Roger Lapébie trail, Bordeaux-Lacanau bike path, the bike tour around the Gironde estuary: these routes are among the few ways to ride through greenery around Bordeaux.
I’ve cycled them, some of them many times, since moving to the city three years ago. In the second half of August, a friend and I wanted to explore something different — and for that, we had to take the train. We chose Dordogne, a hilly, rural, and green département in southwest France.
We went on a one-day ride along part of the “Boucle des Enfants du Pays” loop. This 70 km ride was the perfect way to get back in shape after the break I had taken following my 600 km cycling trip through Germany and Austria.
Diving into rural France
I get up at 6:30 a.m. My trekking bike, which sleeps in my room to avoid being stolen, carries a lightly packed pannier.
Through the almost deserted streets, I ride at a brisk pace. The feeling is enhanced by the fact that my everyday city bike is heavier and slower.
Meeting my friend in front of the station, we board the regional train, which has a designated space for bicycles. As the green landscapes roll past the window while we chat, my body relaxes.
In Thiviers, we step off and head toward the village’s main road when suddenly my friend says he can’t find his phone. He runs back to the train. Is the trip already over before it has even started?
I don’t think he’ll make it, but he comes back smiling, his phone in hand.
My eyes fall on his helmet, strapped to his pannier. “I forgot mine on the luggage rack in the train!”
On the platform, I run across the tracks when the station master shouts at me: “Don’t run, people die like that!”
I feel a bit embarrassed as amused passengers watch me grab my helmet and step back out. The station master gives me a rather unfriendly look as I walk past him again on my way out.
Will we even make it to our destination in one piece?
The village of Thiviers comes alive. We pass signs pointing to the start of the Flow Vélo. The street names are displayed in both French and Occitan, which surprises me. Suddenly, the market appears. I see stalls filled with a wide variety of products. The abundance impresses me. This activity reminds me that there is a rural France, parallel to urban life. A large spread of melons is laid out on trestles before us. After buying one, we set off.
A greenway begins. The tree-shaded path turns into a gravel track, making our bikes rattle and shake. I can’t wait for this stretch to end.
Suddenly, walkers appear coming the other way. Their dog barks at us. The scene reminds me of a bike ride in Greece. One of the women asks us for directions, as if nothing had happened. I’ve never understood the appeal of owning an animal that could bite and injure someone.
The Flow Vélo then takes us to Saint-Pardoux-la-Rivière. After riding through the main street looking for a café, we end up in a bar. The only other option is a motorcyclists’ café. My friend buys pastries at a nearby bakery on the waitress’s recommendation.
On this Saturday morning, the terrace is crowded, and as my friend points out, everyone there is male. I think of cafés in the Middle East and the Balkans, where only men play cards or backgammon.
Coffee breaks during bike trips are wonderful moments. Still, I wouldn’t want to live in a small village like this, even if its inhabitants must help one another more than city dwellers do.
Back on our bikes, we need to check the route on the phone since it isn’t signposted. The “Boucle des Enfants du Pays” runs along a quiet country road, winding through hilly landscapes. We pass many chestnut trees, recognizable by their big, bright green spiky balls nestled among dense foliage. There are also wide meadows but few fields. Sometimes, we spot Limousine cows with their beautiful beige coats. The area must have looked the same 200 years ago.
According to the map, we’ve entered the Périgord-Limousin Regional Natural Park, but the scenery isn’t what I imagined. The vegetation isn’t dense, and there are no vast forests. In other words, it doesn’t feel like a wild landscape.
A village sign comes into view. With his phone in hand, my friend tells me another will appear soon: Dournazac. We’ll stop there for lunch.
The road climbs in zigzags through bucolic meadows. I push hard on the pedals to conquer an ascent when suddenly, a pain shoots through my right knee. It hasn’t bothered me since my ride along the Romantic Road. It doesn’t seem normal to feel pain on a 70 km ride with only moderate elevation gain.
I’ll go see a doctor to treat what looks like tendinitis, the same condition that had affected this knee years ago. It had already forced me to quit running, and I never picked it up again.
Almost Dead Villages
The sign for Dournazac comes into view. We pass a church just after entering the village, then notice a closed restaurant. According to Google Maps, no other place is open.
We’ll have to make do with the melon. A patch of grass with a view of the church becomes our dining table. I notice an old gas station on the main road, with three pumps out of service. Behind it sits a car repair workshop, still active but closed.
This kind of village must have been more populated 50 or 100 years ago, with a thriving commercial and social life. What’s the point of moving here today?
Suddenly, raindrops fall on us even though we’re sheltered by trees. We duck into the church, then go see the so-called “miraculous Saint-Sulpice fountain”, an attraction we spotted on Google Maps.
At the end of a street, we discover a well. Green lichen covers part of the roof of the structure. I think to myself that “miraculous fountain” is quite an overstatement. A car is parked in front of a nearby house, with a woman inside. My friend asks if this really is the fountain:
“Yes! I’m not from here, I don’t understand why they call it that. It’s a well.”
What made this woman settle here?
On our way back, we pass a signboard advertising local cultural events. Among them: an Elvis impersonator concert next week.
We ride on under the rain, our stomachs half empty. Majestic chestnut trees still line the road, where we encounter almost as many farm vehicles as cars. Suddenly, the sun breaks through in an open, flatter area. I see beige cows and calves grazing in a vast meadow. My friend notices a bull among them.
Then, a large shed appears. Inside, I notice feeding stations designed to keep the cows’ heads in place as they eat. They are clearly raised for meat, not milk. Even though I’m a vegetarian, I could imagine eating this meat from time to time, since the cows seem to live in good conditions.
Several cars with license plates from the Haute-Vienne department (number 87) pass us. Soon, Bussière-Galant comes into view. The destination village consists of a single street, with no café or restaurant. Why did they decide to keep a train station open in such a tiny place?
At least I didn’t miss my train this time, unlike my previous bike trip in Dordogne. Sitting on the sheltered bench at the platform, we notice a device mounted on the station wall, blaring an alarm. A railway employee arrives, presses a button to silence it, then goes to pull levers to switch the tracks.
Shortly before our train arrives, we go talk to the station master. He explains that the device, dating back to the 1950s, is used to monitor incoming trains. A museum piece still in operation in the age of AI and space rockets!
This 70 km route was perfect for getting back on the bike. It also introduced me to green landscapes and a remote region. Back at Bordeaux’s Saint-Jean station, where we’ll arrive in an hour and a half, the concrete and the bustle of the city will close this natural parenthesis.
What did you think about this story ? Do you know any other one-day-bike routes to discover remote areas?
