Blue skies with sunshine and warmth are waiting for us when we pull up the blind on our bedroom window. What a welcome sight after so many heavy grey skies. We grin.

This is not a day for sitting in an office working on a computer. It is a day for a cycle ride.



We prepare a picnic, load the bikes onto the back of the car, load our helmets, glasses, gloves, water…into the car and off we go, looking for new roads. The skies are wide and blue with only a few white puffs of cloud drifting and we are excited. It’s not the five-day tour we were hoping to go on, but the tent refused when we said it may be only nine degrees at night, and one of the air beds sighed its non-compliance out of a small hole. That wicked wind with its dash of cold is still blowing. But today is sunny and we watch the temperature rise as we near our destination.

Our starting point today is a car park next to a sports hall in Pontarlier. Only a forty-minute drive from home.

Once our bikes are loaded with goodies, and exposed skin smothered in sun cream we wiggle through the town, mostly on pavements, and discover the back streets with grand old houses, a distillery, and a wine cave. 

Down in the valley a tiny village and a pretty church snuggle as if in a green duvet and we grin and sigh with happiness. Sharing a rather tasty flapjack packed with fruits and nuts, I must admit I do bake a good flapjack, we smile with the joy of exploring.

Refreshed and relieved – the hut did come in handy – we continue our exploration, wrinkling our noses when a tractor creeps behind us and then stops to spray its aromatic load across a small steep field. Maybe this is the secret to the lush greenness.

The road undulates and a couple of cars race towards us, one almost bounces in its joyful speed and then they are gone, and we continue in peace.

‘Left turn ahead,’ Martin calls and points at a steep road.

We have plenty of time to change gear, no cars coming, so off we go. Oh my, our hearts and lungs work hard as we climb the ten percent hill past a farmhouse, only to cycle down the other side of the house and back to the road.

What?

Yep, the navigation app heard us saying what a gentle hill we were climbing and decided we needed a brief cardio moment. The left turn we want is another three kilometres away.  On we go, ignoring another turning on the left, and just as I am speeding down a hill ready to part coast up the next rise I hear a strange sound behind me. Is it a coughing goat?

‘Left turn. Turn left.’ The goat coughs. ‘This one,’ Martin says as I slow and wait for him to catch up.

‘Are you sure?’ I grin and he nods.

Lucky bees, maybe making up for lost time as we’ve had so much rain and cold wind this month.

The road meanders up and down, curving around a few isolated homes and into another valley. We could stop every five minutes to take photos but luckily Martin has perfected the art of holding his go pro and filming as we travel.

We are alone on a track through meadows and woods, a few cows ring their bells in greeting as we pass, but otherwise this is ours. We admire the rock crops growing well in many of the fields. Some are taller than we are, and others grow in clusters.

My stomach announces the time and Martin’s agrees, we continue a short way until we spot the perfect tree to picnic below. 

The picnic is perfect, and our stomachs burble with contentment. Food always tastes so good after exercise, in fresh air, and surrounded by stunning countryside.

We listen and watch the bees and spot a tiny bee fly with it’s long nose dipping into the flowers while its wings flutter so fast they are barely visible. It is a fairy sized humming bird. 

It’s tempting to lean back and rest our eyes, so we do, but that sly cold wind sneaks along our valley and raises goosebumps on our legs. 

It’s time to move on.

Around the corner we plunge down the road and maybe because of the harsh winter and continuous rains the road it pitted and broken, but luckily only for a short distance or my teeth may have been rattled out.



Through a village and up another short hill, and we’ve left the wind behind and are warm again. A tiny detour off the road onto a smaller one takes us to the start of the Chemin de Train, an old railway track converted into a smooth link between Gilley and Pontarlier. 

It’s downhill all the way, with a few exciting moments where the old railway bridges have vanished and the track descends sharply before crossing a road and then climbs at a fierce alpine angle up the other side. All good fun when you have time to change gear. The first one I walk up, but I learn fast and manage the others. 

It’s a well-used track. We pass and our passed by cyclists of all ages, a tandem, a tricycle, two women on roller blades swishing their way at a surprising speed, three silver haired woman on electric scooters concentrating on their balance - they have no time for a smile, an arm-powered bike – wow did he speed past us, and walkers.

The track zips through old culverts green with grassy sides, woodland, meadows, and a couple of villages as it continues its way down the valley to the town. 

We are constantly stopping to take photos and admire the delicious views, and the wooden men who frequent this pathway. They stand, sit, and stride alongside the track. One with an armful of wood, another on his wooden bicycle, a grandfather reads a story to his grandson on a bench surrounded by lights, two perch in rocky crevasses. Each one is admired, photographed, and videoed. We are not in a hurry and because we stop, others see these wonderful creations too. I love the smiles creativity brings to others and wish I could thank the person, or people who made these wooden men. 

We cross a couple of bridges and stop to admire the rushing water below. We pass a weir and enjoy the meandering fast-flowing river which last year dried up completely.

All too soon we are back in the town, cycling on pavements and negotiating traffic lights. It’s a vast contrast to our peaceful ride but soon we are turning off a roundabout, down a road and finishing in the car park.

Our bodies are tired but grateful for the workout, the hours of vitamin D-soaked sunshine, fresh air, and memories of stunning views. 

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