One evening as we biked into a French campsite, an Englishman with two children called out,
"What would make anyone travel like that?"
It was hot. No doubt we looked tired. Our bikes were heavily laden with all our camping gear and other essentials. We looked like a couple of worn out gypsies.
"Because it feels great when you arrive!" was my answer.
That is certainly part of the reason I love to travel by bike. What a tremendous sense of achievement I have because we rely solely on ourselves for transport. We did one hundred kilometers that day, or eighty, or only sixty, but we did it. We used our own strength. The fuel we used was all that good French bread we ate for breakfast. We would sleep wonderfully well that night and tomorrow we would be ready for another day of travel.
To say, "We have just biked from Switzerland to Portugal" is tremendously satisfying even when one has to add, "but it took us a month to do it!" It is however, only part of the reason we delight in our method of travel. Have you ever wanted to know what lies over those hills? Have you ever wondered what is round the bend in a road? Have you seen a road stretch out into the distance and wanted to go along and see where it goes? I suppose this is our passion.
What surprise is in store for us today? The map might show a ride up a river, some strange curves in the road and a small pass. You come to the corner where your road begins. Ahead you see a jumble of hills. The road twists and turns and is very soon out of sight. You set off. You bike past small stone farm houses, fields of sunflowers and a stretch of ripe corn full of poppies. It's a lovely day.
The road begins to climb and then flattens out again between a long avenue of trees. Biking into their shade is like plunging into cold water. Then you go up again. In the distance is a field with broad bands of a greyish purple crop. A breeze stirrs and a heady smelly reaches you. It is a field of lavender. The valley narrows and the road hugs the river as both pass through a small gorge. The chatter of the water next to you in that narrow rocky place adds another dimension to the journey which provides a feast for the eyes, the nose and the ears. You are thoroughly immersed in the scenery you pass through.
Others speed past in more comfort, encased in steel. They see what you see but it whizzes past them. You see in slow motion and smell and hear the world around you.
Then the challenge begins. The road snakes into the hills above us and we begin the climb to the pass. We drop into our lowest gear and get going. A group of youngsters on mountain bikes fly past us down the hill whooping with joy. A recreational cyclist with no luggage overtakes us, his legs pumping as he shouts a cheerful "Bon jour."
Up, up we go. It always amazes me how quickly the road drops behind us as we climb higher and higher. It gets hotter. I begin to wonder why I am doing something so hard. I catch sight of a flower I haven't seen before. Then I see another. I have an excuse to stop, rest and look at it. Then the top of the pass and a tunnel comes into view. The tunnel is not long. We're through safely and into another world. An alpine scene greets us: green meadows, dark pine trees and above us, ski lifts. It's cooler and much fresher.
Time to stop, put on more clothes and have a cup of coffee. Soon we are on our way downhill in the loveliest scenery, looking for a spot under a tree where we can relax and eat lunch while the bees buzz in the field flowers around us.
Soon another day is over. Another sixty, seventy kilometers notched up. What will tomorrow bring? Two English bikers at the campsite suggest a route for us which we had not considered. It turns out to be a good day as we bike down through some awe inspiring gorges whose huge limestone cliffs dwarf us for most of the morning. Unexpectedly, we arrive at an old town built on and into the cliffs above the wild water of the river. Pont au Royan is a real find and worth a stop so we can wander round its old streets for a while.
France is full of the most delightful villages and towns. You'll find them in the regional guide books but we can't carry guide books for every region through which we travel. As a result we simply come upon the most serendipitous places.
Nevertheless, the road is still our chief joy. One day it takes us through walnut country. Big orchards of these beautiful trees stretch out on either side of the road. Notices at the farm gates tell us that they sell walnut oil, the best oil in the world for dressing a fine salad. On another day in the Camarque we come upon three wild horses which roam that marshy country. In the mountains we see family parties with baskets and realize that they are out collecting mushrooms in the woods which cover the hills. We bike through flat rice fields watered from the Rhone river hidden behind high dykes. We pedal easily alongside the Midi Canal, now only used by pleasure barges. Then we pass through fields of fennel whose fragrant smell fills our nostrils and our hearts with joy. Why do we bike? Is there any other way to travel?
Our passion is the road. Sure, the weather is not always good. Biking in the rain is not comfortable. Nevertheless, experiencing both good and bad weather is satisfying. In modern life we are often all too insulated from the natural world. Our biking takes us through all weather. One day we woke up to a fine mist and biked all morning in it. The countryside was sad and soft, the trees blurred, the sounds muted. We felt cut off from the world and on our own. Only very occasionally did a car loom toward us out of the mist disappearing again as fast as it had appeared. We were in the world alone with the mist.
When it rains, we look for shelter: a garage which has been left open, a bus stop shelter, a warm cafe, a general store. Usually we find shelter but when we don't we get wet, sometimes soaking wet. It's not much fun but it is part of the experience.
We'll be on our way again soon. The road will beckon again. The preparation will begin. Where shall we go? Which guide book will we use? Do we know any other cyclists who have biked in the country we have chosen? How can we get more information? Then suddenly the planning is over and we're off again full of anticipation ready to explore another corner of our wonderful world.
© Irene Shepard
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