Today I was hoping for a quiet trundle through the countryside, but it was not to be. Getting out of Cleremont Ferrand took a while.
French cycle lanes are generally very good. This nice tarmac track next to main roads took me through the suburbs and surrounding villages. Easy going but still accompanied by the sound of cars on the road.
Miles of this then the road itself, not busy but a car every minute or two. About 45km of this until a nice quiet road, such a relief.
And a quiet place for lunch at least.
Rain threatened, but just a few squally windy showers, one of which I avoided in this little church, with a 13c virgin and child statue, they only keep a copy n the church, I imagine the original is in a museum somewhere.
So today was a way of getting from A to B but little else. I hope tomorrow is an improvement.
BUT the day isn’t only the cycling, I arrived at my hotel an hour before it opened, the village had little to offer, so I settled down on the terrace of the Hotel in a garden chair and started the blog. two french guys turned up on touring bikes, also staying at the hotel, doing the cycleway along the Allier river.
We discussed cycle routes and touring. The owner arrived and opened the door and we settled in. It’s a small hotel, painted orange with brown shutters and window boxes and a bit of a garden, vines growing over the terrace, heavy with red grapes, inside it’s a bit worn, idiosyncratic decorations combine tourist posters with oriental bits and pieces, it feels comfy and lived-in.
It’s run by a husband and wife, both are voluble, she does the cooking, all home-made. He waits at table and talks. He talks some english and we had a long animated conversation, first about my trip, where exactly I was staying over the next few days, what the weather would be like on each day. He used to cycle, to prove it he rolled up his trousers and showed me his calves, hammering with a fist to show how hard they were, then described his back problems, what I think was an operation for defective spinal discs, severing of a nerve and numbness of one leg. I was worried that he might take off his shirt to show me the scars, but he refrained.
He described each of their aperetif cocktails in such enthusiastic detail that I had to have one, peach prosecco, then the menu in such detail that I chose things that I would usually decline, I can’t resist enthusiastic persuasion, I had a vegetable tart to start – lovely, then “Osso Bucco” which I have never had before, perhaps choosing an italian classic in a french country hotel is not the best policy – but it too was great, For dessert I re-asserted myself and went for the healthy option of fresh fruit salad, grapes from the vines outside and french apples mainly. Very good.
I said goodnight at which point he went into a detailed description of emergency evacuation procedures, where to go if I wanted a smoke, taking me on a tour of the place in the process, and various other things. His wife popped her head out of the kitchen, seemingly as amused as I was by his antics. A hilarious and enjoyable evening. And so to bed.