No wine in Chablis

3rd Day Thurs
Date 31-Aug
Start Sens
Destination Chablis
Kilometres 84
Cumulative Kms 213
Ave speed (kph) 20.1
Max speed (kph) 43.6
Time taken 04:09
Max Height (m) 180
Today climb (m) 215
Cum.climb (m) 810

I enjoyed this day. It started early and I was first in the dining room for breakfast. The staff were only just getting ready and the businessmen gradually filtered in. I revelled in being in casual clothes and preparing for another day on the bike. The breakfast was top class. The coffee had the consistency of tar and was so strong it should have been certified. There was an abundance of plump warm fresh bread, which I smothered in butter and strawberry jam.

I set out into the early morning mist and rode gently through the deserted streets of Sens and crossed under the railway line before stopping to fix the panniers. Everything was quiet and peaceful and when it started to drizzle it did not seem to matter. I put on my jacket and continued on the road to Joigny. On the horizon I could see a balloonist silhouetted against the morning sun as he settled slowly down onto a distant hillside.

My route ran between the hills and was mainly flat - I must say at times this seemed boring but I suspected even then that I would change my mind next week. Up on the hillside to my right a small church rose magnificently against the skyline, a defiant testimony to a proud tradition. The railway was a constant companion at my side. Passenger trains flashed quickly past while freight trains rumbled along at little more than my pace - one train of over 20 wagons carried about 120 cars.

The first stop of the day was in the prosperous little town of Joigny. I arrived on the outskirts and propped my bike against the railings of an immaculately kept house while I rang Deirdre from the public phone. She seemed none too pleased to be roused from her sleep despite the fact that it was 08:45 Irish time and she should have been on her way to work! Fortunately the children were not yet back in school.

I then made my way to the impressive tourist office on the banks of the river and collected maps and guides to the town. Unfortunately the Tourist Office was too new for them to be keen to mind my bike while I went for a walk around its medieval streets. I could have chained my bike to the railings outside but decided instead to bring it with me. It was some climb up through Rue Gabriel Cortel, which rose steeply from the river to the centre of the old town. A small section of the town has been rebuilt after an explosion in 1981 and looked disconcertingly modern in such an ancient setting. I made my way to the Eglise Saint Thibault and was stunned when I entered its dark interior. The stained glass, although of reasonably modern vintage -1876- was stunning. I simply had to stay and enjoy the spectacular depictions of the lives of the saints.

By the time I left, the drizzle had turned to heavy rain but I was enjoying myself so much I pushed on undaunted up and down several more of the narrow streets. I even ventured into an old bookshop to buy a photograph of the stained glass windows before making my way back to a bar in the restored section. I would do the same again in ths Place de Gaz 10 years later when Brendan and I cycled the road from Sens to Joigny as part of a shorter trip. I ordered coffee and filled rolls and settled down to watch the world go by in the hope that the torrential rain would stop.

It didn't. Eventually, for the first time on the trip I unrolled my cape and struggled to get on my overshoes. I pulled a cap down over my ears and, checking that everything was properly protected in plastic bags, headed off into the rain. Cycling in the rain is a nuisance if you wear glasses because they fog up quickly and it’s hard to see where you are going. Also the cape covered the map that I had clipped to the handlebars. And of course each time I stopped to read the map it gets wet and starts to disintegrate. Normally I hate cycling in the rain but now it seemed to be acceptable - just one more variation to be enjoyed. I whizzed along.

In Migennes I stopped to take off the cape and a woman came over to see if I needed directions. I told here where I was from and what I was about. She was thrilled to meet someone from Ireland - she had a pen pal in Ireland and she mentioned her name in the hope that I would know her. Sadly I did not! As she made her way back across the wet street I folded up the first of my eight maps that cover the route. This one I had bought on 31 October 1994 and over the Winter I had marked my route on it in highlighter. I had poured over each contour and unknown crossroad and village speculating on many minor variations until finally a thin red line snaked across the sheet. Now on the last day of August 1995 I felt the cartographer's art had finally been brought to life. Many times during this trip I would marvel at the beauty of the sheets I was using and promise that I would try to pass to my children an interest in reading maps. (Looking back now form 2007 I think this is one promise I failed to keep, not for want of trying over the last 12 years but without much success. And now there is GPS and as you will see from the Arctic Blog, we wonder whether the next generation will have any use of these paper maps.)

