Barging in on the South of France (October, 2014)

Well not exactly barging... but the boat trip of a lifetime. One of the many joys of living in France is exploring the lay of the land, and that includes her waterways. After a hectic summer of working in the "friendly skies" of United, and the trials and tribulations associated with commuting to London as a "space available" passenger on British Airways, a vacation that required no planes or time changes was a welcome respite, to wit trains, boats and automobiles were utilized for our requisite travel.

We started by taking the train from Paris to Cahors and then a taxi to Doelle where our adventure with Le Boat began.  We rented a 36-foot clipper that had two sleeping cabins, one forward and one aft, each with a small bathroom that included a shower. The galley was small but adequate for our gourmet chef Doug to create his magic for our nightly feasts.  We spent seven wonderful days on the river Lot, the sixth largest river in France. This waterway comes complete with banks lined with ancient chateaux, medieval cities, dramatic cliffs and a manually operated series of locks to enable boats of various sizes to travel up and down the ancient river.

Home away from home complete with bikes

If one were to look up the Lot River Valley on a map of France, you would find it just a tad south-east of Bordeaux, a couple of hours by train from the hustle and bustle of Paris. And yet what the map can’t convey is the impression of traveling back in time to a rural countryside with dramatic limestone cliffs, cathedral-centric villages encircled by narrow cobblestoned roads and riverbanks guarded by ancient castles.

After a short practice run with a professional boat captain, we were off and quickly came upon our first navigational hurdle... going under bridges. That was easy compared with our second hurdle...

... to steer our boat into our first lock (there are 17 on the part of the river on which we were cruising).

Once inside the lock itself, you close the sluice gates using large hand cranks that create an isolated box of water, a section of the river closed off by gates on either end to regulate the water level. Depending on which way we were traveling (up or down river) we either had to add or subtract water from the enclosed lock.

We each had our assigned tasks all coordinated by Doug, our dear friend and designated boat captain. After the first couple of locks we were experts. We went through the 17 locks in our travels east on the river, and then the same number coming back. Some times we had to wait our turn at the lock, but mostly we were by ourselves, adding to the sensation that we had gone back in time.

Is some cases the buildings had been there so long they morphed into the landscape making it hard to tell where the building began and the terrain ended.

The views were spectacular from the river.

Pont Valentré

The Valentré bridge spans the Lot river at Cahors, the capital of the Lot department in South West France, and a city almost entirely surrounded by water.  The fortress style bridge dates back to early 14th century. Legend has it that the builder had to make a pact with the devil in order to complete its construction. Extremely behind schedule, the builder agreed to trade his soul in return for the bridge's completion. When it came to laying the last stone, the builder played a trick on the devil by handing him a sieve with which to carry the water for the mortar. Consequently, the last stone was never set, thereby saving the builders soul as technically the bridge was never finished. Centuries later a devil statue was added to one of the towers in memory of the clever builder.

We spent our days cruising the river and watching the enchanting landscape go by. Once we pulled into to a docking space at any one of the number of towns that populate the river banks, we would shop at the local markets for dinner, and in most cases, ride the bikes around for further exploration. The evening's usually ended with home cooked food from the ship's galley and/or barbecue accompanied by wine from the local vineyards, enjoyed al fresco from our dining table located behind the helm of the boat.

At the medieval town of Saint-Cirq-Lapopie we turned around and headed west, back to Doelle for the boat return and the eventual end to our trip through time.

View of the Lot River from Saint-Cirq-Lapopie

We hope to return the Lot river valley sometime soon. We would recommend this trip to anyone wishing to explore a magical part of France, and if you don't want to pilot your own boat, you can hire a captain.

For more photos of our wonderful week click here.

The French Alps

The week of cycling in the French Alps is over and I'm already missing the sight of the early morning sun rising over the mountain peaks followed by an ample breakfast and the all-day, always challenging but always breathtakingly beautiful ride. After the huge excitement and anticipation of my college graduation, it was hard to imagine anything coming close to topping that event and achievement.  In November of last year (2013) when we started planning a bike ride in the French Alps, there was no way to imagine how the two events might coexist, dovetail or compliment each other.

