by a shout to my left; an old woman near the gate. "Pardon!" I waved at her pleasantly and then turned back to my bike. Yet, in a fit of remorse, I ventured over to apologize to the woman and, admittedly, get the scoop on what was up with the cherries because... Well, they were just that good.
The old woman, as it turned out, was delighted to meet us, and insisted we eat our fill. Apparently, every year most of the fruit in her garden goes to waste as no one can be bothered to help her pick it! "Here," she said. "Wait while I go fetch you a bag."
She returned, in fact, with a monstrous poleax complete with serrated scythe and a mini pulley-operated guillotine. "With this you can cut the branches with cherries that are too high to reach!" she said amiably while handing me what seemed to be the very lance Clovis, King of the Franks, used to kill that other ancient warchief, Rollo the Fat.
That's right, America, caught red handed stealing cherries, we were not only offered more, but given the chance to do it the right way--old school, like the French serfs of l'ancien regime. And how we picked them! Squinting through the afternoon sun, we reached with the pole to delicately seize and slice each fruited bough, which tumbled down upon us from the sun-speckled canopy like the very laurels of Dionysus.
After picking what must have been $50 (US) in cherries, we piled all the branches in a corner of the yard, bid the kindly woman farewell, and continued on our way having sated our hunger and replenished our spirits. All was right in the world.
Video of us using the poleax is forthcoming, so stay tuned!
Kenneth:
Alex is, of course, cherry picking his stories. He failed to mention the two times he nearly beheaded me with the poleax. Aside from that, though, the cherries were delicious.
Since then we have made it to Charolles, a little town nestled in the hills of Burgundy. I think it's about time we gave an update on the biking situation! Alex's legs hurt, and he keeps getting stung by bees. I have horrible allergies, but thanks to the low cost of medicine, a 5 euro nasal antihistamine was easily had. Other than the dull pain in our wrists, everything else seems to be ok! Oh, yesterday I popped a tube, so I put in my spare. Today, we found a bike shop and purchased new ones, so we should be all set! Looking forward to finally sleeping in a bed tonight!
You know things are going well when every day is better than the last. We packed trail today like no one's business while still stopping at friendly butcher shops and bakeries along the way.
The real tour de force for the day happened when Kenneth spotted some people with baskets of cherries. Soon after, I happily spied the cherry trees which were overhanging the road.
To Kenneth's alarm, I swerved in the road and then pulled over. Heedless, I loped over to the low-hanging branches and seized a bunch of cherries, mottled orange, red and white.
My pillaging was interrupted by a shout to my left; an old woman near the gate. "Pardon!" I waved at her pleasantly and then turned back to my bike. Yet, in a fit of remorse, I ventured over to apologize to the woman and, admittedly, get the scoop on what was up with the cherries because... Well, they were just that good.
The old woman, as it turned out, was delighted to meet us, and insisted we eat our fill. Apparently, every year most of the fruit in her garden goes to waste as no one can be bothered to help her pick it! "Here," she said. "Wait while I go fetch you a bag."
She returned, in fact, with a monstrous poleax complete with serrated scythe and a mini pulley-operated guillotine. "With this you can cut the branches with cherries that are too high to reach!" she said amiably while handing me what seemed to be the very lance Clovis, King of the Franks, used to kill that other ancient warchief, Rollo the Fat.
That's right, America, caught red handed stealing cherries, we were not only offered more, but given the chance to do it the right way--old school, like the French serfs of l'ancien regime. And how we picked them! Squinting through the afternoon sun, we reached with the pole to delicately seize and slice each fruited bough, which tumbled down upon us from the sun-speckled canopy like the very laurels of Dionysus.
After picking what must have been $50 (US) in cherries, we piled all the branches in a corner of the yard, bid the kindly woman farewell, and continued on our way having sated our hunger and replenished our spirits. All was right in the world.
Video of us using the poleax is forthcoming, so stay tuned!
Kenneth:
Alex is, of course, cherry picking his stories. He failed to mention the two times he nearly beheaded me with the poleax. Aside from that, though, the cherries were delicious.