Back on the road, and under a cape again, I was heading for Pontigny as the heavy drizzle returned. This restricted the view, which was a shame because I was going along the sort of Poplar lined roads depicted so often in posters of the French countryside. Just outside Pontigny I stopped for lunch at Les Routiers. I had read that these famous truckers stops served good food at very reasonable prices. The food was terrible - a very black Boeuf Bourguignon which I only picked at. Added to that I was out of sight of the bike and convinced myself that it was going to be stolen. Not a pleasant meal at all.

The Abbey at Pontigny made up for any disappointment. The beautifully preserved twelfth century abbey church lies on the edge of Pontigny village, where its functional mass rises from the meadows.

Nothing - none of my reading - prepared me for the stark whiteness of its cream‑coloured stone flooded with light. Pure and simple. Great. There is no tower, no stained glass and no statuary to distract from its austere, harmonious lines. The effect was only slightly marred by the nine­teenth‑century choir screen that cuts the nave in two. Surprisingly, three Englishmen played a major role in the abbey's early history, all of them archbishops of Canterbury: Thomas‑a‑Becket took refuge in the abbey from Henry II in 1164, Stephen Langton similarly lay low here during an argument over his eligibility for the primacy, and Edmund Rich died here; his tomb in the church is a destination for pilgrimages to this day. The abbey was also the origin of a tourist attraction with which a nearby village is more often associated: the famous Chablis wine. It was the monks of Pontigny who originally developed and refined the variety.

I spent ages here. I walked slowly around the abbey soaking up its spirituality. I know that sounds corny but there is no other way to describe it. The powerful messages of the Catholic faith are somehow captured here in stone. The Cistercian monks, working between 1137 and 1155 to the principles of austerity, poverty and simplicity set out in the Rule of St. Benedict, have passed on the strength of their belief through the ages. More than any of the major shrines like Lourdes or even the Vatican itself, this place - completed 800 years before I was born - communicated its message to me across the centuries. What matter now 40 short years?

When I emerged the rain had stopped and the skies had brightened so I decided to continue on to Chablis as it was still early. I took the high road out of Pontigny by mistake and passed the last of the sunflowers in bloom and came across the first vines. I was on minor roads now - D131 is as small and quiet a road as you'll get - passing through undulating countryside. It seemed odd that this less travelled route was my road to Rome. The peacefulness of the countryside was emphasised by the sudden occasional roar of military jets as they shot overhead. The entrance to the village of Villy was like an entrance to a formal garden. The weather continued to improve and I was dry by the time I arrived in Chablis.

This too was a pleasant and friendly town, contrary to what the tourist guides, which variously described it as snobbish, stuffy and expensive, had lead me to believe. The town lies in the valley of the river Serein between the wide and mainly treeless upland wheat fields typical of this corner of Burgundy. The neatly stacked vineyards, originally planted by the monks of Pontigny, cover the sunny, well‑drained, stony slopes on both sides of the valley. The grape is the chardonnay, which is to white wine, what the pinot noir is to red: raw material of all the greatest Burgundies.

I had an excellent meal at the Vieux Moulin restaurant. I was first in the restaurant and got excellent service but others were not so lucky. The waiter and waitress got tied up in discussion of wine stocks and forgot their customers. One man waved his bread basket for ages to get attention. Another was furious with his partner for offering to share a slice of her terrine with someone at the next table. Great entertainment with which to end a wonderful day.

