The Dolce Via, my cycling heaven

Le Train d'Ardeche

Today I am going back in time; back to the days of steam, letting the train take the strain and do the hard work, on a tourist cycle route anyone, (who can ride a bike) can enjoy. Let me introduce you to the Dolce Via a voie verte (green route) in the Ardeche, that has to be the prettiest and most tranquil cycle path in France.

I was a little nervous about cycling in the Ardeche, as it is a pretty hilly region of France and very different to the flat lands where we live, but I needn’t have worried. There are plenty of challenging road bike routes that climb the cols (mountain passes) and then drop dramatically into the valleys, plus over 200km of mountain bike tracks, but there is also the Dolce Via, where I found my cycling heaven.

The Dolce Via is a new cycle route that uses an old steam railway line, that was abandoned following the removal of the rails in the 1970’s. Thanks to a remarkable bit of recycling that has restored it’s tunnels and viaducts, a new lease of life has been given to this secret route that runs along the River Eyrieux for 75km from Saint-Martin-de-Valamas to La Voulte-sur-Rhône, where it joins the River Rhône.

On the Train de l'Ardeche

We spent the night in Tournon-sur-Rhône at Les Amandiers and cycled the four kilometres to St Jean de Muzols where we waited excitedly on the platform for the Train de l’Ardeche, a tourist steam train, that would do the climbing and take us up the Doux River gorge to Lamastre. I'm a secret steam train fan and my levels of excitement were off the scale with the prospect of an hour and forty minutes, in an open carriage, surrounded by stunning scenery and the smell of steam.

For the first half of the journey, you steam up the craggy gorge, looking down on the River Doux tumbling over the rocks as it makes it’s way to the Rhône and it is breathtakingly beautiful. Our neighbour Pierrette gave us the top tip to sit on the right hand side, as you get a better view, and she was right. After a short water refill stop, the scenery becomes more meadows and forests and having had a few early morning starts we both felt rather sleepy with the gentle motion of the train. However the weather had other ideas, as the closer we got to Lamastre, the heavier the clouds looked and eventually the rain arrived. This was not much fun in an open sided railway carriage.

By the time we waited for our bikes to be unloaded from the goods van and left the station, it was pouring with rain and our plan of a lunch in a bar was out of the question as there was nowhere dry to park the bikes. Thankfully Lamastre has a good boulangerie that sold warm, savoury snacks as well as bread and patisseries. We found a sheltered alleyway and bought two hot cheesy baguettes to tuck into while waiting patiently for the rain to ease, which it did after about half an hour.

Our detour to St Julien Labrousse

Soon after setting off again the sky cleared and luckily the sun returned for the rest of the day. The Dolce Via will soon be open from Lamastre, but we had to take the roads so decided a detour to St Julien Labrousse was a good idea. This small mountain village, where we spent a week on holiday in 1998, didn’t seem to have changed at all and the only sign of life was the sound of Boney M being played loudly from an upstairs window. 

A tunnel on the Dolce Via

The route Adrian had planned involved a steep descent from Saint Julien Labrousse into Le Cheylard, on a ski slope rather than a road. It even had a sign saying do not use in snowy conditions – I’m guessing this is because skiers would be using it. I am no skier, so we retraced our steps to Nonnières where we found our first glimpse of the Dolce Via after a steep downhill path took us from the village to the old railway line below. This brand new section with long tunnels, gravelled pathways, wild flowers on each side and pretty much no pedalling for the 8km into Le Cheylard was perfect and so easy.

We stayed the night at the Hotel des Voyageurs, an accueil vélo hotel, who provided secure storage for the bikes, a cold plated meal (as we were in town on a Sunday when all the restaurants are closed) and a filling breakfast that included homemade cakes using the local chestnut puree.

River Eyrieux, Dolce Via

Almost immediately after leaving Le Cheylard and picking up the Dolce Via again, we found ourselves stopping to look at and photograph the scenery; the River Eyrieux, the steep sided gorge, the ironwork and the forests, it was all so beautiful and the blue sky and sunshine were the icing on the cake. To begin with we were treated to a tarmac path and as it is a gently descending route all the way to the Rhône (48km away), we could have cruised along at quite a pace, however we were as slow as snails. It was just too beautiful to rush and we wanted to it to last as long as possible.

