Exploring NYC by Bicycle - Brooklyn Bound

A break for views on the Manhattan Bridge.

Here we go! Based in Brooklyn, the idea is to explore some of New York City's highlights with my eldest son, and have adventures along the way. With 5 full days ahead of us, it's sure to be a great time.

Manhattan Bridge structure.

After a nine hour Amtrak ride we whisked our bikes up 3 flights of escalators in Manhattan's Penn Station and joined the throngs of other bike riders navigating routes home. I'm proud of my son who used his phone mounted on his bike and led us on a 7 mile journey to our Brooklyn's Park Slope AirBnB accommodation to arrive shortly after 8 pm. I'm glad we brought bike lights!

Our place is on the ground floor, has two beds, an amazing kitchen area, a nice hot shower, is quiet, all with our bikes tucked safely in a hallway.

This will do nicely for our stay!

Paris on the Fly

Early morning we hop on the TGV express train from Avignon to Paris. The high speed portion of our trip from Switzerland to Avignon had been after sunset so this was a chance to observe the French countryside. Eurail passes allow foreigners first class travel. We lounged and ate breakfast in comfort.

Because France is a large country, and one of continual fascination for me, I was interested in the landscape and future places to ride a bike. I tried following by map. I guessed we headed northwest, directly towards Paris. I could neither confirm our whereabouts, by road signs or track crossings, because of the train's blazing fast speed. I gave up. I relaxed as we zipped through rolling vineyards with typical blessed narrow roads, then flatter farmland dotted with white cattle. I have no idea where we were.

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Patty, near Notre Dame cathedral.

2.5 hours later we disembarked at Gare de Lyon and in typical European fashion—like clockwork— arrived a minute early. We scrambled to lug two large duffel bags between us, navigate the Paris train system, climb stairs, and make connections—all to go about 2 k. I purposely packed light for the hiking and cycling adventures. With a medium sized backpack, one shoulder bag, and one small pannier, I could walk anywhere and would've gladly stayed above ground to locate the hostel. However, both Patty and Michele lugged heavy bags. Patty's duffel consisted of two tents—which we all benefited from—but the weight neared 50 lbs. Despite her size she's mostly able to heft it herself—except it seemed ridiculous to try—especially after she'd previously mentioned her boyfriend rarely helps (I'd seen an example in Switzerland). I was reluctant to assist, at first, because of a chronic stiff back. With proper care and routine stretching, I'd managed quite well on the entire trip, which in turn boosted my confidence. When I could, I helped Patty lift a luggage handle to speed the journey.

Michele and Patty with lunch.

With bags stowed at The Oops! Hostel, we set out on foot. With less than 24 hours until plane flights home, we avoided the Metro, and with a loose itinerary, started off towards Notre Dame Cathedral. We picked up a baguette and ate lunch on a park bench on the cathedral grounds. Though I'd been in Paris nearly 20 years ago, I'd never taken in the magnificent building, decorated in flying buttresses and spires.

Paris has earned its reputation as the most visited and romantic city in the world. It exudes its charm through its buildings, museums, cafes, nightlife, and food. I can't help but wonder what would've happened had Hitler bombed the heck out of the city. Instead, Paris was largely preserved because Hitler was smitten, wanting to build Berlin in a similar style—only better—to outshine Paris.

Of course the interior of Notre Dame is magnificent, especially the rose windows, stained glass dating to the 13th century. It's difficult to get a clear view however; the glass is easily 4-5 stories overhead, yet I'm humbled in the presence of this voluminous space like I am in all Gothic churches.

We'd wanted to climb the north tower to have a bird's eye view of Paris, but the lines are too long. Instead, we head towards Sacre Coeur, which is situated on a hill.

Along the way we stumble on another spectacular square: Hotel de Ville. We couldn't find information on a sign or in my simple guide book, but later I discover it's city hall, the mayor's office and residence.

Along Rue Saint Merri—a pedestrian-only street—an artist draws Jimmy Hendrix in chalk. I love the silver platter and inscribed "Merci". Quintessential Paris.

A moment later armed soldiers walk by.

A mime performs in Place Georges Pompidou.

Then we head north along Rue Montmarte.

I'm excited to see Paris's bike share system, the Velib, in action. In fact, it's highly utilized, as I later learned.

After 3-4 miles of walking we take a break, headed for the outdoor cafe on the corner, straight ahead.

On the cobblestone side streets, lots of bicycles and motorcycles are parked. On busy streets, Smart Cars were prevalent, plus European compact vehicles. Like all of Provence, white vans zip everywhere supplying all the stores.

Practical city commuters.

Approaching the hill where Sacre Coeur sits, we first climb 200 steps (I counted), then we pay to climb 300 more to an overlook, for expansive Paris views.

One of Sacre Coeur's spires stands in the forefront with the Eiffel Tower
in the distance.

