The Route To «Chez Nous»

by Jonathan Egan

In a shifting and complex dance, we are constantly re-defining where we are. Some moments we spend stirring in idle joy at home, others are eruptions of wild flowing adventure in far off places. Yet, for the most part, many of us return somewhere, magnetically attracted to place ourselves in the warm embrace of the familiar. I have realized that it is difficult to define the French concept of chez nous in English terms. Words like home, local, my house, all seem to be searching for what chez nous has woven into itself; a sense of open-door welcomeness, allowing you to step into a gallery of thought, a patch-work blanket of warm contemplation.

Navigating towards chez nous seems to be a pre-occupation of mine. I was born in a suburb of Edmonton, Alberta and, when I was twelve, my family, looking to leave the harsh prairie winters, moved to Vancouver Island as their new home. Formative and important years passed in Saanich BC, and soon I was ready to carve my own path and set foot in Montreal QC. I have lived in Quebec longer than I have lived anywhere. However, I still find myself looking down at my compass, tempting hope, and looking for chez nous to be at the end of the directional arrow.

There are few constants, such as that arrow, which exist slightly outside of the umbrella of control that we shelter our comfort with. Bicycles have always seemed to be there, dependable, elegant, and pragmatic. Somewhere to sit, to fly, to escape with or to arrive on elated or exhausted. I thought for a long time that chez nous was right in front of me, framed perfectly by the handlebars, the world around me scrolling past as if the background paper roll would never run out. However, I feel the underlying sentiment of chez nous is not supposed to stream by us, it feels like it should be closer than that, more intimate.

My partner has the opportunity to be part of a diverse and unique cycling community called Les Fines Garnottes in Quebec. Community is a powerful way to feel a sense of chez nous, and it seems that this group, through supporting the accessible and inclusive practice of gravel and adventure biking for women, trans, and non-binary people, have clearly embraced the idea.

For their August 2024 multi-day ride, they chose to ride a variation on a route called La Boucle Des Deux Parcs #2, created by the Collectif De Velo D’Aventure des Cantons. Les Fines Garnottes had the ride go in the opposite direction to the original route and a variation to the camping arrangements (private campground vs. Sepaq) due to the size of the group. After my partner returned with positive reviews, my curiosity wakened, and blessed with a time and weather window, I headed to Granby QC for a solo tour of the modified itinerary.

It is tempting to slide into writing an embellished trip report of what La Boucle Des Deux Parcs #2 (counterclockwise) was like. However, I am trying to do something different here, something more personal and reflective. Like the difference between describing a stranger versus someone we know. A genuine portrait allows us to feel, to naturally observe and to not suffer for our connection through challenge or contest. To avoid measuring the depth of our experiences regarding chez nous with calculated meter and elevation caricatures.

So, I will express it like this: The Quebec region of Estrie is vast and beautiful. Her undulating hills, flanked by patient fields, lift you upwards to the embrace of gentle panoramas. The route meanders softly over white noise gravel roads whose textures are as varied as the flora that line them. She shares her memories by way of sun-dried farmhouses, skeleton fence wrinkles and cardigan sugar shacks, tucked into slumber by the relentless forest. She invites you into chez nous without hesitation, soothing homesickness with easy thoughtful remedy.

As I accept her invitation, warning songs ripple from to chick-a-dee to Blue Jay, relaying a cyclists unfamiliar presence rolling through their homes. Further on, the silent swivel of individual deer ears, working in tandem to identify me as my approach, startling her pensive grazing. I glide through oceanic corn patches and above, a whirlpool vulture, trapped in an invisible vortex, exposes the summer heat as he is carried skyward on flapless flight.

Her tour of chez nous continues as I am enveloped in darkened landscapes, the bright sky shrouded by the giant hands of trees reaching up to feel the sun. Countless chlorophyll feathers frantically wave all around me, their febrile movements the only evidence of their gift of breath that keeps my bicycle going. It is in these woods that I will rest, she shows me safe harbour, a coniferous cove, a deciduous detente. As I accept the path of sleep, I am somewhere, chez nous perhaps, or always just a traveller.

The soft morning chill startles my breath, and in the haze of a morning valley mist I realize that these sentiments could be anywhere. Although this journey sowed the seeds that sprouted my thoughts upwards towards chez nous, the garden has been growing for some time. Maybe chez nous is not a place at all. Perhaps, it is gentler to give chez nous an organic understanding, a relationship we care for and work on, to help it grow. I have come to think that chez nous could be alternatively translated in English as within us, a balanced two-part concept. With and in, embraced in reciprocity, and loved by us. An idea that turns, like a wheel, as we move through places measured by the pace, at which one would ride a bicycle.