Intro

I spent the first four months of my time in France without a bike. Well, that's not quite true: two instances of frustrated impulse getting the better of me resulted in an equal number of hasty purchases answering to the description of "bicycle".

There is much ado about the relationship between price and quality. A favorite social activity for a particular segment of the Gen X population seems to be the lamentation of the decline in consumer products: "Things used to last!" This is wedded to a general sense that the more expensive the product, the higher quality it is. But of course there are plenty of exceptions. However, this has bitten me enough times that I am wary now, at least in theory, of buying certain items that might be better had more dear.

I've discovered that bikes are such a thing, and paying less than €150 for two bicycles was the trap I had to spring to figure this out. So I rode occasionally, but found this activity which usually gives me unalloyed pleasure to be considerably diminished by the fact.

Then I went back to the States over the holidays, and brought back with me my trusty steed Rocinante. This is a 2018 model of a Lynskey titanium-frame gravel bike. It's a real beauty, and I got it used in 2024 while still benefitting from the lucrative salary attached to a programming job that I hated, and from which riding gave me much relief. It was quite a chore to travel with it, as I already knew, but the payoff has been such that I don't really mind the temporary stress and discomfort of lugging around a 60lbs case, or the task of disassembling the bike to put it therein.

The trip

I don't like biking in cities, and especially not Marseille. This is a shame, because the weather is often clement, being in a Mediterranean climate zone. But like so many other cities, it's been ravaged by car traffic, and French motorists are no better than their American counterparts: they block intersections, park on sidewalks, text and use their phones at the wheel, honk their horns without cease---in short, they are inattentive, rude, and hazardous.

When I'm in town, I prefer the public transit, which gives me a chance to read a little and get around in a reasonably efficient way, still of course hampered by the traffic, but that's a matter for another time. Failing that, I'll walk, and only if that's too time-consuming will I consider mounting up and riding.

Unfortunately, I also find Marseille to be a pretty drab place. Some/most/all of the excitement I describe in an earlier post has certainly worn off by now. I understand why this city has the reputation, among French people at least, of not being very nice. So I absolutely think of long bike rides as a chance to escape. That's just what I did twice this week, profiting from an early hint of spring weather to make two journeys out of town. On Sunday, 03-01, I hopped the train to Toulon and biked east to Hyères, a short ride of maybe 20km along mostly paved and separated bike trails that took me between little communes and hamlets (of which I saw mostly traffic circles and other such junctions) across charming bits of French countryside.

The following day, I consulted the weekly forecast and bought two train tickets for Wednesday. The outward-bound ticket was from Marseille Gare St. Charles to the Gare d'Arles. The return ticket was Gare d'Avignon Centre to Marseille. The biking part of the trip required me to get between these two cities in the span of about ten hours. That proved ample time, because as the crow flies, they are only 27km apart, and on the mostly developed bike trails constituting one leg of the ViaRhôna, they are at a distance of about 40-50km[^1].

Marseille → Arles

I took an ~08:30 train. The TER routes in this part of the country have ample space for bikes. Sometimes other passengers will indifferently place their luggage and other accoutrements here, but so far transporting my bike on these lines has been seamless.

On arrival, I went to the nearest bike shop to ask about some CO₂ canisters to keep my tires topped up. Unfortunately, I've found that a great many bike shops in France are more like workshops where you give them your bike and they repair it for you, and not like the boutiques in the States, where these services are provided for you alongside a range of gear and maintenance items. So I struck out, and risked a ride on tubeless tires that were a little soft, and not holding their air perfectly.

I stopped by the arena in Arles to snap a few pictures and then I headed out of town. I had an idea of where I was going, but I took a few wrong turns and had to double back, which set the tone for the rest of the ride, during which I got lost countless times, sometimes in dramatic fashion. Soon enough, I was out of Arles, spotting this handsome creature along the way.

Fourques → Beaucaire

This was one of the nicest stretches of the whole trip. The bike path was mostly well-marked by signage, in the towns there were divided lanes painted with helpful indicators, and, best of all, large segments traveled over an elevated route on a grassy berm that stood off from the highway by a distance of perhaps 50m.

It was blissfully empty of other travelers, too, being a Wednesday morning, and though sunny, the air was a little chilly. Perfect biking weather in my view, but people have responsibilities, I guess. Would that they did not. I passed through some truly picturesque landscapes, apparently devoted to the cultivation of wine grapes and other cultures I do not have the knowledge to identify, though many trees looked like cherry blossoms to my untrained eye.

I also saw several of these

A guide to France's bike trails hint that this may be an instance of the Camargue region's distinctive species of wild white horses, though I was under the impression that the Camargue did not extend this far north. No matter: it was terribly satisfying to watch a pair of these majestic creatures stomp through a patch of dried foliage and hear the sound of branches breaking beneath their hooves.

All the while I was almost overwhelmed by the bluebird skies, the air faintly scented with flowers I don't know, the red-tiled roofs of farmhouses and cottages, and the rhythm of the pedals uniting my body to the machine. I don't think Willie Nelson is the outdoor sports kind of guy, but the soundtrack of this day might well have been his song "Blue Skies".

Beaucaire -> Aramon

I stopped for a break and something to eat in the town of Beaucaire. I packed some leftovers, hoping to economize, and this did save me the price of one meal, though I ended up spending more than I liked. On a longer trip, I would like to be more self-sufficient. I didn't spent much time here, but made sure to bike past the Château de Beaucaire, a castle perched on a hill that dominates the view of the town and looks just as impressive from below as I imagine the vista from above is.

But I was very quickly out of town, as I wanted to balance sightseeing and riding. This is a tension of bike touring that I struggle with. I have a tendency to rush headlong into things and pour all my energy into them, especially when there is a component of physical labor that permits me to turn off my mind. Still, I made sure to capture photos, another habit I usually don't have, and make mental notes of what things I'd like to see again.

The trails here alternated between paved surfaces and a macadam-style path that presented no challenge for my bike. I don't ride much offroad despite having a gravel bike, but it can be a fun change of pace. Unfortunately, I became a little nervous that my tire would give out, and indeed, during the remainder of the trip, it was soft enough that my progress was slowed.

Commence, too, the getting lost part. I spent perhaps thirty minutes riding in circles, first to get myself off of a highway which I wasn't supposed to be on, and then riding on dirt trails and towpaths through farm land that gave me no indication of where I was supposed to go. Eventually, thanks to the landmark of the railroad, I got back on track and wound up in the town of Aramon.

This too I entered and left pretty quickly, though not without noticing the signs advertising it as a location for...bullfighting? That intrigued me, though not enough to stick around, given the otherwise sleepy and near-moribund appearance of the place. It was about 2pm, I think, and accordingly almost everything was closed, except for a tabac and a "French pub" on the town square.

Aramon → Avignon

And like that I was in the last leg. By this time, my legs were pretty tired and I was dehydrated, but otherwise feeling good. Luckily the trail presented no more navigational complexity for the rest of the route into Avignon.

All told, I think I biked perhaps 45 or 50km. I arrived in Avignon by the western bridge spanning the Rhône, and got a nice view of the Palais des Papes and the rest of the city.

Footnotes

[^1]: I haven't yet refined a precise method for tracking distances without buying a GPS for my bike, which I plan to do soon enough.