Somewhere in France

From Asti I headed for the Frejus tunnel and the South of France.  It was bright and sunny but even so I began to feel the chill as I climbed on the motorway built for the 2006 Turin Olympics up towards the snow line.

The tunnel is a surreal experience, a single bore with two-way traffic restricted to sixty kilometres an hour and seemingly going on forever in a straight line.  It's hot inside, like a fan oven on a "warm" setting.  France appeared eventually and then it was downhill to the outskirts of Lyon and north to Beaune, where the motorways diverge, left for Paris and right for the Northern industrial town of Lille and Belgium.

I was aiming for Paris but turned off at Beaune to find my B&B for the night.  I rode down idyllic country lanes shaded by tall plane trees and dappled with sunlight into the terroir of Chateauneuf du Pape.  My scribbled directions were hard to follow, but eventually I found the tiny village where my  Chambre d'hote was located.  A pleasant place where they let me park the Bandit in what might once have been a cowshed.

That evening I rode a couple of kilometres to a tiny "port" on the canal de Bourgogne, where I had beefsteak tartare, a glass of red and an ice cream loaded with cassis.  Full and happy I watched the sun go down over the peniches and pleasure boats before turning in for the night.