Category: Travel

Exploring the Diverse Charms of Marseille: A 2-Day Experience

October 15, 2023

My impressions of the city developed over two days in Marseille. We took a flight from Ottawa to Paris and then to Marseille with Air France, left Ottawa at five p.m., and arrived in Marseille the following day at 9 a.m. After spending a day in Marseille, we left for Corsica for ten days before returning for another day in Marseille.

I found some information about Marseille on the internet interesting. Did you know that Marseille is one of the oldest cities in Europe? (It was established by Greek traders in 600 BC.) That 85% of the heroin shipped to the US was produced by Corsican gangs in the La Panier district of Marseille in the 1930s? That Marseille has the third largest Jewish population in Europe after London and Paris? That 20% of the population is Muslim? According to Wikipedia, Marseille, a port city, is probably the most multicultural city in Europe.

The diversity of Marseille surprised me; a native of Marseille explained that many North Africans came to Marseille from Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, and, in general, the Maghreb region of Africa since they were French-speaking and felt at home in the city. The people in the restaurants and the service industries were mostly from North Africa but I never felt they were immigrants; they were French people.

I thought that the French approach to immigrants in Marseille was more casual and probably much better in the long run, call it the melting pot idea, than the focus on differences among ethnic groups in Canada.

The city has a population of close to two million in the metropolitan area with a transportation system including metro and buses. We used both, since they were convenient, came frequently, and cost two euros a ticket, or C$3, relatively cheap.

Our apartment on rue Vacon in the Old Town area of Marseille was not ready for occupancy on arrival and the receptionist suggested we walk around in the neighborhood. Richly rewarded on our walk with musicians playing on the street, small markets to investigate, and getting used to one-lane streets crowded with people and motorcycles speeding by, we settled down for lunch at a table outdoors at one of the ethnic restaurants, that happened to be Tunisian. I had a wonderful lamb Tagine with apricots. Arabic talk surrounded us. It was a very pleasant atmosphere and I recommend a walk around the Old Town with your camera in your hands to take pictures of the diversity of people and street scenes.

Once we came back to our accommodation, a porter took us to our apartment, two blocks away from where we checked in, in an old, renovated building. We opened the huge front door with a fob leading to a hall where we faced a long and steep staircase to our apartment. There was no elevator in the building, but the apartment was spacious, very clean, and furnished with IKEA furniture.

Returning to reception to ask for maps and directions in the area, we chatted with the receptionist who said that he and his brother bought and renovated twenty-seven apartments in the Old Town in numerous buildings: is this a new model for an apartment hotel? A local we chatted with suggested the brothers renovated these units to make a killing during the Olympics next year; water sports will be in Marseille.

Using the maps, we got on a bus to take us along the Corniche Kennedy, also called the “balcony of the Mediterranean”, which runs along the Mediterranean coast.  The views were stunning, I had my cell phone camera clicking all the time. One of the pictures I took on the way was of the monument for Aux Heros de L’Armee D’Orient et des Terres Lointaines, a monument in memory of the victims of the 1914-1918 war.

I also saw Chateau d’If from our bus. This famous fortress, standing on a rocky island off the coast of Marseille, was immortalized by Alexandre Dumas in The Count of Monte Cristo as the prison where the novel’s hero was incarcerated before ultimately escaping. The castle was built by Francois I in 1524. One can visit the Chateau by taking a boat out to the rock.

Getting off the bus at a beach on the outskirts of the city, Kathy immersed herself in the Mediterranean Sea for the first time. In the evening, we meandered up to the Arab market with its bustling and amazing aromas. Searching for an interesting place to eat, there were many choices: Tunisian, Moroccan, French, and others. We ended up having a Turkish shawarma, attracted by the culinary smells. We were not disappointed – the food was delicious.