Since then we have made it to Charolles, a little town nestled in the hills of Burgundy. I think it's about time we gave an update on the biking situation! Alex's legs hurt, and he keeps getting stung by bees. I have horrible allergies, but thanks to the low cost of medicine, a 5 euro nasal antihistamine was easily had. Other than the dull pain in our wrists, everything else seems to be ok! Oh, yesterday I popped a tube, so I put in my spare. Today, we found a bike shop and purchased new ones, so we should be all set! Looking forward to finally sleeping in a bed tonight!
27 June 2010
Day 4: Orleans to Gien
Kenneth:
Wow. Today was, no joke, one of the best days of my life. Yes, Paris was enchanting, but there was no girl there with me. Out on the open road, passing cornfield after cornfield on one side, the Loire river fewer than ten paces from the other side; this is the life.
I knew this would be terribly beautiful, but the more surprising thing to me is the price of groceries! For 5 euros, we were able to buy a wheel of Brie, some salami, a baguette, and a bottle of olives. Then, here is the most beautiful part of the whole day: we happened upon a farm where we could pick our own fruit. Exactly one euro and one pound of strawberries later, I simply could not believe our good fortune on this day. We have pitched our tent about ten feet from the Loire, and I just couldn't be happier.
Alex:
I'm back! Sorry for not writing yesterday, but you wouldn't have wanted to read the string of selected items from my French Canadian vocabulary that I barked at Kenneth when he asked me if I wanted to write something last night after what I will forever remember as "Bike Hell". Bike Hell is a place where your legs burn, Orleans is always 20 miles away, and Kenneth is behind you woefully bemoaning the imminent nightfall.
Today, by comparison, was heaven. I am writing now from a restaurant in a luxurious camping ground, overlooking the Loire river and the quaint little burg of Gien on the northern bank.
We rode briskly but comfortably from Orleans, stopping frequently for gherkins, fruit and cheese. Around 3:30 we made it to Sully sur Loire and relaxed by the shady moat of an impressive castle.
Wow. Today was, no joke, one of the best days of my life. Yes, Paris was enchanting, but there was no girl there with me. Out on the open road, passing cornfield after cornfield on one side, the Loire river fewer than ten paces from the other side; this is the life.
I knew this would be terribly beautiful, but the more surprising thing to me is the price of groceries! For 5 euros, we were able to buy a wheel of Brie, some salami, a baguette, and a bottle of olives. Then, here is the most beautiful part of the whole day: we happened upon a farm where we could pick our own fruit. Exactly one euro and one pound of strawberries later, I simply could not believe our good fortune on this day. We have pitched our tent about ten feet from the Loire, and I just couldn't be happier.
Alex:
I'm back! Sorry for not writing yesterday, but you wouldn't have wanted to read the string of selected items from my French Canadian vocabulary that I barked at Kenneth when he asked me if I wanted to write something last night after what I will forever remember as "Bike Hell". Bike Hell is a place where your legs burn, Orleans is always 20 miles away, and Kenneth is behind you woefully bemoaning the imminent nightfall.
Today, by comparison, was heaven. I am writing now from a restaurant in a luxurious camping ground, overlooking the Loire river and the quaint little burg of Gien on the northern bank.
We rode briskly but comfortably from Orleans, stopping frequently for gherkins, fruit and cheese. Around 3:30 we made it to Sully sur Loire and relaxed by the shady moat of an impressive castle.
26 June 2010
Day 3: Paris to Orleans
You know it has been a long day when you are too pooped to write even a simple blog entry before falling asleep, and yesterday was no exception to that rule. We left Paris for Orleans around 2:00, and we really had to push to make it before sunset. Thankfully, the summer solstice was last week, so it doesn't get dark until 10:30. That also happens to be the exact time we discovered the road we were following was blocked off. There are few things in life that are more annoying than backtracking after 8 hours of biking, and among them is finally arriving at your destination to find a locked door and some German tourists who speak no French or English.
