It was a long, though relatively easy ride into Bordeaux. We began on country roads but travelled most of the 58 km on the Roger Lapebie Cycle Path, so named after the 1937 Tour de France winner.

The path was once a train track. Even the stations have been converted to pretty little wine bars and coffee stops, though most were closed when we passed by. There was even a small bike shop near Creon, where cyclists can make repairs on their bikes or rent one for the day.

Most of the journey is flat, or slightly downhill, which made for a comfortable ride. Though 58kms of just maintaining an even spin cadence is wearing on the legs. The path is lined with trees, many joining above to create a beautiful green arch.

Our first stop was La Suave, home to a crumbling Abbey that once housed 300 monks. We did not go in, but the view from the surrounding streets was lovely.

Part of our ride took us through a rather long tunnel – which was entirely dark upon initial entry, with no light ahead. As soon as we entered, it lit up beautifully to reveal itself.

We arrived in Creon to find the bike station closed. We were hungry. The city square was just a few hundred meters away so we stopped there for coffee and lunch – salads and omelettes. The square was very small and very busy with a number of bikes locked up near ours.

Although the path was wooded and not crowded, we did manage to have a few adventures. We ended up behind an entire class of small children on bikes. They were as excited to see us as we were concerned about seeing them. Passing took quite a long time as their bikes followed their heads and they kept looking at us, pulling their bikes to left and closer to ours than I was comfortable with. We helped a bit by hollering “a droite” (to the right) as we passed small child after small child.

At one point a rather large black dog shot out of the woods towards us. It was clearly intent on Cathy and rode alongside her for a km or two, happily and smiling with it’s tongue lolling out. It had clearly taken a shine to her and completely ignored the rest of us. I guess that is one way to ensure your dog has a good walk every day.

At one point we came across a pond full of beavers! It was an entire community with little huts made of branches and mud everywhere.

Beavers are native to this part of Europe and were reintroduced in the 70s and again in the 90s when their population began to dwindle. They are much smaller than the beavers we are accustomed to and have smaller muskrat-like tails vs large flat ones. I counted at least 10 including a tiny, ridiculously adorable baby. Perhaps that is what the children were off to see.

An elderly gentleman came by with a bag of cut apples and broken bits of baguette to feed the beavers a snack. They definitely seemed to know him and came racing towards the water’s edge, along with dozens of ducks that also knew the drill.

Not long after, the small towns gave way to houses and yards. These eventually became busier roads and we knew we were getting close to the city of Bordeaux. There were a few large road crossings, but always we would end up back on a bike path; a huge relief.

Soon we saw the bridges and the city in the distance. There was some construction which created a bit of confusion and we ended up at the top of a bridge, preparing to cross the river into town. Except it was the wrong bridge. When I stopped rather suddenly at the top, my right leg just gave way – weariness I think. The bike hit the ground hard, there was no way I could hold it. I tumbled the the left making an inelegant roll which probably saved me from any major harm. There was no oncoming traffic thank goodness. A bit embarrassed, I had a few scrapes but was really no worse for wear.

Back on our bikes, down the bridge and just a little further along we came to the 4867m “Pont de Pierre” or “stone bridge’. The bridge marks the line between the ocean and the river.

It was originally ordered by Napolean as he was looking for a faster way to bring across armies than the ferries that were available until then. It was not actually built until the subsequent Bourbon Restoration and took 3 years to complete. At one point the builders borrowed a diving bell from British in order to stabilize the pillars. It consists of 17 arches – the number of letters in “Napolean Bonaparte”.

The bridge allows no cars, only buses, walkers and cyclists which made for an easy crossing.

We were very relieved to find our hotel quickly. It was perfectly located in the heart of the old city and made for beautiful walking the next day.

We said farewell to our bikes, checked into another tiny room and after a brief rest, went out to see the sites and find a place for dinner. We had been advised to try “L’entrecotes” which ended up being about a block from the hotel.

When we arrived, the line up was huge, wrapping around the block. They take no reservations. We got into line, deciding to take a chance. It turns out the restaurant itself was huge and our table was located up 4 flights of stairs. We were in the French version of a fast food restaurant – a glaring, yellow hall of beef.

The menu was fixed: a simple green salad adorned only with a handful of walnuts, more pommes frites than anyone could ever consume, and l’entrecotes, a thin cut of steak. If you did not eat beef, like Cathy, the alternative was a small cheese plate. They also had no wine list, house wine or one other choice.

The pace of service was fast, though well orchestrated. Everyone there had a job and knew what to do. The fries were well cooked, but like MacDonald’s lost their appeal as they cooled. The beef was served on platters with a butter sauce kept warm by the 2 candles below. We were in and out in less than an hour. It was a memorable experience, likely to go unrepeated.

We were very tired and returned to our rooms for an early night. Rain was threatened for the following day. I drifted off to sleep after taking a bit of time to peruse my travel book for some indoor activities.