Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres

4th Day Fri
Date 01- Sept 1995
Start Chablis
Destination Flavigny
Kilometres 92
Cumulative Kms 305
Ave speed (kph) 18.1
Max speed (kph) 56.6
Time taken 05:05
Max Height (m) 440
Today climb (m) 1045
Cum.climb (m) 1855

Was up and about before the hotel staff this morning but the wait was worth it for the breakfast - the sort of breakfast I had expected in France - a great big cup of milky coffee and lots of fresh bread.

I set out at 08:22 and it was cold and very misty. I wore the green T-shirt; the long Santini and the Polartec and was tempted to put on the coat!! I have no idea what the scenery was like from Chablis. I could just see the road. I put on the rear light which works on LEDS and although it was very handy because it is weighs little I was not sure how effective it was. I was a little apprehensive that cars coming up behind me could not see me in the mist. I had trouble enough myself seeing the road ahead. The map slowly got limp with the moisture and fine dew spread over my fleece. I enjoyed the route to Noyers nevertheless.

This beautiful little town is sealed from the modern world in a medieval time warp. Its half‑timbered and arcaded houses, ornamented with rustic carvings are corralled inside a loop of the river and the irregular walls with their robust towers. I rang Deirdre from outside the walls at 08:00 and wished the kids the best of luck on their first day back in school.

Then I made my way in through one of the two gates that mark the fortifications of the town. The walls enclose a little network of narrow cobbled streets and squares, some with names that recall the sources of the town’s prosperity from 15C to the 18C. Many old houses survive, some with ground floor arcades, steep gables and richly carved half timbering. None of the shops had new signs and the town was remarkably well preserved. I wandered through its streets watching the little knots of people collecting on the cobbled streets to exchange a few words before going gently about their business.

I stopped for coffee and toast while waiting for the mist to clear. Great. While I was stopped a dog wandered over and checked out the bike before piddling on it and heading off about his business.

I could have stayed in this town all day but there was a long way to go so I set off again. At Censy I took the road through the village rather than the by-pass. It was lovely and quieter too nothing stirred in the village as I passed through. I continued on over the climb to where the route crosses the TGV line. I could hear a train coming and hurried up to catch a glimpse of it. I need not have bothered - trains rushed past every few minutes. This was a busy line and I was conscious that this was the point where Séamus' route from Paris and mine to Dijon first cross. I doubt if Séamus will even notice the bridge.

I finally descended into Aisy in sunshine and followed a minor road under and then alongside the railway track before joining the busy D905 beside the river Armancon. I cycled on to the remains of one of the most influential eighteenth century foun­dries, the Forges de Buffon. These were built in 1768 by Georges‑Louis Buffon, distinguished scientist, landowner and lord of Montbard. Production was never more than 400 tons a year, but Buffon's main interest was experimental. The site, now owned by an Englishman and being restored as part of the growing French interest in industrial archaeology, comprises model dwellings for workers as well as the foundry workshops These are situ­ated on the banks of the river, designed in a most unindustrial classical style, with special viewing galleries for royal visitors and a grand staircase. The foundry's most nota­ble product was the railings, still in place, of the Jardin des Plantes in Paris.

I had read of the Forge for years and was delighted to have reached it at last. It was just 12:00 and the signs said Ouvert but I could find no way in. I wandered around to where tables were being brought in for some sort of event. I was assured the place was open and so made my way to the front again - in time to see the cashiers heading off to lunch. They had closed up early that day, I suppose because there were few other tourists around. They told me they were now closed until 14:30. Two and a half hours was too long to wait. I left.

I then cycled along the towpath of the Canal de Bourgogne, to Buffon itself. The weather was great. I continued on to Montbard - the planned evening stop - but it was not very nice so I kept going and had a most enjoyable lunch at a roadside café in Marmagne. I was certainly eating well on this trip. It never seemed to be a suitable time for a sandwich and there were lots of roadside cafes that sold a three-course meal for a few Francs. I sat outside on a crowded patio on the main street basking in the sun. Well, not really- I made sure I was in the shade.

Then I rolled into Fontenay along a recently paved road in plenty of time for the tour, which the guidebooks said started at 14:30. I just made it for the 14:00 start.

The privately owned abbey, founded in 1118, is the only Burgundian monastery to survive intact, despite conversion to a paper mill in the early nineteenth century. It was restored earlier this century and is one of the most complete monastic complexes anywhere, comprising caretaker's lodge, guest house and chapel, dormitory, hospital, prison, writing and warming rooms, bakery, kennels, dovecote, abbot's house, as well as church, cloister, chapter house and even a forge. There's not much to be seen in the forge, but at least I got in and it is interesting that there should have been such a large one here, in the same countryside where France's industrial iron masters set up shop 500 years later.

On top of all this, the abbey's setting is superb, at the head of a quiet stream‑filled valley enclosed by woods of pine, fir, sycamore and beech. Back onto the D905 then and I bowled along at 35 kph into Vernray. The number of roadside war memorials struck me but I was intent on reaching my next target Alise‑Ste‑Reine.

Alise‑Ste-Reine, which stands between the valleys of the Oze and the Ozerain and overlooks the vast plain of Les Laumes, takes part of its name from a young Christian woman who is said to have been martyred here in the 3C. The feast day of Saint Reina draws many pilgrims on the first weekend of September when her martyrdom is celebrated in a costume procession through the village. This custom goes back to the year 866 and the posters proclaimed that it was to be held next weekend. St. Reine was a young Christian girl who was put to death in 262 for refusing to marry the proconsul of the Gauls, Olibrius. This martyrdom was the occasion for the conversion of Alesia.

