To Saumur and Beyond! (France Trip Series)

Our bikes were waiting patiently in a small stone courtyard 237 kilometers south of Paris, and our stay on Risico was coming to an end. The next week we would embrace the nomadic lifestyle in the French countryside. Our goal was full immersion in local culture, so we had made all our own arrangements (route, motels, bikes, meals, luggage, etc) rather than relying on a tour operator. What better way to make contact with the locals than getting hopelessly lost on your bike on a country road in rural France with no bailout options?

We used Detours for our bike rentals and to provide luggage transfer between hotels. The bikes were great quality and well maintained, and the luggage transfer was flawless. We left our bags in the hotel lobby each morning and - voilà - they were waiting for us upon arrival at our next destination. Panniers gave us ample capacity for carrying water, wine, baguettes, and gear each day.

We hopped our train from Paris to Chenenceaux to pick up our bikes and unwind before our morning departure. If all went as planned, the ride would finish six days later in Saumur, with overnights in Azay-le-Rideau and Chinon. The train dropped us on the outskirts of Chenenceaux, about a 100m walk past an ancient stone church to the Hostel du Roy. After the hustle and bustle of Paris, the solitude of this tiny town welcome...and the full size bathroom was a real luxury.

The next day - our first one on the bikes - was to be our longest at 45 miles. This type of milage was
frickin' insane for the first day of a family touring vacation
probably a little aggressive for our first day (remember this is a family trip) but in six and a half hours in the saddle we saw some incredible countryside and had many excellent interactions with the locals, for example:

• After two laps through the town of Athee sue Cher and a few unplanned miles, Katey leveraged her rudimentary French skills in a local bar (it was 10:30am) and we were promptly back on course.
• Two very nice ladies, one riding a mountain bike on a farm road south of Tours and the other strolling outside of Mont, were very patient with us and probably saved us another 10 miles of needless miles.
• The fellow in the 3rd floor apartment somewhere east of Azay who saw me wandering around the park with 4 empty water bottles in my arms searching unsuccessfully for a spigot. He shouted and waved to me from his 3rd floor balcony, came running down the stairs, and showed me to the spigot in the basement.

Finally on the home stretch 3 miles from Azay we stumbled into a small troglodyte shop that sold ice cream, juice, and local honey. Did I mention it was unbearably HOT and that we had ridden 42 miles at this point? We were ON IT hit it off very well with the very friendly proprietor Sebastien.

In my next post, we'll meet Marité and Philippe at Troglodelice where we will sleep in a cave for two nights!

Prime Location (France Trip Series)

Imagine my surprise as I was furiously pedaling west toward Saumur on Route des Ducs d'Anjou (hey I didn't name it I just rode it) when I stumbled upon this sign. It marks the prime meridian. That's 0° longitude! It's the reference from which all other lines of longitude on the globe are derived. It is also the line that - longitudinally speaking - divides east from west. I only wish I had my GPS with me so I could really geek-out and see all the zeros.

Call Me a Metrosexual (France Trip Series)

We are just back from the family vacation of a lifetime - two weeks in France to celebrate Mom and Dad’s 50th wedding anniversary. France because we spent time there as a family (my sister was born there). Also we are a family of foodies, many of us enjoy cycling, and heck what’s not to like about Paris in the springtime?

This first week was aboard an 80’ houseboat docked in the heart of Paris next to the Jarden des Tuileries. For the second week we (the kids and families) embarked on a cycling tour of four rivers in the western France - Le Cher, L’Indre, Le Vienne, the of course the Loire. Following are highlights of our week in Paris and yes, there is some cycling (albeit roadie) content included.

Risico is one of a couple dozen houseboats (converted river barges actually) on the Right Bank in the shadow of the Eiffel tower and the Musee D’Orsay. The boat is 80’ long with three cabins and is cozy for our party of seven, but you cannot beat the location. We are a five minute walk from the Louvre. We have a front row seat to watch the river traffic on the Seine.

