Flow Vélo 6: Close to Catastrophe

La Flow Vélo from Chez Maillet (near Pranzac) to Nontron :

At Pentecost – the Platinum Jubilee weekend – we decided to take our chances with the stormy weather and give our bikes a night away from home. As this meant 2 days of cycling instead of one, we opted to explore east of Angoulême, where the Flow Vélo cycle route deserts the River Charente and heads into the Dordogne along the minor River Bandiat.

I haven’t been itinerant cycling for years (my husband has never done it), so I spent a while making lists and digging out the equipment we’d need.

It was important for us to be comfortable at night. In past itinerant cycling trips I used a light camping mat. This time, we took our ultimate comfort self-inflating mats, which are as cushy as our bed at home. Honestly! The disadvantage is their bulkiness. Nevertheless, my husband wasn’t deterred by the huge roll on the back of his bike.

Other than the mattresses, our equipment was pretty much minimal. One of our best buys were waterproof canoe bags. Not only do they protect our sleeping bags, mattresses and tent from rain (sleet, snow, hailstones…), they also safeguard them from trailing brambles.

Before leaving, we loaded our bikes and then, for fun, weighed them. The result was a shock: me & my bike came in at 94kg while my husband and his bike weighed 100kg. Worried that they’d be too heavy to move, we took them for a spin around our home. I was relieved to find that I could still pedal up a hill. In fact, I hardly noticed the extra weight. Not during the 2km test ride.

In a past cycling trip we had pedalled as far as Touvre, so on Sunday morning we started a few kilometres east of Touvre, where the Flow Vélo crosses the D699 at Chez Maillet. There is a small car park here, hidden behind the houses in Rue des Coquelicots. A couple of other cars with bike carriers were already parked there. It seemed an ideal place for our car to spend the night.

Off we set, along a flat, tarmac section of the Flow Vélo known as the Coulée d’Oc. This is a former railway line and runs south-east along the River Bandiat valley.

The Coulée d’Oc made for pleasant cycling through a holloway. The countryside is wilder here than along the sections further downstream of the Flow Vélo. At the numerous level crossings, the hedges open to give views of green forests and golden cornfields, maize and sunflower plantations. We were also treated to the sweet (?) aroma of cattle.

After about 8km, we arrived at La Gare (the station), close to the village of Chazelles.

Here, we stopped to examine this wooden gantry. Installed in 1896, it was used until 1960 to transport stone. Opposite the gantry is the Association G’Art building: a B&B, social café and water point. There’s also a car park so it’s a good starting point for a bike ride.

The Flow Vélo continued but we left it at the level crossing to visit the village of Chazelles, less than a kilometre away. It’s a pity that we cycle on Sundays and bank holidays, because there are several interesting places to see here.

Firstly, we discovered a craft brewery called La Rainette, housed in a mill. It opens at weekends and boasts a cute bar beside the river.

We were really disappointed that we couldn’t taste their beer. But it did give us an idea for a future cycling trip… Think Cognac (Jack Beer), Foussignac (La Goule), Angoulême (La Débauche), Chazelles (La Rainette), Nontron (La Paluche). Oh, what a coincidence: those places all lie along the Flow Vélo!

Chazelles also has a craft soap-maker and a wooden toy maker, as well as a few shops and some toilets beside the Mediathèque in the main square. Camping is possible a kilometre further along the Flow Vélo at Le Buron (06 78 25 84 39).

And look! The river was in flower. It’s a shame the sun wasn’t out to make this a better photo.

Back on the Flow Vélo, we noticed signs to the Grottes du Quéroy, a series of caves that lie about 4km off the Flow Vélo. With a 1.2km circuit through 30 chambers, they make for an interesting visit, especially if the weather is hot or there’s a storm.

After Chazelles, we crossed the Demarcation Line from the Second World War, passing from the occupied to the free zone. How did we know? Because of an information panel beside the cycle path. One of the things I loved about the Coulée d’Oc – apart from the many picnic tables – are the information panels placed at regular intervals. Every panel is a good excuse for a break to add to our knowledge.

