Saint-Dizier to Lunéville
The first properly early alarm call of the tour, although when it buzzed me into life at 04:15 it really didn’t feel that bad. There may have been some lingering physiological problems, but lack of sleep wasn’t one of them. Instinctively, my long distance event routine kicked in – alternating between stuffing bags, stuffing down food, and gearing up. Never just one thing at a time – that’s wasteful when you need to get going. Which I did – partly because I knew I had to take a super easy pace today, and also because there was no let-up in the forecast. Warm, hot, then hotter. A few hours of cool was the best I could hope for, and that meant mounting up early.
Saint-Dizier – 05:00
It was still fully dark as I wheeled back into the street, trying to make as little noise as possible. The first day where I needed actual lights, beyond the usual daytime “be seen” blinkies. It took me a few meters before I got used to peering into the gloom and looking for potholes, obstacles, or other dangers that daylight would have made more visible. There was a parallel cycleway option, but given there was barely another vehicle around I ignored it over the first section and just stayed along the main road. A couple of roundabouts ahead though I remembered it was all main road with no safety lane or path of any form, so at that point I turned right and down onto the path – officially denoted as the V56 at this point. It was barely worth bothering really, but it did offer a couple of quiet kilometres before I was forced back up onto the road again. By this point, the morning light was slowly shifting from dim grey to blue, with an orange fringe east where the sun was coming up behind the forest lining that side of the road.
After puffing my way slowly over a noticeable, it not punishing, ramp I turned left off the main road. I remembered here I’d plotted a route via lanes to get to my first main target for the day (the interestingly named town of Bar Le Duc). I guess, given how little traffic there was I could probably have just stayed on the main road but I was in no hurry, and quieter lanes are always more enjoyable and pleasant, especially early morning as farms and hamlets are just waking up. The lane took me up and over into another valley, crossing over rivers and alongside a small dam. It wasn’t surprising to see so much water around given I was heading towards a canal, albeit at this stage the canal was upwards not down. The pretty looking village of Trémont-sur-Saulx lay across the valley and at the foot of the last hill before that point. A chunky little rise of 134 vertical meters which was thankfully all but done by the time the lane joined back up with the main road again once through the next village. Just a short stretch of slow moving uphill remained, before the wheels broke free and I sped down the steep little descent to my first goal of the day – my meetup with the Canal de lar Marne au Rhin. It seemed somewhat incredible to think that for a significant portion of the today and tomorrow I’d be following this same navigation all the way to the river Rhein at Strasbourg. And a number of the parts that weren’t along this actual canal would be along other canals or rivers. The European network of waterways is a truly remarkable feat of engineering.
Given it’s significant, the start of the canal path was really rather unremarkable. In the middle of town, a bridge carried me over the broad river L’Ormain, a little further along past a few more shops my route stopped short of bridge over the canal, instead turning right onto the towpath. And there I was. After the busy streets of Paris and countryside of Champagne, I was finally onto the “canal route” section of the ride. And the surface was superb – a mix of good gravel and fairly decent tarmac. Whilst it was easy riding, it was definitely not freewheeling. The gradient was so shallow I didn’t really spot that it was gradually uphill. It would have been noticeable from the direction of the lock gates, but I hadn’t begun to pay much attention to those at this stage. There were regular little ramps where the towpath rose up to the level of a road, which crossed the canal. If anything I attributed the slightly heavy feeling in my legs to that rather than the steady rise in the path. There were too many other thoughts flowing around my head though to really be bothered by either of those. First of those was exactly what kind of large furry water mammal was I seeing at regular intervals swimming in the dead still waters of the canal. My instinct said “beaver”, which of course also made me laugh too. I began to second guess that at some point and wonder if they were otters. Having checked since though, both are present in the waterways around here so I’ll probably never be totally sure. Another of the thoughts in mind was breakfast – which I knew was potentially not far ahead, having checked the route for towns and cafes. I had to leave the canal path anyway, since it ended at a barge basin in the middle of town so I went in search of some food.
Ligny-en-Barrois – 07:30
I kicked myself when the lady at the cafe I’d chosen explained their coffee machine was broken. But it was impossible to be sad really, sat outside on a beautiful day slurping down copious fruit juice and chomping on a spread of pastries . The juice was probably better hydration anyway, and none of the earlier places had looked nearly so enticing. It did amuse me though that the shop’s name (Myslik) if pronounced in a certain way would have sounded like “miserable” in Yoli’s mother tongue of Afrikaans. The lack of coffee also prevented me from lingering for a second cup as well, meaning I was back underway in a positively rapid (by my standards) 15 or 20 minutes.