Cycling the Dolce Via

Sometimes we meandered around the gentle curves of the river, other times we disappeared into rock cuttings that silenced the river and were home to collections of ferns. The sunnier, open stretches gave us wildflowers, cherry trees and the odd remote houses and gardens to look at. It was almost effortless and would have been if we weren't on road bikes, (it does state in the brochure that some of the surfaces are not suitable for road bikes). However, while we did have to be careful in places and it wasn’t always the most comfortable ride, we didn’t have any problems. The surface changes regularly from gravel to tarmac, as there are some sections shared with cars (limited to 30km/h) where access to houses is necessary, so we weren’t always on rough tracks.

River Eyrieux gorge

We have always been attracted to gorges on holidays in France, picking them out to include in our itineraries for our road trips in Gizmo our Mini Cooper. The steam train ride up the Doux gorges, with no traffic to get in the way, seemed to me the perfect way to see a gorge, until I found the Dolce Via. We had no traffic, no train passengers, in fact no interruptions at all. Every corner showed a new vista, that needed yet another photo. We cycled over restored viaducts, through dark, damp tunnels and at times felt we were the only two people on earth. We could see nothing but trees and the river, hear nothing but the birds and the river and we had no phone service, it was bliss.

When we reached the end I didn't want to leave and was tempted to turn around and go back up, which would have meant an uphill climb, but been totally worth the effort. However we had an itinerary to follow and that meant swapping the tranquil beauty of the River Eyrieux with the industrial flatlands of the Rhône and cycling part of the Via Rhôna. Our dream day on the bikes was about to turn into a nightmare. If we'd have known what was to come we would have turned around.

This post continues here and has been linked to All About France at Lou messugo. Click here to read more about France.

My Epilepsy Action Cycling Hero

Epilepsy Action Hero

We have reached July. A month dedicated to cycling, well for us anyway. 

My Tour de France yellow jersey

The Tour de France has begun, I’ve dug out my yellow T-shirt and our evenings are spent glued to the TV where the familiar faces of Gary Imlach, Chris Boardman, Ned Boulting and David Millar relay the day’s events; their words as entertaining as they are informative. We shouted ‘YES’ in unison as Mark Cavendish crossed the line on day 1 to take the yellow jersey for the first time, despite nearly 30 stage wins in the Tour over the last ten years. We’ve toured Normandy, the Loire, Poitou-Charentes and the Limousin (or should that be Nouvelle Aquitaine?) with them, many places we have visited with our bikes in recent years and we are looking forward to the action and stunning scenery to come in the mountain stages. It is a moment of normality and excitement in what are otherwise dark and stressful days following the Brexit referendum.

Cycle themed decorations

Next week our neighbouring village will host the arrival of the final day of the Tour des Deux Sèvres. Not quite in the same league as the Tour de France, but that hasn’t stopped them erecting cycle themed decorations in the village, or organising a day of celebrations and entertainments. We will be there, getting our fix of live cycling action, as this year I’m not sure we will make it to any of the Tour de France stages.

Adrian has been spending as much time as possible training for his Prudential Ride London Surrey 100 event on 31^st July. Cycling 160km (100miles) in one day is rather daunting and hasn’t been easy to train for, as time and weather have been against him. He did manage an 80km ride last weekend at 28km/h with no stops. He left after morning coffee and returned for a late lunch, feeling (justifiably) pleased with his performance. He will be increasing his training rides to 100km and 120km once he is back from working in UK, but it is unlikely he will have time to attempt 160km before the day itself. We are also planning a 100km ride together (at a much slower pace) as part of the Rapha Women's 100 on 17^th July. This will be my last big ride for a few weeks, as a small gynea op will keep me off my bike for a while.

Adrian at the Ardechoise event

A real boost to Adrian’s confidence came from our trip to the Ardeche at the end of June. Here he completed an 85km cycling event in three hours 45 minutes and got a real taste for climbing proper hills and riding in a large group event. He loved it, his pre-event nerves were soon replaced with excitement and adrenalin, and each update I received from him was more animated. His only regret was signing up for the 85km rather than the 125km event, but he is already making plans for next year. I was really proud of him and thought he looked pretty damned good in his Ardechoise jersey. See here for a full update on the Ardechoise.

Epilepsy Action Hero

He is getting quite a collection of cycling jerseys this summer as his Epilepsy Action Hero jersey has arrived for the Prudential Ride London Surrey 100. Epilepsy is a difficult condition to live with. It may not show itself very often (if you are lucky like me) but it is always there, lurking in the background. I can’t forget about it, go out without my sunglasses on, or overdo things in the garden, as that is when it will strike. When it does, it’s not pleasant. It’s scary for those around who find you flat out and unresponsive. It’s exhausting and painful for me, every muscle spasms, then aches for days, the bruises where I hit the deck and the bite marks in my mouth, I could go on. I do know I am very lucky to have an amazing husband, who I trust with my life and he truly is my Epilepsy Action hero. Not only has he had to pick me up (literally) after a seizure, but his strong arms have held me tight when the visual wobbles have reared up and despite us both feeling my body twitching, he kept a full seizure away.

