As many of you know, I was once a cycle tour guide in Europe (which was the genesis of this blog). The company where I worked for all those years, Blue Marble Travel, has shaped my life in countless ways. This week, I am back in France, riding one of those Blue Marble routes, but not as a guide; this time I am riding solo.

When I first started, Blue Marble was perhaps not a “bare bones” operation, but it was not very far from it. The company focussed on recent business and law school graduates; people with not a lot of money currently but those who had the potential to be rather well-off in the near future. Thus, so the theory went, they were not too averse to adding a few more thousand dollars onto an already rather substantial pile of debt.

Back in those early days, everyone carried all of their gear as there was no luggage option, we stayed in mostly two-star hotels (with an occasional three thrown in), and spent a lot of time loading bikes on and off of trains.

Over the course of my three decades of sporadically working for the company, the company changed a bit, but it would never be confused with more upscale providers like Backroads or Butterfield and Robinson. Nonetheless, through Blue Marble I got to see a lot of French speaking Europe (there were two main requirements for being a guide with the company: you had to speak the local language and you needed to know how to repair a bike; I only speak French, so I was limited to those trips and I can usually get a bike rolling again with enough time, the right tools, and a bottle of chilled rosé).

Thus I led trips in France in the Loire Valley, Champagne, Burgundy, Chablis, Alsace, Provence, Brittany, the Pays Basque, and the Jura. Add Belgium, Switzerland, and one foray into Italy (long story) and I got to see some beautiful places, meet interesting people, and taste incredible food and wine.

There were two trips, however, for which I was “qualified” but never led: the Dordogne Valley and the Gorges of the Cévennes. I would always joke that I was not “allowed” to do the trips, but the reasoning was simple (or so I was told): those were two trips that came into existence after I started working for the company and newer guides would be trained on those trips while I would keep doing the trips I knew well.

Or something like that.

There was also the fact that these trips usually took place in May and September when the temperatures in southern France were not quite so hostile to cyclists. Due to my varying academic commitments, first as a teacher, then a grad student, I actually couldn’t do those trips if they had been offered to me.

Nonetheless, I was determined to lead both of those trips at some point. I had seen photos, heard stories, and pined year after year to “get the call” but for a variety of reasons, it never came. There were kids to raise, jobs to hate, and moves (to Texas) to make and the years kept ticking off and I wondered if I would ever make it to the Dordogne or the Cévennes.

And then, in late 2021, the worst event imaginable happened. The owner of the company who had become like a brother to me, died suddenly of a heart attack . With him, went the company, too; Blue Marble Travel no longer exists.

Interestingly, perhaps, the desire to do the trips became stronger after his death, not so much as a “tribute” to him but a determination to ride those routes that he created. The fall after his death, I decided to do it. I was going to make the trip. I had always intended on doing the two of them back-to-back as that is essentially how they were designed but the logistics did not make sense in 2022, so I just rode the Dordogne portion, and it was fabulous.

My plan was to ride the Cévennes in 2023.

Well, that got put off to 2024, which I almost put off again, but close to the last minute, I decided I had to get it done. If not this year then when?

So here I am, writing this after all 500 kilometers (300 miles) have been ridden, ready to recap my week.

Day One: The train from Paris to Souillac

As I mentioned above, the Dordogne trip bleeds into the Cévennes trip, with the pivot point being the town of Souillac on the Dordogne River. Even people with a fairly good knowledge of France have likely never heard of the town, much less been there. It does have an impressive abbey, but after that? The list is short.

Real short. Like Mugsy Bogues short.

So why go there? As with many of the seemingly odd questions such as this, the history of Blue Marble was as much about the French rail system as it was anything else. The owner loved trains (perhaps the understatement of the year) and was determined to exploit the French rail system at every chance. And Souillac had three things going for it: daily direct trains to and from Paris, it is about a 40 mile bike ride from the last town of interest in the Dordogne, Sarlat, and another 40 mile bike ride to the first town of interest going east, Rocamadour. Thus, Souillac.

After a few days in Paris, I schlepped all of my gear across the city for a mid-morning train south, to Souillac.

The five-hour train from Paris Austerlitz down to Souillac was rather uneventful. I was sitting in the same car (I call them “James Bond cars” as there are six seats, two rows of three facing each other, with a door to each little cabin) with three older ladies whose mélange of over-applied perfumes smelled like butterscotch candies being stored in mothballs.

And there was no getting away from it.

It was also impossible to stretch out my legs as one of the women was seated directly across from me with very little space in between (I could insert a joke about how short French people are and thus “legroom” never enters the minds of the diminutive designers, but that would be insensitive). What made it even more uncomfortable was that over the course of the five hours facing each other, she must have applied lipstick 137 times. She used her phone as a “mirror” for each administration and after twisting closed the tube, she would then proceed to make “kissing faces” at her phone for another 3-7 minutes, minimum each time, smiling and admiring her beauty (which was clearly in the eyes of the beholder).

Yeah. Fun times.

As I mentioned above, I had only been to Souillac once before and after this trip, there is no real reason to go back. Unlike the first “visit”, this time I was able to stroll around the town a bit, ducking into the old Abbey, strolling the narrow cobbled streets that are ubiquitous in France, and eventually eating at the same restaurant as I did my first go around; there are not a ton of options in Souillac (understatement of the week, for sure).

I did take a few more photos (but only a few) this time, however…

This is one of two photos I took in Souillac in 2022. I have no clue about anything in the photo: sculpture, viaduct, plants, nothing. Particularly why it seems as though the structure to the right seemingly has Christmas lighting up. In September.

Random street. Fairly certain it was in Souillac. It goes somewhere, I think. Nothing else worthy of note.

Saint Mary’s Abbey in Souillac.

Same abbey, better sky.

This is in the center of Souillac. I have absolutely no clue what it is (or was). I went inside and there were a bunch of soccer jerseys. I left before I caught something.

This was perhaps the highlight of my stay in Souillac: I found an ATM. I had forgotten to get cash while in Paris.

Here is the only other picture I took in Souillac back in 2022, which is really interesting when you compare it to the next photo.

Nope! Not the same meal rearranged! Not only did I eat in the exact same restaurant, I ordered the same dish and the same wine (all unintentional, I swear). I’m not sure if that says more about me or Souillac… There is one slight difference with the wine (other than the vintage). It is near impossible to notice, but the astute wino might be able to pick out the very subtle difference between the two.

Look out for my Day 2 recap soon…