WITH THE WIND.
“NAME of God! it is six hours!” and a loud hammering at the window below wakened us with a start, and then we heard shutters banging and the wind blowing a blast over the hills. For the first time in our journey we were out of bed before seven, and the next minute J——’s head was out of the window. The trees on the hilltops were all bent towards the Cevennes, and as he pulled in his head the shutters came crashing after him.——
“If the road’s right,” cried he, “we’ll have the wind behind us all the way,” and we dressed with a will.
We were off, flying with the hurricane down the hillside towards the valley.—A storm had burst over the hills, only to be driven onwards by the wind. As we rode we saw it relinquish one post after another. On the nearest hilltop a little white village shone in clear sunlight, a bright rainbow above it; over the second the clouds were breaking, while the third was still shrouded in showers.—Before us was greyness, the Cevennes lost in blue mist; behind, a country glowing and golden. The early morning air was cold, but sweet and pure, and almost all the way our feet were on the rests, and we had but to enjoy ourselves. For another such ride I would willingly spend ten days fighting the wind.
By nine we were in Roanne, a town remarkable for nothing but dust and delicious peaches and grapes.
The road crossed the Loire, and went straight through the valley to the Cevennes.—The peasants we met were blown about by the wind, turning their backs to each strong gust, that almost blinded them, but drove us on the faster.—At the very foot of Mt. Tarare, closed in with high hills, was an old posting village, with four or five large hotels falling to ruin. It was hereabouts a shoe came loose from the fore-foot of Mr. Sterne’s thill-horse. But we met with no accident, nor, for the sake of sentiment, could we invent one.—The road began to go over the mountain; and we wound with it,
between high cliffs on one side and an ever-deepening precipice on the other. We left the river and the railroad further and further below, until the latter disappeared into a tunnel and the former was just indicated by its trees.
At St. Symphorien we stopped for lunch. At the café-restaurant we were refused admittance. This turned out to be in a measure fortunate, for at the hotel we were taken in; and there, as it was an old posting-house, the court-yard, with its stables and old well, and the enormous kitchen hung with shining coppers, were worth looking at. Bicycles were always passing that way, the landlady assured us. Therefore, it seemed, it was our looks, and not the tricycle, that shut the door of the café in our faces, and I began to wonder how we should fare in Lyons.—The landlady, with an eye to profit, thought we ate too little, but her daughter understood: it was not good to eat too much in the middle of the day when you were taking exercise. A gentleman on a walking tour once came to their hotel for his midday meal, but would have only bread and cheese. And yet she knew he was a gentleman by the diamond on his finger and the louis in his purse.—We thought of Mr. Stevenson—it would have been pleasant to have him, as well as Mr. Sterne and Mr. Evelyn, for fellow-traveller over Mt. Tarare—but at once we remembered he wore a silver ring like a pedler; and, besides, if you will look on our map you will see that, though we were in the Cevennes, we were not in the Cevennes made famous by Modestine and Camisards.—The landlady, who liked the sound of her own voice, went on to say that we had twelve kilometres to climb before we should come to the top of the pass, and that a good horse leaving St. Symphorien early in the morning might get into Lyons by evening. There was small chance, she thought, of our reaching that city until the next day.
But we hurried away to make the best of the wind while it lasted.—With every mile the view back upon the mountains widened. When we looked behind, it was to see a vast mass of hills, some green or red, with a touch of autumn, others deep purple or grey; over them the clouds, hunted by the wind, cast long trailing shadows, and in and out and up and up wound the white highway.—One or two tumbled-down posting hotels and forlorn farm-houses, sheltered under friendly hills, were scattered by the way. Probably in one of these Mr. Sterne sat at his feast of love; in front of it, watched the dance in which he beheld Religion mixing. But they were desolate and deserted. I fear, had sentiment sent us walking into them, we should have found no honest welcomes, no sweet morsels, no delicious draughts.—At this height children and stone-breakers were the only beings to be seen on Mt. Tarare.
Not far from a lonely, wind-bent black cross, that stood on a high point in the moorland, we reached the summit, and looked down and not up to the winding road.—When you have gained the top of Mt. Tarare you do not come presently into Lyons; with all due reverence for our Master’s words, you have still a long ride before you.—However, the wind now fairly swept the tricycle in front of it, as if in haste to bring us into Tarare.—The road kept turning and turning in a narrow pass. A river made its way, no longer to the Loire, but to the Rhône. But we rode so fast, we only knew we were flying through this beautiful green world. The clear air and cold wind gave us new life. We must keep going on and on. Rest seemed an evil to be shunned. For that afternoon at least we agreed with Mr. Tristram Shandy, that so much of motion was so much of life and so much of joy;—and that to stand still or go on but slowly is death and the devil. We said little, and I, for my part, thought less.
But at last J—— could no longer contain himself.——
“Hang blue china and the eighteenth century, Theocritus and Giotto and Villon, and all the whole lot! A ride like this beats them all hollow!” he broke out, and I plainly saw that his thoughts had been more definite than mine.
Tarare was an ugly town, and in its long narrow street stupid people did their best to be run over. As we coasted down into it, we had one of those bad minutes that will come occasionally to the most careful cycler. J—— had the brake on, and was back-pedalling, but after a many miles’ coast a tricycle, heavily loaded like ours, will have it a little its own way.—Some women were watching a child in front of a house on the farther side of the street. They turned to stare at us. The child, a little thing, four years old perhaps, ran out directly in front of the machine. We were going slowly enough, but there was no stopping abruptly at such short notice. J—— steered suddenly and swiftly to the left; the large wheel grazed the child’s dress in passing. It was just saved, and that was all.—The women, who alone were to blame, ran as if they would fall upon us.——
“Name of names! Dog! Pig! Name of God!” cried they in chorus.
