The previous day was the test run, the shakedown. This day was the real test of hauling what felt like hundreds of pounds of gear (in reality, far closer to 40lb per person). We executed the routine baguette raid and pedaled east out of St.-Dizier, headed for Toul. There was a small debate about straight versus narrow roads (big and busy vs. small and twisty). Peter put his foot down on the narrow and we pedaled southeast instead of east. The white roads proved to be saner and quieter, even though navigating through and past non-existent towns and roads (as far as our large-scale map showed) proved to be problematic. We enjoyed the quiet and cool of forests and small hills before the sun struck. Lunch was a tasty baguette, some brie, and a tomato in the shade of a tree. Regenerated from the food and respite from the sun, we set of past the fields of wheat and corn. The bikes hummed along nicely except for a minor unidentifiable click from Peter's (that was slowly driving his bike mechanic instincts over the edge... maybe those noisy roads would have been better!). The click was eventually solved, and we sped on, dutifully drinking our water, the kilometres passing by without too much agony.

A wide, flat, slightly green stretch of water turned out to be a canal, which we realized would be a restful way to carry gear. Water and wood as opposed to rubber, metal, and muscle. Next trip! We passed, and were passed, by various kick-ass farm implements. (Apparently the French farmers have a lot of money set aside to purchase big toys.) There were towns with more cows than people and more tons of machinery than cows. It was amusing to speed through the virtual canyons of tiny two-story French villages at what felt like a breakneck speed (at least, it felt breakneck with panniers and trailers attached). We crossed over the big road we had avoided early in the day, eventually finding respite from the afternoon heat in a Total gas station equipped AC and fresh cold water. We finally arrived at the walled town of Toul and pedaled to the (thankfully) open Tourist Office. After a wine-tasting break by the main cathedral we pedaled amazingly steadily back to the Centre de Ville. We munched on donairs for dinner (to become our mainstay alongside baguettes). Peter found old WW-II era tunnels in Touls' walls and barely made it back for the 10pm curfew. Sleep. Ahhh. Tired legs.

A relatively on-time departure (for Scott and Peter), including a boulangerie raid and a tiny bit of traffic, let us pedal towards Nancy and more small roads in the morning cool.

Scott had the find of the week, a highly detailed map of the Alsace region. All our blunderings of yesterday were shown in red, yellow and white. We were amazed at the number of roads and towns not shown on the "All of France" map. (Later on in the trip, we would come to appreciate the lack of clutter.) Our legs seemed to be fine, which was a joy, but almost immediately upon alighting on our bikes, we had discovered that our bums were a touch sore. Not bad, but tender! Eventually, the kilometres numbed the pain and the scenery distracted the head. Scott was nailed rather close to the left eye by a wasp, prompting a water bottle tossing and glasses-breaking session as Scott battled the wasp mano-a-mano. We attempted to navigate through/above/around Nancy and out the other side.

Use the force, Luke! For all the clarity of the map just a hour earlier, we got sideswiped by Jarville! A hard look at a city bus map, thankfully graced with a you-are-here dot, straightened us out. Some creative use of sidewalks, one-way roads and gravel led us back to small roads. We puttered about the countryside, heading in the direction of lunch.

We were consuming a relatively eyebrow-raising amount of water, likely measured in litres per hour! The litres we had from Toul were rapidly disappearing. A number of towns we went through yielded no water. A last second decision to detour off the "main" road led un into a small town with one person in it. Scott asked the older lady were a store might be. A laugh and wave told of an epic ride, but then a kind invitation opened the fridge for us. Scott soberly tried to speak French and keep up with the grandmother's stream of questions as water was fetched. In thanks, Peter affected a repair on a elderly hula-hoop with some duct-tape, since his engineering is better than his French. Our detailed map had little blue lines that proved to be canals. The nice thing about canals is a lack of elevation gain! With our water adventure behind us, the heat and a long (uncalculated!) distance to our finish at Sarrebourg in front, we ground out the last kilometres thinking about food, bed, and just getting off the bike! Wheeling into Sarrebourg too late for the Tourist Office to help, Scott determinedly found us a bed. We wandered around town for dinner and ended up with a donair, of course! A well-travelled local practiced his English, the local mafia came to visit, and then we escaped for a moonlit tour. The number of hot motorcycles was amusing. They seem to like big bikes there.

We had mentally prepped for this day knowing the hills were coming; the big hills. We reserved the right to bail early on our push to Strasbourg. The map showed lots of squiggly lines, which meant steep roads! Too many squiggles. We selected the least squiggly then partway through the ride realized that there was a nice little blue line next to the road we had selected! A canal! So much for gruelling climbs and white-knuckle descents! We blazed through the transition from French to German influence, watching history in action. Arriving at the Saverne Tourist Office just in time for lunch, or more particularly, the Tourist Office's lunch break, we carried our momentum and raced onward toward Strasbourg. The rhythm of pedal stokes pulled us through the unrelenting cornfields.

Road traffic slowly increased as we neared Strasbourg, changing Renaults into BMWs. We were surprised by some very out-of-place Californian-looking condos. An elderly cyclist helped with some last-minute directions and dropped us before we follow him around the traffic circle! We meandered and looked at the map and sweated and looked at the map again, then found a bike path close to a canal. What a way to ride into a city! Flat, picturesque, shaded, and near cool water. We wound our way to the local hostel, filled with young folks bouncing around (and now us older folks sooo not bouncing!), and went for a stroll in the grip of an old European town. We, or more particularly, our bums, had the delight of choosing whether to stay a day or continue our dash. Eyes, ears, bums, and tongue all conspired together and decided to celebrate three days of pedaling just over 300k with a rest day in a beautiful city. We bypassed the holy-smokes-that-looks-nice-but-expensive restaurant and finally settled on a well-meaning bistro, then a patio beer.

On the walk home, Scott saw the moon rising behind the cathedral and sparked an intense panic in Peter trying to get the camera stable enough to capture the majesty. Minutes pass and finally Peter was satisfied. We met a French couple and their American (Californian) friend and chatted for a while about France, Strasbourg, languages and smoking, then headed for bed.

St.-Dizier was the last town we had really wandered in, and was Strasbourg ever different! The mix of German and French influence made for a remarkably conflicted city; brew-houses, cafes, beautiful cathedrals, dashing men strolling with (trolling for?) beautiful women, German polka bands inspiring bench-crushing behaviour at the local pub and tight jazz trios winding the night down at outdoor bistros.

Of course, there was the odd tourist, struggling to fit in. NOT! We had seen tourism in action in St.-Dizier, bringing hordes (truly, they do belong under a banner, marching forward in a dominating fashion) of people out of the woodwork from every direction. The tourists here were of a different sort, mostly older, more romantically inclined, and far less likely to twang the ear with a Texan accent. Wanders through the city were 'brutally' interrupted by a hour long lunch, a beer and snack at 4ish then dinner at 8ish. Jazz in a neon-lit alley after midnight just has a special ring to it.