The Green Hills of Perche

Towards the North West of France, around 160km South West of Paris, lies a little village called Saint-Ulphace. Now, as far as villages in rural France go, Saint-Ulphace is pretty normal. It has a post office, a church, a small épicerie, and many friendly neighbours. But it also has something special, something that I have only ever found in very few places in my life.

In April 2018, I decided to volunteer on organic farms through a site dedicated to 'World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms'. WWOOF, for short. I arrived in Paris on a rainy day and after spending a solemn night in this spectacular city I headed to Montparnasse station to get the train South West to a town called La Ferté-Bernard. Just reading its name makes me nostalgic. La Ferté-Bernard is the closest rail station to Saint-Ulphace and so once I arrived here, I was collected by my wonderful hosts and taken to the farm which would be my home for the next 5 weeks. I could talk forever about the incredible experience I shared at La Ferme du Mont Heron and perhaps I will in another article, but for now, I want to write about a specific something that made my trip to this beautiful part of France so special and allowed me to experience it in the best way possible. Bikes.

Saint-Ulphace is just on the border of the Perche region, which is classed as a 'Parc Naturel'. The stunning countryside surrounding this place on all sides was just calling out to be explored during my stay, so with a borrowed bike, I set off for a ride. First it was a necessity to explore the neighbouring villages. Théligny, Soizé, Gréez-Sur-Roc, and of course, the local village to which Mont Heron belonged, Saint-Ulphace. These neighbouring villages were simple strolls on the bikes, I wanted to feel truly in the middle of nowhere, and that's how you felt in these villages. Beautiful stone cottages, farms in every direction, it was so simple to forget about life's troubles whilst you rolled along on two wheels. The terrain was perfect. Every stubborn hill was met with a comfortable roll back down. I would ride to Gréez-Sur-Roc for the essentials. Chocolate, yoghurt, cider and a couple of vegetables from the local epicerie, ran by a sweet lady with whom I would practice my French with. Travelling further and further afield, I decided to ride to La Ferté-Bernard in search of a wider variety of countryside life. La Ferté-Bernard always had huge resemblance throughout my time here, every road had a sign returning to it, it was visible from atop many a hill. It marked as a major checkpoint for each journey west. As far as French towns go, La Ferté-Bernard was standard. Beautiful architecture, a bar or two, even a local French only movie theatre was on offer, all eclipsed by the beautiful towering cathedral in the centre. The ride to La Ferté-Bernard became my staple run after one or two goes.

First World War memorial in Cormes

Originally taking around 1 hour, I cut it down to around 40 minutes after finding many shortcuts. It began on a roll down into Théligny, and of course, back up again. Coming to a crossroads you can bear left to roll along glorified speed bumps and glide through a towering tube of overhanging trees, or you can simply stick to the main route, bearing right and taking a long winding bend past an emu farm and a section of greenery that so closely resembled the Shire from Lord of the Rings. Meeting at the next crossroads, both paths take you past La Ferme du Chêne, a farm producing cider and fantastic tasting jus de pomme. Through Cormes, a quaint little town with the essentials of any French village, a church, town hall, and a bakery. But this village also has a stunning memorial to the soldiers from Cormes who fought in the First World War. From Cormes it was just short of 5km to La Ferté-Bernard. These last 5km meant riding along main roads, although main roads in this rural part of France was one car every minute and the odd tractor. The whole ride was a beautiful escape. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Countless sheep, cows, and fields of grain. I have this weird thing of stopping to look at a set of rolling hills and feeling very, very peaceful. Just before La Ferme du Chêne, lay a long, steep hill. On one side of the hill, a forest, thick and seemingly endless. On the other side, rolling hill upon rolling hill. A ruined old tractor, small wooden shacks burdened with missing planks and gaping holes. I admired as I pedalled hard yet before I knew it, I was at the top of the hill.

Another of my lengthier rides was to Vibraye. Usually I would head to La Ferté-Bernard after working at around 5pm. But I knew the route to Vibraye was through Montmirail, a beautiful village with a magnificent historical castle, so I decided to go on a weekend to have that extra bit of time. I sailed through Gréez-Sur-Roc picking up some last minute supplies from the epicerie and headed on towards Montmirail.

A pastry and Montmirail castle

Arriving early I decided to wander around the castle grounds, imagining what was here hundreds of years before me. After a short tour of the castle, reading from an English translated guide, I had one last circle around the grounds of Montmirail and along the old castle walls which now formed relentless protection from the neighbouring gardens filled with villainous fruits and vegetables.

The path to Vibraye was almost an entire downhill slope, not surprising when you see the views from Montmirail chateau, and so with every turn of my wheels, the dread yet excitement of the return journey rolled over in my thoughts. It didn’t take long until I found myself cruising across a small stone bridge and right into the centre of Vibraye. I parked up outside a small cafe, ordered a pot of tea and pastries, and enjoyed the fresh air once again. It reminded me of the small villages back in England throughout the Lake District, but with croissants and not scones. Around six minutes later, I had seen almost all of what Vibraye had to offer and decided to be on my way before sundown, thinking of the hills ahead, just as it started to rain.

The short but sweet cycle east through Soizé and on to Authon-du-Perche was my very first outing on the bike. I decided to just head in one direction and follow the signs, never actually using my phone to help guide the way. I followed the beautiful vintage signposts which led the way with ease. Authon-du-Perche, just squeezing its way inside the region of Perche, displayed beautiful stonework buildings and a distinct landmark church, something I would come to realise is a bit of a trademark around this region. A short stop and I rolled back home as though I knew the roads like the back of my hands. Every single lane or bumpy trail or straight and narrow path had its own unique features, I simply could not get lost. The hills and slopes gave you a vantage point allowing a quick scan of the land and your whereabouts before you head off again. One path adorned with a cherry blossom tree. Another with a pair of over friendly cows. After my first venture down each new path I became instantly familiar and felt more at home with every turn.

