bikes

It�s fair to say I was a sceptical first-time ebook author.  I�d had twenty �real� books released with reputable publishers, who had assigned extremely experienced and helpful editors to assist in transforming my messy manuscripts into readable books. These publishers also spent considerable time, money and expertise in providing quality covers and design work, as well as marketing and publicising the book when it eventually hit the shops. They had, to varying degrees, also released ebook versions of the paperback books. So far, these ebooks have accounted for only 5% of total sales. Not the supposed ebook revolution we�ve been told is just around the corner. However, in 2012 I�d written a travel memoir that I knew was highly unlikely to be accepted by one of my publishers. Not because it wasn�t well written (come on!!), but because it was aimed at a rather small niche market.  baguettes and bicycles  is the tale of my cycle across France from the Atlantic Ocean to the Ge...

One of the first books I remember reading as a teenager was �Green Mountains� by Bernard O�Reilly. I borrowed it from the local library and was transfixed by the account of his search for and discovery of the Stinson aircraft that crashed in 1937 in the largely unexplored MacPherson Ranges. While the official search was out to sea off Ballina, Bernard O�Reilly followed his own intuition and set off alone to scour the remote ridges and valleys near the O�Reilly property. He found the wreck on the second day of his search and then trekked sixteen kilometres to raise the alarm and guide the rescuers back to the crash-site. Three men survived the crash, but, tragically James Westray fell to his death while going to get help. But for the tenacity and bushcraft of Bernard O�Reilly, the two survivors would have also perished. Years later, I read the wonderful Judith Wright poem, �The Lost Man� a haunting, almost gothic account, of the imagined final moments of James Westray.  Although the...

Alpe d�Huez is the most glamourous mountain in French cycling, featuring in nearly every Tour de France since 1976. It draws cycling fans like no other. Half-a-million people cram its slopes and the twenty-one hairpin bends during the race, many of them Dutch, whose riders have a knack of being first up the hill. The winner of the Alpe climb is nearly always a contender for the yellow jersey or the King of the Mountain.  Aware of this symbolism, the authorities have named each of the twenty-one bends after a mountain victor, starting with number twenty-one at the bottom. It�s a tad cheesy, but who am I to disagree with millions of cycling fans who count off the bends and the names. The morning is bright and sunny and Anita, the owner of the Bed & Breakfast, offers me a huge breakfast. Nervously, I check my gear three times before leaving the B&B a few kilometres south of Le Bourg d�Oisans. I try to relax into the warm-up ride along the valley. Alpe d�Huez looms to my left. ...

My wife and I have been in Europe for the past three months. In that time, we've cycled a number of iconic bike routes including the Canal du Midi; Canal du Garonne and the Danube Cycleway between Ulm in Germany and Linz in Austria. I've also cycled up a number of Pyrenean mountains. What follows below is an admittedly ad-hoc and impressionistic 'review' of our experiences, in no particular order. I apologise in advance for the petty generalisations and inane conclusions... they were all fully intended! 1) Firstly, the obvious. Australia, my home country, is so far behind Europe in terms of cycling infrastructure and bicycle 'awareness' that it sometimes feels like another country. Oh, wait. Change that to feels like another universe . A universe where the car is King, where a lack of awareness of cyclists is often worn as a badge of honour by motorists and where cyclists are viewed as either law-breakers or freeloaders who don't deserve an inch of road spac...

I have a new climbing partner today. A Dutch bike, painted black and silver, from the Focus company. I hope he's not related to the horrible Prog-Rock band of the 1970�s, also called Focus. I quickly offer my friend a new name, Tjalling, in honour of the translator of my books in The Netherlands. When I�m not riding a bike, I�m an author of books for children and young adults, and Tjalling, the translator, has done a sterling job on four of my novels. In cold but clear conditions, Tjalling and I set out from Argeles-Gavost, a lovely village in the Pyrenees, to climb Col d�Aubisque, one of the legendary climbs of the Tour de France. So legendary in fact that it was included in La Grande Boucle every year from it�s debut in 1910 until 1977.  Astonishing! However, the first few kilometres are hardly welcoming, offering a brutal 8.5 % gradient. I�m being tailed by two riders who are gratefully getting assistance at the beginning of a long climb. When we reach level ground in the Val d�...

The Col d�Aspin has featured sixty-six times in the Tour de France and yet is relatively unknown compared to its more prominent Pyrenees partners such as Tourmalet, Peyresourde and Superbagneres. Perhaps it's the relatively �minor� altitude of 1,489 metres that sees it, literally and metaphorically, dwarfed against the Pyrenean giants. This is a pity. Col d�Aspin is truly one of the great mountain climbs of the Tour de France.  I begin the ascent from the east side in the village of Arreau very early in the morning, far too early for any self-respecting French cyclist. Consequently, I have the road to myself. It�s only nine degrees as I set out and Aspin offers me an easy warm-up with the first few kilometres among the forest beside a rushing stream, averaging 4%. The road is much narrower than many Tour climbs and has lovely old stone walls as embankments. I am climbing a historic road, first used in the Tour in 1910. The gradient soon cranks up and I�m amazed at the splendid view...

In 2010, I drove a car half-way up Col du Tourmalet, in the French Pyrenees. It was a terribly misty and rainy day, with the wind blowing a gale. I parked by the side of the road and opened the car door. The wind nearly blew it from its hinges. I scrambled out and took photos of myself, the fool in the mist. I got back in the car, where my travelling companions all agreed we should head back down the mountain. As I reversed out of the car park, four cyclists rode past us, up the hill, into the tumult. What I was scared to attempt in a car, they were doing on bicycles. I looked up towards the summit, shrouded in cloud and wanted to follow this strange band of hardy lycra-wearing crazies. Today, in Sainte-Marie-de-Campan, I have my chance. I�m about to climb one of the most revered and feared climbs of the Tour de France. Not from the side I�d driven up in 2010, because it�s still closed due to recent flooding. I�m climbing the  equally-difficult east side. It was from this side in 1...