Cycling The Pyrenees – Part Two
July 31, 2024 § 1 Comment
As I wrote here, I agreed to join two friends, Tom Fahey and Augie Carton, in their ride across the Pyrenees from the Atlantic town of Saint Jean de Luz to the Mediterranean port town of Cerbere in early October 2022. I was a late add-on after they asked my advice about the route, probably hoping I would join (:)), and that all made for a frantic push by me to get myself provisioned, and ready to ride as September 2022 played out.
As a refresher, this is the route which basically is a route engineered by Peter Cousins, a travel cyclist writer who spent many many hours on bikes in the Pyrenees writing about all the special places, in all the regions spanned, and then combined them all into 1 end to end ride that could be broken up into as many days as the rider wants.
This is the second part of the story. My daughter agreed to drive me to the airport as there was no point leaving my car in the parking lot for 2 weeks. I picked her up at her place, and she would park my car at Susan’s place on the hill, as Susan would pick me up when it was all over. Traveling with a bicycle is not an easy endeavor, and because I am a cheap bastard, I hate paying extra to bring my bike so I have a bike bag that is right at the limit of the dimensions for no-extra-charge baggage, and since my first bag is free, well you get the point. Just because the bag is the max size for “Normal” it is not normal, and fortunately has wheels and a couple of different hand holds, so once I was dropped off it wasn’t too bad to wheel it over to the luggage drop off. In addition I had a carry on bag which carried everything that didn’t put my bike bag over 50 lbs, as well as any “extra” non cycling clothing for the front side, back side of the trip. The carry on would fit inside the other bag for storage when that time came.
I found Augie at the gate, unmasked, and though I was masked, after talking to him for about 5 minutes I removed my mask. I had picked up something to eat as well, which I chowed down on, and tick-tock, boarding began and we were on our way. Tom was already in Paris with his family, so it was just Augie and me. We booked at different times, and he may have been in 1st class and I was back with rest, though I did spring for extra legroom. The flight was uneventful, my usual inability to sleep on a Red-Eye had taken over, and 7 hours later we were in Charles De Gaulle airport in France. I found Augie waiting for me, and we proceeded to find that large baggage claim, which was a freight elevator where there was a crowd of other travelers awaiting their over-sized items. Yes, I know I said my bag was right at the max size for “normal” but it was still abnormal enough that it got handled through the over-sized claim. As various over-sized items arrived, and were claimed, we sat until both of ours were wheeled off the elevator. The size difference between Augie’s hard case, and my soft case was quite remarkable.
Customs was quick, and then began the long trek, following signs, and eventually some markers in the floor tiles, from the terminals to the train depot where we were expecting to get on the TGV to Paris. We found the kiosks, and we managed to buy our tickets, however when we approached the escalator we needed to use, it was roped off with very French wording that seemed to say “Not today folks”. Eventually we figured out it was a detour, and we managed to follow the detour signs to a shuttle bus, which we boarded, with our bags/cases below, and we go shuttled over to a different TGV station where we caught the next Southbound into Paris proper. That dumped us in Gare Nord (The North Station) where our next task was to transfer to one of the Paris Metro trains. We both needed to board the same train, but for some reason, I got held up, and Augie didn’t notice, so he kept going. I don’t remember what the hold-up was, but I think I had trouble getting my stub recognized. Once cleared, Augie was out of sight, and I knew enough to know where I was going, and found the platform, but I didn’t immediately see Augie, so with doubt kicking in making me believe that I wasn’t at the correct platform, I thought about texting him. There might have been a train at the platform when I arrived, and at first I tried to get on, thinking Augie was on it, but it was too rushed, and the people “helping” me at the door didn’t feel quite right, so I backed out. Once the train left, I saw Augie sitting on the bench and joined him.
The next thing that happened was really weird, and maybe shouldn’t have been unexpected. It was October, I traveled in one of my flannel shirts, and left the tails untucked, so they hung loose at my side. Tall sized, so extra body length. The next train pulls in an we grab our stuff to board. Augie maybe has a backpack, and I have both hands occupied with each of my bags. Right as I approach the door, two men, rushed ahead of me and turn around and blocked my way. I started to push through them and that’s when I felt the hands fishing for my pockets. I shouted “What the Fuck!”, and it surprised them, and they scampered off the train before the Gendarme also took notice. I verified that they got nothing, and so I boarded and off we went, explaining to Augie just what went down and why I screamed loudly.