Day two on Risico was June 21st - the summer solstice. This is the day that musicians traditionally come out and play in the streets of Paris for free. Music is everywhere in the city, including three barges down from us at a private party. Once night had fallen we made our way down to the festivities and innocently slipped “into” the party which was spilling onto the quay next to the barge and danced with the lights of the Eiffel Tower shimmering on the Seine as Paris danced and sang it’s way into the morning. The next morning I woke at 6:30, made my bed and some coffee and took them topside to watch the city wake up. Blue sky, a barge (actually 2 rafted) were doing a lazy 180 dgree turn to push slowly upstream. I watched an elevator slowly ascend the Eiffel Tower. And I was sitting here in my pajamas having breakfast. Unbelievable.

Later that morning Jeff and I scored at the Velib (see my post entitled “Making It All Work”) and the city was ours. We spend the day exploring Paris neighborhoods and wrap the evening up with another wonderful meal topside on Risico and a midnight romp with Katey and Jeff around the Grand Palais - notable due to Ruth in her PJs and the gendarmes in riot gear (no connection).

Thursday is spent at the Louvre and around Pompidou Center. Pompidou has some racy stuff on #4 but Sara survives OK. This is slowly becoming our favorite part of town, youngish crowd, vibrant street life, great food. After our traditional mid-afternoon coffee, we split up - the girls continue shopping while Jeff and I grab a couple of Velib bikes and go exploring. Nice dinner that evening near Bastille. Sara is so graceful and confident, and stylish with her silk scarf. She puts her arm in mine as we stroll home. I am the luckiest dad on the planet.

On our last full day in Paris Jeff and I are all over the Velib. We find a foodie heaven market near the Blue Marble. Incredible produce, seafood from the Mediterranean, exotic cheeses, fantastic wines, chocolate, baked goods. Endless cafes and brasseries filled with people sipping espresso or enjoying a cold beer. The streets are all cobblestone, very crooked and narrow, and limited to pedestrians and motorbikes. We stock up on provisions and then feast on the boat for our last night.

Soon we will have to say goodbye to Risico, wave Bon Voyage to Mom and Dad, and move on to our next adventure in the vineyards of Western France...

Making It Work (France Trip series)

Just back from two week vacation in France celebrating Mom and Dad's 50th anniversary. I've got weeks worth of blog posts in my head, so I'm going to just start pounding them out in no particular order. Be advised that some posts may include roadie or non-biking content. Hang in there.



Scooters and motorcycles probably out number the cars in Paris. Add in the bicyles and the cars are definitely a minority. At least half of the scooters are driven by women, many in skirts and high heels. I don’t know how they do it, but they all look soooo cool while doing it. Stylish clothing, weaving through traffic, over sidewalks, between cars, and down one-way streets (the wrong way). The scooters and sometimes the small cars (there are virtually NO big ones) are driving down narrow city streets crowded with pedestrians. It’s just like a Borne Ultimatum movie. Really, that is how it is. In the US this would be a hands-down-goat-rodeo with women and children screaming and jumping out of the way in a panic. But here everyone - pedestrians, cyclists, drivers - work together to make it possible. No unpredictable moves, give people just enough space, don’t be a jerk.

And the cyclists are right there in the mix with the motorcycles, scooters, and cars. At the head of the left turn lane waiting for a green light and diving into / out of traffic circles. .And the beautiful thing is that ALL of the other drivers respect the cyclists. Totally. Basically they view you as an equal on the road.. Once you get accustomed to this, you can really tear it up in terms of getting around town efficiently by bike.

It gets better. In Paris they have this service called the “Velib.” For a nominal fee (in our case it was about 10 euros for the week) you get unlimited use of about 20,000 bikes in 30 minute chunks. You access them using any of about 2,000 automated vending stations scattered throughout the city (we consistently found them every couple of blocks). You simply punch in your account number, pick a bike, and off you go. When you have arrived at your destination you just check it into the closest Velib and go about your business. So basically you always have a bike handy wherever you go, but you are never burdened with locking it or remembering where you left it (easy to get disoriented in a medieval city like Paris).

