Day 9 La Tranche-sur-Mer to La Rochelle (77kms)

Lovely sunshine, not much wind. Passed a lot of fisherman fishing off bridges with huge nets that they lowered and lifted out of the tidal rivers. I couldn’t quite figure out what they were catching but they told me it was fish. I thought they must taste muddy.

I came to a high dyke and a sign saying Route Barrée. There’ve been a lot of these. There seem to be road works everywhere. Huge machines blocked the way, gravel and mud all over. I didn’t hesitate for long; the way back was too far. No one seemed to mind. Bikers do that here. They go down one way roads the wrong way and no one seems to care.  You never get told off for being on the footpath or somewhere you shouldn’t be.

So along I went negotiating bulldozers and cement mixers, no route signs, of course, because of the road works. But then I spied one, yay, but, it was pointing …straight into the sea! A fisherman was there. He noticed the sign and shrugged. It’s the road works, he said. I asked him for directions; he was only too happy to oblige. It was nice to talk to him about what I was doing and where I was going, the pros and cons of various routes and the weather. He was happy to chat but a bit puzzled about why I had come all the way from Saint Malo à vélo. I kind of agreed.

In the distance over the top of the dyke I could see the long, arching bridge that the students and I had ridden over to the Île de Ré  during our visit to La Rochelle last year. The PE teachers at the school organised a cycle outing. We hired bikes, followed bike paths and trekked over the bridge only to turn around and come back again. It was a mission, into the wind and quite a climb, but the kids didn’t complain (well, except for one) and still get excited talking about it. Now, here it was again signifying my goal for the day: the lovely city of La Rochelle.

Poppies everywhere growing wild brightened the path and fields of barley stretched to the horizon. I met a French couple on a tandem. They were happy to chat for a while. More canals and some long flat tracks beside them. Peaceful, a gentle breeze, the only sound the twittering of birds. But by lunchtime I’d had enough of canals again and chose an alternative route towards the city. It followed the coast; it was rough and gravelly, it went up and down, it was hot and bright, but pretty, with wide views across the sea, blue today unlike last year when the wind had whipped it into a murky grey. I passed beaches and cafés perched on cliffs, people sitting outside having their leisurely lunches. On and on as the bridge grew larger and clearer. Finally I was there just below it. But it was only the outskirts of the city. Luckily I remembered the bike path we had taken last year and followed it most of the way into town.

All around the old port are bike ways and walk ways. There is a leafy pedestrian avenue where vendors sell knick-knacks and drinks, and outdoor cafés and restaurants offer many varieties of sea food. I bought a fresh mango, orange and strawberry juice, a large one and collapsed onto a seat in the shade. It didn’t last long. I bought another one.

Eventually I found my way to Eric’s house. He is the teacher who organised our homestays and programme for the week we spent here last year. He’s possibly the most energetic person I know but I’d forgotten that. He has two little boys and a long-suffering wife. He had invited me to stay, which I did. It was great. I enjoyed being in a family again. I caught up with the teacher friends I had made here last year over lunch and drinks. They were suitably admiring and a bit bemused. They are lovely people, desperate to get to NZ and get their students there, but unable to finance it.

I stayed two nights, enjoyed La Rochelle with its beautiful old buildings, historic sea port setting, elegant arcades, and relaxed ambience. It is a really lovely city. I did my washing (yay!) caught up on jobs, bought a few necessities but nothing exciting despite the hundreds of gorgeous women’s fashion shops.

My goal for this trip was uncertain from the start. Did I really have one? I thought I’d buy a bike, cross to France and head south, getting as far as I could before catching a train to my sister’s on a pre-arranged date. I had included La Rochelle in order to see my friends. Now I’d done that. But it felt too soon to stop. I had done 500kms but hadn’t yet been going two weeks. I reassessed. I was en route south, following the Vélodyssée,a designated bike route which runs from the north to the south of France. Why not carry on and finish it now that I’d started it? It would be an end-to-end of France, the second I’ve done, the two journeys thirty years apart. It would give me a kind of satisfaction in knowing that I could still do it, that I could set myself a challenge and achieve it, and do it alone on a bike with small wheels! Could I make it in the time I had left? I was committed to getting to my sister, Frances’, by the 13^th June. That would give me six days more.

I studied the map, and realised that although La Rochelle had seemed so far south, it was not in fact even half way down the Atlantic Coast. I had done 500kms but there were about 530 still to go. I did some calculations and figured that with a few big days, it might still be possible but I would have to crank up the mileage considerably. Away from canals and mud, that might be easy I told myself.

And there it was. Once I’d got the idea in my head, I couldn’t let it go. I would head for Hendaye, in the Basque Country, the official end of the Vélodyssée in France, then catch a train to Frances’ near Avignon. Eric wanted me to stay longer to do more energetic things; but biking to Marennes the next day was going to be energetic enough for me.