2012 Paris - Nice

The Race to the Sun was held from 4 to 11 March this year.  It’s the second race on the UCI Calendar, but it’s the first race of the European racing season, so it’s truly a harbinger of spring and the new season of watching pro-cycling on live-feeds over the net while “multi-tasking” at work.

I love following this race, because after a long grey winter, it’s nice to know that spring is just around the corner.  The riders usually start in the cold grey weather outside of Paris and end in the sun of the Mediterranean.  It’s also a great preview to the season, because you’ll be able to see what sort of form your favourite racers are in. 

I’m a big fan of Jens Voigt – a 40 year old family man with 6 children, who is an inspiration to all MAMILs (middle-aged men in lycra).  Notwithstanding his “advanced” age in the peleton, he is a force to be reckoned with.  He’s mostly there to help his teammates win, but he’s still strong enough to ride for stage wins.  He was just barely pipped by Luis Sanchez in stage 6 of Paris-Nice.  Needless to say, I was shouting him to the finish line, probably confusing my colleagues as to why I’m shouting “Go old man! Go!”

That stage passed just a few kilometres north of Beaumes-de-Venise, so it was apropos that I lift a glass or two of that region’s wine to celebrate fine riding by one of my heroes. 

2010 Beaumes-de-Venise from the Balmavenitia winery (7 Euro).
Grenache, Syrah and Mourvedre. 
This is from the Cotes du Rhone, probably my favorite region for reds.
It has a very fruity rasberry nose with a choclate and cherry taste.  The mouth is round, slightly astringent with supple tannins.  It is very drinkable, though it is helped with an hour or so of breathing.

The race was won overall by Bradley Wiggins, who dominated the race, wearing the yellow jersey from stage 2 through the whole race, and even won the final stage - the time trial into Nice.  A formidable ride.  If he doesn't peak too early, he'll be a major contender for the maillot jaune at the Tour de France.

Another reason I like the first races of the season is, because it reminds me that there’s so little time left to try to get into some semblance of shape for going to Belgium the day before the Tour of Flanders - to ride the route that the pros will ride in the first of the Cobbled Classics, which are probably my favourite type of race.  But more on that next time.

Chateau des Estanilles 1999

I had a nice ride around the outskirts of the city today - the first time in shorts, after a long winter.  It was grey, but the sun peeped out during the last bit of the ride.  All in all - a good day and a good ride.  I adjusted the saddle from the last ride, as the angle was a bit too high, but at the beginning of the ride, it seemed as though it might be too low -- my average speed spoke otherwise, and speed on the flats spoke an entirely different story.  The only lowpoint was being overtaken by an insanely tall Frenchman on a carbon bike, after he drafted on my tail for a good 3 km.  I kept him in my sights on the flats, where we maintained a good 30 km/hour, but my heart wasn't in it when it came to the climbs...    

I hate the climbs.  Have I mentioned that before?

After finishing the ride, making lunch for the boys, quickly showering and packing the evening's wine into the backpack for our dinner with our Finnish friends, I had a good evening to look forward to.  Our Finnish friends are not only fun, good conversation, but probably the best BBQ I've had in my life -- consistently.  

The evening started with a Heidseick Monopole champagne and moved on to a Portugese Vinho Verde with the hot-smoked salmon and European whitefish on a bed of ruccola.  

Perfect.

I'd brought a red, so after a desert of a deep, dark and succulent chocolate mousse, it was finally opened.

Michel Louison 1999 -- Chateau des Estanilles -- 20 Euro

This wine from Languedoc is primarily a Syrah, though I'm pretty sure there's some Mourvedre in there.  It's got a cherry and green banana nose. Very round and supple taste, leading to a slightly astringent pucker. Leather and lavender in the finish.  Even though it's a 1999, we decided it might need some decanting. After decanting, the astringency was gone. but the round flavors were still there.  A great wine -- probably one of the best I've had in a long while.

I've been itching to cycle Languedoc for a while.  This wine is a reason to go there.