In the UK alone 600,000 people suffer from epilepsy and Epilepsy Action are there to help them and their families, providing support in person and online. I understand more about my epilepsy now than I did when it struck at 17 as there is so much more information available on the internet. If you want to know more about the work Epilepsy Action do you can visit their website here.

Adrian is fit (the French health service has confirmed) and has quite a few kilometres under his belt, but this event will still be a challenge and the longest day on the bike he has ever done. If you would like to help by virtually cheering him on, please donate to his Just Giving Page. Every small amount will help make a difference to the lives of people living with epilepsy, please click here. We are very close to raising £500 and would love to reach that target.

£10 could give 50 people information about first aid for seizures – helping people with epilepsy be safe in public.

£20 could equip a new volunteer with resources to raise awareness of epilepsy in their local community.

£30 could help the Epilepsy Action experts support five people newly diagnosed with epilepsy, providing one-to-one advice when it’s needed most.

Thank you.

May the wheels of our bikes continue to turn, even if the wheels of politics seem to have buckled.

My obituary, the end of an era

This short message that will appear in the next edition of our village magazine, something I have helped to produce for over ten years, is probably the closest I will ever get to reading my own obituary:

“We would simply like to say publicly to Jacqui Brown, whose deep involvement in the village council, and more generally in our community, is known by us all, our regret that she will not be able to stand for election in 2020 (if she wished).”

This makes me sad. The French have been very proactive in encouraging communities with English immigrants to have a voice by electing someone to stand on their local council. They want us to do our bit, get involved, have our say, help out in our French community, but also to have a representative on hand to help out our fellow immigrants. I have been called down to the Mairie many times since the 2014 elections to help someone newer to the village who has a problem and may not have the language skills to understand what to do now.

The EU referendum vote in the UK will not mean that my village will chuck me out or stop me from volunteering or helping in the local community, but it will take away my voice. Immigrants are often criticised for arriving and not integrating in their new communities. My right to integrate as I am doing now, as a village councillor, is in jeopardy and once the UK has exited the EU, will be lost.

Democracy exists to enable change to happen and that must be viewed as a good thing. At present no one can be certain what these changes will mean for the future of the UK or Europe and I only hope that positive things emerge. The only certain is that things will not remain the same and my daily rights to live my life as I am doing now will be effected.

There will be challenging and worrying times ahead, but whatever happens and wherever I end up living, I know that this quirky little village in the middle of rural France has felt more like home to me than anywhere else I have ever lived.

#Blogival Book Tour A Clean Pair of Hands by Oscar Raynard

Today I am taking part in the Clink Street Publishing #Blogival Book Tour with a review of A Clean Pair of Hands by Oscar Raynard.

This book starts with a mysterious break-in at a wealthy residence in the outskirts of Paris. The motive seems odd, what is reported to the police doesn’t seem to fit the evidence found and I really wanted to know what had happened and why.

The back-story then begins, introducing the victims, their lives and their business dealings. So far, so good and I was looking forward to revelations, skeletons and possible deceit. However, it then became rather political, which I was expecting to a certain degree for a novel claiming to highlight the corruption of the French system, but when the main character Michel, who I was hoping to be an exciting rogue, began droning on and on and self-analysing, I soon lost interest and found some sections quite slow to read.

Thankfully the story unravels in a very roundabout way, replaying conversations, business meetings and family gatherings from the past, all with an undercurrent of distrust in Michel, that I was drawn in, especially by the snippets of family life. This ensured I was keen to continue reading and discover just what had gone on. Michel is certainly a man who seeks pleasure, but as his need for thrills increases so does the risks he has to take and although he is clear in his mind about his methods, the author doesn’t forget that in life there are always consequences that must be faced too.

A Clean Pair of Hands is published by Clink Street Publishing and is available in paperback and ebook versions. Links to Amazon can be found below.

To see other stops on the tour, check out the calendar below.

Destination Ardeche

Picnic lunch

The first day of our Ardeche adventure began with a 5.30am alarm, just as dawn was breaking and by 6.30am we were on the road. Unlike the steely grey sky of the day before, with downpours that flooded the terrace, the wispy clouds looked far more promising for some better weather. As our journey east progressed, the sun made an appearance and slowly but surely the temperature crept up from 14 degrees to 20. We passed a fox tucking into a breakfast of fresh roadkill, then drove through lamb country in the Haute Vienne and cow country in the Allier department of the Auvergne before stopping for a morning coffee, in the sun, in Montluçon.