It all makes Sens

2nd Day Wed
Date 30-Aug
Start Fontainbleau
Destination Sens

Kilometres 58
Cum Kms 129
Ave speed 18.6 kph
Max speed 47
Time taken 03:06
Max Height 170 m
Today climb 310 m
Cum.climb ) 595 m

Woke before 07:00 and decided to get up and pack my gear. Everything is packed in plastic bags in case of rain and I have them carefully divided to spread the weight more or less evenly. It seems like another good day weather wise. Breakfast was pretty poor with non descript croissants and coffee, and the coffee machine was leaking.

Set off on the left hand side of the road in green short-sleeved top but soon realised I needed to change sides and that the early morning was colder than it appeared. I added a long sleeved top. Like so many French towns, Fontainbleau has a by-pass that keeps the traffic out of the centre. When I reached the edge of town the traffic was very heavy although I was on the road before 08:00. However after a short distance - indeed my exit from the first roundabout - I was on an excellent minor road and left the traffic behind for the day.

The few commercial vehicles that passed me showed considerable consideration for a cyclist. It was great to hear heavy lorries slowing until they had a clear space to give me plenty of room before passing. The roads were really in the country now - it was exhilarating to be cycling. Lovely rolling countryside. Sunflowers everywhere although all past their bloom- some - many looked brown - and I wondered whether this was usual. There was a strong smell from them too. I wondered, and have not yet found out, whether this had perhaps been a bad year for sunflower growers.

Everywhere was quiet - I put this down to the early hour but it lasted all day. I tried to phone home before Deirdre Sinéad and Andrew left but the phone here only took coins. I stopped in Vallery for coffee. It was just a quiet bar in a tiny village and while I drank my coffee the local dog looked for all the world like Theo while he waited for me to give him some of my biscuits.

During the morning army jeeps and motorbikes rushed past me. Sometimes soldiers dismounted and fixed signs to poles and then rushed on again. They must have been doing some form of competition.

Suddenly at 13:00 I rolled into the town of Sens that commands the valley of the Yonne. This river joins the Seine to flow through Paris to the Channel coast. It provides a natural highway to and from the south‑east of France. It takes its name from the Senones, a Gallic tribe who, under their chieftain Bremmus, joined the invading armies which swarmed into northern Italy around 400 BC and whose shaggy troops all but captured Rome in 390 BC; they were only thwarted by the cackling of the Capitoline geese which kept the garrison awake.

St Savien and St Potentien brought Christianity to Sens in the third century. Both were martyred here, but not before they had evangelised much of the country to the north‑east. The early bishops were men of action, too, and helped to keep at bay marauding bands from the armies of the Merovingian kings. By 732 there were five abbeys within the city walls, and though Sens began slowly to cede political supremacy to Paris it was to remain the religious centre of France for nearly a thousand years. The archbishop, St Ebbon, was described by Odoranne of Sens, a mediaeval chronicler, as 'a second Pope', and into the early years of the seventeenth century the Chapter of St Etienne could boast the acronymic motto CAMPONT signifying the bishoprics of Chartres, Auxerre, Meaux, Paris, Orleans, Nevers and Troyes were subject to its metropolitan authority.

I had rearranged my schedule to be sure of having time in Sens. The cathedrals of Burgundy had been a major influence on the route. I had found myself reading more and more about them. I visited those in Paris and even Chartres before the trip started. Sens was the first cathedral town on the route. Even today the influence of its famous cathedral is as all‑pervasive as it was in the Middle Ages. Contained within a ring of tree‑lined boulevards where the city walls once stood, the town's ancient centre is still dominated by the Cathedral of St‑Etienne.

