clairedavieswriter

Team Bernard enjoyed a tranquil 36 hours in our tiny cabin, scarcely 5 metres from the Seine. But this morning there was a difference of opinion with regard to our route out. Guillaume wanted to take us back the way we’d come, via Bonnières, to a bridge. But I’d discovered we could go in the opposite direction and take a ferry from Lavacourt to Vétheuil – weekends and holidays only, for foot passengers and bikes. Bernard wanted a boat ride – and I had the casting vote.
There was a worrying moment when a local cyclist suggested it might not be running because today was only ‘sort of’ a holiday (what’s that about?). But reassurance quickly arrived in the dapper form of a waistcoat and boater-wearing ferryman, his sidekick, and a dog with surprisingly good sea legs.

‘If you take off your wheels and panniers I’ll take you over now,’ said Boater Man with a smile, as they attached the outboard to a tiny tender and clambered in. Bernard gave me a look that clearly conveyed: ‘We’re gonna need a bigger boat’.

Half an hour later they were back:

Bernard got his boat ride, and there was no need to pay the ferryman.

On the other side, we briefly joined La Seine à Vélo – if we’d turned right, we’d have been cycling past the Arc de Triomphe by lunchtime. But I’ve done that already, on Bernard’s predecessor, so we turned left.

Aside from a dislike of retracing my steps, there was another reason I wanted to go via Vétheuil: more last minute homework had revealed that Claude Monet rented a house there for three years, and in the surrounding scenery found inspiration for more than 200 paintings

It wasn’t hard to see why

Though those views don’t come cheap: as I pushed Bernard up a road carved out of the chalk cliffs, I sympathised with whoever had the job of lugging Monet’s easel and paints up to that vantage point

Soon we were underway again, but no thanks to Guillaume, who had taken umbrage and was barking contradictory instructions.

He soon redeemed himself by leading us to another old railway line. For 22 glorious kilometres, from Gasny to Gisors, it flattened out the hills and sheltered us from the worst of the wind (yes it’s back).

After Gisors, we were back on quiet roads, and soon joined the so-called Avenue Verte, which runs from Paris to London via Dieppe and Newhaven.

There were hills to climb, but as always, there was also plenty to catch the eye:

While I’m obviously grateful for the care French road authorities afford cyclists, the earnestness of this sign somehow made me laugh

And I felt this door and window manufacturer might be selling itself short – or perhaps they’re just brutally honest about the quality of their goods:

But this tiny chapel, in the equally tiny hamlet of Amécourt (which nonetheless also boasted a château) was my Sight of the Day:

Tonight we’re in a family run hotel whose garrulous owner explained to me at length, while I gently perspired in front of the reception desk, why today is a holiday but not a holiday. In short, it’s a tax thing, for old people. That’s all you need to know. Personally, I’m more concerned about whether I’ll find anywhere open to give me supper. Wish me luck.