Before lunch we were on the A71 heading south and the countryside was suddenly much hillier with the volcanos of the Auvergne and Puy du Dôme looming on the horizon. By lunchtime the temperature had reached an almost tropical 22 degrees, not usually something to shout about in France in June, but this year any day with patches of blue sky and a temperature over 20 is worth an outdoor apero in celebration. We picnicked at a roadside aire where the toilets were clean and there were lots of tables, all thoughtfully placed in the shade of the trees, although it would have been lovely to have sat in the sun. At 12.00 on the dot, most tables had been snapped up and were laid with tablecloths and napkins and groaning under the weight of cool boxes and large food hampers. The French know how to picnic, even if it is just a roadside lunch. Our slice of homemade quiche (that I had got up at 6.30 on Thursday morning to make) followed by a natural yoghurt each, looked out of place and rather inadequate, yet again.

The road from St Etienne was a slow and steady climb with hairpin bends and feathered pine trees towering above us. When the road became a col (mountain pass) and the houses had steep pitched roofs, the temperature dropped to 15 degrees, but the scenery was beautiful. The traffic was busy, going the other way thankfully, as St Etienne was hosting a Euro2016 football game between Croatia and the Czech Republic later in the day. We weren't tempted to hang around as we had a Vélo village in the Ardeche waiting for us to visit.

We slowly descended to the Rhône and soon found ourselves driving through cherry and apricot orchards, laden with ripening fruit and vineyards scaling the steep embankments. We seemed to have left behind the rain we found in the hills, for a while at least and the warmth of the sun felt very welcome. The Rhône in Tournon is very wide,  fast flowing and full of logs and other dark, unknown debris rushing downstream. It isn't a friendly meandering river here and from the flat road at the bottom of the valley, the steep hills on either side also looked quite scary and rather menacing. We will be cycling in these hills very soon.

The cardiology clinic

The cardiology clinic

We arrived at the cardiology clinic, a clean and bright ground floor unit in a residential part of town, to be greeted by Sophie, a chatty nurse with a lovely smile. There was no need to sit in the waiting room, she took us directly through to a consulting room and wasted no time in getting Adrian onto the bed and hooked up to the first set of machines. With clips on his ankles, wrists and wires on his chest he was told to lie back and not move, even his head. The doctor arrived, introduced himself, looked at Adrian’s notes and quietly watched the test results on his computer screen. This test was followed by an ultrasound scan of his heart and arteries while I watched on as images were frozen on screen and measurements were taken, and none of it made any sense to me.

It could have been very scary, seeing Adrian hooked up to machines and hearing his heartbeat amplified on the scanner. However it was just another example of French health efficiency and after twenty minutes we were on our way with a clean bill of health for Adrian’s heart.

To do any sport in France it is normal to need a medical certificate from your doctor, so with Adrian’s Ardechoise sportive and his Ride London Surrey 100 coming up we thought we ought to see our doctor, even though we discovered afterwards that the option he has chosen to ride in the Ardechoise isn’t classified as an event needing a cycling licence or medical certificate to take part. Our doctor, delighted to have a rare visit from Adrian, went to town checking him over and ordered a complete set of glucose and cholesterol bloods, that all came back normal. However, as his Dad has had heart issues and his Grandfather died in his forties, from a heart attack, our doctor wanted him to see a cardiologist, just to be safe.

It is certainly nice to know that everything is working as it should and the cardiologist has no worries about him pedalling away on his bike. To celebrate he achieved his first Strava King of the Mountains listing on a short hill section in the Charente Maritime – Go Adrian!

Book review of Isabella of Angouleme by Erica Laine

Isabella of Angoulême

Isabella of Angoulême (The Tangled Queen Book 1)

Genre: Historical Fiction

Release Date: October 2015

Publisher:  SilverWood Books

SYNOPSIS

Set in the thirteenth century, the kingdoms of England and France are struggling over territory as the powerful Angevins threaten the French king. In regions far from Paris local fiefdoms disregard all authority.

The Tangled Queen is the story of the little known and very young Isabella of Angoulême who was abducted by King John in 1200. She became his second wife and queen consort, aged 12. He was the most reviled king in English history and his lust for her led to the loss of Normandy and the destruction of the Plantagenet Empire, which then brought about the Magna Carta.

