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My first Grand Tour followed the St. Lawrence River from Lévis (opposite Québec City)
eastward to Matane at the beginning of the Gaspé Peninsula.
The countryside was a visual feast of farms, fields and flowers, with the broad St. Lawrence ever-present over our left shoulders, leading us each day to our destination: a self-contained traveling village where we could dine and dance into the night. And the food! Twenty-one meals in all, featuring everything from saumon fumé to gâteau au fromage. Every morning at breakfast (6 to 9 AM) a smiling volunteer handed us copies of Le déchaîné, a two-page newsletter packed with news of yesterday's ride along with today's sightseeing suggestions. The breakfast buffet always included lots of fresh fruit plus an amazing variety of both high- and low-calorie choices. The first morning I settled down with my breakfast and read my copy of Le déchaîné without much effort. But the melodious French voices surrounding me in the cafeteria were unintelligible. They spoke much too fast for an American whose French studies ended in high school. I yearned for a native anglophone to converse with! Then I met Wally, a school teacher from Maryland, one of only 20 Americans on the tour. Wally told me not to be shy about talking to strangers. "People here are very friendly," he said. "Remember, they're on vacation too, just like you!" So, all week long, that's just what I did. I always began in halting high-school French - je baragouine I learned to say - but whether the response came back in French or in English, I always enjoyed the company of new friends whose joie de vivre was contagious. After breakfast we packed our camping gear into our duffels, loaded them on the baggage trucks, and jumped on our bikes for 80 to 90 kilometers (50-60 miles) on the road. Invariably the day started with a hill climb. Cresting the first ridge, we stopped and looked behind us. The town we had slept in spilled down the hillside past the church spires to the banks of the St. Lawrence. Far away on the opposite shore, a wall of mountains stretched across the horizon. Ahead of us lay fields of oats, wheat, hay and corn, pastures full of dairy cows, barns with bright red, orange or blue roofs, and tall silos bearing the names of farms in big bold letters. At the top of that first ridge I met Lydie, a Grand Tour first-timer like me. We rode and talked together, cresting higher and higher ridges, until a long gradual downhill brought us to our lunch stop in St-Clément, a tiny village of 200 people. We turned in past the schoolyard and into the village hockey rink. Leaning our bikes against the rink boards, we picked up our box lunches and carried them into a field where bales of hay had been set out as seats. Enjoying the aroma of fresh-mowed hay, we opened up our lunches and found a panoply of homemade treats: croissants stuffed with crabmeat, marinated cucumber salad, fresh local cheddar, a cantaloupe slice, and a delicious square of gâteau à l'érable, a maple-frosted layer cake. We ate everything in sight, then checked out the table de troc where hungry cyclists go for second helpings. Sadly for us, there was no cake, but lots of cucumber salad! After refilling our water bottles, Lydie and I parted company. I whizzed downhill across the Sénescoupé River gorge on a high bridge, then looked ahead to face a steep hill rising in front of me. Most everyone was getting off and walking, or stopping to rest. But a determined cyclist named Gaétan was still pedaling, and as I pulled alongside him we started talking. Gaétan's command of English matched my knowledge of French, so we conversed alternately in French and English. Gaétan taught me some useful French words - like côte à pic ("steep hill") - and I'm sure he learned some English from me. After several more ups and downs, we began the final descent into Trois-Pistoles, a small town overlooking the St. Lawrence and dominated by a cathedral with five gleaming silver spires. Coasting into the high school parking lot, we found the four tractor-trailers that had disgorged two thousand duffels into neat rows on the blacktop. To my right, a tent city was spreading across the soccer fields and up the hillside. Bypassing the valet service (an army of kids with wheelbarrows), I rolled my duffel across the field to the lève-tôt (early risers) section, pitched my tent, stowed my duffel inside, and walked over to the Village to check out the après-bike scene. The Grand Tour Village is dominated by a billowing white tent that looks like it belongs at a wedding reception. Under the tent, cyclists relax at tables, sipping wine and beer from a bar set up in one corner. Tables spill out of the tent across the parking lot toward the music stage. During supper hours, from 5 to 9 PM, there's a steady flow of hungry cyclists into the school cafeteria and down the long buffet tables covered with white tablecloths and staffed by chefs in white uniforms and white hats. Eventually, we emerge from the school, carrying trays piled high with three-course gourmet dinners and bottles of wine. Click here for a typical dinner menu. After dinner you can dance to a different live band every night, or watch a triple feature of French movies in the school auditorium, or retire to your tent for a good night's sleep. And sleep may be your best choice, because the lève-tôt campground comes to life again around 5:30 AM. Late risers (lève-tard) sleep until 7. Then the next day begins: another chance to make new friends, enjoy the lush Québec summer, and eat and drink like a king. So it's no surprise that people come back year after year. As I pulled out of the parking lot in Lévis to begin the long drive home, I heard voices calling, "A l'an prochain!" "See you next year!" All rights reserved worldwide. Send comments to jamie@nordicskater.com. |
Le dernier soir du 6e Grand Tour, à l'école polyvalente de Matane,
deux cyclistes, Suzanne et Mimi, chantaient leur histoire du tour.