This was the first Gothic cathedral to be built in France yet it has many elements derived from the Romanesque tradition. It was begun under Archbishop Sanglier‑ not unnaturally known as 'the Boar' ­between 1130 and 1135, and was almost complete at the death of Archbishop Hughes of Toucy in 1168. Among all French prelates of the time Henri Sanglier was the most thorough exponent of the reforms of St Bernard, whose austere regime was spreading through the daughter foundations of Citeaux, the abbey founded by Robert of Molesme in protest at the lax and indulgent practices of Cluny. St Bernard himself was the founder and first abbot of Clairvaux, some fifty miles north of Dijon, having served his noviciate in Citeaux but we will come to that in due course. The early Cistercian abbeys such as Fontenay and Pontigny were a particularly strong influence - more about these later too!

Whereas at Chartres the famous west portal is flanked by two disconcertingly dissimilar towers, at Sens the two towers were planned to match each other, but only the southern one, known as the Tour de Pierre, was finished. This was crowned by a Renaissance campanile to take the big bell with its inscription 'Les borgois de Sens m'ont fait faire l'an M cing cens soixante seize (1566) which gives us its date exactly.

Work on the northern tower, the Tour de Plomb (so called because of the lead sheeting used in its early stages) was halted for good in 1200. The Tour de Pierre collapsed on the Thursday in Holy Week 1267, wrecking parts of the facade, the nave and the Synodal Palace. It was rebuilt in stages up to the end of the fourteenth century.

Inside, the Gothic elements of airiness, space and weightlessness are very much in evdence in the height of the nave, the arcading of the aisles and the great rose window. The architect who completed it, William of Sens, was later to rebuild the choir of Canterbury Cathedral in England, the missing link being Thomas‑a‑Becket. 'Saint Thomas de Canterbury' as the French call him, Henry II's one‑time friend, archbishop and 'turbulent priest', was a close associate of the archbishop of Sens and spent four years of his exile in the town. He is commemorated in one of the windows which light the ambulatory. It takes up the story from the point where Louis Vll of France brings Henry and Becket together in an insincere and inconclusive peace; then it shows Becket returning to England, welcomed by the people of Canterbury, preaching and ministering to them, and finally mur­dered by the four knights. Also making its first appearance on this route was another window and altar dedicated to St. Columba.

It was here that in 1140 a Council of the Church, spurred on by the polemical zeal of St Bernard, condemned Abelard for refusing to set a limit to the activities of human reason. Here too in 1164 that Pope Alexander III confirmed Becket in the Primacy of England and here that they met during his exile. Here in the cathedral in 1234 St Louis married Marguerite of Provence. Here on 30 August 1995 the reception for the traveller was excellent. The staff in the Tourist Office were more than helpful. And the receptionist in the Paris & Post Hotel was very interested in my trip. The bike once again was secured in a locked garage for the night.

Meanwhile back at the cathedral, or rather just to the South of it, is the thirteenth‑century Palais Synodal with its roof of Burgundian glazed tiles, restored like so many other buildings in this region by the "purist" Viollet‑le‑Duc. The vaults of the building, which partly constituted the remains of a Gallo Roman building, including baths heated through the pavement, are now part of a museum, along with displays of Gallo‑Roman metalwork, jewellery and textile crafts, many of which were discovered when the basement was excavated.
Between the cathedral and the Palace and, across from them in Place de la Republique, the old houses now converted into shops, in pedestrian streets with finely carved and timbered houses I spent many hours and also had an excellent dinner. I was footsore and it was getting dark by the time I returned to the Hotel.

Ferme le Mardi

Wed 29-Aug- 1995
Start Paris
Destination Fontainbleau
Kilometres 71
Cumulative Kms 71
Ave speed (kph) 18.9
Max speed (kph) 49
Time taken 03:46
Max Height (m) 170
Today climb (m) 285
Cum.climb (m) 285

Up early - slipped out for breakfast in a nearby Café and watched Paris come to life in the early morning. Then back to the apartment and loaded up my gear. Carried the panniers down first and left them outside the front door while I went back for the bike and loaded it up on the pavement outside; posted a couple of cards home and set out for the Arch de Triomphe. The bike is heavier than I thought - despite all my preparations over the last few years I had not been away from home overnight and had not carried panniers on the bike since I was cycling in the 1970s. I had forgotten how cumbersome the steering becomes with the added weight and how relatively dead the bike feels.