“Accidente! Maladetta! Bruta!” answered J——. And this showed how great the strain had been. In a foreign land, in moments of intense excitement, he always bursts out in the wrong language. But the child was not hurt, and that was the great matter. We did not wait to hear their curses to the end.
We had another bad quarter of a minute later in the afternoon, when we were climbing a hill outside L’Abresle. Two boys had carried a bone-shaker up among the poplars. As they saw us one jumped on, and with legs outstretched, sailed down upon us. He had absolutely no control over his machine, which, left to its own devices, made straight for ours. And all the time he and his companion yelled like young demons.—There was no time to get out of his way, and I do not care to think what might have been if, when within a few feet of the tandem, the machine had not darted off sideways and suddenly collapsed, after the wonderful manner of bone-shakers, and brought him to the ground.
—— — —— — ——
—— — —— — ——
—— — —— —— ——
—— (I leave this void space that the reader may swear into it any oath he is most unaccustomed to. If ever J—— swore a whole oath into a vacancy in his life I think it was into that.)—He was for getting down and thrashing the boy for his folly. But I was all for peace, and fortunately winning the day, we climbed on, while the cause of the trouble still sat in the road mixed up with his bone-shaker, muttering between his teeth something about, “Oh, if it were only not for Madame!”
All afternoon we rode up and down, through valleys, by running streams, over an intricate hill country, with here and there a glimpse of distant mountains, to fill us with hope of the Alps, meeting, to our surprise, the railroad at the highest point; and in and out of little villages, which, with their white houses and red-tiled roofs, were more Italian than French in appearance.
I do not think we rested once during that long afternoon. But after a hundred kilometres I must confess we began to lose our first freshness. There were so many long up-grades, the roads were not so good, the peasants were disagreeable, trying to run us down, or else stupid, refusing to answer our questions; and the sign-posts and kilometre-stones were all wrong. We were so near, it seemed foolish not to push on to Lyons. For once we would make a record, and beat the good horse from St. Symphorien. But it was hard work the last part of the ride.—And when we came to the suburbs of the city the people laughed and stared, and
screamed after us, as if they had been Londoners. We had their laughter, pavé, carts, and street cars the rest of the way; and when we crossed the river, “I had better get down,” said I; and so I walked into Lyons, J—— on the tricycle moving slowly before me over the pavé and between the carts.—No one could or would direct us to the hotel; policemen were helpless when we appealed to them; but just as J—— was opening his mouth to give them to the devil—’tis Mr. Sterne’s expression, not mine or J——’s—a small boy stepped nimbly across the street and pointed around the corner to the Hôtel des Négociants.
That evening in the café we read in the paper that the wind had been blowing sixty-six kilometres an hour.
LYONS.
TO those who call vexations vexations, as knowing what they are, there could not be a greater than to be the best part of a day at Lyons, the most opulent and flourishing city in France. It has an old cathedral, a castle on a hillside, ruins if I be not mistaken, two rivers, and I know not what besides. Baedeker devotes pages to it. Moreover, there is associated with it a story, that, to quote Mr. Tristram Shandy, who tells it, affords more pabulum to the brain than all the Frusts and Crusts and Rusts of antiquity, which travellers can cook up for it. You remember the tale? It is that of fond lovers, cruelly separated.——
Amandus—He,
Amanda—She,
each ignorant of the other’s course;
He—east,
She—west;
and finally, to cut it short, after long years of wandering for the one, imprisonment for the other, both coming unexpectedly at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and each in well-known accents calling out aloud——
| Is Amandus | - still alive? |
| Is my Amanda |
then, flying into each other’s arms, and both falling down dead for joy, to be buried in the tomb upon which Mr. Shandy had a tear ready to drop. But, alas! when he came—there was no tomb to drop it upon!
We expected letters, and began the day by a visit to the Post Office, where the clerk, after the manner of his kind in all countries, received and dismissed us with contemptuous incivility.—To be rid of all business, we next went to the Crédit Lyonnais to have some Bank of England notes changed for French gold. But the cashier looked at them and us with distrust, and would have nothing to do with our money.——
Where was our reference? he asked.
This was more than enough to put us in ill-humour. But J——, having looked up in his C. T. C. Handbook the address of the agent for cycle repairs in Lyons, and his place being found with difficulty, we walked in, under a pretext of asking about the road to Vienne, but really, I think, in search of sympathy.
We introduced ourselves as fellow-cyclers who had ridden all the way from Calais. But the agent was calmly indifferent, and scarcely civil.—Where should we find the national road to Vienne?—We had but to follow the Rhône, on the opposite bank, and he bowed us towards the door. But just as we were going, he stopped us to ask what time we could make. J—— told him that yesterday we had come from La Pacaudière, a ride of one hundred and twenty odd kilometres, which was perfectly true. But that, it appeared, was nothing. The agent could not bear to be outdone, and so, of course, had a friend who could ride four hundred kilometres in twenty-eight hours.—Then J——, to my surprise, proceeded to tell him of the wonderful records we had never made. But the agent always had a friend who could beat us by at least a minute or a kilometre. In their excitement each was bent on breaking the other’s record, not of cycling, but of lying.
At the end J—— had worked himself up to quite a frenzy. When we were alone, and I took him to task, he was not at all repentant, but swore he was tired of such nonsense, and would outlie the fellows every time.
It was now noon, and we had already seen more than we wanted of Lyons. We went back to the hotel, strapped the bag on the tricycle, and without giving another thought to the cathedral and the curiosities we had not visited, we sallied forth to follow the Rhône, determined never to set foot in this flourishing city again.
