Our outward journey never takes too much planning. We decide which countries to visit. Once across, decide on a rough route. Then just go with the flow. Usually letting the surroundings, local attractions and weather make our decisions for us. Simple really.
Coming home is different. Timing each day’s journey just right so that we arrive in Calais on time for our crossing, presents more of a problem. We have to be more disciplined. Time management not our forte.
Leaving Grenoble on Saturday is no big deal. With both arms twisted behind our backs, the severe change of weather wrestles any plans we consider making away from us. We’ve had a good run for our money. Now we’re running for home. Into more of the same no doubt.
Our conumdrum? At the moment it’s purely governed by the weather – whether we should change from slow to fast. Scenic to boring. Two opposing sums. Fewer days + motorway tolls – overnight stop charges – versus – More days + scenic routes + overnight stop charges. We need to consider this contingency for future. To be constantly rained in on site, is not what we do this for.
Our route home takes us via the countryside, towns and villages of France that endear us so much. There’s a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ about the way things just are – it resonates with both of us like a religious mantra. We have never heard of the walled town of Beaune. Set in the centre of the Burgundy wine growing region it brings us satisfying respite near the end of today’s journey. The rain holds off for one hour . . .
The ancient arched town entrance gives us a smile. His mate on the other side of the arch, in a similar predicament.
Our route in and out of Beaune takes us along the “Route des Grands Crus”. A sixty kilometre stretch that’s home to their ‘raison d’etre’ – billions of grapes. A fitted carpet of vines. It’s an edge to edge grapescape.
Today, Monday, we revisit an old watering hole. Out of pure necessity. It’s the only site still open in the vicinity. 15th May last year saw us bike out alongside the beautiful Lac d’Orient – remember this scene . . .
Of course, when we think back, this is the image that springs to mind. Our return springs a shock. Like a diminishing African waterhole all is transformed.
Again we strike lucky. A small break in the weather allows us a welcome autumn stroll down the path we cycled last year, before night sets in.
This morning, Tuesday. 0°C and sleeting. Our conumdrum is solved. We decide to take a Thursday instead of Saturday crossing. I nip out first thing to try and capture ‘the moment’! The sleet doesn’t show. The great expanse of the missing lake does . . .