France Germany - prevailing winds

26-09.-2006, 02:47 AM	#1
Gotte Registered User Join Date: Jul 2006 Posts: 35	France Germany - prevailing winds Got a two week tour starting in Bayeux France, going to Zeeland, Holland and ending in Minden, Germany - prettywell east to west with maybe a third on the North sea coast of France, Belgium and Holland. It's planned for late MAy, early June next year. Anyone know which direction the wind comes from around that time. I'm hoping it's a westerly, but my friend figures on a Northerly (coming in off the sea). Anyone around there know?

26-09.-2006, 03:39 AM

xilios

Registered User

Join Date: May 2004

Location: Maastricht, The Netherlands

Posts: 98

Re: France Germany - prevailing winds

Quote:

Originally Posted by Gotte

Got a two week tour starting in Bayeux France, going to Zeeland, Holland and ending in Minden, Germany - prettywell east to west with maybe a third on the North sea coast of France, Belgium and Holland. It's planned for late MAy, early June next year. Anyone know which direction the wind comes from around that time. I'm hoping it's a westerly, but my friend figures on a Northerly (coming in off the sea). Anyone around there know?

Check out this site, you can see the weather history of the area.
http://www.knmi.nl/klimatologie/daggegevens/index.cgi
cheers

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26-09.-2006, 05:12 AM	#3
blackbird05 Registered User Join Date: Dec 2004 Posts: 76	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds Hey Gotte, not sure if this is the standard for the region, but when we did the route last year from The Hague to Den Helder during late May/early June, we had the wind at our backs (coming from the south-west) all the way. Sometimes pretty strongly, at that. The people going in the other direction were miserable:P __________________ http://europeinphotos.blogspot.com

26-09.-2006, 06:33 AM	#4
Gotte Registered User Join Date: Jul 2006 Posts: 35	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds Thanks for that, chaps. Blackbird - that's what I like to hear. I won't count on it, but hope we get a south westerly. It;ll put a bit of spring in out step. Hw many miles did yo make a day. We've got 750 to do, or thereabouts in two weeks. If we manage 60 a day, we can take a couple of days of, and not worry if we get waylayed a bit.

26-09.-2006, 10:03 AM	#5
blackbird05 Registered User Join Date: Dec 2004 Posts: 76	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds 60 per day sounds about right. I found that with the tailwind we got some really decent distances in without working too hard. In fact, on one stretch of wind-swept beach, the gale was so strong that I put my feet up over my handlebars and coasted like a sailboat, fully loaded, for over 15 minutes! You should have seen the tourists taking photos:P __________________ http://europeinphotos.blogspot.com

26-09.-2006, 02:54 PM	#6
Velotour Registered User Join Date: Sep 2006 Location: China Posts: 57	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds I could post part of my journal here about my cycling through France west to east. Man oh man what winds there were. I will never forget it, and all that flat to rolling agricultural terrain that let the wind in on me. Whatever you do---DO NOT take highway N3. If you do you will regret it. There is a very nice bike path along the Main River in Frankfurt that goes quite a distance. If I remember correctly there is also something along the Rhine River. There are wooded paths in Europe that are very nice and smooth. I suggest you try to find these and their maps and follow them as much as practical for the directions you are going. Last edited by Velotour : 26-09.-2006 at 03:17 PM.