During the second full day in Marseille, we visited the Musee d’Histoire de Marseille. To enter the museum, we walked across a large square with panels explaining the archaeological finds when a guard from the museum came out and told us to go inside first to get a ticket. This was strange since the museum was free. Why go in first and then come back to read the plaques? But we followed the instructions and went inside where there was a detailed history of Marseille.

What I found most interesting was that the many podcasts in the Museum lectured about the damage looters had done finding and selling ancient coins and artifacts. I picked up a brochure that listed substantial penalties for looting, like thousands of euros and prison sentences. I gathered that looting was profitable and widespread until the government reined it in.

After the Museum we walked to the Old Port, a must for all tourists just to see its vibrancy, which was teeming with people and activities. The Old Port is renovated and is used by private yachts today. The world rugby championship happening at the same time, contributed to the wall-to-wall people along the Quai du Fort, the promenade along the north side of the Old Port.

One activity I enjoyed was sitting in one of the cafes watching the people on the Quai. Once you ordered your coffee, beer, or whatever, the waiters did not bother you, you could sit there all day. I usually ordered café allongé; an espresso coffee larger in volume than a standard espresso.

Cafes also allow you to meet people and find out what the purpose of their trip was. I met a fellow at one of the coffee shops from South Africa, who brought his college-age son to watch a rugby game and then travel to England to watch a professional soccer game.

At the end of the Quai, we entered Fort St. Jean. The ancient commandery (a district under the control of a commander of an order of knights) of the Hospitaliers de Saint-Jean, served as the departure point for the troops to Jerusalem during the Crusades of the 12th century. A chapel, church, hospital, and palace made up the commandery, which was completed in 1365. The numerous steps going up in the fort I found tiring. Besides, it was unpleasantly windy on top of the fort. But the view of the Old Port and the city was spectacular from the top of the Fort. The Fort is fully renovated and was worthwhile seeing.

Fighting the wind coming down from the Fort, we searched for a seafood restaurant. And we found the Au Bout du Quai Mediterranean restaurant where I had bouillabaisse and Kathy had scallops. The presentation of the seafood was picture-worthy and the taste was delicious.

Our rest after the full lunch was to sit on the tourist train that took us around the key sites of the city, some we had already seen.  Tooting along the Corniche Kennedy, we came to an abrupt halt and were ordered to get off by the police; the Pope was coming along on his way to the stadium to give a mass! That was the 21st of September.

Surprisingly, I did not see the Popemobile, I took a picture of the Pope coming along in a small, white Fiat, surrounded by police before and after the little car. After the entourage had passed by, on the tourist train passed by the Basilica Notre-Dame de la Garde, a famous landmark, sitting on top of a hill not too far from the Old Port.

We finished the day meeting our daughter and son-in-law and walking through a food court; Les Halles do la Major Restaurant a Marseille, with a large choice of restaurants, near the south side of the Old Port. We chose the one offering tapas. One will not go hungry in Marseille.

Why should you visit Marseille? For learning about its history, for enjoying its diversity of people, for taking photogenic pictures, and for satisfying your culinary desires. Although one could visit Marseille for one day and see the key tourist sites, two days would provide a more leisurely visit. I would certainly go back for a second visit.

Lessons Learned from Renting a Car in Corsica

October 9, 2023

Although tired from jetlag flying from Ottawa to Marseille the day before, we decided to take the early flight from Marseille to Figari airport in Corsica so that we could drive to our rental accommodation by the early afternoon.

I watched the airplane taxi to the airport from my window seat. Some people were already dragging their suitcases down from the bulkhead storage when the captain’s voice came on the loudspeaker telling the passengers to stay put until all the engines were shut down. We disembarked from the Air Corsica flight at the tail end of the small turboprop.

We hustled to the terminal walking across the tarmac – there were no mini-buses – to pick up our suitcases and rental car looking forward to the drive into the mountains where Jerome and Megan, our son-in-law and daughter planned to climb, hike, and canyon (the formal definition of canyoning is exploring a canyon via all techniques: including rappelling, sliding, hiking, etc.). They rented a huge house with space for us.

