Pedals through the Vines

Some places speak in hushed tones—soft hills, whispered winds between vines, the echo of footsteps on ancient village stone. Burgundy was like that for me. I first came alone, on two wheels and with an open heart, ready to feel the land one quiet pedal stroke at a time. The roads connect to our being.

Each stretch of Burgundy’s vineyard roads offered something distinct—sometimes silence, sometimes celebration, and always a quiet sense of gratitude. These are the moments and places that stayed with me, etched in scent, taste, and golden light.

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When I came back with friends, I wondered: would the magic change? It did—but not in the way I feared. The quiet was still there, but now it had company. We rode together through familiar roads that felt new again. We shared wine in the picnic area in Santennay. We traversed through a dirt road while it started to pour down rain and stopped at the bus stop for cover.

More than a route, this journey was a collection of sensations—small, vivid, and lasting. Burgundy revealed itself not just in the names of villages or wines, but in the scent of crushed leaves, the hush between hills, and the golden light that touched everything. These are the impressions that stayed—etched not in distance, but in the senses.