Today I rode a 'rails to trail' path from Chalon to Macon. It's a beautiful wide path that takes you through the vineyards of Bourgogne. Lunch included a nice Macon Loche, complete with the snotty waiter who corrected my pronunciation. Not nearly as many admit to speaking English here as in Germany. It hasn't been a problem. I'm getting along just fine.
Today's trail included a very long lit bike tunnel. It was easily a 10 minute ride from end to end. The train stations along the line remain and were originally exactly alike, but over time each owner has done different things. They are still great buildings. I crossed the Saone a couple of times today but, in the absence of bike trails south of Macon, I'm on highway for most of the remainder of the trip. Motorists are pretty good, and at least today, Sunday, there wasn't much traffic.
Today was the first day I was thinking it was time for me to get to a beach and vegetate. Navigation has gotten complicated again. The small roads aren't the most direct, so there is a bit of weaving around. I will periodically be able to jump on bits and pieces of established bike routes, but nothing like I'd been on. The Rhone route is 90% aspirational.
There is a question forming in my mind about where I should settle till Linda gets here on or about the 10th of September. This route takes me considerably west of Nice to the mouth of the Rhone in Marseille. I will probably slow considerably after I hit the Med. There is no point to getting to Nice much before she meets me.
The French aren't nearly as fastidious about picking up after their pets. The dog parks are empty and very clean. The sidewalks are a mess. And if horses aren't supposed to be in the tunnel, where did the horse manure in the tunnel come from? Germany was a bit more orderly.
I must be looking more seedy as time goes on. I'm getting withering looks. Top to bottom scans. I'm staring back now. It's not like these Joan Rivers wannabes are well dressed themselves. Wonder how they'd look after 3 weeks on the road.
Related to fashion... I forgot to mention that when in Germany, I was in a store with a large personal care section. The teenage guys were flocking around the hair care products. The girls had no chance. These guys were into this stuff.
Saint Hipolite? Who knew?
You see graves all over, not necessarily in cemeteries. The inscriptions can be poignant.
It's not letting me publish photos today. Good grief.
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