Day 4--Le Morvan: pretty...hilly

(bon mot TM my granddad)
D’ Arcy-sur-Cure à Moux-en-Morvan

Totally forgot to check how many kms that was...Something like 68, maybe...

The day started out in the same conditions as the previous evening had ended, drizzly-rainy and overcast. Looking pretty fly for a white girl in my bubble-gum pink K-Way and black plastic pants, I pushed off from my own private camping ground by the riverside a little after ten, and made my way towards Vézelay. The rain persisted, and despite the ridiculous squelching noises emanating from various points in my outfit , I quite enjoyed the ambiance set by the damp fog in the hilly emeraldness through which I was riding.

As I am writing this, I am sitting on an ancient stone wall munching blackberries picked from the side of the road. The Zarmaloulous, all Rousseau-children to a T, taught me much in the way of botany and the art of fruit gathering during our short time together. So I knew to pick the ones growing furthest from the ground, in order to be assured that they are free of sometimes-rabies-carrying fox pee. Useful info!

Blackberries along stone walls, near Vézelay...

I stopped for lunch outside a lovely cemetery in the fields. The afternoon was just as picturesque scenery-wise, but I can’t say I got to see a whole lot of it, as I spent most of my time head down, bum up, struggling through the mountains of the Morvan. Mountains I tell you! Or so my leg muscles assured me. Makes me a bit apprehensive about the Alps, but then again I guess it’s all good practice.

Pretty!

Anti-shout-out goes to the Bourgogne public road works guys, who forbade me to go out in front of them up a road which they were re-asphalting. The result being that I had to push the Git all the way up on the grassy edge so that her beautiful tires would not be marred by the sticky muck. Anger!

Photo spécial dédicace Katharine: Christmas Tree Fields Foreva! Gling gling gling gling psychedelic sytar.

I arrived in Moux en Morvan around 7 pm and collapsed gratefully onto the football pitch cum camping ground as the rain started to fall seriously. I pitched my tent right between the goal posts, so that I could commune with Barthez in my dreams.

Shout-out to the 4-year-old version of my big sister Jayne, whom I recalled busting a move to the rocking bagpipe solos of that be-mulletted 80’s icon John Farnham, which figure prominently on my Motivaysh i-pod playlist. Perfect memory to distract one from thigh-ache in the most gruelling uphills.

Turn, turn, turn

De Neuilly à Arcy-sur-Cure
66 kms

I woke up at a quarter to ten to find out that Fabrice, serious sportsman that he is, had left ten minutes ago. I had to say goodbye by telephone, never very satisfactory, so here again I want to reiterate how much I appreciate all his sound advice aswell as his company over the last couple of days.

The Zarmaloulous and I had an amazing breakfast of fire-cooked compote made from the fruit we had gathered from roadside trees the day before (all on public land, yep yep upstanding citizens we are). The chicas and I took turns washing dishes and reading short stories from a Jorge Lucay anthology from the botom of Sibylle’s sacoche. Cyril repaired my ever-troublesome bottle-holder. I wanted to never leave, but then I remembered my crush on Roberto Saviano and the call of Naples got the best of me.

Pushing off into the wind around 1:30pm, I decided to try to stick to small Communale roads, long and winding as they may be, in order to avoid heavy traffic as much as possible. Big mistake. Huge. I spent most of my day circling round and round a small number of Bourguignon villages which, pikshuresk as they may have been, I did not wish to see five times over.
And then it started raining. And even though my distance counter showed 30 since the morning, I was probably in all about 10 kms from last night’s camp ground. And that’s how I learned to stop worrying and love the yellow Départementales. Some cars but no trucks, relatively few curly wurly bits—an ideal compromise. Heretofore they shall be the Git’s preferred stomping grounds.

Mmmmmm, le Morvan...

Twice the sun done salutation to the dawn...

