Hopes dashed in Rouffach

A very flat 60km from Basel to Neuf Brisach. Something to do with travelling along a canal tow path I guess. A very pretty campsite here in Neuf Brisach, with little individual pitches for cyclists. There are a heck of a lot of couples who demand awesome respect for bringing their tiny toddlers with them. Dad tows them in a buggy behind the bike and they all seem to sleep in one tent without much fuss. It’s totally charming to see the toddlers all wandering around in a safe environment.

The area we cycled through to get here was the scene of a lot of fierce fighting during the last war, not least because Hitler regarded it as part of Germany. At a railway crossing there was an information board about a railway worker for SNCF( French Railways) who refused to be conscripted into the German army and basically had to go feral to avoid being captured. He and his family survived the war, only for him to be ironically killed in front of his family by stepping on a landmine.

The campsite was pleasant enough to warrant a further nights stay, so the following day we went out for a little tour of Alsace, with the aim of eating in Rouffach. I’ve been there before with some friends - Aled,Piers and James, who all know my weak point - cheese. A particular Alsation delight is the tarte flambé - a thin pizza base loaded with cheese, and in particular the local stinky number, Munster cheese. So we sat down in a cafe, Sian ordered a mundane ( IMO ) quiche lorraine, and I went, of course, for the tarte flambe. “Desole monsieur, but we only do zees in the evenings.” “Mon Dieu et sacre bleu” I should have cried. However, being British I merely winced and looked back at the menu.

So, I had to settle for a Oignon Tart and 5 minutes of serious sulking. My friends above will also remember a night where on the menu was “La bete du fromage”, literally the cheese beast. I suspect it was just a mix of pure cheese put in a baking tray and heated in an oven, but my goodness was I in cheese heaven.

On our return, I decided to go on to complete a 100km ride. I’m a member of Woking Cycle Club, and there is a Badge d’honneur for completing a 100km ride every month from December to December. So a further 47.8km later I returned, shall we say, a tad pooped.

One final comment about the campsite, and a lot of french campsites in general - there is no bog roll. I have therefore to admit that we have become rather adept at liberating this commodity from anywhere we find it. I did however have a further minor disaster, in that a particularily stonking wodge ( presumably some organic stuff as it had pretty leaves printed on it) turned to mush when I forgot to remove it prior to washing my shorts. Un autre disastre……...

A great picture of the canal we cycled along today - with the exception that the horse chestnut trees should be green. The results of a worm that is causing premature leaf drop

Camp site in Neuf Brisach was full of little borders of wild flowers like this.

Sian sporting some nice little cycling sports given to her by her work mates.

Definitely a look of disappointment over the Tarte Flambee issue.

Nothing like a beer to cure all these post cycle aches. If you are thinking that these chairs are made out of pallets, then you would be correct

The view over the pretty lake by the municipal campsite we stayed in Erstein

We can't have our tomatoes getting all wet...