I asked a passer-by to take a photo at Arch de Triomphe and rolled the bike onto the cobbles of the Champs Elysee at 10:00. With a gentle push on the pedals I started off on the road to Rome. Some Japanese tourist captured the departure on video. There were so many traffic lights and so many cars that the traffic moved slowly and caused me no difficulties. Less than an hour later I met Jean Ann (? that's what it sounded like) who cycled with me. He was just back from a trip from Paris to Marseilles on a mountain bike and was now out on a trip to keep up his level of fitness. We chatted in a mixture of French and English as we made our way along. We were out of Paris and on the road to Fontainbleau by the time he left.

The tight spaces on the Paris streets eased after a short time and by Coudray Montanceaux the cycling was pleasant even though I was on a dual carriageway. The weather was fine and any wind there was at my back. At Athis Mons - a town twinned with Ballina, Co. Mayo - I came to the first cycle paths. The roads were incredibly long and straight but my adventure had started and I was enjoying myself. I reached Fontainbleau quickly and booked into the Hotel Ibis by 15:30. I rang home and Raheny to tell them the first day's cycling had gone well.

The reception at the hotel was wonderful. They were very helpful and eager to accommodate the bike as well as me. A boiler room was unlocked and the bike secured in pleasant and warm surroundings for the night. Meantime I went to explore the Chateau.

The Chateau is Closed Tuesdays; today is Tuesday - some planning! I was supposed to have read widely about everything I planned to see. Must have missed the small type about opening times. I resolved to come back here another day - another year.

I had a meal in the hotel and then started on the washing saga. Every night for the next three weeks I would have to wash at least a cycling top; shorts and socks and hope they would dry overnight or at least quickly on the bike the next day. I wrote up my notes and retired with the mileometer showing 71 Kms (42 miles) done.

The off

The day for departure came at last. The bike had been partially dismantled: the handlebars turned sideways; the pedals turned in; and the saddle lowered; and the front wheel strapped to the frame. It all fitted into a large plastic bag that Aer Lingus had supplied. I was up early but only just before Cecilia rang to wish me well; typical of her to remember to call early and to get the whole venture off to a good start. It set me up for the day.

In order to fit the bagged bike into the Volkswagen Golf hatchback I had folded down the back seat. Deirdre and Sinéad squeezed into the front passenger seat while Andrew was delighted to be in the back with the bike. The flight was at 11:45 so we left at 10:00 to allow plenty of time for the check-in. The bike was convenient to carry in its collapsed state and I loaded it onto a trolley at the airport, with Sinéad or Andrew taking turns to ride on the front. Sinéad managed to run me down with a trolley and grazed the back of my ankle.

One of the best decisions I had taken was not to cycle in to Paris from the airport. As a result I could travel in regular clothes and pack all my gear, including the pannier bags into a carry-on bag so that I only had the bike to check in. This presented no problem although I was anxious about having to leave it unattended at the desk while I went to the gate. Deirdre recognised my concern and volunteered to stay with the bike until it was collected.

Once through security … such as it was in 1995 relative to today… I hired a mobile phone for the three weeks. Yes, hired a mobile phone. It cost about £300 – yes, £, Irish punts - as far as I can remember. Getting a moblie phone awas a big deal. And the charger a thing of weight rather than beauty. People though I was crazy. Why would you want to cart a phone around with you all the time. Indeed.

I had been flying regularly with Aer Lingus to Brussels and to Paris during the year and so headed automatically to the lounge in Area B where it was politely pointed out to me that I should be in area A. I made my way to the departure gate in time to see the bike being loaded onto the plane - so far so good. We were quickly on board although the flight was very full. I was in the aisle seat 4C and at the last minute the occupant of the middle seat arrived. He was very much overweight and carried a marvellous range of bags all of which he endeavoured to pack into overhead bins. Having more or less successfully done so he squeezed into the seat beside me.