26-09.-2006, 02:59 PM	#7
Velotour Registered User Join Date: Sep 2006 Location: China Posts: 57	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds Monday, August 8, 1994: My flight from New York to Paris touched down in Orly Airport at 6:20 a.m. The sky was a dark gray; a moderate rain cooled the air, fully wetting the tarmac around the jet. Customs and immigration were a breeze; there was hardly a check or a question as we moved through the various lines and booths to the baggage area. The French did not require a visa which was surprising. In 1988 I had gone to France to enlist in the French Foreign Legion; in 1988 the French required everyone to have a visa; because of terrorist threats they were keeping a close watch on everyone’s comings and goings. There was waiting in line at a special office in London along with other people who had gotten themselves entangled in the visa crunch. Now though it was just walk through and get it done. Two cardboard boxes waited at baggage claims; one contained a chromolly touring bicycle and the other held the remainder of the gear. Because the other passengers had made off with all the baggage carts, the best way to move them was by placing the smaller box on top of the box containing the bicycle, and skidding them along the smooth tile floor. To some people it might have had an effect similar to screeching one's fingernails against a chalkboard, but that was the only way. The immediate goal was getting into Paris to some discernable point from which to begin the journey. People at the airport said to take an Orly Bus to somewhere in downtown Paris, but where I did not know. With the two boxes loaded onto the bus it was necessary to hold them tightly as they swayed from side to side during the serpentine twenty minute ride into the city of light. The first likely place was the rain drenched side walk in front of a city bus station in the small square Denfert Rochereau. There was a clear plexiglass bus stop shelter there to keep out of the rain. The first plan was to unpack the boxes there, assemble the bike and be ready to go when the rain stopped. However, the shelter was too small, and so many people kept coming and going from the buses, that it was not possible. There was a small green park with an earthen footpath running through it just across the street that would make a good assembly point when the rain stopped. Two young women from California were in the shelter. One was crying. She said their vacation had turned out miserably; she described their experience as a horror, a nightmare. She said she and her friend were lost, penniless, nearly late for their flight home, unable to speak French and without a way to the airport. That did not seem to qualify as a genuine horror or a nightmare; it was more the case of the spoiled, poor little rich girl, who, upon experiencing some minor inconveniences, overreacts and blows the predicament completely out of perspective and proportion. But there was no use saying anything about that. However, her words did bring back memories of August 1, 1980 in Buttevant, Ireland when my train was derailed, resulting in the worst railroad disaster in the history of Ireland; eighteen people were killed and more than seventy-five were injured. The injuries were truly horrible, appalling. For six months before that there were clear terrorist threats and warnings from soldiers in the United States Army who were protected by the United States government. That was a horror and a nightmare. A few minutes later both women were speaking French and boarding their bus to the airport; rather a quick recovery. Hunger set in. The red neon lights of a pizza restaurant down the street to the left called out, made the stomach growl and and set the juices flowing. The questions were these: was eating worth the trouble of carrying all that weight for a block ? If not, was it safe to leave everything unattended ? The best answer to both those questions was no. And besides that, a frugal budget was necessary, as usual , and eating in Paris is notoriously expensive. The rain stopped in two hours and a dark gray sky remained. It took only thirty minutes to move the boxes to the park and spread out everything on two benches. The ground was a drenched red clay that had splattered up on everything and stuck there. Moving carefully to avoid dropping any parts onto the sticky clay, it took about two hours to assemble the bike, pack the panniers and then put everything together. A man and a woman two benches away were smoking Marijuana. The camping gear , clothing and other items, weighing about sixty pounds, were distributed in two large rear panniers, two smaller front panniers and a handlebar bag, with the rest stacked onto a rack mounted over the rear wheel. The bike itself, weighing about 32 pounds, seemed to wobble under the strain of body and gear. When we pulled out for the first time onto the streets of Paris we must have been a sight, that old bike and I. Straddling the bike at some street corner to confer with a map of Paris, it was time to set out through the bustling city traffic following road signs to Les Halle and Gare du Nord. There was a right turn to parallel a quay of the Seine river and after that there was a canal. Somewhere in town a McDonald’s charged $6.50 for hamburger, coke and fries. The streets of Paris were lined with apartment houses, businesses of all sorts, and sites of historic interest. In the Summer 1982 a friend, Mary, and I had been tourists in Paris. With Mary recently divorced, and I not long out of the army, we traveled for one month in Western Europe visiting in Paris many of the attractions tourists go there to see; the Arc of Triumph , the 1050 foot tall Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral , Sacre Coeur Cathedral, the Louvre Museum , the opera house , Hotel Des Invalides , the French Army Museum, Napoleon’s Tomb , the Left Bank , Tuileries Gardens , the Palace of Versailles , the Avenue Des