Per temps de pluie

Day 9. Roanne to Troyes. 320 Kms, 198 miles.
We had breakfast in the chateau, with the owner, who filled us in some more on the place and it’s history. It was built in the last 1500’s, but burned down within 2 years because of religious wars. It was rebuilt immediately, and was the centre of the order founded by some lady de Matel, who was born there. The order remained until 1905, when the French very sensibly banned all education that was not state controlled, and the order moved to the USA – who I am sure would appreciate the mania more than the French.
The house has had several owners, including Andre Citroen, he of the famous car. The present owners have had it three years, taking it over from a cooking school. They have done a lot of work on the place, and run it mainly to fund their repairs and upkeep of the house, which is beautiful and very interesting. They mainly host weddings on weekends, and run the place as a B&B during the week, letting out no more than five rooms, but usually only having one or two guests at any time.
It was raining, so we suited and booted in full regalia, loaded the uncomplaining bike, and off we rode. At breakfast we had discovered that in fact the River Loire was only 800 meters from the back of the house, and we soon crossed it. We had plotted our route to take us through a national park, rather than stick to the quicker roads, and much of they day was spent without seeing much traffic.
Actually, we didn’t see many people at all. I think the whole of rural France is on holiday, asleep, or have been murdered in their beds. We pass through 30 small villages or more each day, and hardly ever see signs of life. Everywhere is well kept, nicely tended, and looks in use, but we don’t see actual people. Very odd. Maybe the recent rapture that was offered by that mad preacher in the USA was only partially successful, and that part being the smaller towns of the Rhone and Loire valleys.
If yesterday was about the industrial Rhone, today was definitely agricultural. We sped through rolling hills of well cultivated lands, interspersed with lots of white cows. No sheep or pigs, but a few horses and the odd chicken hove into view. I think that all the pigs are already in sausages-and I have eaten at least a third of the national sausage stores while on this trip.
The land often looked quite similar to the UK, except that they had no dry stone walls. Take note, British farmers, people can be neighbors, know who owns what, and still run a farm without committing suicide, without walls in between every bloody field.
In fact, on this note, the French do really well without many of the tight-arsed boundaries and nit-picking rules of the UK. When you pull up at a traffic light, for example, there is no line across the road that says “stop behind me, or a big policeman will take your picture, hit you with a truncheon, or give you a fine of a years salary. Also, your neighbours, and people you don’t even know, will judge you forever unto eternity as a cretin for this transgression”. Here, they just stop, wait for the lights to change, and go again. No-one dies, no-one is mortally offended if you are two centimeters nearer or further from the lights, and no-one behaves irresponsibly. Yes the scooter drivers are maniacs, but they are fair game, and you can’t count yourself as a qualified French driver unless you have a few scooter scalps nailed to your bumper.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes scooter riders. Well, I have more to say on that one, but that can wait for another day. We were traversing the beautiful rolling hills of the Champagne region, riding through rainstorms that would have put Noah off. We got very wet, and the rain was so hard that it actually hurt when landing on my jacket.
We did our usual picnic lunch, in a mostly dry spot. We passed through some lovely and very dense forests on our way, and with the rain they smelled wonderful.

We had picked Troyes as our destination pretty much at random, being roughly on the way back to le train, and at what seemed like a suitable days ride away from the last stop. Other than the fact that they had an Ibis hotel here, I knew nothing. We arrived, got checked in, unpacked, showered, hung up wet gear to dry, and went for a walk.
What a revelation this town is. Apparently it harks back to Roman times, and has a history that features the betrothal of Henry V (the one who starred in Shakespeares play), Joan of Arc, various popes, and a pretty Greek lass called Helen. OK, maybe not the last one, but historic this place certainly is. Much of the town centre is well preserved, and full of wonderful buildings, lovely streets and food. It looks a bit like old parts of York, but much nicer, classier and with a better accent. We loved it, and wandered the streets like proper tourists, going “ooh look at this”, and “ooh look at that”. Unfortunately, the official photographer had left the camera back in the hotel room, so no pictures are available with this part of the soundtrack. However, go on google images and look up Troyes, you will be in for a treat.
Tomorrow is the last full day in France, and will mostly consist of a trog up the motorway to the coast. We are staying in Boulougne sur Mer tomorrow eve, so until then, au revoir, mes amis.