FROM BURGUNDY TO THE CHANNEL: FOLLOWING FRANCE’S WATERWAYS BY BIKE
By: Pierre Haulwig (@pierre.haulwig)
Pierre Haulwig is a 41-year-old Litespeed enthusiast and father of two, living between the French regions of Champagne and Burgundy. In his last post, he documented his two-day journey through France’s Forêts National Park. Today, he recounts an impromptu bikepacking trip to the sea following paths built alongside France’s extensive canal system.
A trip gets you from point A to B; a journey changes how you see the space between them...
Recently, my wife and kids set off a week ahead of me for a seaside vacation on the Channel coast. As she waved goodbye, my wife tossed out a challenge: “Why don’t you just bike there to meet us?” The seed was planted. What started as a random suggestion quickly became an obsession that eventually blossomed into an adventure.
Planning the Route
I dove into planning, poring over maps and apps until a route revealed itself: 350 miles on a nearly unbroken chain of waterways from northern Burgundy all the way to the English Channel. Starting along the Marne River, I’d weave northward via the Aisne, Oise, and finally connect to the Somme.
The beauty of canal paths lies not just in their car-free tranquility, but in their gentle gradients and usually reliable surfaces. Perfect for a loaded bike tour.
The Trusty Companion
For this adventure, I turned to my go-to adventure companion: my Litespeed Flint.
This titanium marvel has already seen many escapades. It is set up with a SRAM AXS Mullet with Force up front and XX1 Eagle in the rear. With wide and grippy 45c Hutchinson Tundra tires mounted, it is ready to tackle any terrain that might surprise me.
The Rhythm of Waterways
After a week of preparation and several evenings fine-tuning my route, I finally found myself pedaling along the Marne, the sun warming my back as I left Burgundy’s hills behind.
Each day settled into the meditative rhythm that defines canal cycling: the sound of wind weaving through the trees, barges moving with stately progress, bargemen waving as I pass them, grey herons standing in the river scanning waters in quiet pursuit of their next meal.
I am always amazed by the geometric precision of engineering that tamed those once wild rivers into reliable transportation corridors. Built for horses that pulled barges, they’re perfectly scaled for bicycle exploration. Wide enough for comfortable riding, flat enough for steady progress, beautiful enough to make every mile a pleasure rather than a challenge.
Through History’s Landscape
The route wasn’t just scenic, it was steeped in history. I rolled through Reims, where French kings were once crowned in its soaring Gothic cathedral.
Further north, the landscape darkened with the scars of World War I battlefields, none more poignant than the Chemin des Dames (whose name means “Ladies’ Way” after the daughters of Louis XV once traveled it). This infamous ridge, north of the Aisne River, was the site of the disastrous 1917 Nivelle Offensive, which resulted in hundreds of thousands of casualties.
Silent memorials, preserved trenches and craters now softened by grass, took on a deeper meaning when approached at the pace of pedaling legs.
Nights Under Canvas
Each evening brought the simple pleasure of camping in riverside campgrounds teeming with fellow cyclists, where stories flowed as freely as the local beers.
The first night, I shared a fire with a retired Flemish couple. Subsequent stops introduced a Dutch cyclist on a multi-week trek and a vibrant couple, she German, he American, embarking on an epic ride from Paris to Berlin.
These chance encounters became as much a part of the trip as the landscapes themselves.
The Journey’s End
By the end of day four, the Somme’s final stretch delivered me to the sea, salt-kissed wind whipping through my helmet as I reunited with my family.
But a real revelation came on the drive home. The town names on road signs were not just administrative markers rushing past at highway speed.
They evoked vivid memories: the Flemish couple’s warm smiles, the crunch of gravel under my tires near Reims, the quiet reverence at Chemin des Dames. It hit me then. A trip gets you from point A to B; a journey changes how you see the space between them, turning anonymous places into personal stories.
