Day Thirteen, August 2: Le Havre and The Beginning of the Seine

August 2, 2017

This was the least pleasant day of the entire trip. I had read in the guidebooks that Le Havre was an interesting city because it was built more recently, and I also wanted to see the mouth of the Seine. In order to visit Le Havre, it is necessary to cross the Pont de Normandie, a suspension bridge that carries an autoroute, the French equivalent of an interstate highway. Other reports on the internet were “it’s possible, there’s a bike lane, but it is harrowing”.

The "bike lane" on the Pont due Normandie, which is between the BMW and the wall. The pedestrian walkway, which I rode on out of fear for my life, is on the right side of the wall.

I can now personally verify this. If you are considering this, I would highly encourage you to bike to the ferry at Quillebeuf-sur-Seine and use that to get to the north bank of the Seine instead. The entryway is fine, they built a nice ramp up to the base of the bridge for cyclists . . . but then the bike lane itself was not separated from the autoroute. It was like a bike lane you’d find on a minor street in the United States, but directly adjacent to semi trucks going 60mph. There was, however, a pedestrian walkway that was separated by a concrete barrier from the highway. Being a natural rule-follower, I rode in the designated lane for a few hundred yards. At that point, I remembered that I was a father of a 1-year-old, and had a higher responsibility to bring myself home alive, so I lifted my bike over the barrier and rode the rest of the way on the pedestrian path, which was reasonably safe. There weren’t any pedestrians anyway.

Pont du Normandie is in two segments: one large suspension bridge that is the bridge proper, and then a smaller bridge that goes over the estuary to the north of the river. After crossing the main bridge I assumed I would just continue over the smaller bridge; Google Maps showed a bike path going across. However, the bike/pedestrian ended at a stairwell that descended into a parking lot at the base of the main bridge. After wandering around for a few minutes trying to figure out how to continue, I asked some gendarmes who told me that, yes, it’s forbidden to go over the bridge and I would have to go around. This resulted in a large detour on the appropriately named “Route Industrielle”, a frontage road for semi trailer-trucks with no space designated for bicycles. To their credit, all of the truck drivers were extremely professional and courteous, but there just wasn’t enough space for both of us. The best I can say is that I survived to make it into Le Havre itself, but its industrial core, not the interesting part with modern buildings. That part was off to the west; I needed to head east. Originally I had planned to make a visit into the center of town, but at this point I was pretty emotionally exhausted from dodging vehicles and was eager to be off and the countryside again. I headed east, leaving Le Havre for another trip.

Here's a map of what I did (blue), and an arrow to the ferry at Quillebeuf, which you should seriously seriously consider instead of the Pont du Normandie. It's not just the bridge; it's the industrial roads on the north side full of trucks, and the forced detour.

This is now the third phase of the trip: the first had been the forests of the South, the second had been the beaches of the north, and now I was heading inland along “Les Boucles de la Seine”, the “loops” of the river heading inland. The first 15 miles were river-industrial: the bike path along a flood-control canal, past factories and refineries. These eventually faded away, into small riverside roads with tiny towns, too inconvenient to access via autoroute because of the oxbows of the river. Pear and apple orchards became common sights, all seemingly small-scale. On several occasions I saw a lone Frenchman on a ladder in a tree harvesting fruit. By late afternoon I was on yet another tiny, quiet rural road.

By late afternoon I was on the tiny, quiet rural road to recovery from the madness of Pont de Normandie and Le Havre.

I targeted a campground that was in the middle of the promontory created by an oxbow, hoping to find a quiet, remote place. When I arrived, there was a sign at the entryway saying that the campground is full. By now I knew better than to be deterred: I went into the welcome center, and uttered the magic words to the woman there: “avez-vous place pour une personne, une petite tente, une nuit?” (“ Do you have space for one person, one small tent, one night?”). She gave me the “yeah, probably” face, with a small nod, and told me to wait while she helped some other people. After a couple of minutes, her husband came in and I explained the situation, and he said “well, let’s take a look.” He hopped on his own bike that was outside the welcome center, and we rode around until he found a site that had a cabin with some construction materials next to it. “The people who on this cabin aren’t here, and probably aren’t going to be here this month. You can set up your tent here.” This is a campsite without a lot of stars or swimming pool or anything fancy: it was a place where people came to be out in the countryside and away from people. There is no restaurant, but there were cans of cold beer for sale. I bought one, made myself a sandwich, talk to Suzanne for a few minutes, and as per usual collapsed into deep and dreamless sleep.

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