We were deep in Orne, a captivating region within Normandy, a land where history whispers from ancient stones and nature unfolds in breathtaking beauty. With us were our three-year-old sons, Sid and Ralph, their boundless energy a constant reminder of the unique demands and joys of this trip. The landscape here is a painter’s dream: a symphony of greens, from the deep emerald of hedgerows to the vibrant moss on ancient oak trees and centuries-old manor walls. This verdant tapestry occasionally opens into expansive meadows, where the majestic Percheron horses – a breed famed for its strength and elegance, originating from this very region – graze peacefully, often knee-deep in a riot of wildflowers. Deer, shy and graceful, would occasionally leap from the dense bocage, the traditional hedgerow landscape that crisscrosses the countryside, adding to the sense of wild enchantment. Orne, particularly the historic former province of Le Perche, is a region steeped in tradition and agricultural heritage. For centuries, since the Middle Ages, the fertile land has yielded abundant apples and pears, which are transformed into the region’s signature cidre (cider) and poirée (perry). These beverages are not just drinks; they are a testament to generations of craftsmanship and a vital part of the local identity. The villages themselves are postcard-perfect, built from sandy-coloured stone, their windows adorned with shutters painted in shades of tranquil blue and verdant green. Roses climb quaint walls, adding splashes of colour against the warm stone of the boulangerie or the village church, each scene seemingly plucked from a fairytale. This idyllic setting, with its rich cultural tapestry and gentle rhythms, was to be the backdrop for our ambitious cycling escapade. And yes, the rumours were true: we were indeed biking through this picturesque landscape with our boys securely strapped into child seats on the back of our bicycles. Our plan was to camp along the way, finding our accommodations through the invaluable resources of the France Vélo Tourisme website, an essential hub for anyone planning a cycling holiday in France. Over five days, we aimed to cover approximately 130km (80 miles), traversing the distance from Rémalard-en-Perche to the historic town of Domfront. Our route largely followed sections of the Vélocéanic, a remarkable 450km voie verte (greenway) – a car-free route specifically designed for cyclists and walkers, offering unparalleled safety and tranquility, stretching all the way from the iconic Mont-Saint-Michel to the heart of Paris. However, we also planned to strategically loop off this main artery, eager to explore the enchanting chateaux and charming villages that define the Perche region. The division of cycling prowess between us was notable: Issy, my sister, is an intrepid adventurer and a serious cyclist, the kind who dons full Lycra and logs impressive distances. My own cycling experience, on the other hand, is primarily limited to ferrying Sid to nursery – a practical, if not particularly athletic, endeavour. I also hadn’t slept under canvas since my wilder days at Glastonbury, making the camping aspect a considerable step outside my comfort zone. This meant that two or three hours of cycling a day, punctuated by frequent stops for the toddlers, would likely be our maximum, ensuring the journey remained an enjoyable holiday rather than an endurance test. Our adventure officially began, slightly rumpled but excited, after an overnight ferry journey from Portsmouth to Caen, a common and convenient entry point into Normandy. From there, we made our way to Forest View, a welcoming campsite nestled three miles south of Rémalard. Waiting for us was Jean-Louis from the local bike hire shop, his presence a testament to thoughtful planning. He had insisted on electric bikes (e-bikes) for us, a suggestion I had initially resisted, concerned they couldn’t accommodate both a child seat and panniers. This meant we would rely on Jean-Louis himself and a network of kindly hosts to transfer our bags between stops – a logistical solution that proved invaluable and highlighted the supportive ecosystem for cyclists in the region. To get our "bike legs" under us, we embarked on La Route Royale, an intermediate-level 25km circular route. Within an hour of leaving the campsite, as we ascended the gentle hill towards the picturesque church of Moutiers-au-Perche for lunch, the wisdom of Jean-Louis’s insistence on e-bikes became abundantly clear. The subtle, yet powerful, assistance of the electric motor transformed what could have been a gruelling ascent, especially with the added weight of a toddler, into an enjoyable climb. It was the difference, I realized, between a relaxing holiday and a potential heart attack, making the journey accessible and fun for all. The initial sections of our route, particularly along the dedicated greenways, were delightfully flat and smooth, perfect for building confidence. However, to truly experience the authentic charm and undulating beauty of the Perche, one must venture off these main arteries. Once we did, the land began to roll more dramatically, and hills, often appearing without much warning, tested our mettle. The boys, securely strapped in their