THE AUTUMN MANŒUVRES.
AFTER Lyons, adieu to all rapid movement! ’Tis a journey of caution; and it fares better with sentiments not to be in a hurry with them.
Before we were out of the city limits we lost our way, and went wandering through lanes, hunting for a road by the river. One led us to a blank wall, another to a stone pile; and when we consulted passers-by they sent us back towards the town, and into a broad street running through endless ugly suburbs, and far out of sight of the Rhône.—So much for a fellow-cycler’s directions.
In the open country the national road was bad and full of stones. It is only fair to add that the agent in Lyons had said we should find little good riding between Lyons and Vienne. The wind, tired with its efforts of yesterday, had died away, and it was warm and close on level and hill.—And we were as changed as the country and weather! Gone with the wind and good roads and fair
landscape was the joy of motion! Our force was spent, our spirit exhausted with the shortest climb.—In the first village we stopped for groseille and to rest. We sat at a little table in front of the café, silent and melancholy; and when the landlady came out and asked if my seat was on the luggage carrier, and if, perhaps, we could reach Vienne by evening (the distance from Lyons being twenty-seven kilometres), we were too weary to be amused. In parting she told us we had still four hills to cross; she ought rather to have said a dozen.—The whole afternoon we toiled up long ascents.
In near hills and valleys the French army was out manœuvring. We could hear the cannon and guns, and see clouds of smoke before we came in sight of the battle.—We had glimpses, too, of reserves entrenched behind hillocks and wooded spaces, and once we almost routed a detachment of cavalry stationed by the roadside. Scouts and officers on horseback tore by; soldiers hurried through the streets of a narrow hilly village.—What with the noise and the troops, the road was lively enough. And presently, from a high hilltop, we overlooked the field of action. A fort was being stormed; as we stopped, a new detachment of the enemy charged it. They marched in good order over a ploughed field, and then across green pastures. Both sides kept up a heavy firing.——
“The French army amuses itself down there,” said a grinning peasant, who watched with us.
—Indeed all the peasants seemed but little edified by the fighting. Many ignored it. Others laughed, as if it had been a farce played for their amusement.——
“It is good there are no balls,” remarked an old cynic when we drew up to have a second look; “if there were, then would it be Sauve qui peut!”
At last guns and smoke were out of sight and hearing. But the road still ran between dry fields and over many hills, and the peasants were disagreeable. It seemed in keeping with the day’s experiences that the long hill leading down into Vienne should be so steep that I had to get off the machine and walk. We were both in a fine temper, J——, moreover, complaining of feeling ill, by the time we were fairly in the city.—Here, a priest and his friend, for fear we might not understand their directions, politely came with us from the river, through twisting streets, to the hotel. I do not believe we thanked them with half enough warmth. ’Twas the first, and I wish it had been the last, civility shown us that day.
VIENNE.
SO now we were at the ancient city of Vienne as early as three o’clock, and J—— too exhausted to ride farther that afternoon. We never yet went on a long trip, as everybody must or ought to know by this time, that J—— did not break down at least once on the way. The matter threatened to be serious; but after half-an-hour or more of despair—for we thought now surely we are done with sentiment—we went out in search of food, the first and most natural medicine that suggested itself, as in our haste to be out of Lyons we had taken but a meagre lunch.—It is a peculiarity of Vienne, a town of cafés, that all its restaurants are on the same street. When we were about giving up the search, we, by chance, turned in the right direction, and found more than a dozen in a row. We chose one that looked quiet, and there J—— ate a bowl of soup and drank a glass of gomme, and at once was himself again.—I have mentioned this affair, slight as it was, because I think the merits of gomme but little known, and therefore hope the knowledge may be of use to other sentimental travellers in similar straits. Besides, it is the rule with cyclers to recommend the most disagreeable drinks that can be imagined, and I believe there is nothing viler than gomme. The truth is, we ordered it by mistake for another syrup the name of which we did not know. And now let there be an end of it.
It was fortunate J—— recovered: there are few pleasanter cities for an afternoon ramble than Vienne. The hills look down from round about the town, here and there a grey castle or white farm-house on their vine-clad slopes, and from the new broad boulevard or old narrow streets you have near and distant views of the rapid Rhône. Now you come out on the brown crumbling cathedral, raised aloft and towering above the houses, grass growing on the high flight of stone steps leading to its richly sculptured portals, bricks in places keeping together its ruinous walls, time’s traces on its statues and gargoyles. Now, you wander into a clean, quiet Place, from the centre of which a Roman temple, in almost perfect preservation, frowns a disdainful reproach upon the frivolous cafés and confectioners, the plebeian stores and lodgings, that surround it. And again, you follow a dark winding alley under a fine Roman gateway, and find yourself in an old amphitheatre, houses built into its walls and arches, and windows full of flowers and clothes drying in the sun.
On the whole, I believe the pleasantest place in all Vienne to be the quai.—The sun had set behind the opposite hills when we returned to it after our walk. A bell jingled close to our ears, and behold, a tricycler, in spotless linen on a shining nickel-plated machine, came that way. But J—— stopped him, and consulted him about the road to Rives; and he, as polite as his machine was elegant, gave us minute directions.—Beware of the road to the left, it is bad and mountainous; keep to the right in leaving the town, then you will have it good and level;—this was the gist of his advice. And then he too must know what time we made, and “Ah, no great thing!” was his verdict upon the bravest feats J—— could invent, and then he rode on into the twilight.
THE FEAST OF APPLES.