It was a short wait to pick up our suitcases and exit this small and informal terminal. The Hertz rent-a-car place was visible across the parking lot, and we walked down to their office. I entered the office with one client in front of me to be told to leave, they could have only one party in the office, the agent told me. I went outside, where another agent approached me and asked for my name. The agent searched and searched unsuccessfully until he discovered the reservation was made in Kathy’s name. So what? Well, the agent explained that she had to drive! That did not please Kathy at all! Corsica has a reputation for serpentine roads and blind curves.

The agent explained that I could add myself as a driver for 18 euros a day! That seemed outrageous, the euro has a fifty percent override on the Canadian dollar so we would be paying C27 per day for ten days, an amount equal to the total car rental cost. So, I asked, if could I cancel the original agreement and rent the car in my name. The agent said it would be excessive. So, Kathy decided to drive the serpentine roads of Corsica.

I used to plan our travel day by day in the old days and made all reservations for air, hotels, and cars. This time I decided to go on strike and have someone else do it for us based on a rough itinerary we provided. When it came to renting a car, we should have specified who would be the driver, but the travel agent never asked. For some reason, she identified Kathy as the driver. Lesson learned, always check out your final itinerary in detail.

The rental car agent handed the keys over and directed us to walk to the left in front of the office to find our car in a dirt lot. With no help where our car may be, we used the fob to see which headlights would come on to identify our car. The lights on an Alfa Romeo Tenali came on and the doors unlocked by the clicking noise I heard. An Alfa Romeo! Wow! That perked me up, I have never been in such a brand with its global reputation.

After putting our suitcases and backpacks into the car, I thought we were ready to roll but my daughter reminded me to check out the car for damages. I took numerous pictures of the bent back bumper to make sure that when we came back, they would not blame us for the damage and charge us. Then I thought why don’t we just go back to the office and ask for another car without damage? Well, back at the office the agent just said to take pictures and they would accept that as evidence. (We returned the car with no problem at all; the company had the damaged back bumper in their record).

Starting the car was another challenge; we could not find the starter button or a keyhole. A mechanic from the Hertz team came along to assist us. And never forget to ask where the filler cap opener is. We found there were two filler caps on this car: one for gas and another one for electrical charging – and we found a cable on the back seat – this was a hybrid.

The Alfa was appointed with plush seats and with the GPS speaking to us in French, Kathy enjoyed driving it, and I enjoyed watching the scenery. I am sure we could have switched the GPS to English, but we understood French and it was a good exercise listening to French driving in Corsica. It took us no time to figure out that “rond point” is a roundabout. Because of the serpentine road leading up into the mountains, the drive was slow, especially watching out for all the cyclists, motorcyclists, and car traffic.

It was unexpected that Kathy ended up driving for ten days in Corsica, but the Alfa was a bonus, it was a fun car to drive. I wanted to try it too, and as long as we did not get into an accident, I thought I would be safe, but decided not to take the chance. And a good thing, as it turned out, I carried an expired driver’s license! But that is another story.

Entering our Apartment in Aix-en-Provence

October 9, 2023

Talk about security! I thought we would get a key from a receptionist and go to our room in a hotel. Not so. We were registered at Les Suites  Du Cours in Aix-en-Provence, which we thought was a hotel – but discovered later that in Aix, at least, a hotel is a type of townhouse in the center of the old city, they used to be houses of the wealthy. Our hotel room turned out to be an apartment.

Let me start in the beginning when we received instructions on how to access our “self-registration” where we would be staying tonight. Although we had the street address, the instructions on how to enter our accommodation from the travel agent came the day Kathy drove from St. Remy to Aix-en-Provence, about an hour’s drive.

I was surprised; I expected a hotel with a lobby and a receptionist. Not so. We received an algorithm on how to enter this place via ten successive emails that mirrored a five-page manual on entering this place, the latter also sent via email!