Champs-Elysees and the Cluny Museum of the Middle Ages were some of the places we visited. Having studied European history, I had developed a keen interest in all things European. But now those places no longer held an allure. This was the commencement of a major bicycling odyssey whose first task required cycling successfully through the world’s fourth most densely populated city with its more than 4,082 streets, 314 places, 8,016 intersections, and more than 2.2 million people distributed at more than 54,000 per square mile. And already there were feelings of apprehension about what conditions might be encountered in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet republics. National Highway Three going east had directional signs toward Strasbourg, France near the France’s border with West Germany, but that city was still a long way off on a bicycle. Because of its very high volume of traffic and its heavy exhaust emissions, N-Three was not a good road for cycling. It looked like New York City at rush hour. A preferable alternative route was a country road to the south that ran roughly parallel with N-Three. When you are cycling in unfamiliar territory and using only a standard road map it is usually a good idea to stop and ask for information from the local people about more suitable alternate routes that are not on your map. I stopped at a dirt driveway that led into the dooryard of a small, modest farmhouse. Next to the farmhouse was a smaller wooden shed that appeared to be a chicken coop with hay strewn and stacked inside. An iron gate with a no trespassing sign hung loosely across the drive. A rough looking Frenchman stood alone in the dooryard. With French faulty to the point of near non-communication, I tried speaking to him anyway, and learned quickly that his English was about as good as my French. He did have a twelve-year-old son who had studied some English whom he fetched from within the farmhouse, and we now had an interpreter. The three of us stood there talking in the driveway in front of the iron gate. The boy translated for the old man. I tried to compensate for my ignorance with wild gesticulations. There was some success to our method, and before long they said they owned sixteen sheep and twenty cows. They offered to put me up for the night, but I politely declined. There was still plenty of sunlight and the intention was to increase the number of miles between the great city and myself. They donated a 1.5 liter bottle of purified water along with directions for getting back on N-Three. The country road was fine, as alternate routes often are, but when it veered too far from the intended direction of travel it was time to get back on N-Three, and getting back on N-Three was a mistake for the same reasons as before. A new forced search began for a way off that noisy, dirty, narrow artery of commercial traffic. There was an overpass on N-Three that went over a narrow country road pointing north and south, and to the south about a quarter of a mile away, was a country lane going east through fields of agriculture. The lane looked fine from the road. Dismounting and guiding the bike down a steep slope for about 30 feet, and then across the corner of a field of freshly cut wheat and onto the road, I cycled to the lane. Protruding up from the field were myriad, foot- high, freshly cut stalks of wheat. By that time the dark skies had cleared and the sun was just beginning to set. The country lane proved that sometimes what looks good from a distance may look not so good up close; it was a badly deteriorated dirt path strewn with rocks. Cycling it at a walking pace to where it became totally unusable for a fully loaded touring machine, the constant joggling knocked the front panniers off the rack. I got off and walked the remaining mile to a smooth, well paved road near a farm house where an adolescent boy stood under a sprawling tree playing skillfully with a soccer ball, kicking it from his foot to his knee to his head and not missing a move. East of the farmhouse a smooth, well paved road led to the city of Meaux, France, arriving there in the dark after cycling through a series of small towns. With no sleep from the previous night and a body clock nine hours askew with jet lag, sleep and a place to do it were the most pressing immediate needs. Visible from a bridge crossing the Marne River in Meaux, and about 300 feet to the south, was a dark, tree lined park about one hundred feet wide and snug up against the river’s edge for a distance of about one thousand feet. The idea was to check its suitability for open air sleeping in a sleeping bag. It was certainly worth investigating. It was a nice little park, but people kept walking in and out of it and the surrounding area. It seemed worth waiting till later when perhaps the pedestrian traffic would thin out or cease. But when a man approached in the dark and tried to start a conversation, it gave the impression that it might be some kind of a hangout so it was time to leave. Cycling east over the Marne River bridge led into another section of town full of houses, gas stations, restaurants, and other businesses, where there was hardly a patch of bare terra firma anywhere that was large enough and uncluttered enough to lie down on and sleep.The best choice was rolling out the pad and bag on a patch of freshly mowed green grass behind a gas station. Sitting on the grass with my back against the concrete building there, I fell asleep four times. Five feet away was the steep down slope of a hill grown over with bushes and trees. At the bottom of that hill flowed the dark, silent waters of the Marne. That ended the first day of the journey, a forty mile jaunt through the world’s fourth most densely populated city, and across a traffic and pollution choked main highway traversing flat agricultural terrain. The day’s end found me sleeping not fitfully, fading in and out of consciousness, and suffering jet lag from which I hoped to soon recover.