I DO not know why it was, but no sooner had we gone from Vienne by the road to the right, than we distrusted the directions of the tricycler we had met the night before. We asked our way of every peasant we saw. Many stared for answer. Therefore, when others, in a vile patois, declared the road we were on would take us to Chatonnay and Rives, but that it would be shorter to turn back and start from the other end of Vienne, we foolishly set this advice down to the score of stupidity, and rode on.—But, indeed, in no part of France through which we had ridden were the people so ill-natured and stolid. They are certainly the Alpine-bearish Burgundians Ruskin calls them.—In the valley on the other side of the hills we came to a place where four roads met. A woman watched one cow close by.—Would she tell us which road we must follow? asked J—— politely.—She never even raised her head. He shouted and shouted, but it was not until he began to call her names, after the French fashion, that she looked at us.—We could take whichever we wanted, she answered, and with that she walked away with her cow.
Fortunately there was a little village two or three kilometres farther on. A few well-dressed women and children were going to church, for it was Sunday. But the men of the commune stood around a café door. They assured us, we were on the wrong road, and had come kilometres out of our way, but that all we could do was to go on to a place called Lafayette. There we should find a highway that would eventually lead us into the Route Nationale.—This was not encouraging. It was oppressively hot in the shadeless valley. The road was bad, full of stones and ugly ruts and ridges, and before long degenerated into a mere unused cow-path, overgrown with grass, crossing the fields. We tried to ride; we tried to walk, pushing the machine. Both were equally hard work.——
“To a Frenchman any road’s good so he don’t have to climb a hill,” said J——, in a rage. “If I only had that fellow here!”
—We were walking at the moment.——
“Get on!” he cried, and I did.
—We bumped silently over the ruts.——
“Get off!” he ordered presently, and meekly I obeyed, for indeed I was beginning to be alarmed.
—He took the machine by the handle-bars and shook it hard.——
“You’ll break it!” cried I.
“I don’t care if I do,” growled he, and he gave it another shake.
—But at this crisis two women coming towards us, he inquired of them, with as good grace as he could command, the distance to Lafayette. They stood still and laughed aloud. He repeated his question; they laughed the louder. The third time he asked, they pointed to a solitary farm-house standing in the fields. He paused. I saw he was mentally pulling himself together, and I wished the women were out of harm’s way.——
“Nous—sommes—ici—dans—un—nation—de—bêtes—de—fous!” he broke out, this time in French, a pause between each word. “Oui—tous—bêtes—tous—fous—Vous—fous—aussi!”
—The women turned and ran.
I think they were right about Lafayette after all. In a few minutes we came to a good road. An auberge stood to one side, and a man at once approached us.——
We must come in, he said; it was a fête day, and we should be served with whatever we wanted.
But J—— was not to be so easily rid of his troubles.——
“Un—Français—dans—Vienne,” he explained; “nous—a—envoyer—là—bas.—Il—est—fou!”
“Yes, yes!” said the man soothingly; but, all the same, as it was a feast day, it seemed we must come to the auberge.
The feast consisted of boiled beef and rabbit; the holiday-makers, of a few peasants eating at rough wooden tables in front of the inn, a father and his four small sons drinking wine together and solemnly clinking glasses, and one man shooting with a cross-bow at diminutive Aunt Sallies.—We made a fair lunch, though when we refused wine the landlady asked, with disgust——
“Then you do not mean to eat?”
We sat with the peasants, who fell into conversation with us. When they heard how we had come from Vienne, they thought we must have had commerce in the villages in the valley to take such a route. And though J—— again explained about that fool in Vienne, they would have it we were pedlers.
When we set out, our first friend was at hand to ask if we had had all we wanted. The next day we saw by a printed notice that Sunday had been the Feast of Apples—a day whereon the people were begged to show every kindness to travellers through their land; and then we understood his politeness.
Perhaps a kilometre or two from the auberge we turned into the Grenoble road, and from that time onward there were but few sign-posts and the cross-roads were many.—It promised to be a
day of misfortunes. The country was hilly; we were always working up, with only occasional short coasts down, now through villages on the hillside, and now between steep wooded banks.—Once, when, sore perplexed to know which way to go, we were pedalling slowly in indecision, the road made a sudden curve, the banks fell on either side, and there at last they were, the long blue ranges, and, away beyond, one snow-crowned peak shining in sunlight.—After that, they—the delectable mountains of our Sentimental Journey—were always hopefully before us.
—Just outside St. Jean Bournay we came upon the right road from Vienne, but twenty-two kilometres from that city, we saw on the kilometre-stone, and we had already ridden forty-four!
—At the other end of the town we passed a theatre, a large canvas tent with two or three travelling vans close by. A crowd had gathered around it, and were staring with interest at a printed notice hung in front. It was an old American poster, picked up, who knows where? with the name of the play in French above and below it.
A woman in the crowd explained that a negro was the slave of a planter.——
“Or a Prussian, perhaps?” a man suggested.
“No; to be a negro, that is not to be a Prussian,” argued the woman.[B]
After La Côte St. André the road ran between low walnut-trees.—Now and then the monotony of their endless lines was broken by a small village, where men played bowls; and now and then the road was lively with well-dressed people, who jumped as the machine wheeled past them.——
“But that it frightened me, for example!” cried one.
But later a peasant called out—“O malheur, la femme en avant!”
—By-and-by the way grew lonelier, and we had for company the cows, great white stupid creatures, going home from pasture, and their drivers stupid as they, who roused themselves but to swear by the name of God, or to call out, “Thou beast of a pig!” to a cow frightened into the fields by the tricycle.—At last we turned into a broad road, where the walnuts gave place to poplars, and the level came to an end. At the foot of a long steep straight hill was Rives, deep down in a narrow valley.
