Riding like a local

The ride my first day in Cannes kicked my slight cold into full gear. I spent the next 3 days sniffling and sneezing my way through work meetings. It was worth it though. And once the work meetings were finished, I was feeling well enough to ride again.

When I get on a bike and ride in a strange place, I immediately feel more connected to where I am, and less like a tourist. For me it’s a more enjoyable way of getting to see things and talk to people -- better than going to designated tourist sites.

The bike also gives me an immediate connection with the local cyclists. Take the guy who rented me the bike for example. Instead of me being a demanding tourist, we start from the position of having something in common. We can talk about cycling, about racing, about the differences in riding in the U.S. and where he lives. He’s willing to pull out a map and point out some places off the beaten path.

He suggested a route to get some mountain scenery in contrast to the first ride. I started at the coast and rode inland. After about 10km, I turned off on a single lane road that looked to be part of the national forest. This was a great decision – there was no traffic and the road climbed for maybe 8km, all the way to a peak at around 2000 ft.



At the top, in one direction there was a view to the Mediterranean. In the opposite direction was a view down to a valley below and more mountains in the distance.



Most of the ride went like this: climbing or descending, narrow roads, some of the trees already starting to bloom.

With about 30 minutes left to ride, I started to run out of gas – it had been a long day with a lot of climbing and not enough to eat. Going up a small hill a guy going the same direction rode past me and said ‘bonjour’. I sped up a little and moved in behind him. He could see from the shadows I was following on his wheel, and he started to point out the little holes and other obstacles.

As we approached the point where I had parked the car and started the ride, I rode alongside and said thanks, I needed that. He laughed, then reached out and shook my hand, in that way that you do when you’re on a bike – one guy with the left hand and the other with the right.



My last morning in Cannes I got up early to get one last ride in. I took the road along the coast again, and felt as though I had joined what must be a Saturday ritual. It seems all the local bike clubs or groups of riders come out and ride on this road. I saw riders of all shapes, sizes and ages. There were old guys on old-school racing bikes, people on touring bikes, local racers tearing up the hills.

The best part was stopping for coffee and pastry at the end of the ride. I'm sure that is a local ritual too.