Biking in Amboise or It Was the Best of Sons, It Was the Worst of Sons

​A friend had told me how she enjoyed hiking and biking in Amboise, a little town in the Loire valley, so Kid 3 and I decided to go. I booked the hotel my friend recommended and bought train tickets for the next day. End of travel planning.

We got to Amboise mid-afternoon, and I visited the castle and walked around the pedestrian area. That’s the beauty of traveling with teenagers--you can do things with them or not, and everybody’s happy. Amboise is a lovely little town, nice locals, not too touristy. When Kid 3 turned up, we spent three hours at dinner, with an apero, soup, main course, and desert. It’s nice to have a travel companion like that.

RIP Nardo

Castle

Castle View

The next morning, I went to the weekly market. Amboise has a stellar market, complete with live chickens, plants, food, clothing, wine, garden implements, and housewares. I bought quiche, grapes, sausages, and green pesto cheese for our picnic. We rented bikes, got some pretty unclear directions from the bike guy, and took out. ​

The Loire river valley is just magnificent, and we were stunned by its beauty and serenity.

The paths are well-maintained and spacious, bikers are orderly, and the views are stunning. We biked for a while, had a picnic, and made it to the first of two towns the bike guy had told us about. After we passed through the town, the bike path dumped us onto a highway and we decided to keep going, wondering about those unclear directions. That was a mistake. The highway turned out to be built on a river levee, and there was no shoulder, just a low cement wall at the road’s edge. Ambulances screamed past, cars swerved into the opposite lane to avoid us. I was wearing all black, like a good Parisian, so I was pretty sure I was invisible in shady patches. After a harrowing fifteen minutes of that, we pulled over for a family conference and decided to turn back. There was no shoulder on the other side either, just a grassy slope down to the fields below.

Soon Kid 3, in the lead, said we should take a dirt road that seemed to run parallel to the main road, and I, forgetting that his frontal lobe is not yet fully developed, followed. The road quickly turned into a dirt path through a pasture, and I remembered that it’s hunting season in France and hoped we wouldn’t get shot. The path eventually smoothed out and ran by a campground and a dirt bike practice course, so the air was full of dirt. When the path rejoined the road, we gritted our teeth and pedaled furiously down the highway until we approached the little village we had passed through earlier. We turned in to a cafe and consoled ourselves with cool drinks and french fries.

The bike path back to Amboise was remarkably unremarkable. We turned in our bikes, had a hearty dinner, and turned in.

Next morning, Kid 3 rudely commented that I had snored during the night. I was appalled at his audacity, but my Sleep Cycle app confirmed his story. Can’t argue with facts.

We’d had so much fun the day before, biking in the beautiful weather, that we decided to do it again and go see the castle of Chenonceau. First, I stopped by a chic little shop to get a picnic. The charming young man inside asked if he could show me some delicacies, and before I knew it he escorted me to this fabulous bar area in his shop and whipped up a plate of goat cheese and a variety of meat stuffs on little toasty bread bits. He poured us glasses of wine. We clinked glasses and noshed and talked about California, where his best friend lives. I bought a cornucopia of snacks, he threw in a corkscrew, and we got ready for the best picnic ever.

We cycled through the countryside, on bike-only roads this time, and the weather was beautiful until it wasn’t. Gray clouds rolled in, the wind picked up, but worst of all was the storm in Kid 3’s heart. He began to make derogatory remarks about the weather, his gears, my leadership ability, the color of the sky. His sarcasm skills are  A+ and I felt it, but I cheerfully pedalled faster, singlehandedly supporting the entire family’s morale, willing that castle to loom into sight. It finally did, just before Kid 3 stepped on my last nerve. I considered leaving him at the castle by pretending to go to the bathroom and secretly biking back to Amboise. Maybe throwing him in the moat. Instead, I bought both of us hot drinks and chocolate bars from the vending machine and counted to 10. Sure enough, he came to his senses and drew in the dirt with his toe, apologizing for being a grouch. We poked around the castle and grounds, then headed back. I sneezed a few times. I wrapped my cold head up in my scarf and sniffed as I pedalled. Hm, I thought, maybe that’s why I snored last night.

By the time we got back to the hotel, I realized that I was not long for this world. I got myself my own hotel room so that I wouldn’t disturb Kid 3 with my snoring or sniffing. He accepted the task of procuring dinner, took the wad of cash I offered, and went out into the night.

Kid 3 found a cat. Again.

I installed myself in my lonely hotel room and took some cold medicine. My head swelled, my nose ran like a faucet, I blew through a whole roll of toilet paper. I steamed myself in the shower. Kid 3 showed up with pizza and salad, having risen to the occasion. I watched Thelma and Louise and grew very angry at all men but Kid 3, but that was probably fueled by the cold medicine and solitude. 

I slept roughly through the night, and got myself out the door in the morning. Kid 3 propelled me through town to the train and put me in my seat. Thankfully, the drugs had kicked in and I looked normal except for the hopeless expression on my face and the occasional tissue action. Two hours later, I was safely back in Paris and snug in my bed. Kid 3 went out for more food. A prince of a man.

​If you go to Amboise, get a picnic and rent some bikes. Just be sure your travel companion is as good as mine.