Pontarlier - Gilley - Pontarlier - Podcast >>

We prepare a picnic, load the bikes onto the back of the car, load our helmets, glasses, gloves, food and water into the car and off we go, looking for new roads. The skies are wide and blue with only a few white puffs of cloud drifting past and we are excited. It’s not the five-day tour we were hoping to go on, but the tent refused when we said it may be only nine degrees at night, and one of the air beds sighed its non-compliance out of a small hole. That wicked wind with its dash of cold is still blowing. But today is sunny and we watch the temperature rise as we near our destination. 

‘Fancy stopping for some flapjack?’ Martin asks and we pull over near a stone with a metal x on the top. Across the road is a tiny hut, long abandoned, and we wonder what it had been. Maybe an outpost during the war as we are near the border.

Down in the valley a tiny village and a pretty church snuggle as if in a green duvet and we grin and sigh with happiness. Sharing a rather tasty flapjack packed with fruits and nuts, I must admit I do bake a good flapjack, we smile with the joy of exploring.

Refreshed and relieved – the hut did come in handy – we continue our exploration, wrinkling our noses when a tractor creeps behind us and then stops to spray its aromatic load across a small steep field. Maybe this is the secret to the lush greenness. 

Around the corner we plunge down the road and maybe because of the harsh winter and continuous rains the road is pitted and broken, but luckily only for a short distance or my teeth may have been rattled out.

Through a village and up another short hill, and we’ve left the wind behind and are warm again. A tiny detour off the road onto a smaller one takes us to the start of the Chemin de Train, an old railway track converted into a smooth link between Gilley and Pontarlier.

It’s downhill all the way, with a few exciting moments where the old railway bridges have vanished and the track descends sharply before crossing a road and then climbs at a fierce alpine angle up the other side. All good fun when you have time to change gear. The first one I walk up, but I learn fast and manage the others. 

We are constantly stopping to take photos and admire the delicious views, and the wooden men who frequent this pathway. They stand, sit, and stride alongside the track. One with an armful of wood, another on his wooden bicycle, a grandfather reads a story to his grandson on a bench surrounded by lights, two perch in rocky crevasses. Each one is admired, photographed, and videoed. We are not in a hurry and because we stop, others see these wonderful creations too. I love the smiles creativity brings to others and wish I could thank the person, or people who made these wooden men. 

All too soon we are back in the town, cycling on pavements and negotiating traffic lights. It’s a vast contrast to our peaceful ride but soon we are turning off a roundabout, down a road and finishing in the carpark.

Our bodies are tired but grateful for the workout, the hours of vitamin D-soaked sunshine, fresh air, and memories of stunning views.