Traveling: Planning Begins

In Something to Declare, English author Julian Barnes wrote: "Knowing a second country means choosing what you want from it, finding antithesis to your normal (English) life; discarding the sense of responsibility you feel about your own country...."

With that, I admit to succumbing happily to all three of Barnes' meanings: choosing what I want from France; finding a different and appealing way to live; and not worrying about the goings-on here in at home. I do all three things without remorse, delighting in getting to know, a bit, this beautiful second country. I know that I am cycle touring there, I am not responsible to my family, or my community, or my work. It is an exploration, an adventure, a part of life, but only (regrettably or not) a part. I am free to find, or at least to look for, what I choose. I am free to enjoy, immerse myself into what is my personal, no doubt somewhat romantic, view of the country. More specifically so far, the south of France. Le Sud. For the record, I have French friends who make those choices in my country, whether as visitors or as expats.

Riding in France, there is the freedom, for mile after mile, day after day, to push pedals, absorb the sights and smells of the world about me, eat, look, think, sleep. To experience, not to judge; my responsibilities those of the traveler. To learn, to meet new people: I treasure each day. Of course, some days are more difficult cycling, the skies actually are not always blue, the little hotel not always comfortable. But the experience is always marvelous, and I am always engaged, paying attention. It is a different kind of life, no more or less real than my daily life.

Oddly, I believe that travelers often find what they want. In the science fiction manner, I don't believe in time travel. But in a daily way, by bike in France, there is time travel. It isn't going back in time so much as traveling through, or better said with, a past which is present now, embedded and informing daily life. Different than home, with our unrelenting emphasis on the next new thing, our quick ability to discard the old. Bicycle travel places me into a past that I can otherwise only read or watch films about. Not only in terms of archaeological or architectural sites, or museums, though they are important to me. Equally, the past resides in the stones of the sidewalks, the history of the hills and fields, the flavors of the foods, the conversations with people met along the way. The past shapes and informs each day, in a matter of fact, not a precious, way.

I dream, I mean actually dream, at night, asleep, about those beautiful little roads of France, winding their way through hamlets and villages, in and out of larger towns, simultaneously traveling through many centuries.

During waking hours, this year I dream of riding Paris-Nice. Not riding this year's race route, that race which starts tomorrow, Sunday, March 9th. Also called the Race to the Sun, it is in large part my inspiration. Those racers will ride fast, on closed roads. I won't have the luxury of closed roads, and my pace is unarguably slow. They will sometimes be transported from one day's finish to the next day's start by motorized vehicle. I will, barring misfortune, ride from start to finish.That race route, from Paris to Nice, has been ridden 72 times since 1933, changing its particulars with every new edition. I will look to incorporate some sections of those stages. Another piece of history, recent history.

This is the time of year when dreams begin turning into plans. I pore happily over yellow Michelin departmentale maps. Order the missing ones, maps which cover departements not before investigated. Wait impatiently for them to arrive in the mail. Study them, considering various possible routes. Special attention will go to Numbers 334 and 341, the Hautes-Alpes and Alpes-Maritime, those high mountains with their particular beauty, and particular difficulty. I check distances, look for little white roads. Little white roads? Michelin 300 maps indicate by color, letter, and thickness of line whether a road is International, National, Departementale or local; indicate how wide it is. Red, yellow, white. White usually indicates the least travelled roads, usually with excellent surfaces, though I have learned not to take that for granted For me, excellent cycling roads. I look for chevrons, avoiding the mark that looks like this: >>>. That mark indicates climbs of more than 13 percent. Only for a fabulous summit will I ride up a >>> climb, and only once in a while.

Regular readers have heard me say that I like to ride the route that is the hardest I can do and still have some fun. I begin estimating total length, and its ratio to the number of days I can be away from home, away from my job. Soon a rough route will be mapped and the question will become: Is this actually possible? Will it be too long, too steep...or the opposite? Actually I know already it will not be too easy, short or flat!

Even as it is just beginning, this process of planning a cycle tour involves choosing what I want from another country. I don't have a bucket list of place to visit. My other country, as Barnes put it, remains France. I suppose I do have a large bucket list of things I want to choose there. Soon, the first weeks of spring will bring with the start of weekend outdoor rides. For now these last weeks of of winter bring the planning season, and that season will continue, with varying intensity, until the pedalling in France begins again.