2014 The Twentieth Day

            The ride started in Saint-Pere and ended near another Saint-Pere.  Go figure.  In the morning, John mentioned visiting the monastery.  The vestibule was similar to one in the cathedral in Santiago, Spain.  There the pilgrims would gather before moving on to the sacred journey.  I kept looking at the hill and shaking my head.  Little did I know that my route required the same climb putting me within meters of the monastery.

            The daunting slope started on the edge of Saint-Pere and continued for two kms.  Just what my legs needed the first thing in the morning. 

            The monastery was worth the effort.  On my way back to the bike I came upon a nun dressed a grey habit carrying a box.  She gratefully accepted my offer to help.  As we walked she talked.  She enjoyed sharing her experience.  She was Dutch and had joined the order in 1991.  With no communities in Holland she first went to Paris before coming here.  With a broad smile, she spoke of her menial duties, cleaning, preparing the altar, arranging the flowers, etc.  She also mentioned that her strongest subject during her school days was mathematics, now a long lost memory.  I have always found nuns to be most joyful.  They seemed to have narrowed the world down to what is important.

            While on the Internet in the Tourist Office in Vezelay a lady filled with zest wanted to know all about my bike and my journey.  With curly brown hair flecked with grey and wearing stylish glasses she hardly looked her 78 years, more like the schoolmarm in High Noon.  When I could only reply in English, she brought over the clerk to translate.  Finding out that I was 70 her only response was that I was a mere youngster.  She easily could have done my tour twice over.

            From there the ride was similar to yesterday with long downs matched with equally long ups.  A few farms were sprinkled among the forests.  Be forewarned, in France, forests imply steep hills.  There were several places that were suitable for dry camping, clearings near a river.  Unfortunately, they came early and I am never carrying enough food.  Besides camping was reasonable with the lovely promise of a hot shower.

            The shadow of a once distinguished chateau sat on the edge of Corval-l’Orgueilleux.  Some windows were shuttered while others were opened to the elements.  A newer residence stood to the rear where the current owners lived.  A full sized basketball court and other play equipment were scattered over the extensive estate.  Intermittent gaps appeared in the crumbling stonewall.  A plaque in front indicated that a former owner had been killed for being part of the resistance.  He had lived from 1886 to 1942.

            Out of town the road went macho with a steep climb straight up the hill.  This was reminiscent of Main Street in my hometown of Mankato.  Making it up the hill became a right of passage for the adolescents in town.  At the crest, kinder hearts prevailed as the road meandered through the gaps in the fields.

            I stopped for lunch in Clamecy.  I wisely bought a salad, a beer, and a chicken sandwich for later. 

I hate to say this but a single cold beer has replenished my physical and moral spirit better than anything else. 

The town had an outstanding cathedral.  Several other touring cyclists showed up.  Too often cyclists leave their cycles in inopportune places not realizing that they are affecting someone else’s photo opportunities.  I am very careful to hide my bike in the shadows.  Clamecy was another town to be visited.

            I struggled conducting my way out of Clamecy.  Wanting to be on D 957, I found myself bucking tons of traffic on N 151.  They came in waves, five to six cars and then nothing.  Finally, D 143, a farm road, offered welcome relief.  This led to incredible photo ops.  This was James Herriott country in France.

            I met up with D 957 just short of Entrans-sur-Nohain.  I was tempted to backtrack to see where D 957 came out of Clamecy.  D 957 was much busier than

D 143.  Fortunately, I was back on D 143 moments after leaving Entrans.  More photo ops continually presented themselves.  A solitary tree stood amidst a vast wheat field.

            At four, I stopped for a beer and chocolate croissant in Ciez.  This time the bartender was a woman of few words but she also had a parrot for company.  Fully refueled, I took off like a rocket to Cosne-Curs-sur-Loire.  I did the 19 kilometers under an hour; of course most of the ride was downhill. 

            The maze of streets in Cosne would have stumped the gods; no Cartesian geometry and the narrow streets were all one way.  I did locate a Pharmacy.  Agnes was right.  The pills were for motion sickness.  This clerk got it right.  When I asked her about the Tourist Office, she greedily grabbed my arm and led me out the door.  Down the block we went, she telling me that she spent two days on her honeymoon in San Francisco before continuing to Hawaii.  Now three children later, they could no longer afford such a trip even with a brother-in-law working there.

            The staff in the Tourist Office was most helpful in locating the campground and suggesting the canal road along the Loire River for tomorrow’s ride.  I will think twice about that especially if there is country road alternative. 

Back at the Pharmacy, the clerk confirmed the directions and sent me on my way with a hug.  Try telling me that the French people are not friendly.

            The campground was alongside the Loire River.  I have a million dollar view for six euros.  Dinner was the delicious chicken sandwich with a large cup of coffee.

            This is such a different ride without Aaron.  He was a special traveling companion.  He would have thought the world of the last several days.

Much joy!!!
Hardy