The Dombes plateau, north-east of Lyon, is the strangest piece of farmland in France. Spread across it are some thousand-odd ponds, made by hand over the centuries, filled in winter, fished in autumn, and then planted with cereals in a rotation that has been going for hundreds of years. Medieval monks and landowners dug them to farm carp, and the system still works, which is why the horizon here is a patchwork of reed, water and sky, full of herons and migrating ducks.
Béligneux and Montluel sit on the southern edge of this wet country. Montluel, with about 6,500 people, has an old town that climbs a small hill, with the remains of a castle, and it is the sensible place to find fuel and a good lunch. Behind the town, the land rises in the escarpment known as the Côtière, a sharp edge above the Rhône plain, and from its upper roads the view stretches across the valley to the Alps on a clear day, a long blue line of peaks.
On the bike it is easygoing country. The roads across the Dombes run straight and flat past ponds and woods, with long views and few cars, and the Côtière gives you short, tight climbs through vineyards and old villages whose houses are built from rounded river stones and pale brick. Surfaces are generally good, although wet autumn weather leaves mud on farm tracks. In the cold months fog gathers over the ponds, and a sunrise through it is memorable, even if you cannot see more than a few hundred metres ahead.
This is the end of a Jura wine ride, which means you have already been up to Arbois and the country of yellow wine, made under a film of yeast, and walked past the limestone cliffs and waterfalls of the Revermont. Coming back through the Dombes is a gentler finish than it might have been: quiet, flat, and full of birds. The nearby Rhône plain is crowded with industry, but here the land still feels old, and the ponds hold the light.