Close shave with Abz during my munchbreak (that was supposed to be lunchbreak, but the typoed version is much more expressive!), for which I stopped outside a lovely cemetry in the middle of empty fields. We were happily engaged in an impromptu model shoot, she daintily hanging from the latch of the cemetery gates (meet me there, Wilde is on my side) when suddenly a strong bluster of wind came and swept her from atop her perch and into the forceourt, to which I had no access, the gate being locked. (Les horaires d’ouverture are seldom on my side.) At first I was shocked and aggrieved and hair-pulling-outy frantic. Then I decided to put on my thinking cap, or helmet en l’occurrence. I designed an ingenious plan to get her out of there. With a fallen branch I swept her back towards the gate, and then porceeded to fish her out with one of my hooked sanlow straps. And the day was saved.

Abz, repêchée...

Ears ringing from the cold wind seeming to actually cross my skull, feet numb and toeless, I came upon a sign for the “camping municipal” of a picture-perfect village called Arcy-sur-Cure. Barely 500 metres out of my way. It was closed. Bum, methinks. But the café was open, and from it emerged a smiling Mme Maraux, who said that the camping ground had officially closed yesterday, so I could stay for free. And the showers had not even been locked up yet. Ah, gratitude! I set up camp, had a long warm, oh so warm, shower and a most pleasant night’s sleep, tout cela pour mes beaux yeux. Un grand merci donc à Mme et M. Maraux pour leur généreux accueil ! They truly saved the day.

Mme Maraux derrière le comptoir de l'Eldorado

My own private domain: le camping municipal d'Arcy-sur-Cure

Daily shout-out goes to my main boy Matthew. The thought of his joie de vivre and gorgeous vibratos gave me the oumph to continue pedalling through the rain whilst listening to Antony--"Outside of you there ain't no place to go."

Day 2—Une parfaite journée parfaite

De Lorrez-le-Bocage à Neuilly
76 kms

Fabrice et moi avions décidé, la veille, de monter les tentes derrière un cimetière. Pas une super idée : la police municipale nous a pris pour des rôdeurs. Parcontre, très beau réveil sur le rebord d’un champ au repos. Puis arrivée en Bourgogne : hourrah !

Tent with a view...

Spécial dédicace à moi, apparently!

Au moment de reprendre le chemin après la pause déjeuner, nous avons vu passer dans la rue d’à côté une cavalerie de cyclistes encore plus chargés que nous. C’étaient le zarmalouloux, une bande de copains originaires de Sesson en région parisienne qui ont entrepris un voyage autour du monde basé sur une éthique écologique, leurs uniques modes de transport étant donc le cargo et le vélo. A côté de ça, ils présentent un spectacle muet de cirque dans la rue et dans des écoles, et quand ils peuvent, font de l’initiation aux arts du cirque pour les enfants locaux. Truly wonderful people, I’m so happy to have ridden into them as it were.

Nous avons roulé ensemble le long de l’Yonne jusqu’à Neuilly, puis monté un camp dans une clairière de la forêt. Baignade nue dans un ruisseau avec les filles, puis séance de yoga dans les champs dans la pénombre, menée par Audrey. Dîner cuit sur un feu de camp, à base de maïs et fruits trouvés le long de la route. Puis Thomas Fersen autour du feu.

Fabrice vient d’arriver à faire marcher le réchaud. Ils sont maintenant des vrais cyclocampeurs ! Finis les problèmes ! Il fallait vraiment faire cramer. Fallait oser. La parole du jour.

Shout-out du jour goes to M. et Mme Lama de St Julien qui nous ont donné eau, pain, et gentillesse sans compter.

Et merci surtout aux Zarmaloulous Sibylle, Audrey, Jan, Arthur, Cyril et Clémence pour cette formidable journée, et bonne route pour les 2 prochaines années. On vous suivra avec grand intérêt. (http://www.zarmalouloux.we.bs/)

Les Zarmas avec Fabrice et Abz.