Isabella came of age in England, but was denied her place in court. Her story is full of thwarted ambition, passion, pride and cruelty. She longed for power of her own and returned to France after the death of John to live a life of treachery and intrigue…

An excerpt from Isabella of Angoulême: The Tangled Queen Part 1 can be found at the end of this post.

MY REVIEW

This novel is set in the early 1200’s when power, corruption and the need to marry well, to ensure the continued allegiances between powerful and corrupt families, were commonplace. It was not unusual for brides to be children, often promised to much older men from a very young age. Isabella was one such bride, promised to Hugh Le Brun, Count of Lusignan, and she was sent with her maid to live with the Lusignan family and await her marriage. Here she met the notorious King John, who wanted her for his bride and her father, being more concerned with the family name than his daughter, helped to abduct her and had no qualms at marrying her and sending her off to England at 12 years of age. The demands made on her by her husband meant her life, as Queen of England was often lonely, frustrating and difficult. She provided John with five children before his death in 1216, when she had little option than to return to France as Countess of Angoulême.

Despite never having heard of Isabella, I was intrigued by this book as not only is Angoulême about half an hour from where I live, but a recent holiday to Le Mans had sown a seed of interest in the Plantagenet history period and I was keen to learn more about the this royal family, whose kingdoms crossed borders between England and France for many generations.

Many places mentioned in England were recognisable to me from my childhood and I even remembered learning about some of the events that appeared in the book, like the signing of the Magna Carta in Runneymede. I have also visited many of the places mentioned in France (usually on my bike rather than on horseback like in the book), including Angoulême, Lusignan in the Vienne and L’Abbaye de l’Epau in Le Mans. They all played their part in Isabella’s story and this book helped me to piece together the shared English and French history. Having only recently become interested in this period, I was a little concerned that I might find it to be too much like a school history lesson, but I need not have worried as from the beginning Erica easily kept my interest by adding personality to the characters while retaining the historical facts.

As a British immigrant holding court in France (well I’m on the village council) at a time when Europe is going through turbulent times, this book has made me realise this is nothing new; similar problems have been happening for centuries and will likely continue to do so.

AMAZON UK

AMAZON US

ABOUT ERICA LAINE

Erica Laine

I was born in 1943 in Southampton and originally studied for the theatre. I moved with my family to Hong Kong in 1977 and worked and lived there for 20 years, writing English language textbooks for Chinese primary schools and managing large educational projects for the British Council.

Since living in S W France I have been very involved with a local history society and have researched many topics, the history of gardens and fashion being favourites.

Isabella of Angoulême began in 2011 at a writing workshop run by Philippa Pride, the Book Doctor. The story of this young queen was fascinating and although she appears as a character in some other historical novels I wanted to concentrate on her entire life and her importance to the English and the French and the role she played in the politics of power. Part Two is being written now and my head is more or less permanently in the thirteenth century.

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Brook Cottage Blog Tour Isabella of Angoulême

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EXCERPT

Isabella smiled and yawned – it was time these chattering girls left. She dismissed them, haughty and impatient. Away they sped, some calling back to Isabella, jokes and remarks full of innuendo for her future. She frowned; this was not the way to treat a future queen.

‘Agnes, help prepare me for bed.’

Agnes closed the chamber door, unlacing the back of Isabella’s dress, folding the glorious red and gold silk into the large chest. Tomorrow Isabella would wear the blue gown, the splendid blue and silver fabric showing wealth and also loyalty. If red and gold had shown the power and wealth of the Taillefers, then the blue would mark their obedience and fealty.

Early the next morning Agnes was busy preparing a scented bath. Precious rose oil, drop by drop, turned the hot water cloudy. And then she was busy mixing the rosemary wash for Isabella’s hair. She would wear her hair loose today, and her small gold guirland.

Isabella woke up and saw Agnes looking at her, long and thoughtful, ready to make her stir, but she was already throwing back the covers and standing and stretching. Agnes nodded and together they moved to the bath, and Isabella slipped into the milky, perfumed water and rubbed the rosemary wash into her hair. She felt the water running down her back and shivered. Then she was being briskly dried by Agnes, who was determined to treat Isabella to the most thorough of preparations.

Her mother Alice entered the room and the three of them unfolded the wedding gown and dressed Isabella. Her chemise was soft and light, the dress heavy and cumbersome. Arranged within it, held within it as if caged, her face pale but proud, she moved to the window and looked down onto a courtyard full of people, horses, carts and wagons. A procession was moving through the crowd, with a stately canon and an even more stately bishop in the centre. The clergy were intent on their walk to the cathedral. Isabella clutched Agnes in a sudden fear. Then she rested her head on the window and took a deep breath. It was her wedding day.