I had heard a lot about Nougent-Le-Rotrou when I first arrived at Mont Heron. About its beautiful Saturday markets, extravagant castle, and captivating cobbled streets. Thankfully, like most of my rides so far, one long route with a fork or two carried you directly to the southern entrance of this ancient city. The charming villages along the way became checkpoints to remember how close or how far I was from my destination. One peculiar landmark about the ride to Nougent-Le-Rotrou was a gigantic red and white striped chimney which identified the half-way point, just before reaching Les Étilleux. A bright pink house outside of Saint Bomer, a man-made lake at the feet of an old Victorian looking manor. The steep hills and comfortable downslopes eventually leading to a long curving road that spanned the outskirts of a beautiful looking manor with large grounds bearing a swimming pool, vegetable gardens and other separate buildings possibly used as lodgings. The ride became my longest route I would take, 22km one way. This in hindsight is a very simple distance to travel; of course I had to cycle back making it a round 44km for the day, but with the hills, sometimes bumpy trails and the heat beating down on my backs, it made for a tough journey.

The markets of Nogent Le Rotrou

I travelled to Nougent-Le-Rotrou twice on separate weekends, making sure to truly explore the marketplace and the surrounding areas. The Saturday market was a sight to behold. Locally produced bread, cheese, vegetables, and wine. It's common knowledge that no matter where you find yourself in France, you can find outstanding bread and cheese within a stone’s throw. After a wander around Chateau des Comtes du Perche in Nougent-Le-Rotrou, I decided to head back and catch dinner. During my time at Ferme du Mont Heron, I met a new dear friend from Japan. He was never the most stable on the bikes, yet we rode together once or twice to La Ferté Bernard and the surrounding villages. I like to think he enjoyed the astounding contrast between the towering blocks of Osaka surrounded in a river of neon and the rolling green hills of lost France.

The last bike journey in this region of France that is worthy of note came quite unexpected to me. It was a Thursday morning and after a few hours of planting, weeding, and general maintenance of the farm, I decided that this evening I would take an adventure. I remembered seeing adverts for the new Avengers movie and like clockwork the memory of a cinema in Nougent-Le-Rotrou sprang to mind. I frantically looked and found it, the only English version playing. Tonight. 8pm. The only screening. After some quick maths I realised that if I was to go, then the screening would end at 11pm. This meant a 22km bike ride back home in the pitch black. So I had to decide whether to settle into bed with a cup of tea and the 3rd instalment of the Witcher books by Sapkowski at 9pm, or ride 44km, half of which in the pitch black with a flickering torch, to see the most anticipated film of the year. So after packing a few snacks and a bottle of water, I left the farm around 5:30pm, knowing the ride would take me up to an hour and a half. I got my ticket, dropped by a local bio shop for a couple of supplies that were running low in the camper, and waited patiently for the movie to begin. Needless to say, it did not disappoint. Every minute of the movie felt invigorating knowing the commitment I put into getting here and back home. As it came to a close I prepared myself. I waited for the end cut scenes. An extra 10 minutes before I would hit the hay that night. Au revoir's and merci's were said as I proudly left the cinema with a grin. My steed stood waiting for me. Every last one of my fellow movie go-ers entered their cars, and drove off in bliss towards their homes. I mounted my ticket home and began to peddle. The first kilometre finding my way out of Nougent-Le-Rotrou and the neighbouring houses was fine. Nicely lit streets, albeit silent as a mouse. After the last few neighbouring farmhouses. Darkness. Pitch darkness for 10 kilometres to Les Étilleux. I'm not afraid of the dark, but I'm afraid of oncoming vehicles. The torch accompanying me would flicker on and off with every rotation of my pedals. The light just barely showing the marks of the road which I stuck to with the sheer will to live. As I passed both Les Étilleux and Saint Bomer, I stopped for a 2 minute break each time to appreciate the light of the street lamps and the feeling of not being trapped in this void of complete darkness. But then I got back on my way again, staring down at the white painted lines marking my way home. Thankfully I had travelled the route to Nougent-Le-Rotrou a few times before so I could distinctly remember the route and which prongs to take for each fork in the road. When I finally reached Théligny and began to climb the treacherous hill creatively known as 'Théligny hill', I felt like I was finally home. It was 1am when my head finally hit the pillow. I lay back and laughed to myself. It's a nice feeling to be lost in the middle of nowhere, to be the only person in the world who knows where you are at that moment in time.

Three days later, I find myself stood by the side of the highway entrance hitchhiking to Paris; I remembered fondly the beautiful paths, the views of rolling hills and this escape from reality that touched on each of the senses in its own peculiar way. I said goodbye to the bikes, farewell to the hills, and au revoir to my wonderful hosts at Mont Heron, where I promised to return one day.

St Ulphace was the beginning and end of each and every bike trip in this wonderful part of France. Every time I spotted its towering church spire in the distance I knew I was on my way home. Within 5 weeks it became a place I felt so comfortable to just walk out the door and head off in any direction I so pleased. It was the feeling of being at complete peace, standing on the edge of Mont Heron, looking down on St Ulphace, with Gréez-Sur-Roc in the distance, the fresh smell of farm life and the jaw dropping rolling hills that filled every space between. Peace in every sense of the word.

The 4 main routes!