Usually I’m so busy with the practical business of cycle touring — planning routes, tracking down food, eating whatever I find, and then collapsing into sleep — that there’s little time left to linger on why I love cycling. Luckily, artificial intelligence has more patience than I do, so I’ve called in a little outside help from ChatGPT to coax the joy out of the journey.
"There’s a unique magic in cycle touring that lives in its simplicity. With nothing more than a bicycle and a willingness to wander, you find yourself moving at just the right pace to truly notice the world. The gentle rhythm of pedalling becomes a kind of meditation — each turn of the cranks easing you deeper into the moment, away from the rush of schedules and the pull of screens. The countryside doesn’t just pass you by, it reveals itself in layers: the sweep of hills, the glint of sunlight on water, the call of a distant bird, the scent of wildflowers riding on the breeze. You’re not just travelling through a place, you’re part of it.
One of the quiet joys of cycle touring is the pause. Rolling into a village square or pulling up at a small roadside café, there’s a certain ritual to leaning your bike against a wall and settling in with a steaming cup of coffee. The taste feels richer after the miles, the warmth more rewarding against the coolness of the air. In that moment, life slows, and you can watch the world go by: locals chatting, children playing, clouds drifting lazily overhead. It’s these pauses that stitch the journey together, turning a ride into an experience, a route into a story.
And then there’s the return to the road. Legs refreshed, spirit lifted, you push off again and find yourself moving once more with the landscape. Fields give way to woodlands, villages to open skies, and the day unfolds in its own unhurried way. Cycle touring is never really about getting from A to B. It’s about the pleasure of the in-between — the rolling countryside, the small discoveries, the simple act of being carried forward by your own two wheels. It’s freedom, companionship with the road, and joy distilled into its purest form: the quiet happiness of the journey itself."
Thank you ChatGPT.
Today Domfront offers an inviting pause early in the ride, the perfect spot for a restorative coffee. As I sit and savour the warmth of the cup, a couple stroll past carrying small wicker baskets brimming with mushrooms — some so large they could fill the span of a hand. The sight reminds me of the foragers I’d noticed yesterday while cycling through the woods. Clearly, this region is generous with fungi, if only you have the knowledge to tell the edible from the dangerous.
A small breakfast - there’s only so much baguette you can eat - has left me feeling a little drained and the two bananas I eat at 12:30pm doesn't quite hit the spot. I have been trundling along a greenway and divert to a nearby small town, Barenton, for lunch. They do a modestly priced menu which means three courses for £18. Though it is a traditional establishment serving "le menu" and á la carte I notice they are advertising pizza and burgers on the windows which I suppose is a sign of ongoing change across France. I have poached eggs drowned in a melted cambembert fondu-style sauce, bavette and chips followed by a caramel patisserie; all very tasty.
The Véloscenie and Vélofrancette are examples of the cycle routes in France and some of these make good use of disused railway embankments; easily identified by the easy gradients and station buildings.
The French love recycled cycles.
It is a short walk to these waterfalls though I didn't explore too closely as cycle shoes aren't made for hiking and fatigue is setting in.