After ten minutes of calling the hostel, the ladies finally show us an email they received with the code for the front gate. Of course, we tried it on the wrong gate! Ten more minutes of desperation later, we tried the code in the right gate, got in, and proceeded to sleep like logs. Let's hope today is a bit easier on the mind, body and soul...
There is one good thing to come from this debacle: we will plan to expect the unexpected! Also, biking through the fields and forests of France is magical, so I doubt any of this will annoy us once we are on the road again. Until then!
Kenneth
After ten minutes of calling the hostel, the ladies finally show us an email they received with the code for the front gate. Of course, we tried it on the wrong gate! Ten more minutes of desperation later, we tried the code in the right gate, got in, and proceeded to sleep like logs. Let's hope today is a bit easier on the mind, body and soul...
There is one good thing to come from this debacle: we will plan to expect the unexpected! Also, biking through the fields and forests of France is magical, so I doubt any of this will annoy us once we are on the road again. Until then!
Kenneth
24 June 2010
Day 2: Paris strikes back
Alex:
Kenneth and I hit the city today with high hopes, starting with some innocent loitering near the Paris opera. We may have been immediately identified as tourists when Kenneth tried to take a picture of the building without glare by putting the camera lens behind my sunglasses... At that point we were asking for trouble. We were soon accosted by someone in a moldering chicken suit who tried to throw his arm around me. Assuming that this was just a mascot for some new fried chicken joint nearby, I responded with tentative cordiality until the chicken-man stuck out his hand for money... Now let me be clear: I find anonymous, intrusively jaunty, but eerily mute, mascots to be bizarre and offputting to begin with... But random vagrants and hobos masquerading as mascots takes the sketichiness to a whole new level. Where's the accountability? Who do they represent? Where did he get that chicken suit and where has it been? And, of course, does this mean there's no fried chicken joint?? All these questions and more led me to shoo the chicken-vagrant away with a tirade of selected items from my French-Canadian vocabulary. Kenneth and I stormed off, looking back in time to see the chicken man tussle with some irritated coeds.
Kenneth:
I obviously have other priorities on this trip, namely, the trains. Unfortunately, my concentration was not focused on the trains themselves, but the half-hour delay from the strike. Thank goodness we had a delay to figure out which platform our train was on; we were told it would arrive on no less than three out of the three available platforms! With about two minutes to spare, we got on the proper train, and at the same time the strike finally paid off: all rides were free today (Alex: except for mine, of course, because I was in such a hurry to get my ticket stamped, clipped, or otherwise invalidated by the machine before we heard the news).
Little did we know this would be the first of the free passes. Upon arriving at the Louvre, we noticed the lines were surprisingly short. Though we did not think much at the time, it later turned out that all paintings could not be seen today. Thankfully, the Louvre is still enormous, and after sputtering about our International Student Identification Cards for ten minutes, the bored attendant simply let us in for free. We <3 strike day! Napoleon III's chambers were incredible, and after some more strolling we set out for l'Arc de Triomphe.
Alex:
Champs Élisée, l'Arc de Triomphe, etc... You know the drill. But the real gem of the day was the Sacré Coeur cathedral in the slimy Montmartre neighborhood (famous for the Moulin Rouge)--essentially a church that looks like it was stolen from Candyland and parked on the highest piece of ground in a cesspool of debauchery and sin. We went up to the dome on the cathedral and looked out over the city for a while. I love Paris.
We came home tonight and had a great dinner with the Lauriol family--old friends from Larchmont who have been our hosts these past 2 days. After two bottles of wine, we had a blast watching home movies from my childhood.
Tomorrow's our first real day of biking, but all of this marathon tourism has cerainly prepared us for long, hot days on the road ahead.