Challenged by digital codes and fobs and keys in the instructions, I was apprehensive about our arrival; what if we could not follow the instructions and were left on the street with no receptionist? Although we had a phone number, what if they do not work at night or not at home? And would my French be good enough to communicate with them?

When we arrived at the address with two backpacks, after being lost for three hours, we faced a large, ornamental door, shown in a picture on the five-page instruction manual. The door at our address was in the middle of outdoor cafes, with people occupying all the tables, oblivious to the new arrivals.

So, we started by punching in the four-digit code to open the ten-foot-high historical, ornamental, heavy door; it clicked and we pushed it inwards. The door was very heavy with springs so strong that I had to lean into it to keep it open. Total darkness awaited us inside the twenty-foot-long vestibule, and I fumbled to find a light switch, indicated by three lighted dots on the wall ten feet away from us. We searched for the mailboxes, as instructed, opened the door, and looked up the next code to open the number 5 mailbox, our apartment number. We punched another four-digit code a few times with no success until I realized that the star after the four digits was part of the code and not the end of the instructions. Two sets of keys fell out of the mailbox for our next set of doors.

A fob was attached to both sets of keys and one of the fobs opened the next door, leading to the staircase and the elevator. This part of the building was also totally in darkness but by now we knew to look for the light switch. With only our backpacks, we decided to walk up the stairs instead of using the elevator even though the twenty-foot ceiling made the stairs long. The instructions were that only one person and a suitcase could be in the elevator at one time, and yet another key to use it. At any rate, our apartment was only on the second floor, we reasoned, and Kathy was worried she might get stuck in the ancient elevator.

Having reached the second floor, we tried to use the old-fashioned elaborately molded key to open the large, ten-foot-high ornamental door. We were tired and the key was obstreperous, it would not work. I was unsure whether I put it in the right manner and twisted it around in all directions. Finally, I banged on the door in frustration, expecting someone to be around to help us or tell us to get out of there but nothing happened.

Then the realization struck us that in France, the second floor is actually on the third level. The ground or first floor is the “rez-de-chaussee”. So, we hauled our baggage up to the next floor in the dark again since the lights worked for a short time only and we had to find the next switch on the next level. This time the old key worked. Finally, we arrived in our “hallway”, but it was pitch black again, and fumbled in the dark to find a switch.

In this hallway, several double doors faced us which, I thought would lead us to the kitchen, bedroom, etc. I heard voices behind one of the doors so I went there and burst in to let the intruders know that we reserved this unit. American voices greeted us in a friendly tone, and they said that they had reserved this unit for five days and our apartment must be behind another door opening from the “hallway”.

Three apartment units opened from this hallway and we, apparently, reserved one of these but we did not see numbers to indicate which one. Each unit had a set of double doors in front of the locked door units themselves – the unit number itself was a small number on the inner door, not visible from the hallway. The ornamental double doors, we speculated, were probably the original doors to be kept for historical purposes, and the inner doors, where our keys worked, were modern, lockable ones.

I was embarrassed for bursting in on the American visitors, apologized, and went to another door in the hallway where one of the keys on the second set of keys worked. Finally, we arrived at our apartment. The “hallway” served three apartments; I mistook the word hallway for our apartment’s lobby.

Once we settled into our bright place, we engaged in a friendly discussion with the neighbors and imbibed a glass of wine to calm our frazzled nerves, I reflected on the amount of security installed here. We needed two digital codes, a fob, and two keys to enter our apartment! Was this necessary? Is this overkill? Is the crime rate in France high? I did not know. But I thought the five barriers to mount to enter an apartment were beyond the pale. But perhaps when you get used to this system, it becomes simple. At any rate, we felt secure to leave our passports in the room when venturing outside.

