The South of France – Solo Bikepacking the World #14

From May 2022 until June 2024, I went on a 41,500km solo bicycle journey around the world, that took me through 26 countries.

This is the fourth episode from Europe, as I travel through the South of France, from the snowy foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains, to the glistening French Riviera.

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Route Map:
https://ridewithgps.com/routes/52645350

Gear List:

0:00 Intro
0:37 Snowy hills to Le Boulou
1:30 French countryside
3:14 Mistral winds
5:17 Canal du Rhône à Sète
7:44 Camargues at night
9:15 Canals and wind turbines
10:29 Marseille
12:24 Massif des Calanques
13:43 Cassis
14:31 Cap Canaille
16:01 Bike paths into the Riviera
17:18 Le Lavandou night
17:50 Mimosa blossoms
19:42 Le Dramont
20:35 Drone goes swimming
21:08 Esterel Massif
22:28 Cannes
23:08 Antibes bike road to Nice
23:55 Sunny day on the Riviera
25:08 Monaco
25:46 Into Italy

the south of France, Lumidi. I cycled this beautiful land from the snowy Pyrenees to the glistening Riviera. On gravel dikes between large lagoons, on bike paths beside calm canals, and on seaside roads and prominads, I battled fierce winds and basked in days of bright winter sun. I climbed cliffs and gazed in wonder at towering rocks. I felt the ocean breeze and soaked in the charm of vibrant cities. This was France in a season that few travelers choose to see. Fierce yet radiant, empty yet alive, and every kilometer pulled me deeper into its magic. Soon after crossing the Calderus Pass into France on the Eurova 8 route, the world seemed to shift. Despite being only 290 m above sea level, the shaded northern slopes of the Pyrenees foothills held on to winter’s breath. And I descended through paths of melting snow, the cold sharp against my face on still and silent roads. Reaching Labulu, a quiet bike path led me into the town. The wind stirred softly, whispering what was soon to come. With forecasted gusts over 90 km an hour, I surrendered to patience and took a couple of rest days as the winds passed. [Music] When the skies cleared and the winds calmed, I rolled on. The mountains fading into the distance behind me, I drifted through farmland, the French countryside unfolding under soft winter light. Passing through Perpon, I cycled between colorful facades and medieval streets, appreciating the city’s character and Catalin heritage. [Music] The cycling infrastructure was remarkable and for the whole day I followed hushed lanes and peaceful bike paths. [Music] As the sun set, I found myself riding along a causeway through a chain of lagoons and saltwater marshes. These are found all along the western Mediterranean coast of France and an important habitat for birds and wildlife. As the pink light faded softly into the rippling water, I caught a glimpse of my first wild flamingos. That night, I camped peacefully by a small canal, tucking myself behind a barrier of strong trees, grateful for their shelter as the gusts grew louder in the dark. In the morning, the wind howled once more, blowing from the northwest, this wind is known as the Mistral. Clear skies are accompanied by this fierce cold wind that funnels towards the Mediterranean, averaging over 50 km and often gusting above 100, lasting anywhere from a day to well over a week. This wind would become a defining feature of my time in southern France, dictating my pace depending on the direction of travel. Finally, it’s a moment of tailwind. [Music] Along the coast, I passed towns of shuttered windows and silent beaches. In summer, they must have been vibrant and lively, but in late January, they felt like ghost towns, mere echoes of a season yet to return. Yet, the emptiness was a gift to me. I had no complaints about the lack of crowds and reveled in the solitude. Drifting past dunes, canals, and small port towns, slowly tracing my way east along the coast. [Music] After a spectacular sunrise over the Mediterranean, I set out on a causeway alongside the canal dura set. For more than 10 km, I followed an incredible gravel dyke. Barrier lagoons and windswept dunes stretching to my right, the canal and inland lagoons shimmering to my left. Heat. [Music] Heat. [Music] In the afternoon, I continued on a bike path still tracing the Ronet Canal, a vital waterway linking the Ron River to the Canal Dumidi and the Mediterranean ports. Along its calm banks, a myriad of riverhouse boats were morowed, floating peacefully in the calm waters. [Music] So I had two fairies to cross today. The first over the Petit Ron and the second over the Ron. Both of them are closed for the day because of the general strike. The first one I can detour around. I just made my way over to Petron. Now I’m on the other side of the river riding close to the river. I will go through Kamar and then stop just before the second ferry for the evening. And I’m really excited to ride through Kamar for like 30 or 40 clicks. It’s going to be absolutely gorgeous. The Kamarag