Day 1—Agaetis Byrjun

De Notre-Dame de Paris à Lorrez-le-Bocage
102 kms

La veille du départ, j’avais pensé avoir tout bouclé. Le matin du départ, je me suis rendue compte qu’il n’en était rien. D’où quelques petits moments de panique, perte momentanée de calme et de passeport. Mais with a little help from my friends, tout s’est en fin de compte bien passé. Merci encore à Alain de s’être privé d’une grasse matinée pour venir me souhaiter bon vent en personne, et comme toujours à maman pour son aide avec le chargement des sacoches. Elle arriverait à faire rentrer un être humain dans un sac à main, me semble-t-il.

Tool face, but super shiny bags!!

Mum and the art of wishful thinking: "I'm a taxi! No! I'm an ambulance!"

En me déposant sur le parvis de Notre-Dame de Paris, ma mère me donne son ange gardien (chauve et c’est là son charme) pour me protéger on the long and winding road. C’est excellent ! Je ne suis plus seule. Avec mon fidèle destrier la Gitane et maintenant l’ange Abz (que j’ai décidé de nommer ainsi en référence au fait que c’est un Ange avec la Boule à Zéro), nous formons à nous trois une véritable petite cavalerie. Cette dernière, je décide, sera la métonymie de ma personne where, for reasons of inexperience with helicopter-view-pouty-self-portrait taking (and having nary a pair of hotpants to my name, right Matthew?), I will be unable to appear myself. Hip hip hurray for our fine little trio!!

Meet Abz!

Sortie de Paris très sereine somme toute, j’ai été pleasantly surprised vu que tous ceux dont j’avais demandé l’opinion m’ont dit que ce serait une vraie galère. J’ai suivi un excellent itinéraire que j’ai trouvé sur internet en tapant “Paris-Fontainebleau vélo”. Vivement recommandé. En suivant la Seine vers Ivry, j’ai traversé un pont-pipeline (“J’aime la grâce de ce pont industriel”), longé la Seine à travers la banlieue sud, puis Forêt de Sénart suivi de Barbizon et Fontainebleau. Charme des petites départementales à travers Episy, Villemer, et bein d’autres petits villages encore, avant d’arriver finalement à Lorrez-le-Bocage.

Même la road rage m’a mise de bonne humeur aujourd’hui. Sur la petite route boisée menant de Fontainebleau à Episy, j’ai rencontré des vilains petits frimeurs à moto, qui faisaient des allers-retours à une vitesse qui donnait le mal de cœur. Arrivant au niveau de leur point de rassemblement, j’ai fait un très beau « grrrrrrrr » de colère aux potes qui attendaient leur tour. Je ne devais pas avoir un grand air d’autorité, en montant la côte en vitesse 1-1 dans mon K-Way rose bonbon, mais ma provoc a dû faire son effet. Words were exchanged, ils m’ont prié de me casser, et je laur ai lancé « Rattrapez-moi ». Not very wise, seeing as I had nothing with which to fight them off with but my mini fruit knife, which happened to be wrapped in bubble paper and my bath towel. In any case, I just rode off into the distance like Bicycle Cassidy. What can I say, even in cushion leggings and a multi-strap helmet, I project a certain air of don’t-mess-wimme.

So all is well that ends well, and here I am admiring the plums and cream sunset and writing this post whilst I wait for Fabrice to arrive so we can set up camp.

Shout-out du jour goes to K-dog, whom I can’t leave without bawling, this morning being no exception, all the more so given that she had just found my passport at the bottom of my food bag, whilst I had been furiously rifling through the entire house. First song that came on my ever-symbolic pod Marie Thérèse when I asked her to shuffle...You guessed it: too-too-too-too-doo-doo-WAAAAAHHHH! Now I have believed for years that my pod is actually part-human and can read my mind, but THAT particular choice was perfect beyond words.

And Happy Birthdong again!