Now you might think this entrance to occupy your hotel/apartment was frustrating, irritating and unnecessary. It was. But at the same time, to me, it was a puzzle to solve. It was fun. I used to do sudoku and now I do wordle. The satisfaction of solving puzzles was similar to solving this real-life puzzle to get into our accommodation.

Navigating Aix-en-Provence: A Travel Experience

October 8, 2023

The travel agent reserved a place for us in Aix-en-Provence and the GPS in the Peugeot 208 indicated a map showing how to get there. The rush-hour traffic engulfed Kathy driving the car and I assisted navigating the road. Crowds of people walking across the street made driving more challenging. And the roundabouts, of which there were more than traffic lights, complicated driving by sprouting many exits and lanes that we had to assess in trying to find the right exit.

Some exits were just lanes. Once the GPS directed us to take the next right, which was a lane that took us into an underground parking that we toured searching for the exit. On exiting, the inserted ticket triggered the gate to open, and we sped out.

The car rental agent switched the GPS to English from French and a serious-sounding, deep-voiced female directed us to our destination with a UK accent. We learned some new expressions such as “bear right” which means to turn right.

The rush of traffic, the crisscrossing pedestrians, and listening to the deep UK-accented voice combined to make us highly nervous driving in a town new to us, and we wanted to get to our place fast. But that was not to be.

The GPS, with the hotel address typed into it, directed us to turn left into a lane right after going around the Rotunda, a central square in Aix. In the fast-moving traffic, we did not notice the small lane quickly enough and missed our turn in the rush-hour traffic. We were frustrated and used some words inappropriate in a blog. After recalculating, the GPS moved us around a few kilometers to come back to the Rotunda again. By this time, with our nerves totally frazzled, we missed the turn lane yet again, being pushed by the cars behind us on our tail.

The third time around Kathy slowed down ignoring the honking behind us and we entered the single lane promising to lead us to our hotel. The next left turn ordered by the GPS left us facing bollards not allowing us into the single lane. Stumped, we stopped trying to analyze the situation before the honking became overbearing and people yelling at us to get a move on. We had no choice. We moved on while Kathy, in her utter frustration showed a finger to the woman driver behind us yelling at us.

At this point, having driven around for over an hour and a half, I said, hell with the hotel reservation, let’s take another hotel anywhere in Aix. Then we realized that we needed gas to continue our search. I clicked on Waze on my cellphone and looked for the nearest gas station. Still in rush-hour traffic, we missed a few gas stations because we could not get to the right lane from the middle lane fast enough.

We filled up at the gas station that we finally reached, where a friendly soul directed us to a suburban hotel twenty minutes away. We were happy with a full tank of gas and redirected the GPS to find the hotel.

Khalid, the hotel receptionist, was sorry but said his hotel was full and he came with me to two adjacent hotels to speak French to the other receptionists, which he said would help us, poor Canadians, find a place to sleep. Walking back and forth among the hotels afforded me time to discover that Khalid came from Tunisia, and he became excited to hear that I loved Tajine.

The horrible option of sleeping in the car came to my mind, should we not find a hotel. But that idea also created a problem; where to find a place to park? Parking in Aix seemed nonexistent. When I shared this idea with Khaled, he would not hear of it, he said he would make sure to find a place for us.

The nearby hotels were full as well. Khalid called another ten hotels to no avail. By this time, it was dark, and we were totally tired out and the unwelcome scenario of finding a quiet spot to park and sleep in the car has become a real option. Instead, Khalid suggested we leave the car at his hotel’s parking garage and take a taxi to our hotel, wherever it was. Since it was an offer to park free in the garage, and we were too tired to think, we accepted his offer. We took our overnight bags and waited for the taxi he called.

The taxi followed the route we had taken previously around the Rotunda, but instead of going where we had gone three times, the driver took the next right which was Cours Mirabeau where our hotel was. When confronted with bollards at the entrance – Cours Mirabeau is closed to traffic except for delivery vehicles and taxis – the driver inserted a card into a slot on a post next to him to make the bollards sink into the ground. And then we drove onto rue Mirabeau and found our hotel.