But it was the first part- the reference to the famous camp of Alesia - that drew me here. It was here in 52 BC that Julius Caesar and his legions overcame the heroic resistance of the men of Gaul commanded by Vercingetorix. For years I had had the Latin of Caesar's Gallic Wars literally beaten into me. I had hated Latin as a result but could always remember that Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres. In researching thistrip I realised I could redirect the route to pass by the site of the closing battle. After all these years I could get some value from the miserable lessons. So to Alesia I came.

And once again Latin beat me. The camp was sited on Mount Auxois, a hill of 407m with very steep slopes. I nearly blew a gasket (Cecilia knows all about that now) climbing into Alise but was determined to keep going. An old woman came out of one of the houses lining the road and commented that it was a difficult climb, before she proceeded up the hill faster than me. Then I came to a sign that I thought said no entry but on correct translation said no entry for cars. Too late. The bike was too heavy and the road too steep to get going again. I pushed it the rest of the way to the top where there is a great bronze statue of Vercingetorix.

Erected by Napoleon III, whose influence popularised the rediscovery of France's pre‑Roman roots, the statue represents Vercingetorix as a romantic Celt, half virginal Christ, half long‑haired 1970s pop star. On the plinth is inscribed a quotation from Vercingetorix's address to the Gauls as imagined by Julius Caesar: "United and form­ing a single nation inspired by a single ideal, Gaul can defy the world". Napoleon signs his dedication, "Emperor of the French", inspired by a vain desire to gain legitimacy by linking his own name to that of a "legendary" Celt.

It was an impressive site and I asked a couple to take my photo; they were delighted to do so and went to great lengths to make sure it was right once they heard the background to my trip. It was getting very hot in the mid afternoon and I could feel the sun beating down as I pondered the battle that had taken place here.

In the spring of 52 BC, Caesar retreated towards the north to join forces, near Sens, with the legions of his lieutenant, Labienus. Then, on his way towards the Roman bases, he was met and attacked by the army under Vercingetorix. Despite the surprise of the attack and their numerical advantage, the Gauls suffered a crushing defeat and Vercingetorix, fleeing from Caesar, decided to take the rest of his troops into the camp at Alesia.

Then began the memorable siege. Working with pick and shovel, Caesar's legions surrounded the camp with a double line of works, comprising trenches, walls, palisades of stakes and towers. The first line of works faced Alesia to prevent any attempts to escape on the part of the besieged; the second blocked the way of a relieving army that Caesar knew was already on the way. When it arrived, about 250,000 strong, it was unable to penetrate the Roman defences. Its cavalry was neutralised by the fresh German squadrons Caesar had remounted on his spare horses, and which operated outside the defences. The crisis came when Vercingetorix led his troops out of town in a last throw for victory; like Waterloo it was a close run thing, with many changes of fortune.

The discipline of the Roman army and the tactical skill of its commanders prevailed. The attackers faltered, the Romans counter-attacked successfully, and Vercingetorix surrendered to save his people from the threat of starvation and massacre. Caesar paraded him in triumph through the streets of Rome, kept him in prison for six years, and finally had him put to death‑ the first and only leader of a united Gaul. It is interesting to read that among Caesar's senior officers in this engagement were Marcus Antonius (Shakespeare's Mark Anthony) and the young Marcus Brutus, his eventual assassin.

I descended the hill to find the local museum but must have gone too far because I could not find it and there was no way I was going to tackle that climb back into the village again so I headed off. Anyway it was getting late and although the minor road was excellent I was cycling along a valley in hilly country. I was concerned that there were relatively few villages along the route and that there was no guarantee of accommodation at my next stop - Flavigny.

Or Flavigny-sur-Ozerain to give it its full title. This fortified miniature city is one of the loveliest medieval hill towns in Burgundy, even if the view of it perched on its rocky summit does not live up to Lamartine's extravagant comparison with Jerusalem. After another exhausting climb I reached the 15C Porte du Bour which belonged to the defences of the Benedictine abbey of St-Pierre. The abbey now houses a factory making the aniseed sweets on sale in gift and souvenir shops in Burgundy. Its buildings are largely 17C but keep some fragments of the Romanesque abbey church whose nave is marked by the lane running along the side of the factory. Medieval and Renaissance houses line the streets along Rue Voltaire and Rue Lacordaire to the Porte du Val. This gate is really a 13C and a 15C gate joined together. Next to it is the building, once the bailiff's house, where Henri Lacordaire founded a religious community in 1848 as part of his campaign to revive the Dominican Order in France.

But exploring the town had to wait. My first priority was to get somewhere to stay. The first Gite (Bed and Breakfast) I called to was booked out. But I was relieved to hear there was also a hotel in the town. When I got there I saw hikers leaving and I feared the worst but I was lucky in that they had a single room left. It was very basic accommodation but I was delighted to be able to stay in this charming town. Once again I was lost in the Middle Ages but I did manage to phone Raheny from a telephone hidden away in one of the main gates to the town.

I was very tired by the time I got back to the hotel for an evening meal. There were three English women at the table next to me and I was tempted to join them to avoid the difficulty of making conversation in French. But they were too grand for me altogether - all talk of fancy weddings and wine tasting and linguistics. I preferred to struggle with the locals.

Another great day if a long one.