26-09.-2006, 03:02 PM	#8
Velotour Registered User Join Date: Sep 2006 Location: China Posts: 57	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds August 9, 1994: A car door slammed closed in the parking lot. I awoke with a start. It was still dark out. I could easily have slept for another six hours. I quickly packed, walked the bike past an automatic car wash and then cycled into the middle of the city. The morning air was refreshingly cool. A medieval cathedral stood in the city center. The delicious aroma of baking bread wafted out from a small but modern bakery just across a narrow road from the cathedral. The entire bakery, which was well lighted and had automatic sliding glass doors, was about the size of a very small living room. A loaf of hot French bread which cost a dollar was quickly devoured on the steps of the cathedral. After that, cycling a narrow pedestrian path led to the town square where there was a four-lane road with a grass covered median. Standing in the median was an ultra modern pay toilet such as I had never seen before. You put a one franc coin in the slot and a curved aluminum door slides open automatically; you step in and the door closes automatically. It was neat, clean and odorless with running water you could hear but not see. You do your thing and leave by opening the sliding door. What happens after that is anyone’s guess. There was no discernable way of flushing the thing. It probably did that automatically too. It was 8:00 a.m. sitting on a park bench in front of the French Banque SNVB, waiting for the bank to open to exchange American dollars for French francs. The well manicured park with its verdant green grass and its bright colorful flowers was surrounded by buildings two to four stories high including the Cafe du Theatre, seven Cinemas and a bicycle shop. The bank wanted $16.00 for exchanging $50.00; they said it was their minimum commission for foreign exchange. I walked out saying, “ there’s no way I can afford that.” Asking at the bike shop across the street, the shop’s proprietor gave directions to the tourist office near the cathedral. The tourist office gave a free map of France along with directions to the National Banque of France on the other side of town. The National Banque gave 533 francs for 100 dollars, commission free. This bank had an elaborate security system consisting of three secure chambers that were locked and unlocked successively for each customer as he proceeded from the outside to get in. Getting inside left one with a feeling of accomplishment. By that time the day was sunny and warm. Cycling back east through Meaux, a waiter at the train station dispensed directions to N-Three going east through central France. N-Three going east led directly against the current of a strong headwind that blew without relent for the remainder of the day. At times the wind required pedaling just to keep moving downhill; it made a misery of the day. It and the slipstreams of large trucks combined forces which pushed me completely off the road several times. But on I pedaled over the rolling agricultural countryside through towns named Saint Jean, Sammeron, La Haute Borne, Moras and Busseiries, reaching the city of Montmirail in broad daylight. In Montmirail a dismount was required because the streets were excavated for laying in new pipes. During walking and pushing there was time for ice cream on a stick at a French bakery. The road returned allowing for cycling into the city center where five teenagers loitered around a low concrete partition; they were three women and two men. Thinking that someone might know some English, it seemed worthwhile asking directions to the nearest food store. One of the young men gave directions to the Stoc food store only two blocks away. The store sold me yogurt drink, French bread, Hazella, and a 1.5 liter bottle of water. Across the highway was a tree lined section of a long narrow park that extended north and south across the highway. It was the best spot around for a rest. After pushing across the highway lunch and rest were had on a park bench. The bike was propped against a large Oak tree about 30 feet away. The dog tiredness from the jet lag, the lack of sleep, and the beating against headwinds on the second day out, sent me nodding off to sleep five times. Feeling more in need of sound sleep than anything else, it was time to investigate the park as a possible place to camp. Because it was on the edge of a small city there would be few people around. It looked about 1800 feet long and 250 feet wide with two thirds of its length north of N-Three and the remainder to the south. It was bounded on both sides of its full length by hedges, giant Oak trees, and various kinds of low lying shrubs and bushes. The well worn dirt footpath running lengthwise down the park’s center varied in width from one to ten feet; from appearances it was used mostly for walking dogs and for gentle strolls in long afternoon shadows. A white haired little old lady stepped out from one of the row houses at the south end of the park and called for her dog. A very small dog appeared from behind a tree and went to her. She and the dog disappeared inside the doorway. By that