RIVES.
AT the Hôtel de la Poste a middle-aged fille-de-chambre, in a white cap—another Alpine-bearish Burgundian—looked upon us with such disfavour we could scarce persuade her to show us our room.
The dining-room was full of noisy men in blouses and big hats. No place was left for us at the long table, that stretched the entire length of the room; and we sat together in a corner.—The dinner was excellent. But the enemy in white cap was down upon us in a minute, and gave us no peace. She raised a window upon our backs, and as often as we shut it was at our side to open it again. We had the worst of it, for with the salad we seized our wine and napkins and retreated to the opposite corner, giving up our table to four men, who took off their blouses and coats—but not their hats—for their greater comfort, as they sat down and themselves opened the window. What would have been pneumonia, or colds in the heads for us, was health for them.
But there was no rest for us at Rives.—We went to bed early, but until late at night men in heavy boots tramped up and down the narrow carpetless hall outside our door, and in and out the room overhead. They began again at four o’clock in the morning.—As there was no more sleep to be had,——
“We might as well make an early start,” said J——, and we were downstairs by six.
—When we had had our coffee I returned to our room to pack the bag, and J—— went to the stable to get the tricycle. Presently he came up and joined me.—I had not expected him so soon, and was not quite ready.——
“Something has happened,” said I as soon as I looked at him, but still folding flannels.
“We cannot go on,” said he.
“Why?” cried I, jumping up and dropping the flannels.
“I’ll tell you,” said he; “because”——
APPENDIX
| ROUTE 1. OUR ROUTE.—FROM CALAIS TO MODANE. | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Towns. | Distance in Kilometres. | Hotels. | Remarks on Roads, &c. |
| Calais | Du Sauvage. | ||
| Boulogne | 33 | Du Louvre. | Good surface, very hilly, much pavé. |
| Pont-de-Brique | 5 | Paved all the way. | |
| Condette | Good. | ||
| Neuchâtel | 8 | “ | |
| Etaples | 19 | From Etaples to Abbeville we went by Montreuil,Nainpont, Nouvion, because of sentimental reasons. But the route as given is said to be much better, and though 13 kilos. longer, has 13 kilos. less pavé, and is much less hilly than the Route Nationale, the old post-road taken by Sterne. | |
| Berck | 14 | ||
| Waben | 6 | ||
| Quend | 7 | ||
| Rue | 7 | ||
| Abbeville | 13 | De France. | Good. |
| Pont Remy | 8 | “ | |
| Longpre[237] | 9 | Sandy. | |
| Picquigny | 13 | Sandy. | |
| Amiens | 13 | L’Univers (Expensive). | |
| Breteuil | 32 | Good; long up-grades. | |
| St. Just | About half-way | Cheval Blanc. | Good. |
| Clermont | 34 | Good; long descent. | |
| Angy | |||
| Mouy | 13 | Du Commerce. | Good; long descent. |
| Cires-les-Mellis | Good. | ||
| Beaumont | 14 | Quatre Fils Aymon. | “ |
| Paris | 47 | The highroad to Paris is all paved. Train to Gare du Nord. Across Paris viâ Boulevard Voltaireand Place de la République to the Gare de Lyon. Ridable nearly all the way. From Paris to Melun train; pavé. | |
| Melun | |||
| Viâ {Chailly {Barbizon {The Forest | |||
| From Paris. | |||
| Fontainebleau | 59 | Cadran Bleu. | Perfect. |
| Nemours | “ | ||
| Montargis | 50 | Poste. | Perfect; but at the foot of some hills are gutters of pavé. |
| Briare | 41 | Good. | |
| Cosne | 31 | Grand Cerf. | “ |
| La Charité | 28 | Poste. | Good. |
| Nevers | 25 | Europe. | Good; take left-hand road into Nevers. |
| Moulins | 53 | De l’Allier. | Good. |
| La Palisse | 50 | “ | |
| La Pacaudière | Du Commerce. | Good up to La Pacaudière, about 18 kilos. from La Palisse. | |
| Roanne | 31 | Good; long down-grade. | |
| Tarare | 40 | Europe. | Good surface; mountainous. |
| Lyons | 44 | Négociants. | Bad near Lyons; hilly. |
| Vienne | 27 | Du Nord. | Bad: stony and hilly. |
| Chatonnay | 29 | Good. | |
| Rives | 30 | Poste. | Good; dead level; bad descent into Rives. |
| Vreppe | 13 | Great climb, then descent to St. Laurent. | |
| St. Laurent | 15 | ||
| La Grand Chartreuse (10 k. from St. Laurent) | |||
| Les Echelles | 6 | Climb, and after tunnel, down. Awful climb going the other way. | |
| Chambéry | 24 | ||
| Montrélian | 15 | Des Voyageurs. | |
| Aiguebelle | 23 | ||
| St. Jean de Maurienne | 33 | Europe. | |
| St. Michel | 14 | Union. | |
| Modane | 17 | ||