In Charles De Gaulle I waited at the carousel for the bike to appear. The attendant informed me it would be the last to arrive as it is brought up by hand. Indeed it was and despite one brake cable dangling loosely where it had escaped from the mechanism it appeared to be fine. It amazes me how a bike with all its awkward parts survives on a flight. I was so pleased I put it immediately on the trolley and headed out to the taxi rank. There was a Mercedes taxi next in line and the driver had no problem with the idea of putting the bike in the back and moved her bags off the front seat to make room for me. Then we were into the afternoon traffic and heading into central Paris.

We had gone only a short distance when I realised I had been too smart. I had arranged to stay at a friend's (Vivienne) apartment and as she was away in the United States I was to collect the keys from the Aer Lingus desk. I had been so quick to get out of the airport I had forgotten completely to do so. Now I wondered how I would get into the apartment. Would Vivienne's friend Katherine be worried when I did not collect the keys? Should I ask the taxi to turn back? Could I leave the bike somewhere nearby and then travel back to the airport? I decided to keep going.

I chanced ringing the bell at the apartment and was astonished when it was answered. Vivienne had a visitor who was just as surprised to see me as I was to meet her. She was even more amazed to see me carrying the bike up the stairs. She wondered just who that particular present was for. She had heard, vaguely, that I was coming but thought it was not for a few days yet. I phoned Katherine, to discover she too thought I was due later and had not left the keys at the airport.

Carefully covering Vivienne's polished wooden floor with plastic bags I reassembled the bike. All was in order.

I went back into Paris to get a few last pieces of gear at Decathlon, a major bike store in France. But the brand new VISA card I got for the trip because my older one was scratched did not work in their machine - great start! I also went to IGN the French mapping service to get some very detailed maps. Met Katherine for dinner that night, returned to Villa Flore at 00:00 ready for the next day.
The forecast says snow over 1500 m - hope this will not affect the alpine crossing.

Prologue

To cycle from Paris to Rome; when did the idea come to mind. I'm not sure, but it was in the middle of the 1970s - the best part of twenty years before I actually undertook the trip. At that time I had joined the CTC in preparation for a 900 mile, 10-day tour of Ireland following the route my father had taken on a tandem with his brother in the mid 1940s. Some time after I had done that trip, the prospect of covering the similar distance from Rome to Paris seemed attractive. But the years passed, other priorities took over, the dream faded, and in the early 1980s I stopped cycling.

Then in 1992 I suddenly found myself planning the Rome/Paris trip in earnest with my 40th birthday as the target date for completion. I drew a straight line from Paris to Rome on a map in and started to read about the route. Over time the route took shape as I diverted to various points of interest. Before I set out I had settled on a line which I estimated would be 1584 kilometres long and wandered through France, Switzerland and Italy.

Getting back on the bike was more difficult. On 15 August 1992, the first 11 mile trip after a lay off of 10 years was very difficult - believe me. At an average of 13 miles an hour, it took me 50 minutes and I returned home barely able to walk and dropped gasping into a chair much to the bemusement of Sinéad and Andrew.

Gradually though I built up the miles and my fitness improved to a point where I felt I was ready to rejoin my old cycling club, the Dublin District Association of the Cyclist's Touring Club, on its easy rides. I joined Brendan, Anne and Pat for an unforgettable trip to Brownstown Dolmen. I wondered what the fast group did!!

After considering buying a new bike I finally decided to stay with the REW Reynolds bike I had received as a 21st birthday present from my parents. I had it rebuilt by Harding’s - the colour remains defiantly Yellow.

It was some present. Thirty years on its still going strong and bridges the gap from my father' s generation to my son's. It was on that bike too that I prepared to cycle coast to coast with Andrew in 2006. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Go back 12 years to August 1995.


OK; I'm ready; let's go.