There are periodic showers in the distance, but nothing to worry about. We marvel at the sprawl. Interestingly there are certain districts, highlighted by a confluence of high-rises—like what you'd expect in a U.S. city with a central core—except there are several regions in Paris.

We check the map and decide to head to the Arc de Triomphe.

On the descent down Sacre Coeur's stairs, I spy a gargoyle.

Then it's a long walk down Boulevard des Batignolles. Parisians ride their own bikes...

..or the Velib.

Michele and Annie at the Arc de Triomphe.

The last time I visited the Arc de Triomphe was by bicycle. My husband and I joined the traffic and safely navigated all 14 avenues that converge at this special monument. Parisian drivers were accommodating—at least then. This time around, I'm glad we're on foot. It's easier to check the map and make the most of our hours, all while getting exercise.

The monument is accessed by underground entrance.

A special ceremony was taking placing at the eternal flame of the unknown soldier. We weren't free to roam around.

Flower garlands surround the tomb for a special event.

The Arc is a extraordinary place. Built under direction from Napoleon to celebrate his victories, it is now a memorial to all who've defended France.

The architecture is none too shabby either.

Michele is in the foreground. She wears colorful clothing compared with the Parisians.

Then we cruise down famed Champs Elysses. With wide avenues and hordes of people, cafes, car dealerships, and expensive shops; it's craziness! Parisian's wear mostly black clothes. They are walking and eating and texting—sometimes all at the same time.

A kelly green two horse-powered wonder: the Deux Chevaux.

We turn off the fast-paced avenue and head towards the Eiffel Tower. Along Avenue George V, I can't believe I encounter another Deux Chevaux. They were a common sight the last time I was in France; this trip they are rare. (I later learned they were manufactured up to 1990.) This is only the third Deux Chevaux I've seen in nearly two weeks in the country. They are a French icon, made by Citroen, and to me, undoubtedly the cutest foreign car ever made.

When Patty, Michele, and I crossed the street, I snapped my photo and waited for the Deux Chevaux to start up from the stop light. I wanted to hear it's pitter-patter engine. Unfortunately, the car died. The woman driver seemed embarrassed as a couple guys pushed her and the car to the curb. The demise of the Citroen two-stroke seems destined for museums and collectors, belying it's initial intention as a car for the peasant masses. C'est la vie.

Another twenty minutes and we are at the Eiffel Tower. Lines are long. Again, patrols scan the crowds. It's a new age, unfortunately, where high security is necessary to protect national monuments.

Photo credit: Patty

The sky has cleared and the sun is low. We stroll beneath George Eiffel's engineering achievement, constructed for the 1889 World's Fair. I wonder what he'd make of it today, if he were alive, and the throngs that await to ascend by foot or elevator. It still holds the power to captivate and enthrall—no matter how many times I visit.

After walking for 7 hours we are exhausted. We'd initially wanted to view Paris after dark, but we can't make it. We opt for the Metro back to the hostel.

I never tire of visiting this lovely city. Paris, I'll be back.

Provence, Day Nine - Chateauneuf du Pape and Avignon

Funny how we're all dressed in blue clothing.

On our last riding day, Michele decided to pedal by herself five kilometers back to Bagatelle Campground (start of journey and where we reserved a room), rather than accompany Patty and me for additional miles. She was happy to wander around Avignon until we returned.

Again, we set out on some lovely back roads and, except for one mishap where we tried to ride on an island but were halted by a chain link fence near a dam without an exit to the mainland, we pedaled through orchards with a prominent escarpment as a guide of sorts. We'd pedaled on the backside of the formation the previous day.

I liked the right angle turns around fields, houses, and as long as the railroad was on our left we kept away from busy Sauveterre. Two local women pedaled by us in the quiet morning.

Patty spied these snails in other areas of our travels.

The tiny roads eventually headed off towards a peninsula and we turned towards Roquemaure. It was interesting to enter the city through the back door, so-to-speak. Narrow farm roads; a guy on an old tractor passes in the opposite direction and we wave (wish I could've snapped a photo); goats, horses, a few cows are kept in fields. Curiously, white snails cover fence lines and posts. Then, we cruise into neighborhoods where mothers are riding with children or setting off alone with a front basket attached to a bicycle for shopping. Eventually, we find a narrow main road lined with businesses and signs, getting our bearings to cross the Rhone River.

We were nervous about the crossing, not knowing whether we'd merge with a busy road or if there would be an adequate lane for bicycles. Patty and I start laughing as we round a corner, our mood instantly lifted. A boulangerie/patisserie sign plastered on a cement wall seemed put there for us, symbolizing our bike adventure in Provence. I'd wished that Michele had been there to appreciate it. We stop for a photo only, having already consumed breakfast croissants and baguette.

Encouraged by a passing cyclist, we enter an elevated roadway which leads to a beautiful suspension bridge over the Rhone with, fortunately, a wide sidewalk.

Pedaling into Chateauneuf du Pape.

