Travellers’ tales: Crisscrossing the River Rhône

It was a hot Friday lunchtime in the Rhône Valley. We had stopped in what looked like an unassuming bar in the wine village of Condrieu after our first morning of a four-day ride cycling from Lyon to Avignon. 

Dance music blared out across the terrace, hardly conducive to a relaxed lunch. But there was shade, lots of it. The gazpacho on the menu immediately caught my eye. Cold soup on a hot day. What could be better? 

We’d hit the road shortly after 7am to take advantage of the ‘cooler’ weather: temperatures were expected to comfortably exceed 30 degrees, ridiculously high for late May. 

Across the river, Lyon’s old town looked tempting. Spires and domes dominate the skyline. Alas, we had a schedule to stick to and no time to explore. 

Once the initial thrill of leaving Lyon city centre wore off and I narrowly escaped a collision with a tram, the route took us past a labyrinth of unattractive suburbs.  

“This wasn't what we signed up for,” grumbled Chris, my cycling companion who'd organised the trip. He’d impressively booked umpteen train journeys to whisk us from London to the TGV in Paris via an overnight ferry to Caen to get us to Lyon (and back again). 

We were riding the ViaRhôna, a long-distance cycleway that stretches from the Alps to the Mediterranean and tracks the mighty river from source to sea. On day one the Rhone proved to be annoyingly elusive as we tried to escape Lyon’s tentacles. 

Before the river eventually revealed itself, we stopped for coffee at what turned out to be a town way off the tourist path. Many of the shops were boarded up. One of the few signs of life was an open-air market. 

France is justifiably famous for its markets. This was not one of them. There were no artisan cheeses or boutique wines for sale. Instead impoverished-looking locals eyed up cut-price clothes. 

We self-consciously took our seats outside at a busy café, conspicuous in our cycling gear. People seemed bemused we were out on our bikes in such scorching temperatures. 

Less than an hour later, and south of Vienne, famous for its cathedral, we finally found ourselves Rhône-side. Over the next three days this brute of a river would be our constant and sometimes capricious companion. 

For romantics, the Rhône can sometimes be disappointing. We cycled cheek-by-jowl alongside power station towers the size of skyscrapers. On another occasion, the huge, ungainly dome of a nuclear power station squatted across the river. 

For now, the terraced vineyards of Côte-Rôtie (not for nothing is this translated as ‘the roasted slope’) climbed pleasingly up the valley side. By the time we stopped in Condrieu I was hungry. 

Before the previously mentioned gazpacho was served at Les Enfants du Rhone two other cyclists arrived. Remarkably, they stripped off to their undies. 

Seconds later they’d immersed themselves – heads and all – in an ancient stone water fountain, the size of a child’s paddling pool but fortunately a lot deeper. It was certainly one way of cooling off as the late spring heat showed no sign of letting up. 

The gazpacho, made from peas and parmesan cheese and served in a bowl smeared with green pesto, was delicious and wouldn’t disgrace a Michelin-starred restaurant. 

Revived, we continued to our destination, Saint Rambert d’Albon. By the end of the day we had ridden around 48 miles, all of it flat and mostly on cycle paths or country lanes. We felt particularly satisfied as this ride was billed as our longest day in the saddle. Tomorrow would give the lie to this assumption. 

The next day we were again on the road early to make the most of the cooler weather. As we rode close to the riverbank, flies the size of pin pricks were everywhere. They soon became embedded in our clothes. 

No matter, as we learnt, the Rhône is a river of many moods. Here she was at her most bucolic and serene. We stopped to take in the tranquillity – and a view straight from a tourist guide. Fish jumped in the early morning sun. It was an unforgettable moment. 

The route then took us south through woods, orchards – and shadeless asphalt tracks. I began to silently curse the Rhône. The full force of the sun was beginning to take its toll on me. Why was I so tired? 

Our water stops became more frequent. By the time we arrived in Valence, a handsome city known as the gateway to southern France, I was beyond my limit. 

A plate of pasta would hopefully put things right. More memorable was a bottle of organic lemonade, from the nearly Ardèche, full of fruit and insanely refreshing. 

Unfortunately, as the afternoon wore on, I felt increasingly spent. It didn’t help that the route was difficult to follow. We got lost on gravel paths and rough country tracks. 

Until now the route had been busy with cyclists – bikepackers and day trippers. Not here. We rode by industrial estates. Eventually, we got back on track. We were at least a couple of hours behind schedule. Chris threatened to put me in a taxi. I wished. 

Our night’s accommodation was fewer than five miles away, but there was one unexpected hazard left to negotiate before we could rest our tired bodies. The cycle path ahead of us was blocked. This was Sod’s Law with knobs on. 

There was a newly repaired footbridge apparently not yet safe to cross. I was too tired to take in the full extent of our predicament and how many extra miles we might have to pedal. 

Miraculously, help was soon at hand. Four German cyclists half our age appeared. They were determined to cross the bridge and get past whatever obstacle lay on the other side. “Don’t worry, we are engineers,” one of them said in perfect English. Would that help? It did, sort of. 

Before we knew it, they’d helped us manipulate and carry our bikes over the barrier that blocked the bridge. “Is it safe to cross?” I mumbled. They answered in the affirmative. 

“I’m exhausted, I said.” “You need more beer or more sugar,” one of our German saviours, the picture of health, told me. A good lie down and a hearty meal was what I needed. 

At the other end of the bridge, our bikes once again needed careful carrying – this time around and under the barrier across a ditch to the other side – so we could rejoin the ViaRhôna and continue to our hotel. 

“You look terrible,” said Chris reassuringly as we rode down the final kilometres. I felt worse than terrible. 

The next day, highs above 30 degrees were again forecast. We decided to be cautious and take a train after lunch from Montélimar, famous for its nougat, and so shaved 20 miles off the ride. 

The day before was but a memory and once again I was bright and perky on the bike. The route was everything we’d wished for: fertile fields growing apricots, cherries and almonds, and a view of Rochemaure castle built on a rocky outcrop. The cycle paths were everything you could wish for, too. 

There was one tense moment before we reached the rail station at Montélimar. We had to cross the Rhône via a ‘Himalayan’-style suspension bridge built for cyclists and pedestrians. 

It was intimidatingly narrow; the open mesh sidewalls weren’t exactly for the faint hearted either. Even Chris admitted feeling nervous as we gingerly walked our bikes across. The wind whipped at our bodies. 

The train ride from Montélimar was short. However, the change in scenery was dramatic. There was no mistaking this was the south of France. There were lavender fields and at least one palm tree. 

We spent the night in Pont-St-Esprit, famous for its 20-arch 13th century bridge, and thrilling to ride across – without shredding our nerves. 

The next and final day was a breeze, literally. A tailwind made short work of the 30 or so miles to Avignon. Incredibly, at one point we rode under a cycle bridge covered in solar panels. At our first sight of the city’s iconic Pont d’Avignon some 170 miles after leaving Lyon we felt euphoric. Cue man hug. 

We savoured a postcard-perfect view of the Palais des Papes as we cycled across a modern road bridge into this most sophisticated of cities. 

I’ve lost count of how many times we’d crossed the Rhone. It’s humbling to think we’d only seen a fraction of this vast complicated waterway, a vital source of France’s energy and a magnet for tourists, particularly wine lovers. 

Cycling the ViaRhôna is a great way to get up close and personal to the Rhône. But do try and avoid a heatwave.