Jeff and I were all over this Velib thing. Once we purchased our one week passes at a local Velib station, we struck out for nowhere in particular, wound up somewhere in the 9th or 10th arrondissement. We dropped the bikes at a nearby Velib station (they can be found every 100 yards or so), and did some exploring on foot. Then we found another Velib station, grabbed a pair of bikes and headed home to Risico.



In an bike-friendly city like Paris, a bicycle is just about the perfect way to get around (weather permitting of course). The freedom of being able to go anywhere in the city without having to worry about locking your bike or finding it again after exploring or walking for a few hours is really really liberating.

Miles of Smiles

He said “you won’t find a root or wet rock within a hundred miles of this place.” The crew at Las Vegas Cyclery were giving this east coast rider some local pointers and even hack-sawing an inch off a perfectly good Thompson seat post in order to fit me on the Ellsworth Epiphany rental. After nearly a week in the man-made-spectacle we call Las Vegas, I was heading to the mountains for my first ever desert ride. The drive into the mountains was breath taking. I had rented a convertible so the view was 360 degrees, the radio was cranked to 11, and the mountain air was clearing the casino fog from my head.

Everything I had read online pointed me toward the Late Night Trailhead and the trails south of route 160. The out-and-back route would include a view of Las Vegas at the turnaround point and an awesome return descent on "Three Mile Smile." Of course every good descent has an equally good ascent, so the first 5 miles or so was real work. It didn't look to me like much of a climb, and a couple of miles in I was wondering if I had gone all flabby after a week on the strip, but when speaking with the guys at the bike shop afterward, it turns out to be >1,000 foot climb (starting at >3,000 feet), which is more climbing than I would normally see in a week of riding in PA.

The climb up Dinosaur Teeth Trail was stunning in so many ways. On the macro scale, the mountains were so massive (by east coast standards) and the air so clear, it was hard to grasp their sheer size. On the close-in micro scale there was the crunch of the sand and gravel under my tires, the cactus and Joshua trees as far the eye could see, patches of wildflowers, and the occasional lizard or squirrel (?) scampering off the trail in front of my wheel. But the wildlife encounter I will never forget was with a lone wolf crossing the trail in front of me. When I first saw the motion out of the corner of my eye I thought it must be a deer (size, color) but

when I stopped I realized I was staring at a wolf the size of a large German Sheppard loping across the trail. He knew I was there but never broke stride, just kept moving up the side of the valley. By the time I had stopped, fumbled for the camera, and locked on him he was a hundred yards away (see if you can find him in the 3rd picture).

Thirty minutes later I was at the top of Dead Horse Trail with a commanding view of Las Vegas 25 miles in the distance. Sin City never looked so good. After a rest and some pictures it was time for the return trip and of course the descent. The middle section of the descent is called "Three Mile Smile." Enough said. The Epiphany was sooo sweet on the descent, eating up everything that came at me, including a couple of drops that I really had no business riding. In fact the three mile smile

was more like a SEVEN mile smile as I barely turned the cranks all the way back to the car. The big payoff for me on the descent was what I had always seen in pictures – that thin ribbon of twisting undulating single track stretching a mile or more into the distance. This is something I've never seen first hand even after 5 years of east coast riding.

Overall the trails were in great shape - well maintained and marked. The moderate difficulty trails were no problem. I think that east coast riding - with all the roots and wet rocks - develops solid technical skills that really paid off. After a week of 100 degree days, the temps had dropped to perfectly acceptable mid-80s. And another unexpected benefit of desert riding was no sweat. I mean if I had exerted myself like that at home, I would have been drenched. But in the dry desert air, and perspiration evaporates instantaneously so you never seem to get wet. Bonus (as long as you have ample water).