Hautes Cotes De Nuits - Domaine Saint Saturnin De Vergy - 2009

 Chardonnay (France, Burgundy, Hautes Cotes de Nuits Price: 10 Euro)
Grassy nose. Hints of bitter almond. Nice finish. 

This is a nice wine that hails from the part of Burgundy that I haven't cycled, thought the Cote Chalonnaise starts directly south of it.  The Cotes de Nuits and the Cotes de Beaune have always been more famous and well received than other Burgundies (though for whites Chablis, probably has a jump on them).  Whether this is due to good marketing or genuinely higher quality is a point of discussion that will probably never have a satisfactory answer.

France's concept of terroir is yet another justification for future cycling trips.  The Cotes de Beaune and Nuits may be just a stone's throw away from Southern Burgundy, but it's a different world, so I'll probably have to go back to the area and cycle them...

Life IS tough...

Cote Chalonnaise (Southern Burgundy)

Waking up in Southern Burgundy is nice. First, you're in Burgundy - always a good thing. Second - I was going to eat in my first-ever Michelin starred restaurant. Granted, it was "only" one star, and it would be lunch, but I was truly looking forward to it. I even packed a shirt and long pants into my panniers to make sure I was presentable.



My path today would take me from Chazelle to Mercurey and back in an elongated route through most of the Cote Chalonnaise -- a total of around 100 km. Here's the map of the course (new window). I had decided to avoid the voie verte on the way up so that I would have new scenery for the ride back.



I left my campsite at 08:00 on a chilly, but sunny summer morning, easing in to a slow but steady rhythm to warm up and to take in the sights.  I headed away from the river up into the rolling fields, passing beautiful stone villages, and humble homes house the farmers that tend to the surrounding fields.

A humble French farm

About an hour into the ride, the idea of a croissant and a café serré sounded just about perfect.  The French seem to compartmentalize a lot of their activities – you generally cannot get a coffee at a bakery, but there’s often a Tabac right next to the bakery, and no one minds that you bring your croissants with you to the Tabac to have with the coffee you buy there.  Also, I took the opportunity to refill my bidons with water when the bartender asked if I need water for my journey onwards.

Breakfast

Thus refreshed, I saddled up and continued through the mostly flat countryside, passing more villages, Chateaux, and wash-houses.  Southern Burgundy still has countless washhouses.  They’re not only well-maintained, but some of them have become informal art galleries where local artisans set up little exhibitions of their wares – thus adding even more to the charm.

Washhouse

Yes, the day was going very well.  There was no traffic whatsoever, I was making good time without hurrying, there were no serious hills to contend with – life was good. 



At Granges, I joined the voie verte for 4 kilometers until Givry, where it would turn off the Chalon-sur-Soane (the local capital).  Lunch was beckoning, and I continued north on the departmental road D981 leading towards the Cote d’Or.  Granted, the road was quite busy, but as I’ve mentioned before, French drivers show a tremendous amount of respect to cyclists – you never feel as though you might be in danger.  The terrain was becoming more hilly, but it was just enough to let me feel that I’m earning my lunch – after all, I like to believe the myth that when one is cycling, one can eat and drink as much as one likes (it’s a lie).



I arrived at the the Val d'Or at 11:00.  An hour before the lunch seating began.  So, I continued upward into the hilly vineyards famous for their Pinot Noirs.  As the name of my restaurant suggested, Mercurey liked to associate itself with the more posh, more marketed and more expensive Cote d’Or region.  This area was administratively a part of the Cote Chalonnaise, but one could make the argument that it could easily have been included in the Cote d’Or for geological reasons – it’s the same ridge, the same rocky soil, but with wines at half the price.  I bought a bottle of white for my evening quaff.

Above Mercurey

 After cycling through the village and its vineyards, and stopping for a taste or two, I went back to the restaurant for my long-anticipated gourmet meal.  I ordered the 3 course lunch with wine.

Amuse bouche



Foie gras with an asparagus
and lentil terrine and
 magret de canard on the side.