| ROUTE 2. BEST ROUTE FROM CALAIS TO PARIS. Route 1.—To Boulogne. | |||
| Boulogne | Du Louvre. | ||
| Samer | 15 | ||
| Cormont | 10 | Level to hilly. | |
| Montreuil (sur Mer) | 10 | De Londres. | “ |
| Nampont | 13 | ||
| Nouvion | 13 | ||
| Abbeville | 13 | De France. | |
| Ailly-le-haut | |||
| Clocher by Fixécourt | 13 | ||
| Belloy to Picquigny | 19 | Route 1 to Amiens. | |
| ROUTE 2. BEST ROUTE FROM CALAIS TO PARIS. Route 1.--To Boulogne. | |||
| Boulogne | Du Louvre. | ||
| Samer | 15 | ||
| Cormont | 10 | Level to hilly. | |
| Montreuil (sur Mer) | 10 | De Londres. | “ |
| Nampont | 13 | ||
| Nouvion | 13 | ||
| Abbeville | 13 | De France. | |
| Ailly-le-haut | |||
| Clocher by Fixécourt | 13 | Level to hilly. | |
| Belloy to Picquigny | 19 | Route 1 to Amiens. | |
| Route 1.--To Breteuil. | |||
| Breteuil | Du Globe. | Hilly to level. | |
| Caply | 3 | ||
| St. Eusoye | 4 | ||
| Froissy | 3 | Pélerin Nugnot. | |
| Noiremont | 3 | ||
| Sucrerie St. Martin | 5 | Hilly to level. | |
| Oroer | 3 | ||
| Tillé | 5 | ||
| Beauvais | 4 | L’Ecu. | |
| Voisinlieu | 4 | ||
| St. Quentin d’ Auteuil | 10 | Hilly. | |
| Bois-de-Molle | 3 | ||
| Corbeil Cerf | 5 | Hilly. | |
| Meru | 5 | Augonin. | |
| Amblainville | 5 | From here generally level to Paris. | |
| Vallangouyard | 8 | ||
| Herouville | 5 | ||
| Méry-sur-Oise | 6 | ||
| Epinay-les-St.-Denis | 19 | Cross the Seine. | |
| Asnières | 5 | “ | |
| Paris | 4 | Ask for the Rue de Villières, take the Boulevard Gouvignon-St.-Cyr, which leads to the Porte Neuilly. | |
| ROUTE 3. ROUTE FROM BEAUVAIS TO PARIS. | |||
| Beauvais | |||
| St. Quentin | 14 | D’Angleterre. | |
| La Fère | 25 | De l’Europe. | |
| Coucy-le-Château | 25 | Pomme d’Or. | |
| Noyon | 30 | Du Nord. | |
| Compiègne | 20 | La Cloche. | |
| Pierrefonds | 17 | ||
| Crépy-en-Valois | 25 | Trois. | |
| Valois | Pigeons. | ||
| Senlis | 25 | De France. | |
| Chantilly | 13 | Du Cygne. | |
| Beaumont | 25 | Quatre fils d’Aymon. | |
| Pontoise | 25 | Grand Cerf. | |
| Poissy | 15 | De Rouen. | |
| St. Germain | 8 | Prince des Galles. | By way of the Forest to Neuilly and Porte Maillot. |
| Paris | 25 | ||
| ROUTE 4. FROM DIEPPE TO PARIS.[242] | |||
| Dieppe | Soleil d’Or. | There is no good stopping place between Dieppe and Rouen, save at Tôtes. | |
| Rouen | 57 | La Poste. | |
| Boos | 11 | ||
| Ecouis | 21 | De la Paix. | |
| Les Thilliers | 15 | ||
| Gisors | 16 | L’Ecu. | |
| Beauvais | 32 | L’Ecu. | |
| See Routes to Paris (pages 240 and 241). | |||
| ROUTE 5. FROM ROUEN TO PARIS. | |||
| Rouen | La Poste. | Good, but hilly. | |
| Boos[243] | 11 | ||
| Petit Andelys | 21 | Chaîne d’Or (or 1 kilo, further Grand Cerf at Grand Andelys) | Cross the Seine. |
| Vernon | 13 | Soleil d’Or. | |
| Mantes | 24 | Grand Cerf. | |
| Pontoise | 30 | ||
| See Route 3 to Paris (page 241). | |||
| ROUTE 6. FROM HAVRE TO ROUEN. | |||
| Havre | D’Angleterre. | ||
| Caudebec | 50 | Aigle D’Or. | |
| Rouen | 36 | La Poste.[244] | |
| ROUTE 7. FROM HAVRE TO ANGERS OR ST. MALO. | |||
| Havre (ferry to) | D’Angleterre. | ||
| Honfleur | Cheval Blanc. | ||
| Pont-de-L’Evêque | 16 | Bras d’Or. | |
| Lizieux | 17 | D’Espagne. | Very hilly. |
| Caen | 40 | Grand Hotel St. Pierre. | |
| Bayeux | 28 | Du Luxembourg. | |
| St. Lo | 40 | De Normandie. | |
| Coutances | 29 | Trois Rois. | |
| Granville | 29 | Des Bains. | |
| Avranches | 26 | De Londres. | |
| Pontorson | 22 | To St. Malo, Dol 20, Vivier 6; St. Mal 22 (Hotel Franklin). | |
| Mont St. Michel | 9 | Mme. Poulard. | |
| Fougères | 34 | Des Voyageurs. | |
| Vitry | 18 | Des Voyageurs. | |
| Laval | 38 | De Paris. | |
| Château Gontier | 24 | ||
| Angers[245] | 50 | Du Faisan. | |
| ROUTE 8. NEAR PARIS AND TOURAINE. FROM PARIS TO ANGERS. | |||
| Paris | Best to train to Melun, although one can ride to Versailles, thence to Sceaux and Fontainebleau, or direct by Villeneuve St. George. There is, however ever, much traffic and paving. | ||
| Melun | |||
| Fontainebleau | 21 | Cadran Bleu. | |
| Pithiviers | 48 | La Poste. | |
| Orléans | 32 | Du Loiret. | Cross the Loire at Beaugency. (expensive). |
| Blois | 15 | D’Angleterre. | |
| Amboise | 32 | Lion d’Or. | Cross river at Ouzain for Château de Chaumont. |
| Chenonceau | 16 | Bon Laboureur. | |
| Tours | 32 | Grand Monarque. | Excursions may be made from Tours to Lôches, Bourges, Chinon, Chartres, &c. All the highroads about here are good. |
| Langeais | 24 | Lion d’Or. | |