By this point I’d been following the canal for around 16km. The section after my break continued along the towpath for around another 10km. The view didn’t changed much, but my mind still managed to occupy itself. I wondered why none of the locks appeared to be staffed. Surely it was into the time they might be open by now. I did notice various levels of electronics and cameras, so perhaps it was all now managed remotely from some central location. I had a vision of a smart city centre office but staffed by people in sailing caps, patched up jumpers and boat shoes. Adding to this unusual aspect though was almost the complete lack of boats. I’d seen maybe 1 or 2 across this whole section, and they hadn’t shown any obvious signs of life. Was the canal closed? Hadn’t it opened for the season yet? A sweltering mid-June seemed to be well within what might be considered tourist season. My brain was so wrapped in these thoughts, I overshot the turn where my route left the canal. On stopping and turning back though, I could clearly see what it did. The gradual incline of the last 25km became an actual hill not far ahead. Presumably, at some point, the canal would tunnel under it – meaning my track had to turn off onto lanes to ride over it.
The lanes topped out at around 334m, not exactly high. But more impressive, at least as a feat of waterway engineering, was that we’d risen up 233m since joining the canal at Bar le Duc. It needs a lot of locks and tunneling to get a pan flat navigation across that sort of terrain. The lanes I followed getting over that last “hump” were very pleasant – the gradient never really pitched up to anything noticeable, and the day wasn’t really that warm yet either. There was nothing really memorable which sticks in my mind about the many little villages I went through or countryside I rolled across, except what a lovely slice of rural France it was. Farm fields, wooded crests, small streams – utterly delightful.
It would have been kind of interesting to see where the canal emerged from the tunnel, but I rejoined it way beyond this point. In fact, in the moment, I didn’t quite connect the dots that this was the same canal – despite the damn great sign, which I read as I got back to the waterside on the edge of the town. It all makes sense now, looking at it above from a proper map rather than a tiny GPS screen. A couple of other things I remember from this spot were the footbridge with steep steps I needed to take to get across (thankfully with a bike wheel channel alongside), and the continued absence of any boats.
The route across this section was along lanes which roughly followed the canal rather than on actual towpath. I caught regular glimpses of the water, but it was clear that there was nothing rideable alongside. It was fun though. A fork in the road about 1km beyond the bridge saw the D144 tarmac road swing right up across farmland, where my route turned left to continue along the canal on a gravel road. It was dusty, but thoroughly enjoyable, and the tyres I’d chosen suited it perfectly. The track became tar again just before crossing the N4, but my gravel wasn’t done. Instead of following over the bridge, I swung right to follow alongside the busy highway. Not just decent gravel, but dead straight downhill too. It was now hot, and there was no shade, but it was fabulous in the breeze whizzing down the deserted farm track. Part way down, it swung around a cluster of buildings (possibly an old abandoned filling station if I recall correctly). From there I charged down to the bottom of the valley and turned under the highway onto a concrete farm track that joined back to the tarmac lane.
I don’t really recall crossing the river Meuse soon after and heading into the town of Pagny-sur-Meuse though. What I remember was seeing a long scar of roadworks up the hill on the other side of the valley, and following slowly up alongside this on the road out of town. It was busy with trucks from the N4 – some headed to a truck park and filling station part way up the hill. Others continued on to the Intermarche logistics centre at the top of the hill, sat directly opposite a Logis Hotel, which was presumably situated there to serve the visiting drivers. The road had a cycle lane though, which meant the traffic was no bother – I plodded slowly up the gradient, trying to ignore the heat and amuse myself by seeing where the trucks were all from. I forget now exactly, but there were definitely plates from Poland and Czechia, as well as nearby Germany. The procession of trucks and hill both ended beyond the hotel, making for quiet cycling again for a while.