Scallops, langoustine, asparagus and a delicious cream sauce



The best creme brule I've had (with cardamon)




Surprise desert -- dark chocolate cake with a mousse of mustard and cassis

It was, to say the least, tremendous.  I can unreservedly recommend the Val d'Or, not only for a fantastic, elegant meal, but that it is a great value as well.

Leaving Mercurey as I came, I impulsively turned off the main road which would have led me back along the been-there-done-that path.  I saw a sign for Saint-Denis-de-Vaux, and knowing that it was in the generally right direction, I took it.  The route was scenic - with views over my valley, vineyards rolling down towards the river.  No people, no cars - just a perfect ride with a perfect meal in my stomach.

It couldn't last.

At Saint-Denis, I checked my map to see where my next waypoint was -- Barizey.  At the crossroads, I could see that the road led downwards, but NOT in the direction of my valley.  Ever the optimist, I convinced myself that this valley would lead to my valley.

As has become habit - I was wrong.  But, before we get into that, let's have some wine from Barizey:

Givry En Veau - Vielles Vignes, Masse Pere Et Fils - 2009 (Pinot Noir) - 15 Euro.
Now, I have to be honest, I'm not the biggest fan of Burgundy reds (though I don't turn my nose up at them), but I really like this wine.  It should be decanted a good two hours before drinking (it will hit its prime in 2012-2014) to soften the tannins.  It's 30% new barrels, and j'aime le chene.  It has a fruity, spicy-cherry nose. A taste that swings to a light jamminess with just the right amount of oak to make me happy.  It has a long smooth finish.  Good stuff.


The climb out of Barizey was never-ending.  Again, let's remember that it's HOT, I'm not in the greatest shape in the world, I've just had a big lunch with enough wine to make me happy.  I'm not supposed to be climbing - I'm supposed to be drinking more wine...

At some point, I stopped because I was overheating.  In my dilerium, I thought it a good idea to take off my shirt, because it was dripping onto my feet.  I spread it on my panniers to dry in the relentless sun.  I got back on the bike and started humming the theme song to the Bridge on the River Kwai.  I climbed. 

Now, I cannot stop stressing how the French like cyclists -- they give us room, they give us free water, they sometimes invite us to share their picnics, and you will, more often than not, get offered copious amounts of wine just for being a fatter (much) and (inordinately) slower version of their heroes that ride the TdF.  For all their faults, the French make up for it when you're suffering up a hill and they roll down their windows as they (courteously) pass you and scream "Allez!  Allez!"  It makes you feel PRO.  I have made it up climbs I had no business even trying, because each "Allez! Allez!" made me want to justify it.  So I dig. 

I was about to surrender to the burning lactic acid in my legs when a beat-up Renault came barreling down the hill with two (probably drunk) teenagers screaming "Allez! Allez!" at me.  I dug deeper and hit the summit a 500 meters later.  Thank God there was a bus stop with a bench there, so I was spared having to lay down on the tarmac and get hit by the daily bus (I checked the schedule after I could see again).  From this vantage point, I could see that I was home free -- this road did, indeed, descend into my valley.  No more climbing.

Descents are cool - in more ways than one.  They're cool, because guys like me can go really fast - I may not climb well for my weight, but I certainly descend well for it.  Gravity is good.  It's also cool, because you can get chilled even in 30+ temperatures.  At this point in my cycling career, I didn't have a gillet (nor any cycling-specific clothing for that matter), so I turned to take my shirt off the back of the bike... wait, where the hell is my shirt!?

My shirt had not made it up the climb.  My wife had given me that shirt when I had taken up volleyball back home.  Despair.  I walked back to my bike, thinking "I can't, I simply can't go back down - I won't make it back up again".  As I prepared to get back on the bike and cycle half-naked back to camp, I spotted a flutter of white on the crossroads.  My shirt!  I picked it up.  It had a dirty, black tire track on it.  I had been passed by only one car on the way up - the two drunken boys in the Renault beater.  They must have found it (after running over it) somewhere down the hill, and returned to the summit.  Why they tossed it rather than giving it to me, I'll never know (maybe they were frightened by the sight of a sweat-logged half-naked man lying on a busstop bench... who knows?).  In any case, I joyfully put the shirt on.  I have it to this day, and the tire mark never came out.  I'm glad it didn't.