The next morning, after surveying where we were, we took a taxi to retrieve our car and returned to park it in the nearby parking garage. The instructions to our hotel would have been clearer if directed to seek a garage, and not the hotel, which was inaccessible by car. But since the hotel has a street address, the GPS took us on a futile trip.

In retrospect, the travel agent should have told us to park first with an address for a garage and instructions on how to reach the hotel next. Instead, the address to the hotel was provided with the suggestion that we park in the nearest parking garage.

Finding the hotel was a rough experience that tired us out and frazzled our nerves. But, I must say, it was exciting going around Aix three times, discovering the city, observing rush-hour traffic and blending into a very urbanized environment. And the relaxation we felt after the taxi found our place and we settled in, was immense and very satisfying. We will cherish and remember this adventure for a long time. Our place was in the middle of a major boulevard bordered by exquisite old mansions and sporting a lively atmosphere; lots of cafes and people mingling late into the night. The next morning we went down for a coffee (espresso) and croissant right along our door.

Riding the Virginia Creeper

May 20, 2023

Our arrival in Damascus, to ride the Virginia Creeper Trail was exciting. We struggled with the lock on the Vacation Rental by Owner’s (VRBO) door with no success until we turned the knob counterclockwise. With the door open, we faced a large, young woman, staring at us along with two crawling babies on the floor. I am not sure who was more surprised; us or the woman. When we got our breath back, we tried to explain that we had reserved this house and showed the documentation. She was speechless and yelled for her husband who appeared in shorts. He was a huge specimen and we got worried about guns in the house, having read recently people being shot just by driving onto a driveway. The husband explained that he rented this unit for six months and provided us with the name of his contact.  We concluded that we had no choice but to leave and find another place to stay. It was seven o’clock by that time, but fortunately, still light.

My daughter Megan, who had made the reservation through VRBO for a “premier” host called VRBO on the phone to find answers. After an hour and a half, VRBO offered money to rent accommodation in the vicinity because they were unable to find accommodations in Damascus for us; we were also told that the unit we had rented had been sold six months earlier, We drove and called around Damascus, searching for vacant units and found the River Trail Cabins had a couple of vacant units which we immediately occupied. These log cabins were exceptionally well appointed with a small kitchen where we cooked our supper and ate it on the verandah, overlooking the trail and the river. A large hot tub was next to the bed, but it was way too late to fill it up to use it.

We had come to Damascus to meet up with our daughter and husband who were on their way to Blacksburg, Virginia to pick up their youngest son from Virginia Tech where he finished his first year of college, and to ride the Virginia Creeper Trail. The Trail starts in Abington, VA, and stretches to Whitetop Mountain in the Rogers National Recreation Area, close to the North Carolina border. It is thirty-four miles long. Damascus is halfway along the trail, from where it climbs 2000 feet.

The right-of-way for the trail goes back to the 1880s when a railroad line was built to haul iron and coal. When the mines were depleted and it became uneconomic, the line was shut down. In 1977, the Norfolk and Western Railroad Company, owner of the rail line, asked the Interstate Commerce Commission to allow the abandonment of the rail line. Soon after the ICC’s approval, the removal of the tracks began, and the right-of-way was turned into a recreation area by the US National Forest Service and the National Park Service. A caboose at the center of Damascus commemorates, and reminds people of, the original purpose of the trail. The trail now accommodates hikers, cyclists, and equestrians, crosses a National Park and the Appalachian trail, as well as many rebuilt trestle bridges.  

On our first morning, we walked our bikes down the steep embankment on which the log cabins were built, to find the trail, eager to try it out.  We found the trail surface smooth, often with small gravel that was easy to ride. The trail wound its way through Damascus, passing by the SunDog Shuttle service where we inquired about their $25 shuttle service to the end of the line on Whitetop Mountain. We told them we’d be back the next day to experience the 17-mile downhill ride from Whitetop Mountain to Damascus.  In the meantime, we decided to cycle up the trail to experience the ride.