We stopped for lunch at one of the tables, at which point I realised we were under an acacia tree on one side and a hawthorn on the other. I quickly checked my tyres for punctures. We were lucky. This time.

Soon after passing the Pont Sec at St.Germain-de-Montbron, we arrived at Marthon station with its toilets and water point. Our curiosity was drawn to a big building with bicycles hung all around it. Do you know what it is? If so, please let me know. The second photo is the former train station.

Again, we left the Flow Vélo to visit the village: if we’d turned left instead of right, we could have continued along the Scandibérique cycleway, which runs from Spain to Norway. But that was slightly beyond our weekend ambitions.

Marthon has a café (closed today, unfortunately) and also some castle ruins. For the first time of the day, I used my muscles to cycle up the steep hill to visit the tower. It’s worth crossing the pretty village to see the views (my photos don’t do them justice).

After Marthon, the cycleway – older and bumpier – was less enclosed and soon touched on the village of Feuillade, which we didn’t visit, partly because we weren’t paying enough attention to the signposts and got a little lost. A couple of kilometres later, the gentle railway came to a halt and the Flow Vélo continued on small roads. The real work was about to begin. We were nearing the Dordogne, reputed for its hills and valleys.

The lane through Les Grandes Rivières hamlet was blocked to traffic by two boulders but bicycles could pass. We crossed the pretty River Bandiat – in flower again – and then, as I’d suspected, the lane started to climb.

It amused me to see we were heading for a village called Souffrignac, so-named no doubt because you suffer in attempting to reach its heady heights (to suffer is ‘souffrir’ in French).

As it was Sunday, we weren’t able to enjoy the syrups and jams from the organic shop Les Jardins du Bandiat in Souffrignac. Instead, we continued up the hill, enjoying the birdsong and quiet roads. Our stop in the village of La Chapelle-Saint-Robert, on the plateau, was welcome, not just for the toilets opposite the church. This is an isolated, ‘olde worlde’ village, with many tumbledown houses. There were even an ancient water pump and petrol distributor.

We were on top of the world, here, surrounded by hay rolls. Freshly cut grass scented the air as we freewheeled down to Javerlhac, gathering energy for the climb up the hill to St-Martin-Le-Pin.

However, just outside Javerlhac, we ran into a cycling race. Literally. The road to St.Martin-Le-Pin was closed so we couldn’t cycle along the Flow Vélo route up the long, steep hill to the village. What a shame.

Instead, the race marshals let us take the flat main road along the valley alongside the racing cyclists. We went much faster, though some of the cyclists overtook us. OK, all of the cyclists overtook us. But we did get a cheer or two from onlooking bystanders.

By now, I was starting to feel a little saddlesore and our passage through this village seemed very apt.

Luckily, a few kilometres later we arrived at our destination – the small town of Nontron. Or, rather, the village of St.Martial-de-Valette, on the outskirts of Nontron, which was marked on our Flow Vélo guide by a tent logo. My odometer read 45km: not bad for our first trip with loaded bikes.

The campsite L’Agrion Bleu was calm, spacious and filled with beautiful, mature trees. Although the environment around the site was industrial, including a sewage system not far away, the campsite itself was perfect, boasting copious hot water, a washing machine & tumble dryer and a fridge as well as petanque, a playground and pool, table football and a flipper in the bar. The town swimming pool and sports ground is right next door. It would make a good base for a holiday and is open all year round.

We set up camp beside the River Bandiat and booked our meal at the snack bar, where the owner promised us our favourite local beer: La Paluche, made by Les Deux Ours brewery, which we’d discovered on a previous trip to the Dordogne. Then we cycled our light-as-air bikes up the hill to discover Nontron, which spreads over two steep-sided hills: hence the need for viaducts.