The descent into the valley was fast, cold and perfect.  I joined the voie verte back to home base, showered, got a pizza from Cormatic, popped the Mercurey white, watched the day end, and listened to the bells of Taize before crawling into the tent to sleep like a rock.

Southern Burgundy taught me a lot of things -- it's worth going to Michelin starred restaurants for lunch; France is the best place in the world to cycle; climbing sucks, and it doesn't.










Macconais into Cote Chalonnaise (Southern Burgundy)

Having hit 2000 km on the banks of the Soane,  I decided that I would aim for Le Relais d'Ozenay at Ozenay, and reward myself with a gastronomique lunch.  So, I pedaled my way along the river, enoying the scenery and the occasional bonjour to/from every cyclist or pedestrian that I met.  In France, even the guys in lycra say hello.  There's no bike-snobbishness where the road cyclists look down on the trekker.  If you're on a bike - you're one of the good guys.  Drivers will give you a good two meters when passing you, and if they cannot safely pass, they slow down and wait until they can.  


The voie bleue ends abruptly 16 km north of Macon.  At that point I had a choice - take the short way along the route national or head into the back country and take the scenic route.  Bouyed by my good progress, I decided to take the country roads and cruise through Chardonnay.  Yes, THE Chardonnay, where the grape hails from.

Big mistake.

Suffering is part of cycling.  We thrive on it.  It's part of the sport.  We describe rides as being great in relation to the suffering we've endured.  We tell our legs to shut up, and we revel in the pain caused by us climbing.  It's always better in retrospect...

I suffered.

After climbing and descending a countless number of times, having run out of water in the bidons (it was about 32 degrees celsius and blazing sun) , I was NOT enjoying this trip anymore.  The worst part came when I stopped at the top of the last hill before my lunch destination and realized that it was a 4 km downhill into the Ozenay valley from which I would have to climb out of after lunch.  

The freewheeling into the valley did not refresh me.  I made it to the restaurant, sat down at a roadside table, and let the bonk  take me - I hit the wall.  When the waitress came, and asked what I would like, I croaked "du vin, s'il vous plait".  She was an understanding soul and brought me a pichet  rather than just a glass.  Oh, blissful doping

The Place of Bonk

After the shakes and wheezing subsided to a manageable level, I changed into a dry shirt and went to the other side of the building where I found a charming patio dining area.  The Relais d'Ozenay does not have a Michelin star, but I think it ought to.  I ordered the market tasting menu (i.e. the chef is making whatever he found to his liking at the market that day).  It was amazing.  I don't recall exactly what I ate (I wasn't taking notes), but I do remember that it was the first time that I ate something with a foam, which was all the rage on some season of Top Chef.  It was a scallop-stuffed tomato with a sea-salt tomato water foam. 

After a fantastic two hour meal, with my pain receptors suitably doped with the accompanying wine, I got back on the bike and resigned myself to climbing out of the valley - thinking that I'd planned my return trip well - that my road would lead through a cleft in the Burgundian hills/mountains back to Cormatin.

I was wrong.

The intial 3 km climb out was bearable, but when I got to the top, the wine had already worn off and I saw a more climbs in the distance.  This is NOT what I had signed up for.  One could say I'm a Spring Classics rider - I like short climbs - they make me feel good when they are over, and short climbs are over quickly.  These were not short climbs.  I later found out that this road had been used for the Tour de France.

I huffed and puffed for what seemed like hours, sometimes walking the bike in the especially steep bits.  It was so hot that I was leaving a trail of sweat behind me.  Life was sucking.

I passed several intersections, none of which seemed to bring me any closer to my final destination.  One of them pointed to Lugny, a village with a cooperative winery (quite popular in this area).  Here's a wine from that coooperative:

2009 Macon-Peronne
L'Aurore Chardonnay 4.65 Euro 

A bright straw color with a nose of drying hay.  Light, easy to drink with a slightly bitter aftertaste and very short finish. High alcohol - 13% and not many recognizable flavors - totally not complex. Nothing special but not overly bad.  Probably not worth even its low price, though.  If it was 2 Euro, I'd say it would be worth it.

