There is a particular kind of French country town that exists mainly to serve the farms around it, and Saint-Jean-de-Bournay is a good example: a square with plane trees, a church, a café where the same men have been drinking their morning coffee for decades, a pharmacy, a bakery and a weekly market. It sits in a shallow valley in the hills of the Bas-Dauphiné, about twenty-five kilometres east of Vienne, and it does not try to be anything else.
What makes it worth a pause is the country around it. The hills here roll in every direction, low enough to be gentle and high enough to give views: east towards the limestone wall of the Chartreuse and the jagged Belledonne, west towards the dark mass of the Pilat beyond the Rhône. Walnut trees line the lanes, hedges divide pastures from maize, and the farmhouses are built of rounded river stones laid in herringbone patterns, a building style typical of the Dauphiné.
The roads between Saint-Jean, Châtonnay, Artas and Villeneuve-de-Marc are made for unhurried riding. They twist across the hills with no particular logic, climbing over crests and dipping into small valleys, and they rarely carry more than the odd tractor or local car. Surfaces are mostly sound, though there is gravel at field entrances and the odd patch of broken tarmac in the shaded corners. The run west towards Vienne drops gradually towards the Rhône and makes a gentle way to wind the day down.
For a finish, the town has fuel, a supermarket and a couple of places to eat. Sit on the square for a while, watch the light turn gold over the rooftops, and let the engine tick as it cools.