Once we left the town, we rode in a bushy, leafy valley, next to the Laurel River that was maybe fifty feet across, and which looked like whitewater kayaking territory although too shallow for my taste. The river flowed fast over large rocks creating a crashing but relaxing sound. We met some cyclists coming down the trail; it looked like easy riding with the low gradient.

The sun was up creating a dapple effect on the trail that bothered my vision, but also made me sweat although I had only a t-shirt on. We rode for a couple of hours, covered maybe ten miles, and decided to stop and have our lunch on a bench. There was also an outdoor toilet and a parking lot behind us.  We realized that it was possible to drive to several points along the trail, park the car and start riding from there.

Turning back towards Damascus, we cranked the pedal of our bikes a few times and rode for considerable distances, coasting much of the way with a slight downhill gradient; the going was easy and provided an opportunity for observing the forest around us. The return trip was fast, we arrived back at our home in less than an hour.

The next day we drove to SunDog Shuttle service and got on the bus with a dozen other passengers with a trailer behind us loaded with our bikes. The friendly driver related stories of cyclists along the trail; one story was funny in that some wild pigs chased one of the cyclists for a quarter of a mile before going back into the forest. The story did not give us a comfortable feeling, hoping we would not meet a wild pig on our ride down the Creeper Trail.

The driver also said that during the once-a-year Appalachian Trail days, up to a hundred thousand people converge in Damascus. The people attending these days are current and past hikers of the Appalachian Trail. The Appalachian Trail days this year are from May 19 to 21; it was a good thing that we did not come at that time; it would have been overly crowded.

On the forty-minute ride to our starting point on Whitetop Mountain we, of course, conversed with our fellow riders, who came from Michigan, Ohio, and North Carolina. One cyclist shared his experience in doing the Trail this last winter that he described as a somewhat freezy trail with icy spots that he had to navigate.

And we were all white-haired! I expected more young people, but I found our fellow cyclists close to our age, and that made me feel very good; this was a mature, recreational cycling crowd. Many people rented bikes at SunDog indicating that they may not have been serious cyclists but came for the experience.

After the requisite photo at the trailhead, in front of the billboard identifying the Trail and distances along the trail, we jumped on our bikes, and we were flying down the slope that had a gradient of five percent. There were some rocky spots and I had to grab tightly the handlebar that almost jumped out of my hands a few times. The first few miles went fast and after half an hour we stopped for a break to catch our breath.

Eleven miles down the trail we found the Creeper’s Trail Café and enjoyed a morning coffee where we met with a group of cyclists from Tennessee; they were part of a walking club in Knoxville and came for a different experience. I engaged with one of the riders who surprised me by showing me his electric bike. I asked him why he would need an e-bike when this trail was all sloping down, would his bike start rolling down too fast? He agreed that he did not need such a bike but back home he rode on hilly terrain.

Further down we stopped for our lunch sitting on a bench and watched the other cyclists go by, waving to them. When passing a cyclist, the typical protocol was to call out “on your left”, when approaching from behind. Everybody followed this routine. We arrived back at the shuttle place in three hours, a seventeen-mile ride with stops. I was not tired, since we rode downhill almost all the time, but my butt was sore from all the bouncing on some rocky parts, and where we crossed the numerous trestle bridges where their beginning and end was a jump up and then down, with our bikes.

SunDog shuttle service has a well-equipped store for cycle equipment and clothing, and I could not resist buying a t-shirt with the Creeper Trail logo, and with text on the back: “You do not stop riding because you get old, you get old because you stop riding”. That was apropos. Good advice!

I would recommend the Virginia Creeper Trail for cyclists of all kinds with a stay at the River Trail Cabins. And have a chat with the people at the SunDog Shuttle service for local color.