The deathmarch up the mountains was never-ending.  My eyes were stinging from the flood of sweat pouring down my face.  I was going to die.  Seriously.

The Chateau Brancion marked the last summit before I would return to the Grosne valley via a long freewheeling downhill.  The road flattened out in the cool of a leafy oak forest and a road sign read 1 km to Chapaize.  That meant I as only 5 km from my campsite.  Strength poured into my legs. I'm lying.  


I stopped at a small winemaker who grew and made Aligote, the very local grape that makes an unremarkable wine, but without which a true Kir (Aligote and blackcurrant syrup) cannot be made.  I figured that when I get back to the campsite, a bottle's worth of Kirs would make the pain stop.


It did.  I slept 14 hours.  I had cycled 98 kilometers and climbed more than 1500 total meters.  I would be very proud of myself the next day.

   

Macconais (Southern Burgundy)

After my first cycling trip to the Belgian coast, I started planning all sorts of excursions.  My first wine journey was to the Loire Valley in 2009, but we'll revisit that later, especially as I'll be going there again this May.  

Let's go to Burgundy.

In June of 2010, the family had left for summer vacation, and I thought it a perfect opportunity to visit Southern Burgundy.  I had always loved chardonnays (I'm not ashamed to admit that I like the "old-fashioned" type of chardonnay that California made famous - so buttery and oaky that it was like drinking a heart attack with the coffin at the ready).  Burgundian whites are, by definition, chardonnay (except for the limited amount of Aligote they produce).  Now, everyone goes for "mineral-y, slate-y". All stainless steel, no oak.  Damn that Parker, damn him to hell!

By then I had upgraded from my 7 speed city bike to an aluminium Kettler Traveler trekking bike (I sold the city bike to a Latvian colleague - to whom I probably became the "dodgy colleague selling a bike").  I loaded the bike on my new hitch-mounted bike rack and drove down to a campsite/gite run by a very nice british/dutch couple near Cormatin, where I would base myself for the long weekend.

This hamlet of Chazelle is smack-dab in the middle of Southern Burgundy - on the border of the Cote Challonaise and the Macconais, a stone's throw from the famous religious centre of Taize, and the Cluny abbey.  It's right on the voie verte (a dedicated cycling/pedestrian path) through the region.  

I had decided to give each sub-region a day to themselves, and we will occupy ourselves with the Macconais in this post.  I set off on the voie verte southbound in the early morning (I always wake up ridiculously early when I'm sleeping in a tent).  I got to the far end of Cluny at around 08:00 and decided to grab a croissant and a cup of coffee at an organic resto/bakery with this view:  

Uh huh.  Gorgeous.  

Buzzing on a double café serré, I rejoined the voie verte to my next point of interest -- the tunnel of the Bois Claire, an old railway tunnel, the longest voie verte tunnel in Europe (1.6 km):

Long, dark and cold (with complimentary bats).

The lead-up to the tunnel was a climb, but the legs were up for a little suffering, and the day was young.  After the tunnel, the descent was such that I freewheeled for a good 2-3 kilometres and thought to myself: "No way I'm coming back this way..." and thanked myself for having researched a what I thought would be a flattish circuit back up the voie bleue along the Saône.  

I blissfully cycled through a green valley, with vineyards sloping up above me, passing through vintner villages bedecked with flowers.  One of the last villages before Macon was Prisse, in which the grapes in this wine were growing at that particular moment:

Pierre Chanau 2010 Macon Villages (4.75 Euro)

A light citrusy nose with a hint of wet stone. It starts with a slight bitterness and moves into a short burst of mineral-y chardonnay-iness, but falls flabby with a short finish.  It's not a big wine, but instantly recognizable as a Macon chardonnay that's pleasant to drink.  Burgundy doesn't do buttery - oaky chardonnay anymore (Palmer took care of that).  What it lacks in acidity, it makes up in reasonableness of price.