time all was quiet, serene; hardly a zephyr stirred the leaves. The park seemed to be the best spot to stay for the night. About an hour before sundown I began scouting around for a place to sleep. One area between a large Oak and a stone wall was too open and near the driveway of a house. On the north side of N-Three there was a low-lying area between a giant Oak tree and a hedge; that seemed to be the best available spot in the area. Because people were still milling about on the path the best strategy was to wait on a bench till after dark to make the move. After dark it was a simple matter to spread out the closed cell foam pad and sleeping bag and use the rolled up nylon tent as a pillow. The night before the sky had been clear and starry and this night was the same. Just before going to sleep a slight breeze kicked up and the stars were shrouded by a vail of gray. A few hours later I was rudely awakened to the tumult of rain and thunder; a stroboscopic lightning show and dark howling winds in excess of 60 milers per hour shook the skies; it appeared to be the leading edge of a hurricane. Born and raised in south coastal Florida, I had lived through quite a few hurricanes and knew what could happen. In fact, our family’s house in Long Beach Island, New Jersey was completely destroyed by a hurricane, and my mother and two children were in another house on Long Beach Island while it was being destroyed and washed across the island by another hurricane. It is a wise policy that gives the forces of nature a wide berth. While racing around feverishly, grabbing up gear, and stuffing it into the panniers, I kept a close watch on the wind lashed branches high over head, sure that at any moment a giant limb would be torn loose and come crashing down bringing both the trip and my life to an abrupt end. The screeching wind blew stronger. The great bolts of electricity moved closer as the storm’s center moved to zenith. My heart,pounding like a kettle drum, was almost audible in ferocious din. I was thinking to myself, “ after all I’ve survived in life I am not about to be killed now by any goddamn bolt of lightning or any limb of a tree.” The force of the driving rain increased making it necessary to move to the lee side of the giant Oak to finish packing. With raincoat donned and bike in hand I walked in the wind and rain along the foot path back across N-Three to the shelter of a semi-open bus stop with two brick walls and a small plexiglass roof. The wind propelled rain drove in at an angle. I sat there eating sandwiches and drinking water, fascinated with the storm’s fiery spectacle. It resembled a scary scene from one of the old horror movies where the lightning lights up and later silhouettes tall spooky old buildings in the distance. This storm brought to mind a similar storm encountered while cycling through Belgium in the summer of 1986 on the way to Venice, Italy via the Alps and the Brenner Pass. It was pretty much out in the middle of nowhere where the wind became suddenly violent; there was not a gradual increase in wind velocity; all was clear and calm; one minute later all hell had broken loose and come to visit. Jet-black clouds moving at a violent destructive speed descended to very near the ground. There seemed to be no place for shelter when a small concrete busstop loomed up on the roadside. The debacle blasted the landscape for nearly two hours and petered out. Outside, the road was littered with debris from distant houses; broken limbs and split trees were everywhere. It was good to see the back of that one. And this day’s storm went the same way; it moved on ; it passed away. These were not the worst storms I had encountered while cycling. Because the old spot would be flooded it was useless going back. Across the highway there was an old, two storey, concrete and wood barnhouse that looked worth investigating. Walking over for a look inside, the way was barred by a tall wall with two swinging gates made of quarter-inch-thick iron sheets. The iron sheet gates were secured by a steel chain that was held together by a twisted piece of barbed wire. Oh well, you know what they say about a chain being only as strong as its weakest link. A few twists and a push and the gates of iron opened. It was easy enough getting the bicycle inside. It was a good idea to push shut the gate and re-fasten the chain and wire for the appearance of authenticity. Immediately inside was a dry room with a rough concrete floor. The room was sandy and it held a distinctly musty odor, but it was certain shelter from the elements. With the bike leaned against a wall and the wet clothes spread out across the handlebars, the night was passed in the bag on the pad on the floor. It was the second day on the road, a miserable day of pushing thirty-six miles across hills and against headwinds strong enough to blow a one hundred and eighty-five pound man with ninety-two pounds of bicycle and gear under him clean off the road and keep his top downhill speed at 6 m.p.h. Near hurricane force storm winds that kept me awake sent me running for shelter. Further sleeping was attempted on the rough concrete floor of a dirty musty old barn. Isn’t bicycle touring grand !