Augie and I parted ways at Montparnasse where we transferred to different trains, both short trips to our respective hotels. It was early in the am still, and I fully expected that it was too early to check in, but to my surprise the Marriot said there was a room available, and allowed me to take it. Score! I did not sleep very well, which is usually the case these days, and it was still quite a walk from the metro station to my hotel, so I was in need of a little rest.
I couldn’t really sleep, so I didn’t lie there long before I thought to make arrangements for the TGV the next day. We hadn’t done that yet, and it didn’t take long to realize that we should have. What I found out is that there are only 3 spots on each TGV for fully assembled bikes, and there were NO trains the next day in which all three were available on the same train. I was texting Tom, and we decided that I would take one of the trains, and they would take a later train. I believe I was on the noon train, and they followed at 2. At least that was now taken care of. We didn’t know yet what our return dates would be so we couldn’t plan that yet. With that out of the way, we agreed that it was long day, and there was no need to get together until the next morning. Tom was with his family, Augie was resting, and had plans for the fancy dancy restaurant in his hotel to satisfy his animal protein diet, and I would do my own thing.
My own thing started with getting my bike together. I took my bike bag down to the lobby where they offered up the courtyard as an assembly location. Imagine that. Marriot Courtyard actually has a courtyard! I never paid any attention before, but there I was on full display to anyone interested pulling the pieces of my bike out and reassembling it into a fully functional road machine. Nothing appeared to be damaged, and upon completion I returned to my room and then searched Google Maps for the nearest bicycle shop where I could buy some compressed air cartridges. You cannot do air travel with those, and though I brought a small frame pump, I thought it would be good to have some CO2 cartridges as well. Faster. I found CRC cycles less than a mile walk from my hotel and picked up my needs. They didn’t speak English, nor I French but I could see what I wanted, and my debit card took care of the rest.
It was a nice day, so after dropping that off at my hotel, I thought a nice walk-about in the direction of Paris’ iconic skyline attraction, the Eifel was in order. It was maybe a 2 kilometer walk and I could always take mass transit to get back, or walk. 2 kilometers? That’s only 1.2 miles. It wasn’t a straight line, and I don’t recall stopping to have a beer, but as I was walking along my bladder was sending me signals that I needed to think about servicing it in the next 20-30 minutes. I expected that like the US, if you wanted to use a business’ facilities you should probably be a customer, and I didn’t want to stop and eat yet, and it seemed that stopping for a beer would just create the need to stop again even sooner, so I googled “Public Restrooms” and found that Paris has a number of single occupancy public toilets peppered around the city (And Country), and that one wasn’t too far from my present location. It even plotted me a route, which I traversed and found a rather large Octagonal structure with a short line. Operationally, one person goes in, and then comes out, but the next person cannot simply walk in. You must wait while the unit automatically goes through a cleaning/sterilization process, and then the door opens for the next person in need. The entire process takes whatever time the person in need needs, plus 3-5 minutes for the cleaning, so the line does not move that quickly. When it was my turn I entered, and found a very clean system where there was a urinal for Men’s #1’s and a stainless steel Horseshoe shaped seat made from 3″ tubing. Everything looked usable. The paper products get covered up during the cleaning process so they are dry and ready when needed. All in all a pretty nice system, and I thought how sad that American cities, especially NYC don’t have such a system.
Maybe I did have a beer already :), because by the time I got to the Eifel Tower, I was in need again, and found a similar unit, but with a much longer line, though I happened to be behind two young Canadian women who were departing on their own cycling adventure to the North the next day, so we chatted away the time it took for the facility to ready for our needs. We parted ways, and I took in what was going on at the Eifel Tower. If you haven’t been there, it sits up against the Seine, at the end of the Champs-de-Mars, a grassy park which the closer you got to the Tower the less grass, and the more dusty dirt it became, until it was all dusty dirt. It was packed with image and selfie takers, all people who were visiting the iconic structure and were looking for their shot. No wonder the grass was gone. (As I write this, it is 18 months later, and I had been back to Paris in May and that whole area was fenced off so that new grass would take and the area ready for the Paris Games in August) I could see the lines and the access points to go up the Tower, but that was not my desire, and I simply walked around looking for different angles for my own shots of the tower, and then I wandered out to the Qual-Jaques Chirac roadway and the Seine to decide my next steps. Two trips to a public restroom in less than 30 minutes helped me decide to take mass transit back to my hotel where I could find dinner locally and not have to use the public facilities any more.