Not too far from Prisse, the voie verte simply ends.  One then joins normal roads to get into Macon (though French drivers are very courteous to cyclists on the road, so it's not a bother).  I rode through Macon, heading for the Saône, where I would pick up the cycle route along the river.  At the very heart of Macon, my odometer hit 2000 km.  It had taken me almost 2 years, but I had hit a milestone.  Looking back, it wasn't such a big milestone, but at the time, I was very proud of myself.

That was the high point of the day.  More in the next post.

The beginning

The beginning of this blog is really in the summer of 2008.  I had just landed a job in Brussels and had 2 months to lay the groundwork for my family to join me.  I bought a used city-bike from a dodgy colleague and used it to commute to and from work, as well as to search for an apartment that would become the next home for my wife and two small boys.  I don’t even remember the brand of the bike, but I do remember that it was a 7 speed and it served me well in the city.

Having quite a bit of time on my hands on the weekends (there’s no point in looking for apartments on the weekends in Brussels, as everyone is off to the seaside), I came up with the brilliant idea of cycling the 80-ish kilometres of the Belgian seaside during the upcoming weekend.  I did my research and found that Belgian tourism offices do a great job of portraying the seaside as interesting, beautiful and a worthwhile visit.  There was even the promise of seeing traditional fishing villages where the locals still ride through the shallows on horseback dragging a net to catch gray shrimp, which are then served in the form of croquettes, while one quaffs local Belgian beer or a nice white wine.

I planned to cycle from Knokke (the northern-most seaside town of Belgium) down to DePanne (the southernmost) over two days – a leisurely 40 km. per day, stopping when my fancy took me.  I dutifully went to Decathlon (the local sporting goods giant) to buy panniers, a sleeping-bag and two man tent (for comfort’s sake), packed and got really excited about my big trip.  Saturday early morning, I cycled to Gare Centrale and hopped on the first train to Knokke (they go at least once an hour).  Weekend train+bike tickets are a steal on SNCB (Belgian railways) – I think I paid a little over 10 Euro round trip.

An hour later, I was off the train in Knokke and blissfully cycling south along the Belgian coast.  Ah, the romance of it all – here I was, new dream job, new country, beautiful weather and the North Sea on my right.  Life did not suck.

It started to suck pretty soon.

I soon realized several things:  1. The Belgian seaside is ugly as hell.  It’s kilometre after kilometre of ugly Stalinist block apartments with short stretches of grassy dunes inbetwixt them (the grassy dunes are, admittedly, beautiful).  Those short stretches are there (probably) because they haven’t cleared away all the mines from World War II; 2) headwinds suck! 3) my ass hurt and 4) 7 speeds is no good for trekking and 5) I couldn’t find anywhere I would like to stay – everything was full and looked horrible.

So, I kept going.

I told myself that I’ll cycle to Oostduinkerke (the horseback fisherman village) and spend whatever it takes to stay there – to get a taste of the “true old-fashioned Belgian seaside).  So, 65 kilometres after starting that morning, I puffed and wheezed into the village – which looked like all the rest of the concrete-block developments I’d seen along the way.

At that point, I realized that this was going to be a one-day trip.  I didn’t bother stopping – I set my sights on DePanne and a train ride back to Brussels.  I suffered through the next 15 kilometres to DePanne, only to find that the train station was another 5 km away.  I got to the station just as a train to Brussels pulled out.  Exhausted, thirsty and hungry, I collapsed in a chair outside the restaurant next to the station.  I ordered a local beer and drank it down in one greedy and desperate chug.  Ah! Life began to get better.  And better!  It turns out that the beer was a local trappist variety with an alcohol content of 12%.  I ordered another.

The train ride home was a blissful buzz that I hardly remember.  I got back to the Brussels apartment and collapsed on the sofa.  I was exhausted – I was sunburnt - my ass hurt – I was disappointed with the Belgian seaside – my body was wracked with pain – I had suffered physically more than I could remember.

I was in love.  This is where my love affair with cycling began.