Being a Sunday evening, pretty much everything was closed, though we did find an open bar where we drank our well deserved aperitifs. Back at the campsite we felt blessed to have found a snack bar and a friendly owner. The sun even came out while we ate our Perigourdine salad and drank our Paluche beer, making a fitting end to our Sunday.

Little did we know what the next day had in store for us.

Monday morning dawned cloudy and cool again, a pleasing 20°C. My husband had heard the sound of the sewage pump in the night, but all I’d noticed were owls and the babbling water in the river. We were refreshed and ready to pedal again.

Although we were to make the return journey along the same route, there would be new things to discover, starting with the hilly road through the village of St.Martin-de-Pin.

To reach St.Martin we had to cycle through Nontron. This gave great views and allowed us to buy lunch, but it also meant that we began the day warming up our stiff muscles (though not as stiff as I’d feared) pedalling uphill for about 10km. Or so it seemed. In fact it was probably only about 4km. The countryside, however, with its hayfields and forests, made the effort worthwhile. I was glad we hadn’t attempted this route the previous day – though we’d experienced worse (better?) in La Creuse.

St.Martin-le-Pin was a tiny village of red tiled roofs with a pretty church, though no shops. Although we were on the D94 road, there was little traffic and it was good to be in the hills after yesterday’s valley ride. All too soon we were back at Javerlhac, the point where we picked up the route we’d taken yesterday.

Given that we’d only torn ourselves away from our comfortable mattresses on the campsite at 11am, we decided to stop for lunch at Javerlhac. Something we have learned over the past weeks is that it’s important to eat a snack and have a rest before you actually feel tired. Today’s lunch stop was one of the best, beside the Bandiat river in Javerlhac. I loved the architecture in this village.

It was after lunch that our idyllic journey took a turn for the worse.

They say problems arrive in threes, so I guess the first ‘problem’ was when it started to rain. Actually, the shower was refreshing. The earthy smell of petrichor and the flowering ground ivy along the verges kept my spirits uplifted. At first. After a while I started to feel a little chilly. Working on the principle that putting on a raincoat would stop the rain, I was relieved when the shower passed. At least it allowed us to test our waterproof bags.

Arriving in Feuillade, I called for a stop. I wanted to leave the Flow Vélo and visit the village, just in case a café was open for a warming cup of coffee. As we turned our bikes, I saw that my husband’s back tyre looked flat. Yes, it was punctured. The back wheel is always more difficult because you have to faff around with the chain and gears. Especially in the rain. I was glad I wasn’t alone.

Being too lazy to unload the bags, I struggled to hold up the bike while my husband disentangled the wheel – cutting his hand in the process – and found the thorn in the tyre. We’d only got one spare inner tube and I held my breath as he unrolled it: we’d bought it years ago and the rubber seemed decidedly perished. I hadn’t checked it before we left.

Luckily, it seemed to hold the air. And luckily, my bike’s tyres looked fine. We didn’t even resort to swearing.

All seemed well and we raced (well, cycled without stopping very often) back along the Coulée d’Oc to Chez Maillet, where we found our car sitting happily where we’d left it. Thanks to my ingenious husband, who had found a way of attaching both bikes to our carrier (remember the problem last time?), we were able to load the bikes onto the car. We began the drive home, satisfied with the performance of our leg muscles, with our puncture-repairing skills and our time spent in the Dordogne. I was already looking forward to our next Flow Vélo itinerant trip.

As we whizzed along the dual carriageway, the car gave a sudden jerk. I glanced over my shoulder. The car behind was flashing its headlights. My husband swore. He put on the warning lights. We pulled over. I jumped out (forgetting my yellow vest). That’s when I saw my bike hanging off the carrier, looking a little embarrassed. It had tried to escape. Had it thought it could take flight? Or had it argued with my husband’s bike?

I’ll never know. But I do know that I was relieved we’d managed to catch it before any damage was done. Otherwise, my cycling adventures would have stopped here.