| Saumur | 39 | Budan. | |
| Les Rosiers | 16 | De La Poste. | |
| Angers | 31 | De Londres. | |
| (This route, with the numerous excursions to be made on the banks of the Loire, is one of the most interesting in France, and can be made into a roundtrip by adding any of the routes to Paris, and return by St. Malo, Havre, or Dieppe).[246] | |||
| ROUTE 9. FROM PARIS TO LYONS, BY WAY OF DIJON. (See also Route 1.) | |||
| Paris | Train to Melun. | ||
| Melun | |||
| Montéreau | 30 | Grand Monarque. | |
| Pont-sur-Yonne | 25 | De l’Ecu. | |
| Sens | 12 | De l’Ecu. | |
| Le Thiel | 11 | Hilly. | |
| Cérisier | 8 | ||
| Arces | 10 | ||
| St. Florentin | 16 | ||
| Flogny | 13 | ||
| Tonnerre | 15 | Lion d’Or. | |
| Ancy-le-Franc | 18 | ||
| Aizy-sur-Armançon | 16 | ||
| Montbard | 11 | ||
| Fain | 9 | ||
| Villeneuve-les-Couvres | 13 | ||
| Chanceaux | 14 | ||
| St. Seine | 12 | ||
| Val de Suzon[247] | 10 | ||
| Dijon | 17 | De la Cloche. | |
| Beaune | 38 | ||
| Châlons-sur-Saône | 30 | Du Commerce. | |
| Tournus | 30 | Du Sauvage. | |
| Macon | 30 | Du Sauvage. | |
| Villefranche | 38 | De l’Europe. | |
| Trévoux | 10 | De la Terrasse. | Less hilly than Route 1. |
| Lyons | 29 | Des Négociants. | |
| ROUTE 10. FROM LYONS TO MARSEILLES. | |||
| Lyons | Take right bank of the Rhône to Vienne. | ||
| Vienne | 35 | Du Nord. | |
| Tain | 55 | ||
| Valance | 18 | Des Négociants. | |
| Montélimart | 44 | De la Poste. | Good, but hilly. |
| Orange | 53 | De la Poste. | |
| Avignon | 27 | Du Louvre. | |
| Tarascon | 23 | Du Louvre. | |
| Arles | 16 | Forum. | (Or, from Arles, train to St. Chamas, and ride thence, about 30 kilometres, to Martigues, and thence to Marseilles, about 50 kilometres).[248] |
| Salon | 40 | Grand. | |
| ROUTE 11. FROM CHAMBERY (see Route 1) TO GENEVA. | |||
| Chambery | Des Princes. | ||
| Aix-les-Bains | 14 | De la Couronne. | |
| Annecy | 47 | ||
| Geneva | 40 | De la Poste. | |
| ROUTE 12. FROM DIJON TO GENEVA. | |||
| Dijon | De la Cloche. | ||
| Genlis | 19 | Lion d’Or. | |
| Auxonne | 15 | ||
| Dôle | 16 | Du Lion. | |
| Poligny | 37 | Tête d’Or. | |
| Champignol | 23 | De la Poste. | |
| St. Laurent | 21 | ||
| Les Rousses (frontier) | 21 | De la Poste. | |
| La Faucille | 19 | ||
| Gex | 11 | De la Poste. | |
| Geneva | 17 | Du Lac.[249] | |
| ROUTE 13. FROM PARIS TO BORDEAUX. | |||
| (The direct route is Paris, Chartres, Tours. But up to Tours itis scarcely worth riding, as it is mainly uninteresting, outside of thelarge towns, and very hilly.) | |||
| Paris | |||
| Tours | 230 | ||
| St. Maure | 44 | De la Poste. | |
| Châtellerault | 33 | L’Univers. | |
| Poitiers | 33 | Trois Pilliers. | |
| Couhé | 35 | Fradet. | |
| Ruffec | 35 | Des Ambassadeurs. | |
| Angoulème | 43 | Des France. | |
| Barbézieux | 34 | Boule d’Or. | |
| Régniac | 7 | ||
| La Granle | 7 | ||
| Mont Guyon | 18 | ||
| Guîtres | 21 | ||
| Libourne | 16 | L’Europe. | |
| Beychac | 16 | ||
| Bordeaux | 15 | Marin. | (From Bordeaux numerous excursions may be made. One may make the journey there by this route, or come direct by sea from England, or return from Bordeaux up the coast by La Rochelle, Nantes to Angers.) |
The above routes cover about the pleasantest and most interesting touring ground in France. But good roads exist all over the south. For instance, from Bordeaux, the road up the Garonne to Toulouse, 250 kilometres, is excellent, though quite flat; but in the summer time it is apt to be very hot, and the surface loose and sandy.
From this road excursions may be made all through the Pyrenees, which can be entered either at Luchon or at Pau. It is preferable, however, when touring through the Pyrenees, to train to St. Gaudens, from which place Bagnières de Luchon (Hotel de France) is 48 kilometres distant.
| Towns. | Distance in Kilometres. | Hotels. |
| Luchon | ||
| Montrejeau | 37 | L’Eclair. |
| Bagnières de Bigorre | 42 | |
| Lourdes | 20 | |
| Nay | 18 | |
| Pau | 17 | Du Commerce. |
Excursions may be made all over this district, which is extremely interesting. Though very hilly, it possesses magnificent roads. From Pau to Dax the route is by
| Towns. | Distance in Kilometres. | Hotels. |
| Orthez | 40 | Des Pyrénées. |
| Pomarez | 16 | |
| Dax | 21 | De la Paix. |
From Castets, near Dax, one strikes the main highroad from Bordeaux to Bayonne, about 200 kilometres in distance; it traverses Les Landes, and is worth taking.
