Beaujeu is the old capital of the Beaujolais, and the region takes its name from this small town rather than the other way round. You would not guess it from the size: just over two thousand people, a few streets climbing a hillside, a church and a good deal of cellar space under the houses. The valley of the Ardières runs right through it, and the vineyards start almost at the last house, their rows following the slopes in neat stripes of green, then yellow, then rust as the year turns.
The grape here is Gamay, which loves the granite soils of this northern end of the Beaujolais. The famous crus of Brouilly, Fleurie and Morgon lie a short ride to the south and east, and the road between them is the real treat of the day: short, well-surfaced and winding, with the rows of vines on both sides, small stone villages every few kilometres and, in early autumn, tractors dragging trailers of grapes along the same lanes. They are not fast, and they are not apologetic, so settle into the rhythm. The harvest happens in September, and the whole district smells of crushed fruit and woodsmoke.
Every November Beaujeu hosts the celebration of the new vintage, the Sarmentelles, when the first wine of the year is brought out with parades and a lot of noise, and the town fills. Outside that week the town is quiet and easy: a couple of cafés and bakeries near the centre, a few restaurants that serve the sort of lunch a Lyonnais would be happy with, which means plenty of charcuterie, a good salad with lardons and a glass of the local red, though a rider will want to pour that sparingly if the afternoon holds another forty kilometres.
Fuel is the thing to plan. Beaujeu is small, and although a village of this size may have a pump, you should not count on it. Belleville, about thirteen kilometres away, is the nearest proper town, and Villefranche-sur-Saône is bigger still. Fill up there and enjoy the lunch with an easy mind.