26-09.-2006, 10:35 PM	#9
Gotte Registered User Join Date: Jul 2006 Posts: 35	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds Thanks for that, chaps. Blackbird, I notice from your site (very nice, btw) that there seem to be a lot of cobbled roads in your images. Is that just chance, or did you ride a lot on cobbles? If so, did they slow you down? Velotour - thanks for the journal entried. Really good read. Any more? Have you got it online, or are you feverishly typing it up? I wouldn;t like to put you to a lot of work (but it is a really good read).

27-09.-2006, 06:41 AM

#10

blackbird05

Registered User

Join Date: Dec 2004

Posts: 76

Re: France Germany - prevailing winds

Quote:

Originally Posted by Gotte

Thanks for that, chaps.
Blackbird, I notice from your site (very nice, btw) that there seem to be a lot of cobbled roads in your images. Is that just chance, or did you ride a lot on cobbles? If so, did they slow you down?
Velotour - thanks for the journal entried. Really good read. Any more? Have you got it online, or are you feverishly typing it up? I wouldn;t like to put you to a lot of work (but it is a really good read).

Hey Gotte, glad you liked the site

I've been considering putting in some text, but still have to work out some formatting issues. As for the everpresent cobbles, they're pretty much standard in the smaller, older towns. There's bit of a bias in my photos, as I was riding with a partner who didn't appreciate having to wait for my picture-taking -- so most of the pictures were taken when we'd stopped for a break in little towns. That being said, if you're crossing the small towns you probably won't want to be biking at speeds of 20-25 kph, and the cobbled surface is just fine for 10-13 kph (excellent quality). The roads between the towns the roads were very well paved and we made excellent headway, especially along the Belgium canals and Netherlands dykes, which seem to be built expressly for cyclists.
Happy planning!

__________________
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27-09.-2006, 09:55 AM	#11
Gotte Registered User Join Date: Jul 2006 Posts: 35	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds The planning is the best. I've been to Belgium, Holland and Germany a few time, though not cycling there, and the images on your site remind me of mornings spent in those little places; coffee and croisant, dappled light from the along the road, maybe an old 2cv and a painted advertising fading in the sunlight. I tell you, I really get the bit between my teeth when I think about it. Thanks for sharing your images, they really make me want to be there.

27-09.-2006, 10:12 AM	#12
blackbird05 Registered User Join Date: Dec 2004 Posts: 76	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds Standing in the dim, chill morning air waiting for the bakery ladies to pull up the shades and open up shop... Walking into a tiny bar and not hearing a single familiar word... Smiling at a stranger in the street and getting a smile in return, for no reason, just cause you're human and you're there... Looking at a map in the evening and drawing an arbitrary line to follow the next day, wondering what you'll find along the way... Yeah, I hear ya. Time for another trip, I think. __________________ http://europeinphotos.blogspot.com

27-09.-2006, 02:43 PM

#13

Velotour

Registered User

Join Date: Sep 2006

Location: China

Posts: 57

Re: France Germany - prevailing winds

Quote:

Originally Posted by Gotte

The cobble stones are mainly at intersections. The rest of the roadway surfaces are smooth. Why they cobble their intersections I will never know. It does not seem to serve any utilitarian purpose. There may be some areas of roads that are cobbled but in the main you will see cobble stones only at intersections. They are hell to ride on with a touring bike but they are very limited in extent so do not worry about that.

27-09.-2006, 02:50 PM

#14

Velotour

Registered User

Join Date: Sep 2006

Location: China

Posts: 57

Re: France Germany - prevailing winds

Quote:

Originally Posted by Gotte

That journal is fully written. You ask if I have any more stories like those two days. The answer is yes. I have exactly ninety-two more like those two that are fully written and developed for reading. I have many more which are still in the form of field notes in daily journals.

I am very familiar with cycling conditions in Germany and France. That is why I am able to answer your concerns about cobble stone streets. Don't worry. Cobble stones would be the very least of the things you might have to be concerned about.

03-01.-2007, 05:41 AM	#15
bryan slater Registered User Join Date: Jan 2007 Posts: 1	Re: France Germany - prevailing winds Hi guys - living and biking in France I'm a bit horrified to hear of anyone using the N roads for touring! Maybe in emergency when you need to get from A to B in a real hurry to catch a connection, but never else - they nearly all take veryfast traffic: they are the free versions of the motorways. D roads are best - above all the 'yellow' D roads (on the Michelin series maps) rather than the red ones. To get out of the wind riverside and canal side rides are often pretty sheltered (tho stretches of the Loire are rather an exception). River rides are often great in France - and to go out of Paris on the S/ E sides perfect. The Marne will take you 2/3 of the way to Germany, for a start. Or the Seine/ loing can take you quietly down towards the Loire. (A nice way from Paris to the Loire is Melun- Montargis and the old Canal d'Orleans Bryan

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