Kenneth and I hit the city today with high hopes, starting with some innocent loitering near the Paris opera. We may have been immediately identified as tourists when Kenneth tried to take a picture of the building without glare by putting the camera lens behind my sunglasses... At that point we were asking for trouble. We were soon accosted by someone in a moldering chicken suit who tried to throw his arm around me. Assuming that this was just a mascot for some new fried chicken joint nearby, I responded with tentative cordiality until the chicken-man stuck out his hand for money... Now let me be clear: I find anonymous, intrusively jaunty, but eerily mute, mascots to be bizarre and offputting to begin with... But random vagrants and hobos masquerading as mascots takes the sketichiness to a whole new level. Where's the accountability? Who do they represent? Where did he get that chicken suit and where has it been? And, of course, does this mean there's no fried chicken joint?? All these questions and more led me to shoo the chicken-vagrant away with a tirade of selected items from my French-Canadian vocabulary. Kenneth and I stormed off, looking back in time to see the chicken man tussle with some irritated coeds.
Kenneth:
I obviously have other priorities on this trip, namely, the trains. Unfortunately, my concentration was not focused on the trains themselves, but the half-hour delay from the strike. Thank goodness we had a delay to figure out which platform our train was on; we were told it would arrive on no less than three out of the three available platforms! With about two minutes to spare, we got on the proper train, and at the same time the strike finally paid off: all rides were free today (Alex: except for mine, of course, because I was in such a hurry to get my ticket stamped, clipped, or otherwise invalidated by the machine before we heard the news).
Little did we know this would be the first of the free passes. Upon arriving at the Louvre, we noticed the lines were surprisingly short. Though we did not think much at the time, it later turned out that all paintings could not be seen today. Thankfully, the Louvre is still enormous, and after sputtering about our International Student Identification Cards for ten minutes, the bored attendant simply let us in for free. We <3 strike day! Napoleon III's chambers were incredible, and after some more strolling we set out for l'Arc de Triomphe.
Alex:
Champs Élisée, l'Arc de Triomphe, etc... You know the drill. But the real gem of the day was the Sacré Coeur cathedral in the slimy Montmartre neighborhood (famous for the Moulin Rouge)--essentially a church that looks like it was stolen from Candyland and parked on the highest piece of ground in a cesspool of debauchery and sin. We went up to the dome on the cathedral and looked out over the city for a while. I love Paris.
We came home tonight and had a great dinner with the Lauriol family--old friends from Larchmont who have been our hosts these past 2 days. After two bottles of wine, we had a blast watching home movies from my childhood.
Tomorrow's our first real day of biking, but all of this marathon tourism has cerainly prepared us for long, hot days on the road ahead.
23 June 2010
Paris: Day 1
Alex:
You know when you go through a level of Resident Evil II at your local arcade, watch a cinematic clip at the end, and are rewarded with a big, red STAGE: CLEARED stamp superimposed on the screen? Yeah, well today was sort of like that... PARIS: CLEARED.
Let me explain: We took the train into Paris around 7:30 a.m. and booked it to most of the major sites in the subsequent 15 hours, leaving no crêpe unturned. Place des Voges, Notre Dame, Saint Supplice, Musée d'Orsay, and the Eiffel Tower. On a completely unrelated note, the Parisian public transportation workers are on strike tomorrow... Really. Still, some trains will be running, which will allow us to return from the suburbs where we are staying to do yet more damage.
Well, I gotta crash. Pictures and more tomorrow, I promise!
Cheers,
Alex
You know when you go through a level of Resident Evil II at your local arcade, watch a cinematic clip at the end, and are rewarded with a big, red STAGE: CLEARED stamp superimposed on the screen? Yeah, well today was sort of like that... PARIS: CLEARED.
Let me explain: We took the train into Paris around 7:30 a.m. and booked it to most of the major sites in the subsequent 15 hours, leaving no crêpe unturned. Place des Voges, Notre Dame, Saint Supplice, Musée d'Orsay, and the Eiffel Tower. On a completely unrelated note, the Parisian public transportation workers are on strike tomorrow... Really. Still, some trains will be running, which will allow us to return from the suburbs where we are staying to do yet more damage.
Well, I gotta crash. Pictures and more tomorrow, I promise!