The epic bike ride was a graduation present from Charlie, (one I was reluctant to acknowledge until the last minute, thinking it might somehow jinx the successful completion of my studies).  Now, in reminiscence, I realize the physical self-awareness achieved when facing those mountains alone on a bike was, indeed, an appropriate culmination to the mind-expanding experience of college.

In our planning stages, we could not possibly have predicted that the day of our departure, the auspicious Friday the 13th of June, would be the first day of a major national French train strike. The work stoppage made for a departure from Paris that consisted of a few false starts and lots of stops until we finally arrived nearly eight hours late in Menthon St. Bernard, a little village nestled in the French Alps near Lake Annecy that served as the launch point for our trip.

When you arrive at a destination for the first time in the dark, the daylight reveals a totally new landing place, and the following morning we discovered for the first time the beauty of our surroundings. We met the rest of the riders over an early breakfast that had been set up for us in the park-like setting on the grounds of the hotel and discussed the first ride of the trip, a relatively "short and easy" ride (for those more experienced at such things then Charlie or I). 

Our first day of riding started with a shuttle ride in the van to the base of Col de Colombière. A category 1 ride with approximately 4,000 feet of climbing over 18 kilometers. We started the ride with high hopes and excitement interspersed with trepidation.

From left: Paul, Charlie, Jack, Margaret, Lance, Richard (partially hidden) Ruth and me

We had no idea what the Col de Colombière had in store for us. It took us about four hours to climb the 18 kilometers to the top.  We limped up to the summit, huffing and puffing to a round of applause from the rest of the group who were well into what became the standard lunch of a ham and cheese baguette sandwich by the time we arrived.

traditional "borne"

"Happy Charlie"

We quickly became acquainted with the French system of ranking mountain climbs (since mountains rule the stages in this part of the country). The ascent is rated from 1(hardest) to 5 (easiest) based both on steepness and length of the climb. Then there is Hors Category, which translated means outside of category. In other words… too tough to categorize.

For the majority of the rides, there were signs along the route indicating both the steepness of the grade and the remaining kilometers to the summit. The "bornes" -- as they are referred to in French -- as well as the more traditional variety soon came to represent a source of motivation in our daily quest for the top.  The absence of signage on our last day's (and most difficult) climb -- an anomaly discovered by Ruth -- was acutely felt by all.

For the most part, we had excellent weather during the trip. The notable exception was the dramatic snow storm that moved in the afternoon the group was ascending the Col du Galibier. The morning had started out bright and full of promise with a sunny ascent up the Col de Telegraphe,  and ended with a blinding snow storm at the top of Galibier. Disaster was averted thanks to some quick thinking by our guides and a rapid sweep of the riders off the various stages of climb in which we were all involved.

Top of Galibier the day it snowed

The breath-taking scenery certainly helped to ease the pain of one’s bursting lungs, screaming thigh muscles and cramping calves. Every day the topography would change and reveal another side of the mountain. 

Whether it was the multi-colored fields of wild flowers or the breathtaking ridges over thousand foot vertical drops, the steep ascents that seemed to go on forever, or the white-knuckle downhill descents, never, in the furthest reaches of my mind, could I have imagined the magnificence and magic that each of us discovered day after day from our perch on our bike seat. 

With all this amazing scenery, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the day I took my mom for a mountain bike ride in Annadel State Park in Santa Rosa, California. She valiantly huffed and puffed her way to the top of the rutted hill and when I said to her… “ Mom, turn around and look at the view, it will make the climb worth the pain,” she quickly replied to me… “ F---  the view,” and never forgave me for taking her up -- what to me at the time -- seemed like an easy gradual climb. "I love ya mom, and now I know exactly how you felt that day!"  Looking back on this trip, however,  I think she would have had a different opinion had she been with me on this ride.

Click here for more photos of the trip

On the way to Col d'Izoard