I crossed over the canal again, but wouldn’t rejoin it until the next town, something I remember quite well. Probably because the scenery became considerably more dramatic, a wooded hillside to my left, and a steep lane descending off the main road and into the town, which my route took me down. It was an interesting, seemingly old, hillside town which descended almost straight back down to the canal. The road was closed for repairs part way down, but fortunately I could ignore the diversions and just bump my way across the excavations. Once down, the road twisted up and over a railway line before depositing me back on the canal towpath again. In hindsight, looking at my riding time I should probably have stopped for food in the town. But for some reason, it didn’t occur to me – probably because it wasn’t yet lunchtime thanks to the early start. That was a bit of a mistake though, which would catch up with me fairly soon.
Another 7km of canalside riding carried me to the city of Toul, and riding away from the canal onto surface streets the full heat of the day suddenly hit me. There was a café at the top, but it looked even hotter inside the glass fronted canopy, so instead I rolled downwards across the edge of the city. The heat reflecting back from streets and buildings was hideous and I just wanted to get the hell out of there back to somewhere greener and cooler. Again, another mistake really given I’d be on the bike for around 6 hours by now and covered roughly two thirds of the day (100km)with just the one short break for food and drink. I wasn’t putting out a ton of watts in effort, but I probably wasn’t riding smart in terms of fuel or hydration either. In my haste, and lack of mental clarity I wasted more time too, taking a couple of wrong turns and a very circuitous way onto the cycle way across a park between branches of the river. Once there, it was lovely though – and green, and much cooler down by the water again. I was following the Moselle for this part of the journey, a tributary of the Rhein that wound its way in the same general direction as I was headed.
As I left the city behind, I realised I needed both food and water. Stupidly, I passed by an ideal looking place – only to realise after crossing the river below that I’d marked this on my cue cards as a possible place to stop. Wheeling back, I headed into their gardens. But the waitress outside said they weren’t serving food yet, or perhaps were full, either way the best she could do was fill my water bottles. I accepted this with gratitude though – I still had snacks and a banana to make up the immediate fuelling needs. Water was much more important at this stage. Once over the bridge again, I saw a sight so rare that I stopped to take a photo – an actual pleasure boat, chugging along the river. Just one, and not on a canal, but I somehow felt relieved to have actually seen someone enjoying the water. And what a place it was too – the river and valley ahead of me were simply delightful to cycle along. Some of the loveliest riding of the journey so far. At one stage, the route veered onto cycle path which started along the river bank, but then became a thin island in the middle of the river itself. Shady trees, and cool waters running either side of the path. It was such gloriously scenic, flat, effortless cycling that I completely lost myself – forgetting that I needed food and just enjoying the moment.
Nancy – 12:30
Without noticing, another 20km slipped by along and in between different branches of the river. A gradual transition took place, parkland sections becoming interspersed with urban and industrial stretches. I was swinging around suburbs of Nancy, which sat somewhere out of site in the hills to the north of me. The route hopped over the water and ran between river on the right and Canal de L’est on the right. The waterways here were obviously a major transit for goods as well, in one large basin there were enormous cranes loading massive barges with ore, or coal or something. It was a fascinating blend of scenery and I paused for photos of the massive boats being loaded.
It wasn’t the only loading dock I passed. A little further along was a huge warehouse sized building, with two parallel pairs of cranes on girder rails jutting out across the canal from high in it’s roof. Just beyond their purpose became clear. A barge so long I couldn’t fit it all in frame, and completely full of crushed metals and other junk. The warehouse building was obviously the loading dock for a recycling centre.
The cycle path continued through fields and light woodland between river and canal, winding around basins and camp spots with people fishing. At the end of the overgrown parkland the path ran out alongside allotments and riverside cabins. I spotted a sign with a name I recognized – another restaurant I’d marked as a possible food stop. I left the path and ducked immediately down towards it, wheeling my bike around the building past the tables at the back and propping it against a tree near where several other bikes were stored. The place was rammed, and I didn’t hold out much hope as I wandered up to the patio. The waiter I spoke too seemed even less hopeful. But some combination of my pleading, and offering to sit inside at the smallest table they had must have worked. After a quick check with the manager, he showed me inside. To a not especially small table. Quite why anyone was sat outside was beyond me. The view from here was just as good, and the aircon was just the right side of “nearly freezing”.