After two hours of riding it was back to the strip for a final night of debauchery (not). I will tell you that after those few hours in the desert, the return to the Venetian Hotel was a little jarring. The stroll through the Casino (all paths lead through the casino) to my over-the-top 18th-floor split-level suite with 3 flat-panel TVs, remote control curtains, and two-room marble bathroom overlooking the three hotel swimming pools left me a little disoriented. I will admit however that the marble shower felt great but even as a lay on the comfy 1000-count Egyptian cotton sheets, I was thinking about how to get back into those hills one more time before my plane departed at 2:30pm the next day.

...so after another too-late night (10:30pm local - 1:30am biological) I arranged for a 4:30am wakeup call so I could get in one more ride before Mike and I would shoot out to Hoover Dam for some sightseeing. 4:30am came up on me pretty fast, but I made it out to the trailhead by 6:00am and was treated to more mind-boggling scenery, miles of wicked fast tight twisty single-track, and the occasional jackrabbit or lizard.

This time I rode "Mustang Trail" on the north side of the trailhead. The WOW factor had not diminished one bit, I still found myself having to stop occasionally to gawk and try to soak in the magnificence of the surrounding landscape. But this alternating gawking and riding was not very efficient, so I finally threw in the towel and just rode because I knew how to do that, and I think I could have gawked all day long and still not wrapped my head around that scenery. I rode the short loop because we had

laid out an ambitious schedule for this last day (ride from Late Night trail head, shower, return bike, drive to Hoover dam, return to airport in time for 2:30pm departure).

Now it is 4:30pm, I am sitting on the plane writing this blog entry, still digging the sand out of my ears, and scheming about how to get back out west for some more riding. Hmmmm, turning 50 next year. I wonder…

Seizing Up (repost)

I am reposting this blog entry from 5/28 because I've been reflecting on it and have a few things to add (not the least of which is this picture)...

Well you all missed a good one this morning. I know this because I was the only one there. I was hurrying to meet a buddy, when it happened it was just me.

Racing down the Struble at 6am to meet Andy at the country store...full bore, head down, and I caught a 3" branch in my front wheel (was hiding in the brush next to the trail). It must have stuck in the spokes because it stopped the bike instantly, I flew over the bars landed on my back and rolled on the ground for a good minute or two assessing the damage. I was FULL ON and never saw the dang branch, I was on the ground before I knew what had happened (unlike the familiar slow-motion endos where you know what's happening as it's happening - sort of the slow-motion thing). Helmet visor ripped off, seat post twisted 45 degrees, water bottle ejected, knee and shoulder banged up.

I have to say that compared to crashing when you are riding in a group, crashing alone really sucks. Not just for the obvious safety reasons. No, it also sucks because there is just no glory. Nobody to witness the drama. No one to retell your story at the annual beer exchange and bonfire. No. You just have to pull yourself together, limp out of the woods, and apologize to your riding buddy for being late.

I actually felt OK during the ride but now that I've been sitting for a couple of hours things are starting to seize up pretty good.

Like the man said, "not all pain is gain."

Time to reset the crash counter and pay more attention.

Waddling to Safety

Solo night rides are usually a little creepy. Strange sounds in the trees and glowing eyes peering at you from the darkness. Tonight's was all that with plenty of deer, some sort of large animals in the canopy on the Bonus Loop (birds I presume), and June Bugs as big as grapes thumping off my helmet and chest down by the boat landing.

But this ride ended on a particularly humorous note when I stumbled upon an opossum on the Lakeside Connector. Once I satisfied myself that it wasn't a skunk, I closed the distance to about 5' as he tried to waddle down the trail to safety. He must have waddled along - brilliantly illuminated from above by my dual LED headlamps - for half a minute before he finally shuffled off the trail into the safety of the woods.

When riding I've had close encounters with a baby fox, been nearly run over by a herd of deer, hit in the head by an owl, and chased by coon-dogs, but this was my first opossum encounter. God I love this place.