I walked to the Bir-Hakeim Metro station and used my debit card to gain access to the next train to Montparnasse where I transferred to a train bound for Porte-du-Versailles and walked the now familiar route to my hotel. I found an acceptable dining option across the street, and when it came time to pay the bill, I found that I had not returned my debit card to its usual spot in my wallet, nor could I find it in my wallet or on my person. I could not recall doing anything in my room other than using the toilet facilities, so that left me with the shocking notion that I had left it in the machine when I purchased my transit ticket. If reading that made you suddenly feel an emptiness in the pit of your stomach, then you know how I was feeling at that exact realized moment. Shocked and afraid of what could go wrong. Unfortunately, I did not take the time, to fully re-examine myself, nor the time to go back to my room and tear that place apart before going to my Credit Union App and dialing the emergency number to report a lost card. I was pretty convinced that being a person who does usually follow strict procedures, like putting the card back into my wallet, that my derived conclusion of its final resting place back in Bar-Hakeim was 100% solid, and the card was indeed lost. I had other credit cards with me to use, but I would have preferred to use my debit card. Anyway, after paying the bill and returning to my room, and a good nights rest, I did find the card the next morning as I was preparing for my departure and storage of my bags. The good news was that it wasn’t lost. The bad news was it was a useless card now. Cest la vie.
The Marriot agreed to keep my bags until I returned, and with those properly stored, I departed and rode the streets of Paris across town to the hotel where I found Augie and Tom in the lobby with their bikes. Since they were on a later train than I, I was the only one who was geared with all my trip belongings. The plan was to do a short a ride around the streets of Paris, taking in of course, the Av, des Champs-Elysees and the famous roundabout Arc de Triomphe, after which we would work our way to Montparnasse where I would catch my train. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, people were out walking about, and we enjoyed a fine ride as planned. The streets of Paris offer many bicycle lane options, much like NY they are carved out of the existing street, and in some cases they are set aside, and in others it is a shared bikeway/taxi way. It’s a set of various inconsistent choices, but it seems to work, again, much like NYC.
We found Montparnasse, Augie and Tom bid me farewell till later, and they rode off. I entered and was able to figure out my way, and found the TGV platforms where I got my first real look at one of the trains. They are sleek looking and very long trains. At a major hub like Paris, where the system is very hub-and-spokish, it is actually two trains joined together with engines in the middle, so you are either in the front train or the rear train, and both have all the same amenities except when it comes to the car designated as the assembled bicycle car. There is only one, and it was way down the platform at the other end of the entire train. I didn’t have to ask, as my ticket listed the coach #, and I could see that I had to keep walking and so I kept walking. I found my coach (last one I came to of course), entered and could see that the bike area was on the lower platform and other passengers had dumped luggage there. Assholes. That platform is not for luggage. I believe I might have uttered “Fuck!” and maybe one or two of the offenders stood to help, but I had to move the luggage, secure my bike, and then stack the luggage back so that it didn’t lie against my bike. I did the best I could, and sat down. If people didn’t like it, they could take care of it themselves, and if someone else, which did happen, came along, hopefully they spoke French and could admonish the offenders further. For me, I was comfortable, I had changed out of my bike shoes and into my comfort shoes, and was ready for the grand depart.
While the train maintains normal train speeds in urban areas, once we cleared the greater Paris metro area, I got my first taste of what these trains are all about, and let me tell you. Wow! Here in America, the land of the free, the home of the brave, we have been screwed royally by special interests, because why the US of A doesn’t have a sophisticated high speed rail system is the crime of the ages. There are monitors inside the cabins, and they occasionally show the trains speed. The top speed that I notice was about 317 kph. I know. Metric. That’s fast as fuck. 160 kph is about 100 mph, so that is nearly 200 mph. Now is this the way to get from NY to LA? Maybe not, but it certainly a way to get from Boston the DC, or NY to Chicago, or many many short hauls. No TSA. No taking off your shoes. The train was crowded, which means people in France prefer train travel.
Enough ranting. Less than 3 hours passed and we pulled into Bordeaux. People got off, people got on. Next stop was Bayonne where again people got off, and people got on. My stop was approaching. As we neared the border with Spain, this train never hit those 300 kph speeds again, but it does still ride its own tracks, and soon I was in Saint Jean de Luz, and since everything I had was on my bike, all I had to do was get my bike off and find my hotel.
