By: Pierre Haulwig (@pierre.haulwig)
“Sometimes the most exotic adventures are hiding in plain sight, waiting for us to slow down enough to truly see them.”
My name is Pierre, a 41-year-old Litespeed enthusiast and father of two, living between the French regions of Champagne and Burgundy. It’s a quiet and peaceful rural area, far from the hustle and bustle of Paris or the glitz of the French Riviera. A place that attracts a few British and Dutch tourists seeking that piece of France matching what they see in the movies: old villages, vineyards, exceptional food, and profound calm.
In 2019, France's newest national park was established right at our doorstep: the Parc national de Forêts. This unique park was created to protect France's broad-leaved plains forests and spans across the border between Burgundy's Côte d'Or and Champagne's Haute-Marne. The park bears witness to history stretching back to the Iron Age, where wanderers may discover an enchanted world of princely tombs and abbeys, castles and Romanesque churches, forests, tufaceous marshes, and petrifying springs. It's a landscape shaped by centuries of agricultural, forestry, hydraulic, and metallurgical heritage.
Although I know the region quite well through work commutes or day rides, I recently wanted to immerse myself in the park as if I were a foreigner, taking time to rediscover the beauty that surrounds us. Bicycle trips have that almost magical ability to turn even the most familiar places into exotic experiences, slowing you down enough to notice details that speed erases.
So, I set out for two days and two nights with my fully loaded, trusty Litespeed Flint in its mullet setup: SRAM Force D2 and a 38t chainring up front paired with a SRAM Eagle 10-52t cassette in the back—the perfect combination for tackling varied terrain with loaded bags.
The Journey Unfolds
Over 220 kilometers and nearly 3,000 meters of elevation gain, I wound my way through landscapes that seemed untouched by the urgency of modern life. The route took me predominantly along gravel and dirt roads, threading through vast and remote forests that have stood sentinel for centuries, past farmlands where time moves to the rhythm of seasons rather than schedules.
What struck me most was the sensation of traveling backward through time. My wheels rolled over ancient medieval paths, and occasionally, I found myself on Gallo-Roman roads. The same stones that Roman legions once marched upon, medieval merchants traversed, and countless generations before me called routes home. These are living arteries still connecting villages that have weathered centuries with remarkable grace.
The villages I passed through carry an air of permanence that's both humbling and comforting. Stone houses with weathered facades, churches whose bells have marked time for hundreds of years, and squares where generations have gathered. There's something profound about pedaling through places where the pace of change is measured not in years but in centuries.
The beauty of this route also lies in its perfect balance. Never so remote that you fear running out of supplies or losing your way, yet never overwhelmed by the intrusions of civilization and modernity. Small cafés appear just when you need them most, water fountains mark village centers, and local bakeries offer fresh bread. The infrastructure exists to support your journey without dominating the landscape.
The forests themselves are cathedral-like in their grandeur. Positioned on the watershed divide between the Seine and Rhône rivers, this vast natural water tower plays a crucial role in preserving one of our most precious common resources. Riding beneath their canopy, surrounded by the filtered green light and the whisper of leaves, you understand why this became France's first national park dedicated to protecting deciduous lowland forests.
Each climb rewarded me with panoramic views across rolling hills dotted with ancient woods and agricultural patches that form a patchwork quilt stretching to the horizon. Each descent brought the joy of earned speed and the anticipation of what lay around the next bend.
Coming Home
I returned from this two-day journey with something that modern life rarely provides: a deep sense of peace. There's something about traveling under your own power, at bicycle pace, through landscapes that whisper stories of centuries past. That puts things into perspective. The constant hum of daily concerns fades, replaced by the simple, immediate needs of navigation, nourishment, and the next pedal stroke.
This trip reminded me that sometimes the most exotic adventures are hiding in plain sight, waiting for us to slow down enough to truly see them. Sometimes the best way to discover the world is to truly explore home.