The next several kilometers were a harrowing reminder of some of France's too narrow and higher traffic roadways leading to tourist regions, but  according to our map, there wasn't an alternative. I focus on holding my bike in a line while delivery trucks zoom past, wishing—not for the first time—that I'd brought a mirror. And though I missed having relaxed, even-keeled Michele as a buffer between my dear friend who's had a tough year, I'm glad Michele stayed behind. Patty and I were certainly more daring, and capable of riding longer distances, so a bit of discomfort was within our expectations. I imagined Michele had already ridden more than she wanted the previous day. In some respects, it took a load off my mind too. I wanted Michele's first bike tour to end with fond memories—not that we led her on dangerous highways, fearing for her life.

The traffic let up as we entered Chateauneuf du Pape. This is a famous wine region, named after the castle ruins, and high on Patty's list to visit. Large signs advertised numerous vineyards—indeed we passed many chateaus and warehouses before the city center. It's only 11a.m.—too early to taste wine—so we lock the bikes and climb the winding allies and stairways to check out the ruins.

View from Chateauneuf du Pape ruins.

There is only one wall remaining. It's too difficult to imagine the entire structure in Roman times, rather disappointing compared with Tarascon Castle. But the view of the Rhone and surrounding landscape is spectacular.

Back in the village I buy souvenirs and Patty and I taste the region's specialty: red wine. I am disappointed, however; the alcohol content is 14-15%, much higher than the Cotes du Rhone I'd previously enjoyed. Not my preferred vintage.

The weather takes a turn for the worse. A chilling wind whips up—fortunately it's at our backs—and the temperature drops 20F. We pull on jackets and head out of town. I'd read about the mistral, a cold, northern wind that formulates inland and sweeps across the region, common in late September through November. We are lucky that only a sprinkle accompanies the wind. It propels us along at a good clip. Patty and I make good time past more back road vineyards with only one unintended detour downhill on a dead end road to a campground along the Rhone. Then we navigate through busy Sorgues, and with Michele's map, pick our way along a rail line and eventually manage a pleasant ride through high volume, but slow moving traffic on a marked bike lane. It leads us, amazingly, right to Avignon's walls.

It's 2 p.m. and Patty and I fantasized about galettes, delaying lunch until arrival in Avignon. We eat outside in the central square, sheltered from the wind by tent-like structures with clear walls that segregate each restaurant. The food is delicious. Buckwheat crepes form the basis, with simple fillings; mine is ham and Gruyere cheese—a perfect ending to our ride. I eat it all.

Check out the low tire pressure and the guy's puffed cheeks. Suit coat, pants, sandals,
and loop frame—a classic Frenchman on a bike.

We've come full circle, starting and ending our bike tour in Avignon. Patty and I are by now comfortable with roaming the maze of streets. We have an hour until rendezvous with Michel. We buy wine, more lavender and olive oil soap, and chocolate covered almonds colored like ripe, green olives. I take photos, attempting to capture the essence of the city.

Avignon's velo bike share. Sadly, I didn't see any bikes in use.

At the campground we meet up with Michele, clear out the storage locker, do laundry and dismantle the panniers and prepare to meet the bike rental van at 6 p.m. for pickup. Michele and I wait outside in a chilling evening for 45 minutes, but no one shows up. We leave phone number and names at the Bagatelle's entrance and peck out e-mails to the rental company. Not knowing what else to do, we secure all three locks to the bikes and leave them in a visible place so they'll be picked up later.

Inside our hostel room, it's a flurry of unpacking, and oohing an ahhing over garments we haven't seen in nine days. "It's like Christmas!" someone mentions—which it is, when you're used to minimal clothing for days on end. There are items of warmth that we now need, alternative footwear, a purse!, and unfortunately my stinky hiking shoes used in Switzerland that I have to store inside plastic bags so we won't have to put up with their smell.

We retire for a remembered meal on the terrace, though bundled more this time around. Wine warms us;  we chat, catching up on the days events. We also plan the early morning departure by train to Paris. The big city is our last hurrah, and with less than 24 hours there, should prove to be an adventure in itself before we each depart on separate airlines for home.

And the sun sets on Avignon.

Though we never got to the Pont de Gard nor ascended famed Mont Ventoux, the warm dry Provencal climate, the food, the wine, quaint villages, back roads, and campgrounds galore—the region is clearly set up for bike touring. I could see myself returning someday with my husband, who was forever with me in spirit on this women's-only adventure.

Links:
Day One - Avignon
Day Two - Fontaine de Vaucluse
Day Three - Gordes, Roussillon, and Oh, Those Hills
Day Four - Saignon, Ingenuity and the Descent into Aix en Provence
Day Five - Aix en Provence to Salon
Day Six - Adventures in Arles
Day Seven - Les Baux, St. Remy
Day Eight - Tarascon Castle
Day Nine - Chateauneuf du Pape and Avignon