region encompasses the delta of the Ron River over 930 km between the Petitron and the Grand Ron. Most of its expanse is a protected natural reserve and the entire area is recognized as a UNESCO biosphere reserve. With another bout of strong winds forecast to arrive in the night and rage through the following day, I chose to cross the delta starting in the evening, hoping to outrun the gale across this wild exposed landscape. [Music] It became one of my most beautiful and serene rides in France. peacefully pedaling a gravel track along the sea dikeke. Brian ponds glowing faintly in the fading light until dust gave way to darkness and stars began to twinkle one by one above the vast wetland. [Music] Deep within the park lies the Fongasier wetland, a brine pond that shelters the largest colony of greater flamingos in France. Each spring, tens of thousands of flamingos gather here to breed and raise their young on an artificial island built to help the species endure. And as I neared the exit of the park, the winds returned, howling through the open expanse. It was eerie yet strangely serene to be cycling here, so small in this vast emptiness, pedaling alone under a sky ablaze with stars. [Music] So, I just crossed the main channel of the Rowan River on the ferry. Really nice. The workers there gave me a coffee cuz it’s frigid this morning. A short ride from the ferry brought me to the Ronto Floss Canal. Wind turbines towered above on the protective embankment on the north side of the canal. A small hill shielding me from the cold wind while still allowing for the collection of renewable power. [Music] Beyond the canal, the bike infrastructure was decent enough, carrying me along secondary roads to Fossur. But after the town, I was forced onto the highway, at least with a bike lane, but carrying plenty of traffic. I didn’t film much until I was able to turn off, passing over some low, rocky hills to enter into Marseilles. [Music] [Music] [Music] [Music] Mar so far is a terrifying city to enter by bicycle. Entering the city from the north was incredibly chaotic. Contrary to much of France where cycle paths had guided me with ease, here I found myself funneled onto the side of the road on busy auto routes, weaving with confusion until at last I reached the old port. Past the grand facade of the Catala Laame Majour, the sun was just beginning to sink into the horizon, flooding the harbor in a spectacular winter glow. [Music] [Music] After spending the night in a hostel, I set off again under blue skies and a rare absence of wind. The southern side of Marseilles was far better for cycling, and I followed incredible bike paths along the seaside, turning off uphill alongside the Huon River. [Music] Bike paths continued all the way as I climbed up out of the city into the massive de kon. It was such a joy to be back in the peaceful forested slopes, climbing steadily, startling wild boores that darted across the path. [Music] Emerging from the forest, I cycled up to the Belvadier de Sugon, [Music] the view opened wide to the clunks of Sugon and Mo, dramatic limestone inlets plunging into the Mediterranean. In the national park here, the land fractures into a total of 28 kons, steepwalled and wild. Each one a secret cove carved by sea and stone. Riding back into the Messie, I followed incredible double track cycle route on the Shamandu Centaur. threading between cliffs and across natural terraces with sweeping views back over Marseilles. [Applause] [Music] As I exited this section of the park, I descended down to the town of Cassi. As the sun set, golden light illuminated Cap Canai and the ochre colored face of the towering subs, the highest sea cliff in France at nearly 400 m. I lingered at a roadside pulloff, admiring the view as the light faded before freewheeling down into the town for the night. [Music] [Music] I awoke in Cassidy to the imposing sight of the cliffs towering above. Their presence impossible to ignore. [Music] My first mission for the day was clear. Climb straight up to the top of the plateau. [Music] The road out of town rose mercilessly, gradients spiking as high as 30%. I pushed slowly upward and step by step up the towering hill. [Music] Finally, the effort gave way to a reward and sweeping panoramas unfolded all around me. From the cliff’s edge, I looked out over the vibrant blue waters of the Mediterranean. The town of Cassie nestled far below and back at the towering white rocks of the Kon Massie. [Music] [Music] Across the plateau, an incredible road wound through folds of stone before plunging down in a twisting descent towards Lassiota. Through the city, I followed a short but striking 5 1/2 km stretch of converted rail line, gliding through the city on smooth paths. [Music] Apart from some very brief stretches on roads, the cycling infrastructure here was nearly continuous and a dream to ride. Fantastic paths took me all the way through Tunol and led onwards into the sunset. [Applause] [Music] [Applause] With the light fading, I