Remerciements d’avance

La conception et la préparation de ce périple n’auraient pas été possibles sans le soutien d’un petit groupe de mentors qui m’ont conseillée, encouragée et aidée, sur le plan matériel comme moral. Je voudrais leur redire ici, et avant même le départ, combien je leur suis reconnaissante pour tout ce qu’ils ont partagé avec moi : amitié, expertise, sagesse et bien plus encore…

Un grand merci donc…

A Alain, qui m’a conseillée tout au long de ma préparation, de l’achat du vélo au prêt des sacoches, de l’art raffiné du montage de tente au choix du parcours. Alain a partagé avec moi sa grande expérience du voyage à vélo, ses cartes, une grande partie de son matériel, et surtout sa force de caractère en remontant sur son fidèle destrier peu de temps après une longue et éprouvante maladie, rien que pour m’accompagner dans mon entraînement.

A sa femme Eliane aussi, dont les délicieux petits sablés me donneront l’énergie nécessaire pour continuer à pédaler encore et toujours.

A Jean-Luc et Edouard Mercier, dont le périple Paris-Rome a été pour moi une source d’inspiration inestimable. Avant de correspondre avec Jean-Luc, ma propre aventure n’était qu’une idée farfelue. C’est grâce à ses conseils et son appui que ce rêve a pu se transformer en projet concret. Je recommande vivement le récit de voyage bloggé de ces cyclonautes en vadrouille—passionnant et amplement fourni en photos : http://janodou.over-blog.com/
Et à toute la famille Mercier ainsi que leurs amis, qui nous ont très généreusement accueillis, Alain et moi, pour une soirée inoubliable suivie d'une nuit d'essai sous la tente dans leur jardin idyllique. Je ne pense pas retrouver sur la route un aussi beau camping.

A Fabrice, gentleman cycliste, qui s’est proposé pour m’accompagner les premiers jours pour s’assurer que je prenne un bon départ et qui m’a appris avec grande patience comment monter et démonter un pneu.

A Fred, dont je n’ai pu observer la maestria avec une pompe de ma propre faute et à mon grand regret, mais que je remercie pour sa proposition et ses macarons.

To Dad, for a most excellent birthday present.

A ma maman, who oils the chain of my life!

Enfin et surtout, à J et K, porque sí.

A most provisional attempt at a road map

For added adventure, I plan to leave most which-way decisions to local advice and personal intuition. Knowing me, it's quite likely this means that I will end up going round and round in the Bois de Boulogne for the entire month!


Afficher Paris to Naples, On my Bike sur une carte plus grande

The Git…Meet my new girldfriend

Ain’t she purty? My infatuation with her is so intense that I lost all my sense of acceptable framing.

Anyway, here she is, half-equipped, on the weekend prior to my departure. Mum and I had a catastrophic ride into Paris, but it was all worth the felafel assiette waiting for us at the end.

Hello, dear Reader!

If you are reading this post, you will probably have heard me brag by now about my imminent departure along the long and winding roads from Paris to Naples. I really appreciate your interest (/concern) and hope you'll enjoy the reading as much as I'm sure I'll enjoy the writing.

This is a journey of firsts for me. First time to Italy and therefore first real chance to try out my budding Italian (it's pretty tall but still has but peach-fuzz on its upper lip). First time on a long-haul bike trip presenting anything more challenging than East Anglia's expanses of flatty flatness. And first time blogging! Never thought I'd see the day, given that I am afflicted by a severe case of genetic techno-fear. So do bear with me through the few inevitable blank posts and wrong photo attachments and all at the beginning. I'll get the hang of it eventually.

More than anything I want this wee bloggish kind of thing to be a way to communicate easily with loved ones back home without engaging in the cardinal sin of group e-mailing. So the posts might be irritatingly informal, irregular and uninformative (and overloaded with alliteration) , but I'll try to check in at least every few days. Please do sign up to get e-mail alerts of new posts once I figure out how you can do so!

I'm still not sure whether I'll manage to do both an English and a French version of each post to satisfy the demand of my international audience (Presumption, much! At the time of publication, I have an audience of none). I think I'll try to write a quick summary of the day's events in the language that the main post is not in. Does that make sense, either logically or grammatically? Indulge me if it does not, dear reader.

Thanks again for visiting, hope to e-see you all very soon.

Sarah.