seats, were not exactly lightweight passengers, but their joy was infectious. They pointed, laughed, and burst into spontaneous renditions of "Old MacDonald" every time they spotted a horse, cow, tractor, or sheep, their innocent delight making every pedal stroke worthwhile. The trip was going so well, in fact, that Issy and I found ourselves debating extending our cycling for a few more hours or even indulging in a cider tasting on the way back. It was a sudden, telling lull in their singing that alerted us: both children had succumbed to the gentle rhythm of the ride, heads wobbling softly as they slept. Our parental instincts kicked in, and we promptly turned back to the campsite for a well-deserved rest. Graham Allen, the owner of Forest View, had bought the campsite three years prior with a specific vision: to create wooden camping pods tailored for cyclists. He’d observed countless cyclists arriving "laden like donkeys" and recognized the need for comfortable, convenient accommodation that eased their burden. Our pod, a cozy haven, featured a comfortable bed and a skylight through which we could gaze at the stars, a small luxury after a day of cycling. Across the field, hot showers provided welcome relief, and in the informal restaurant – which felt more like a communal kitchen and living room – home-cooked food was served at a shared table, fostering a sense of camaraderie among guests. This ethos of support and comfort is characteristic of the "Accueil Vélo" accredited stops, a nationwide network in France designed to cater specifically to the needs of cyclists. These establishments offer a range of essential services, including secure bike storage, basic repair kits, laundry facilities, tailored meal options, and crucial assistance with luggage transfer – a service that has become indispensable for families like ours. The number of such accredited stops has impressively tripled since 2019, reflecting the booming popularity of cycling tourism in France and the increasing demand for family-friendly infrastructure. After a night of seriously good sleep, fueled by eggs on toast and a frantic sorting of our gear, we dedicated the next day to the "Dîtes-le Avec des Fleurs" loop, a route whose very name, "Say it with Flowers," hinted at its beauty. We cycled through the ancient oak forest of Réno-Valdieu, a venerable woodland known for its ecological significance and its historical role in timber production, and past the imposing Manoir de la Moussetière. This manor, with its fortified architecture, is a quintessential example of the historic defensive manor houses typical of the Perche region, blending elements of medieval strength with later domestic comforts. Even on the open roads, traffic was minimal, allowing us to fully immerse ourselves in the tranquility of the countryside. The steep climbs, while challenging, consistently rewarded us with breathtaking panoramic views of the verdant landscape. The subsequent freewheel descents were pure exhilaration, leaving the boys shrieking with unadulterated delight. At La Chapelle-Montligeon, a magnificent church dramatically rises out of the fields, its spires reaching for the sky. Here, on the serene bank of a nearby lake, we enjoyed a peaceful picnic lunch, soaking in the architectural grandeur and natural beauty. Our journey also brought us to the serendipitous story of Denis Hurtaud. While cycling a similar route, Denis had taken a spontaneous detour from the main greenway and stumbled upon the Café de la Place in the seemingly sleepy village of Courgeon. He vividly recalled the scene: "The terrace was full of yellow flowers and there were old-fashioned oilcloths on the tables. Dappled sunlight fell across the courtyard," he recounted. Over lunch, he overheard the owner discussing retirement plans. By the end of his meal, Denis, inspired by the café’s charm and potential, had made the audacious decision to buy it. Today, his vision has transformed it into a vibrant community hub, serving as a bistro, a village shop, a crucial bike repair station, an art gallery, and even a music venue – a true lifeline for the locals in this rural area. The Café de la Place is, naturally, Accueil Vélo-accredited, embodying the spirit of cyclist hospitality. While a dedicated shower wasn’t yet available, we pitched our tent in the café’s charming garden, and Denis, ever the gracious host, saved us a delicious dinner. We gathered at a long communal table, bathed in the last vestiges of twilight, doves cooing softly from the church tower nearby. Our meal was chicken cooked in cider, a delightful Perche speciality, its rich flavours a perfect end to the day. Locals drifted in and out, creating a warm, authentic atmosphere. At one point, a neighbour’s child arrived with a plate of warm crêpes, a spontaneous act of generosity that truly captured the heart of rural French hospitality. The following day saw us cycling 8km up the greenway to Mortagne-au-Perche, a larger town renowned for its bustling market. The queue for the season’s first strawberries snaked around the block, a testament to their freshness and local anticipation. A man expertly turned dripping chickens on a spit, their aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh produce. The