My promise to be in and out quickly faded once I saw the menu. It really was quite a swanky place (embarassingly so given my attire), and the dishes on offer sounded superb. I ended up staying for a full three courses and enjoying as much of the cool as I could in the process. Having found me a place though, the staff didn’t seem at all bothered by my overstaying – in fact they became quite chatty and interested in my journey. My order of a veggie starter of some kind and fresh trout was utterly out of character for me, but any kind of meat just felt way too heavy in the heat. The ice cream based desert was rather more predictable, and washed down with a couple of hits of damned fine espresso too. It almost felt like my slip ups stopping for food earlier had been paid back with interest. I left with a huge smile on my face, and a generous tip to the staff for putting it there.
Better still, there was only about 40km left of riding to do for the day after the lunch stop. The canals and rivers around here were such a maze, I didn’t really follow quite where I was. Looking at a map now, I can see I started back on the Canal de L’est, then onto something called the Canal de jonction de Nancy, before joining back up with the Canal de la Marne au Rhin, which I had started the day on. Riding them, it all just seems to be one towpath which flows into another – you’re aware of the canal junctions, and the signs saying where they go. But it’s hard to track specifically where you are. One bit of towpath looks roughly like the next. Except, for a little later in the afternoon, where it really didn’t. In fact both sights came in quick succession. But I think crossing the river on a canal bridge came first. I do have a vague memory of cycling across an aqueduct on my H2H ride, but even for a 2nd time it was still a novel and memorable event. Just beyond that was a sight which literally stopped me in my tracks. On the other side of the canal and some way across a seemingly random field stood an enormous, imposing church – almost more like a cathedral. It was far away, so the photo doesn’t do it justice really, but the Basilica of Saint-Nicolas was as majestic a sight as it was unexpected. Clearly this area had quite some depth of religious significance in the past.
The V52 hugged the winding path of the canal for about another 10km before a turn I knew led me away and to my accommodation for the night. I’d not seen much choice of lodging around the canal itself, so had chosen to head away and to the nearby town of Luneville. It would prove a worthwhile an interesting choice, except around 6.5km of the remaining 10 were directly up a hill in stifling airless heat. It was a hot sweaty slog getting over the ridge, during which the realisation dawned that I’d have to start tomorrow up that same ridge again to get back to the canal. But for now I sailed down the last, steep, hill and the town beyond proved totally worthy of the detour.
Lunéville – 15:30
The hotel itself was quirky, but fine. To call it shabby would have been unfair – more a little tired. The front part of the hotel felt quite old. The accommodation block I was in looked from the outside and in to be 1970s. Not in a terrible way – it might even have been quite grand back then. But it hadn’t seen much of a makeover since then. The staff though, were superb – friendly and helpful to the extreme. They didn’t give me explicit permission to put the bike in my room. But the lift was big enough, and out of sight, so I took it up to the 2nd floor and propped it along the wall of the large-ish room, with a similarly large bathroom. Like I say, possibly grand in its hayday. I booked dinner once back at reception, but took the decision to follow today’s successful formula and skip breakfast to hit the trail early tomorrow.
I really couldn’t be arsed about dragging myself into town in the heat to find DIY breakfast supplies, but I was glad of having a reason too when I got there. The town itself was old, and still grand – a vast palatial structure almost like a mini Versailles stood across a moat right at the entrance to the town.
A quick bit of research showed it had an important history – a residence of the Duke of Lorraine since the 13th century. The rest of Lunéville was built in correspondingly elegant style. Wandering around the streets, the grandeur of the nearby Basilica started to make a lot more sense. It turned out to be a bit of a shame I was aiming at an early start. All around the square, and in streets beyond, small stages were being setup for a music festival. Under any other circumstances it would have been fun to join in. It must be a common thing in rural France, because Saint-Dizier yesterday and Château-Thierry the day before also had the trappings of a festival of some form being set up.
Once back at the hotel, I grabbed a swift panache at the eclectic bar area (which had more of the appearance of a bric a brac store or a hoarding aunt’s front room). Given that 2 bus loads of tourists (German I think) were already being served as my table became ready, I didn’t have high expectations on the cuisine. I should have known better. Even simple cuisine in France can be outstanding, and this was way above what the surroundings would have suggested. I quaffed a local wine, and chatted at length with the waiter. Who confirmed my impression on the upside down town signs – they were indeed a sort of silent farmers protest. I forget now the exact nature of their grievances – but there was a distinct echo of the tractor rallies back home in London. Belly full, and tired from the day (but physical issues nicely recovered) I hit the sack and was out cold in minutes. Heat aside, I can’t recall many more varied and enjoyable days on the bike as this had been.
