Limping into Lyon
There are days when the wheels are spinning and I’m riding carefree. And then there are days like yesterday. The French word to describe the day is probably…Merde!
It was pouring rain when I left Heuilley sur Saône. Vancouver-like rain. The first part of the path next to the river was paved, though not as smooth as other sections I had experienced. Still, I was rolling at a good speed, and the banks of the Saône, clothed in green, looked beautiful despite the rain.
A few kilometres on, the map veered me down an unpaved path. At first, it was fine and then it quickly turned into a muddy mess. I put the bike in a low gear, so I could easily get out of trouble if necessary, and slipped and slid along. I would switch sides of the trail, thinking the other side was better. It wasn’t. Sometimes I’d ride on the slightly higher grassy strip down the middle.
My back tire spun in the muck like a car stuck in a snowbank. I tried not to oversteer, for fear of falling over. I came close a few times. Finally, I couldn’t pedal the bike forward, so I got off and walked. For a few kilometres, I pushed and pulled the bike through the mud, across a flooded field and around downed trees, until I found a paved road.
I was headed to Auxonne, about 20 km away, to pick up some things for lunch. Once there, I delighted in riding through this charming town. Given I had to change my back tire the night before (the third flat) and a small pump can only do so much, I popped in at the town’s only bike shop to see if they would top up the tire.
The guy in the bike shop didn’t speak English, and wasn’t sure what I wanted. So, I put my mouth close to the valve stem of a bike and acted as if I was blowing up a balloon. It worked. He brought out a pump and inflated the tire. I went to the grocery store, and then headed off to my overnight destination of Saint Martin en Bresse, about 70km away.
A series of small roads led me out of Auxonne until I came to the river and followed it for a short time. And then it happened. Again. My back tire was flat. Merde!
I had two options. Well, three if you include giving up. I could walk five kilometres back to the bike shop with my bike and bags and see if they could put a new tube in it. But given my ride was taking me through small villages if I got another flat on the way, there would be little help. Plus, with the time it would take for me to walk back to the shop and get a new tube, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to Saint Martin before the sun went down.
The other option was to take a train to a larger town and get a new tire. The train station, too, was five kilometres away, so I set off pushing my bike with a deflated tire. The station has long since closed, so passengers wait outside on one of two platforms. Adding to the tension, my phone battery was only at 25 percent, and because of the heavy rain through the morning it wouldn’t charge.
I booked a ticket to Lyon, a large city that I would have arrived at in two days. But the only reservation I could make for a bike left at 3:30 p.m. I had to wait outside on the platform for almost four hours.
I watched the 12:30 train leave. And the 1:30 train leave, and the 2:30 leave. Each time a train came and went, I was left alone on the platform. It was a dispiriting experience. As the afternoon wore on my mood sunk.
At 3:30, I loaded Marcus on a train to Dijon, where we transferred to another train that took us to Lyon. With my phone still not charging, I had to nurse the battery, because I needed the phone to access my train ticket, book and find my way to the hotel. It’s quite something watching your phone battery drop fairly quickly.
Lyon’s Notre Dame Basillica sits atop the city on Fourvier Hill, which gets its name from the Latin Forum Vetus (old Forum). It was here the Romans founded Lyon (known then as Lugdunum) in 43 BC.
Lyon’s Fourvier Hill. The city sits at the confluence of two rivers, the Saône and the Rhone. Pictured here is the Saône.
The closest, reasonably priced hotel to the train station in Lyon was two kilometres away. Do you know how long two kilometres is when you’re pushing a limping bike with a tube and tire that flop with every turn of the wheel, while also carrying two bags?
Getting to Lyon was one thing, but I still needed a new tire.
This morning, I checked out and left my bags at the hotel, while I walked with Marcus almost an hour to a bike shop. When I got there, I learned the shop had permanently closed. I had passed another bike store nearby, so I went there. They looked through their inventory and didn’t have a tire that would fit and be good for long distance travel.
The shopkeeper took me a few blocks down the street to another store. They didn’t have the right size either. Is this how it all ends, I wondered? Forget Rome. Is this going to be the London to Lyon trip?
The guy said I could try another shop back across the river. I didn’t want to walk all over the city looking for a tire. I asked if he would call them.
Good news, they had one that would fit. I set off across the river, and a new tire was installed. Marcus and I went cruising around the streets of Lyon this afternoon, and tomorrow we’ll continue south following the Rhone River.
Marcus seeing the bike doctor