radishes were an almost obscenely vibrant pink, and the asparagus spears were plump and inviting. At the Bar du Marché, locals sipped coffee and scratched scratchcards in the morning sunshine, a quintessential slice of French daily life. We joined them, but our boys, thoroughly knackered from the cycling and excitement, soon succumbed to absolute meltdowns. Getting them back on the bikes proved to be a significant challenge, a stark reminder of the unpredictable realities of travelling with toddlers. Prioritizing their need for rest, we headed directly to Carrouges, where our next campsite awaited us within the expansive Parc Naturel Régional Normandie-Maine. We were to camp in an idyllic orchard nestled behind the magnificent, moated, red-brick Château de Carrouges, a grand historical edifice that looked straight out of a storybook. The Parc Naturel Régional Normandie-Maine, a testament to France’s commitment to preserving its natural and cultural heritage, also boasts Accueil Vélo accreditation. However, the woman at the office informed us that only five or six tents typically pitch there a year, meaning we had the entire orchard to ourselves. Just us, a roast chicken, some crusty baguettes, and the boys joyfully playing dinosaurs amidst the long grass. Once Sid was finally snoring soundly, I poured myself a cidre, pressed from local apples, and settled down to write, savouring the profound quiet. It was so peaceful that I could distinctly hear the delicate flapping of birds’ wings overhead. Then, without warning, the storm hit. My tent, already compromised from a past encounter (Glastonbury, perhaps?), lost a pole, and the rain began to lash against the canvas with the force of gravel. I lay there, clinging to Sid, as thunder tore the sky open directly above us, questioning every life choice that had led me to a walled orchard in Normandy with a small child and half a tent. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, a sudden, sharp reminder of the unpredictability of adventure. By morning, however, the storm had passed, leaving behind a glistening, refreshed orchard. Issy emerged from the next-door tent, admitting she hadn’t slept either, but the shared experience of weathering the storm seemed to forge an even stronger bond between us. We pushed on, our spirits undampened, through the elegant spa town of Bagnoles-de-l’Orne, known for its Belle Époque architecture and rejuvenating thermal waters, a historical hub for wellness. Our final destination was Domfront, a dramatic town perched atop a rocky outcrop, dominated by its imposing medieval keep. As if on cue, the sun burst out again, casting a golden glow over the ancient stones. The kids, their energy miraculously restored, raced up the ruined fortifications, their laughter echoing through centuries of history. Our home for the night was the Cabane des Deux Chênes, a truly unique handbuilt cabin nestled on stilts between two ancient oaks. It featured a secret room in the rafters, perfect for the children, and a Nordic bath on the terrace, offering a warm, soothing embrace after the previous night’s tumultuous weather. On our last morning, before our departure, we made a final, significant stop at the Ferme de l’Yonnière, Jérôme Forget’s farm just down the road. Here, Jérôme proudly produces AOP Poiré Domfront, a perry of exceptional quality. He explained that pear trees, unlike apple trees, take decades to fully mature, a fact that led many farmers to abandon their cultivation, causing poirée to fall out of fashion. But Jérôme, with a visionary spirit, has planted a thousand new pear trees, committing to the revival of this precious regional heritage. He shared his plans to welcome cyclists to his farm starting next spring, blending agritourism with sustainable practices, further enriching the Accueil Vélo network. Back at the cabane, Jean-Louis arrived in his van to pick us up, his cheerful French commentary filling the air as he drove us, gesturing animatedly about the pear trees, the magnificent Percheron horses, and the very lanes we had just cycled. He spoke with immense pride of his region, declaring it "the most beautiful place in the world," and in that moment, I couldn’t disagree. Against all odds, this had been a truly brilliant family holiday. The initial skepticism of our fellow camper, the challenges of cycling with toddlers, and the unexpected storm had all melted away, replaced by cherished memories, a sense of accomplishment, and a deep appreciation for the beauty and hospitality of Orne. Issy and I were already planning our return for next summer, eager to experience the entire route once more. Perhaps, after all, we are a little mad – mad enough to embrace adventure, and mad enough to have found profound joy in the rolling green heart of Normandy. The trip was provided by Orne Tourism, with travel to France facilitated by Brittany Ferries. Bike hire with Les Vélos Perchés costs €35 (£30) a day. At Forest View, a pod sleeping two costs from £38 per night; campsite pitches start at £25 per night. Cabane des Deux Chênes sleeps 2-4 and costs from £138 per night. Post navigation A Global Feast: Readers Uncover Europe’s Most Delectable Food Festivals The incoming tide has made a labyrinth of the beach.