Cheers,
Alex
22 June 2010
And We're Still Awake!
Kenneth:
As we travel down the security checkpoint line for our gate, Alex is supremely confident that we will pass without question. Little does he know that thanks to a packing error, he's got an 9 inch long stainless steel wrench in his panniers. When his bag is stopped, he thinks it must be some water bottle left in or something of the like, but as the TSA agent digs deeper into the bag, he discovers that wrench. Sadly, the length limit for wrenches on flights is 7 inches (who decides these things??), and Alex pleads with him to no avail. Finally, I chime in as well, and he goes over to his boss. Ten seconds later, he discreetly hands it back to us, saying 'this is your lucky day.' The gods have smiled upon us.
Now that we are checked in with all of our baggage, it's time to get ready for the flight, which is delayed an hour. No big deal. We head over and pick up that Motrin PM, which turned out to be a dud of all duds. Notice that despite its claim to knock out anyone who dares swallow a pair, we are still awake as of this writing. Fail, Motrin PM.
Alex:
Well, that isn't to say that the motrin didnt make us uncomfortably groggy for the next six hours, leaving me incapable of either falling asleep or watching the Lord of the Rings. While under its "influence", we had the surreal experience of encountering what could only be described as our dopplegangers. Sitting across the aisle from us was another pair of American guys, one brown-haired, the other red-headed, on a trip from Paris to Rome. They were high school friends who had gone to separate colleges. The red-head had studied Chinese. We made their acquaintance, and marveled at the striking parallels between our two groups. As they plan to do their trip by train, we fully expect to wearily crawl into every dusty town from here to Rome only to find our dopplegangers already there ahead of us, comfortably ensconced and sipping martinis.
After sharing some good cheer and hearty fare with our dopplegangers, we landed in Madrid only to have my wrench promptly confiscated, at last, by la policia. "But es para los bicyclettas!" I protested, in my desperation forming the most complex Spanish sentence I have ever spoken in my life. La policia was not impressed.
Kenneth:
It's not often that one gets to leave the country for the first time, but today was one of those special days. I set foot on Spanish soil first, to be fair, but within an hour we were being whisked off to Paris over the Pyrennees. Still, according to my passport, Madrid was my first. That's a regret I'll probably take to my grave.
Paris has been amazing so far! We have reassembled our bikes (with great pains), eaten dinner, and even prepared for tomorrow's adventures downtown. As it's getting late, more to come tomorrow.
21 June 2010
And We're Off!
No longer cynical of the TSA, Alex and I have boarded the plane. Here's to a restful flight, thanks to Motrin PM. Its uses include 'inability to get a restful night's sleep.' I'll let you know how it works when we arrive at Paris. Until then!
Intro & Packing
Alex:
Just dropped Kenneth off at his house after disassembling and packing our bikes for five hours in a sweltering hallway. I have a sinking feeling that it's only going to get hotter from here on out, especially as July progresses and we bike farther and farther south.
The trip, for those of you who didn't get my whole schpiel, is broadly from Paris to Rome in one month. We'll see where the road takes us along the way... Or, rather, you'll see. Kenneth and I know where we're going. I'd lay all our actual plans out for you right now in painstaking detail, but then you'd have no reason to keep visiting this blog, right? And then where would that leave my advertising revenue?
No shortcuts, people. Not for us, and not for you.
Cheers,
Alex
Just dropped Kenneth off at his house after disassembling and packing our bikes for five hours in a sweltering hallway. I have a sinking feeling that it's only going to get hotter from here on out, especially as July progresses and we bike farther and farther south.
The trip, for those of you who didn't get my whole schpiel, is broadly from Paris to Rome in one month. We'll see where the road takes us along the way... Or, rather, you'll see. Kenneth and I know where we're going. I'd lay all our actual plans out for you right now in painstaking detail, but then you'd have no reason to keep visiting this blog, right? And then where would that leave my advertising revenue?
No shortcuts, people. Not for us, and not for you.
Cheers,
Alex
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)