T he crunch of tyres on gravel rouses me from my doze. Damn it! I unzip my tent and look out on to a dewy football field. I slip away undetected and ride down the narrow, slumbering streets of Chaussy, a village 70km north-west of Paris. The crisp morning air soon blows away the sleep and, as I ride past sun-painted fields with their neat rows of crops, the mist dissipates.
But for this summer holiday, I would swap the North Sea for the Mediterranean. The traffic-free Avenue Verte had guided me from Dieppe to Paris, then south of the city I followed the Seine, into rolling and windy hills over endless farmland. The sense of simplicity and freedom that cycle touring brings is here in abundance, and I love the wide skies and the cool mornings that burn off to leave long, sultry afternoons. The central square heaves with fruit stalls.
I buy some nectarines and eat beneath the market canopy, the taste transporting me back to family holidays. Perhaps camping is not quite my thing. The EuroVelo network of cycle paths has 19 routes covering 70,km across 42 countries. The river is wide and very blue and endlessly draws the eye. There is a Roman fort in Vienne where I stop in a small square beside the river for lunch.
The buildings surrounding it are pale orange with terracotta roof tiles β in contrast with the chalk-white bricks of the north β and the land is noticeably more arid. I would like to stay here, beneath this tree, watching the river roll past, but I must cover at least 80km more today.
My knees hurt. The thunk of the boules filters through as I settle down with my pizza, sans fromage. In France! On the eighth day I roll into Nice. The pebbled beach shelves sharply into the sea and in I go, rising and falling with the breakers, the water definitely cooler than I had anticipated.