J'étais enchanté! Voici leur chanson. Le Grand Tour '99 ... sur l'air de «Ah les fraises et les framboises» Sur la route de Lévis de Lévis à Matane J'ai rencontré trois beaux trois souriants cyclistes L'un s'appelait Bernard Il dansait le tango un autre s'appelait Claude J'vous L'dis qu'il est très drôle mais le meilleur de tous Il s'appelle Roger car c'est lui qui a dansé avec moi toute la soirée Ah mes belles petites pédales qui font tourner mes roues Je vous L`dis que J'ai souri rendu à Montmagny Rendu à Montmagny Ma douche J'l'ai vraiment pris avec une p'tite tornade Ça fait un beau ravage mais ça c'était pas grave Car L`équipe du grand tour a su nous dépanner pour finir la journée Ah mes belles petites pédales qui se sont faites mouillées y'en a même qui ont pris le champs y savent même pas comment La côte des trois saumons On l'a monté d'aplomb à pied ou à vélo on est tous des héros Tous ceux qui l'ont manqué ne soyez pas peiné c'est vous qui êtes arrivées les premiers cette journée Ah mes belles petites pédales qui font tourner mes roues je vous l'dis que je suis fier d'être à la Pocatière En passant par les plaines et s'u l'bord de la grève que la vie était belle on s'pétait les bretelles et puis voilà soudain un terrible pépin jusqu'à ce que Pierre arrive pour v'nir nous secourir Ah mes belles petites pédales qui font tourner mes roues sur mon beau petit vélo jusqu'à Rivière du Loup Enfin un p'tit repos Pour nos muscles bien gros on s'en va en bateau Avec les matelots Mais c'qui avait de plus beau c'est c'qui était dans l'eau Baleines et Bélugas nous faisant leurs ébats Ah mes belles petites pédales qui se sont reposées J'avoue que vous méritiez cette journée de congé Puis mercredi matin on s'est levé de bon train sachant que la journée allait être ensoleillée mais au premier tournant v'la le gros accident Mais c`qui est épatant J'm'en suis sorti vivant Ah mes belles petites pédales v'nez que j'vous rafistoles c'est à soir qu'on va fêter s'u L`bord de Trois-Pistoles Et nous voilà jeudi on se lève sous la pluie sans perdre notre courage On paqu'te nos bagages mais quels beaux paysages et de précieux rivages on fleuri notre vélo de r'trouve les pieds dans L'eau Ah mes belles petites pédales vous m'avez bien servis et ce soir on est campé dans la ville de Rimouski C'est la dernière journée qu'on a à pédalé des kilomètres à faire assez pour satisfaire ce soir on fait la fête jusqu'au petit matin on danse avec entrain avec 2000 copains Ah mes belles petites pédales nous voici à Matane et j'vous jure que l'an prochain au Grand Tour on revient Copyright © 1999 by Suzanne Lacroix & Michelle L'Écuyer. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. |