pressed on into the dark to the town of Deavandur. Settling in for a serene night of rest above beautiful moonlit rocky shores and hidden beach coes. I started off the morning with a refreshing and very liberating dip at the nearby naturist beach. Finally taking advantage of the perfect chance to plunge into the cold, crystalline waters of the Mediterranean. [Music] Energized for the day, I set off once again on fantastic bike routes. [Music] [Music] I traveled along a quiet sherus road and at every break in the trees the splendor of the Mediterranean was revealed in sudden pockets of dazzling blue. [Music] Then came an unexpected wonder, the mimosa blossoms. From late January through March, these brilliant fragrant blossoms ignite the Kotazour. A burst of color heralding spring’s approach. It felt like a true symbol, the first sign of spring arriving just as I officially entered the French Riviera. [Music] in the evening. I arrived to Cap Rammon, a rugged headland gazing out across a wide bay. From here, I watched the golden light fade from the red hills of the Eststeral Massie, the landscape and sky glowing with vibrant colors one last time before slipping into night. [Music] In the morning, disaster struck. While flying my drone out over the sea, the battery gave out without warning, and the drone initiated an emergency landing. I fought to guide it back to shore, but it splashed down about 10 m short. I would have gone searching, but without goggles, there would be little hope. Then, in a stroke of pure serendipity, a large group of free divers arrived by boat about half an hour later. I flagged one down, pointed them to the exact spot, and he surfaced after the first drop with drone in hand. That was the end of the drone, but at least I could salvage the footage and left no litter at the bottom of the Mediterranean. [Music] With a swing of emotions behind me, I pressed on, climbing up into the Eststerel Massie. These towering red cliffs, born of ancient volcanic fire about 250 million years ago, rise dramatically above the sea. Their vibrant hues standing in vivid contrast to the water below. Through the Massie, a stunning cycling and pedestrian road wound along the slopes. At every curve, the views opened wider. The glinting sea below, the rust red spires above. [Music] As I began the descent, I looked back in awe at the great monolith of St. Saint Bartell rock jutting high above the coast. [Music] Returning to the shoreline, I continued east along the coastal highway. Traffic was light and the riding peaceful as I passed between beautiful bays and sheltered coes. [Music] [Music] Soon I reached Khan, famed of course for its festivals, glamour, and endless celebrations of culture. I found myself admiring the elegant seaside prominads, high-quality cycling infrastructure, and yachts costing more than multiple lifetimes of bicycle travel. By pure luck, I passed through Antib on the first Sunday of the month when the coastal road is closed to vehicles. Pedaling along this wide paved expanse, it felt as if I had the entire Riviera for myself. I would have been happy riding the one bike lane, but the equivalent of four was extravagant. Set on Luke. Clouds gathered as I rolled into Nice. Following bike paths between the prominade de Zangllay and a long sandy beach, the city felt both grand and inviting. A perfect blend of Mediterranean beauty and French charm. I stayed with some incredibly hospitable warm showers hosts here and took a day off to relax and work while soaking in the city’s charm. [Music] [Music] Leaving Nice and heading east, I cycle through the French Riviera, bathed in the soft light of a beautiful early February temporary day. The air was crisp, the sea glittered beside me, and each curve of the coast revealed another postcard view of cliffs, palms, and shimmering bays. It felt like winter had given way to a quiet golden spring just for my ride. I was unlucky though to face easterly winds. Pushing against a stubborn headwind as I rode. Though it slowed my pace along the coast, I couldn’t be too upset. Cycling here with the Mediterranean at my side. Even the struggle felt like part of the Riviera’s charm. While I go around this roundabout, I’m in Monaco. [Music] Cycling through Monaco was a brief stop, but unforgettable. The sheer density of soaring towers and grand buildings packed into such a tiny space, left me in awe. It felt like riding through a vertical city carved into the cliffs above the sea. Monaco, second in density only to Macau and second in smallness only to the Vatican, was somehow larger than life. [Music] With Monaco behind me, I completed my ride through France, pedalling the final stretch toward the Italian border. [Music] The early February sun lit the coast in dazzling blues while the sharp wind whipped white capped waves across the Mediterranean. And on idyllic bike path right next to the sea, I crossed into Italy, leaving France behind and turning the page to a new chapter of this journey around the world.