From St. Gaudens to Carcassonne (Hotel Bernard), 170 kilometres, the road begins by being hilly, but you gradually leave the region of the Pyrenees, and it becomes easier riding. But long hills are to be found all about here. Long distances have to be made between towns, and, unless one has plenty of time, this trip on to Narbonne, Cette, and Montpellier, is hardly to be recommended. It is also liable frequently to great heat and much sand.
From Toulouse to Albi (Hotel du Nord), 76 kilometres, the road is good; and from Albi excursions can be made all over the marvellous country of the Tarn Gorges, and through the Cevennes. But travelling in this section requires comparatively good knowledge of French, and also of geography; though the roads are good, the towns are few, and long distances must be made each day.
The highroad from Paris to Clermont-Ferrand, 400 kilometres, turning off Route 1 at Moulins, conducts one to the heart of Auvergne and the volcanic country. Continuing from Clermont-Ferrand to Issoire, and thence to Brioude, one may turn to the left for St. Flour, and thence to Rodez and Albi, or to the right for La Chaise-Dieu and Le Puy, proceeding from this place either down the Loire and again to Moulins, or crossing over to Lyons.
Poitiers is connected by main road with Limoges, and from that town St. Flour may be reached. Following on, by Mende and Florac, one will come to Allier, and next Nîmes, for Arles.
Nearly all these roads, however, are over high mountain passes, and though the scenery is well worth seeing, and though the enormous coasts, sometimes 10 miles long, make up for the enormous hills that have to be walked, one must expect very strong winds and bad weather, even in the middle of summer.
To the north and east of Paris some good riding is to be had, and the scenery is almost always delightful, but there is a vast amount of pavé. This may be usually avoided by taking to the byroads, information about which, now that cycling has become so popular, can often be had from cycle agents, or efficient repairers, who are to be found in every town.
A most interesting tour would be Amiens, Laon, Soissons, Rheims and the champagne country, Troyes, whence return could be made to Paris, or the journey continued by way of Châlons-sur-Marne, Dijon to Geneva.
The Vosges district, too, is worth visiting, and endless tours may be made from Nancy as a centre. Provence also, the Riviera, and the Cornice Road, afford some of the most delightful wheeling to be had in the country. But tourists, with time enough to make these long excursions, will prefer doubtless to map their routes out for themselves by the aid of the C.T.C. Road Books and Baroncelli’s Guides.
There is only one portion of the country which every one who cares for the pleasures of cycling should be advised to avoid, and that is the vast and dreary plain stretching from Paris to Le Mans, and from Rouen to Orléans. In planning a tour through France by routes other than those here given or suggested, Baedeker’s or Murray’s guide-books should be used for general information, supplemented, for road information, by the Géographie Joanne for each department through which one is passing. They can be purchased for 50 centimes, or 1 franc 25 centimes, in every bookshop in France. They are quite reliable enough, and much more convenient to carry than any other maps published in the country.
The Cyclists’ Touring Club is at present engaged in bringing out a revised edition of its French Road Book. So far, however, Baroncelli’s Guides are the best cycle routes published. His address is 18 Rue Roquepine, Paris. The Sketch Routes, published by the Véloce Sport (English address, Paul Hardy, 27 Alfred Place, Russell Square), are very useful if they happen to take you in the direction you wish to go. The Cyclists’ Touring Club Road Books, only sold to members, contain a vast amount of useful information unfortunately not well arranged. Membership in this club, which only costs half-a-crown a year, is desirable for tourists on the Continent.
The Customs regulations in France are not at all stringent, and tourists are now almost invariably allowed free entry with their machines at the chief ports, provided they can prove themselves to be tourists, and possess a sufficient knowledge of the French language to explain the fact intelligibly. Otherwise, a deposit of fifty or more francs is demanded; but if a receipt be obtained, the amount, with a very trifling deduction, will be returned if the tourist leaves the country within six months. If one, however, proposes to go for a few days into Germany, Belgium, or Spain, it is well to obtain a Passavant Descriptif, a description of the machine, which costs a penny, and will permit the bearer to return without any other formalities than showing this document on again passing the Customs officers. It can be obtained at the frontier stations by which one leaves the country, and is good at any other point of entry. A passport is of very little use, but some papers of identification, if possible French, may be indispensable for any one who sketches or photographs. Sketching and photographing are prohibited within a circle of 10 kilometres of any fortifications.
French hotels are usually reasonable and excellent. When they are extortionate, they are nearly always bad.
Parcels Post is about as unreliable as in any other part of the world. Clothes forwarded in this way are subject to the same uncertainty of delivery, as regards time, as in England.
Suggestions as to distances to be ridden, clothes to be worn, and so on, are quite unnecessary, since any one who has toured at all is usually a law unto himself in these matters, and will accept no advice.
But as the roads are the best in the world, the people the most polite, unless a head wind catches him, the tourist should have a delightful time if he keeps to the right of the road, and provides himself with a lamp and a bell.
Ballantyne Press
Printed by Ballantyne Hanson & Co.
Edinburgh and London
FOOTNOTES:
[A] For the cycler it suffices to say that it was an overgrown “Bayliss & Thomas.”
[B] We have never ceased regretting that we did not go to see Crasmagne en Amérique.