Funny thing about that hotel. Here is a run down on my observations in dealing with some of the site software that these small 2 and 3 star places use. It sucks. “What do you mean Eric?” Look, I am a software developer, so I am willing to admit that maybe, there is user error involved, however, with these sites, the use of the back button should not be trusted. Good sites intercept the back operation so that they can take care of things that would be useful to the user. Like, in a reservation system, once you have entered your desired dates, it would be nice if those dates get preserved. Priceline, Expedia, even the Google interface itself, all do a decent job of preserving the dates. The same cannot be said for the host software that I was using. You know how this works, you go to google maps, you find your locale, you type hotels, and then you start clicking around. There is a “Check Availability” which takes you into that hotels page usually, and there you can browse their rooms, say, after you choose a date. Maybe you don’t see a page back button, so you click the browser back button, and you don’t notice that the date has been reset to the current day. You see where I am going with this? Exactly. I walk into my hotel, and want to get to my room, and come to find that there is no reservation for me. The lady looks up my name and says my reservation was for September 13th and I never showed. Fucking software.
Back on the street, I just started walking in a direction and 1 block later I came to another 2 star, and walked in. They spoke enough English for me to find that they did have a vacancy, and not only that, but they had 2 more rooms available, so I texted the boys, since they didn’t have a room either and were on the train. Yes folks, I found the perfect people to do an adventure with. People who operate the way I do. Look, this was an out-of-season adventure, so we really didn’t need to have things that figured out.
I got my room, left a deposit to secure the other 2 rooms, dropped my stuff in my room, which, let me say was no easy operation, as these 2 star hotels are small, and I had to carry my bike up a circular staircase to the next floor where narrow hallways made navigating a challenge, but the challenge was accepted, and conquered, and soon I was on the street, in the only street clothes that I had, walking the streets of Saint Jean de Luz, heading towards the water. SJDL is a seaside town on the Atlantic with a protected cove, and a thriving “Boardwalk” along most of it. The usual seaside businesses were in operation with a fair number of watering holes. Looking out onto the bay, I could see that a pedestrian path works its way around to the North and West to some highlands that overlook the Atlantic. In the bay were swimmers, paddle boarders, skim surfers, and almost any other water related craft you can think of. Waves that made it into the cove broke well out into the cove, and that is where a lot of people were hanging out.
I had hours to kill before the boys got here, and since they would be hungry when they got here, there was no point in eating before that, so I grabbed a beer at one of the many holes, and did some people watching. When I drained that, I decided to take a walk along that pedestrian path, and after passing a number of information booths, one of which had information on joining French Special Forces, or at least Joining the French Army, and thence seeing if you qualified for Special Forces training, I was well around the bay, and the sounds of the surf were the dominant sounds, and the sounds of the town were a distant memory. At some point there presented itself many options to climb the hill. Some dirt tracks one way, an old set of steps another, the path I was on yet another. I chose the stairs and soon was looking out over the Atlantic, hearing the crushing surf crash below on the rocks. There was something like a chapel on the hill, but maybe it was just a monument of some sort, or maybe a family building from days long past. On top it was all gravel trails, and I could have walked North along the upper cliffs, but I decided to start heading back. I was in touch with Augie and Tom and they were making progress, and I should look around for a place that will serve food late so we could eat.
Tide was out, and along the wall there were opportunities to drop down some steps to whatever rocks were exposed that carried tidal pools. I investigated at least one of these. The steps were a little slippery, but the rocks themselves were not that bad. There was a lot of tidal pool life that awaited the next tide. I tried some perspective shots with my phone, and they weren’t exactly what I had hoped for, but they didn’t suck either.
Back on the path, the Special Forces booth was packing it in when I passed again, and to my surprise, it was Sunday, many of the boardwalk establishments were calling it a day and closing up. “Okay, I guess we aren’t eating out here later”. So I kept walking, now further South of where I first entered the boardwalk, and when I came to an intersecting street and peeked down it I could see that this was the food alley. I turned and checked the places out, all actively still serving folks, and seating new folks, so I was encouraged. The boys were 60 minutes away still, so I kept walking and thirsty I dropped into a corner pub for a beer to kill more time.
I was on the platform when their train pulled in, and guided them down to the down-under tube to get to the business side of the tracks, and we got them settled into their accommodations before we headed out to get some food. My walk about was useful as I knew where I was going and we soon were back in the food alley, however at least half the places were closing up, but not all of them were and we found a place to seat us and we spent the next two hours eating and drinking wine and beer. It was really our first meal together, and it was the eve of our adventure, and Augie just started ordering wine. So, we sat and talked and drank, and eventually paid the bill, and wandered back to our hotel. The streets weren’t completely empty, but they were a lot emptier than when I had arrived. It was late.
We agreed on our meet time in the morning, and we said our good nights. I will continue this in the next installment, as this installment has gotten rather extensive.
Big Bird's Adventures 
[…] there is a lot of detail there to harvest. In Part I I talked through how I came to do this, and in Part II I covered getting here. Now it’s the morning of 3 October, 2022 and we awake in the seaside […]