At long last, a comfortable uninterrupted night sleep. Pity it required a hotel, but after a full day’s rest, Im ready to move on again. Dijon is a gem of city. It has a ‘geniune’ historic centre visible on every street and its not all expensive boutiques, tourists and coffee shops. Like Luxemburg, french cities are notable for their verdant appearance. Trees not only beautify a city in themselves they also do much to hide architectural. Unlike Luxemburg, there is an emotional warmth here, a very real sense of belonging that pours from every communal local. I know this because Dijon exacerbates every hint of emotional isolation I feel. The weather is cloudy but dry, Im happy to be back in the saddle, but as I pass through the park to the south on a quiet Sunday morning, I feel a distinct and unwelcome melancholy.
After a couple of free-wheeling days with Simon, I chose to switch-off the Garmin app and deploy my new Compass app instead. Im heading in the SSW direction towards the town of Beaune, about 40km. Indeed, Garmin suggested a bizarre alternative that would take me 10km directly West first. Im suitably smug when I pick-up a canal heading directly ‘S’ through the outskirts of Dijon, and like a hit of caffeine, the energy rises, and the sadness dissipates.
Indeed, whilst my legs feel a little reluctant at first, I know that while the canal points the way, the path will be flat and relatively rapid. This proved to be so until around 3 hours into the ride. I switched on my Garmin to find myself at St John-de-Losne, about 30km West of my intended location. There are a lot of rivers and tributaries around here, and mistakes are perfectly possible, but I really have no idea how this happened, given what my compass was telling me. Its frustrating and certainly knocks the self-confidence, but no matter. I picked up Le Vois Bleu and Eurovelo 6 passages on a SW trajectory and headed towards Chalon-sur-Saône, a good 15 km beyond my original destination. This is the way it tends to work, and good progress is still possible. And yet. The spectres that shadow the cyclist are by no means limited to rain, hills or artics. They’re not even the worst. For most virulant by far is the wind, and for the next 2 hours, a cold, whipping southly resisted each and every turn of the crank as effectively as any adhesive. With the addition of a light drizzle, the demon was quite literally spitting in my face. And for all the hard labour, the distance to Chalon just wouldn’t break 30km, and by the time it did, around 3.30pm, I was pretty much cooked for the day.
Fortunately, I’d arrived in Verdun-sur-les-Doubs by this time, though still 25km short of my intended destination. At this rate, I still had at least a couple of hours work ahead. Fortunately again, this is France, and there are options a plenty. In this case, there’s a free campsite on the edge of town. It’s not ideal either (no toilet or shower) but it will certainly do. Im stopping here for the night with a bag of Uncle Ben’s pre-cooked flavoured rice, a must for the cycling connoisseur but as it’s still early, I went back to town to find a beer and relax. Im actually wondering whether cycling can bring on alcoholism. Its very thirsty work afterall.
Its Sunday and exactly one week since I crossed the border into France. I guess around 350km+ made, which is reasonable progress but no cigar. As expected, this town is still largely closed, but for a single bar/cafe. Basic seating for coffee but also a bar that serves a perfectly cold beer and chatty gossip (at least, I presume thats what it is). Vive la France!
In sum, it certainly hasn’t been a demoralising day, but it hasn’t been the easiest either. Nonetheless, I think I may have turned a corner. Despite being a reluctant camper at best, I slept well in the absence of a biting autumn cold. I woke up refreshed and without a hint of the early morning mist and weariness that soaks into everything before you’ve even packed for departure. Perhaps I’ve crossed some ‘N-S’ meridian towards the Mediterranean where autumn temperatures aren’t falling quite so quickly. Im out of Verdun by 08.30, and the day is warming up nicely, though the windcheater is still obligatory. I haven’t gone full t-shirt since the very first weekend.
I got the full 3-courses today. Starting with the river following the Vois Bleu to Chalon-sur-Saône where I took my routine breakfast coffee. No angst here, as I know exactly where the Saône is going. Stage 2 outside Lux took me through a forest but for once, it was fully pathed and going directly South, removing much the standard disorientation and angst. Stage 3, the road into Tournos, which isnt great given its the focal point for a motorway entry-exit, among other attractions. As you can see, my spirit isn’t flying just yet.
Indeed, whilst I wanted to continue towards my next waypoint at Macon, once again, my legs began complaining, so I call it a day an hour or so early. Im beginning to wonder whether the early exertions through the Ruhr valley are coming back to bite me. In which case, the tail of the beast of Junkerath is very long indeed. Coincidently, my YouTube channel is being flooded with heavily-built Chinamen in ‘Tia-Chi commercials for over 50’s’. How do they know?
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