Bikepacking Through Time: A Journey in Rephotography

Words and photos by Laura Guillet (@lauguillet)

On December 5th, 2018, my grandfather passed away. He was 91. Ninety-one years of a happy life in which the best moments were lived and shared with friends and family in the outdoors, either in France or in the United States, where he lived for 10 years. He often took his six grandchildren skiing, hiking, camping, or backpacking, passing on his love for the great outdoors.

Shortly after he died, I spent many hours at my grandparents’ house immersing myself in all their memories and reminiscing about the moments I shared with him. In the first weeks after his death, the loss seemed almost unreal to me. I spent time wandering around the house, sometimes surprising myself thinking he was about to open the front door or answer the phone, which he would never do again.

During one of my visits to my grandmother, I discovered several dusty boxes full of photographs depicting adventures I’d never seen or heard about before. Most pictures had been taken by my great-grandfather between the early 1930s and the late 1940s during his time as a professional photographer working for the local newspaper. Some of these photographs were from his reportage, and the others were mainly records of his family life, with a fair share portraying my his childhood and teenage years during World War II. They show him engaging in year-round outdoor activities, from backcountry skiing to camping and riding his bike with friends, always exploring and adventuring in the mountains they called home. These pictures show smiling faces, beaming with happiness, friendship and hope, despite the difficult realities of life in France under German occupation.

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Some pictures reminded me of anecdotes my grandfather had shared with me. Others showed a glimpse of revealing stories my grandfather had never mentioned, like the fact that his parents had been involved in the French Resistance. As a teenager, he had, too, to a lesser extent. All of these photographs are moving evidence of how my family’s local history was entangled in the dramatic world history of the 20th century.

One day, I suddenly felt the urge to bring those photographs out of their boxes and highlight the significant historical and familial legacy they held. As an enthusiast outdoor photographer, I wanted to recreate the moments from these photographs by locating them precisely in the present day. This technique, called “rephotography,” aims to capture the passing of time by comparing two pictures of the same place taken several years or decades apart.

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It quickly became obvious to me that this photographic project could take me on a journey across some of the most beautiful regions of France and that traveling by bicycle would be the perfect way to connect the different places. This trip would be one of space and time, following the trails traveled by my grandfather almost 80 years ago—a geographical and historical adventure.

I collected all the boxes and photo albums at my grandparents’ house. Most photographs had the date noted on the back, but very few of them had any information on their location. Sorting, analyzing, and grouping the photographs was a long and meticulous task. Then, trying to locate exactly where they were taken required a protracted and complex investigation. I spent many hours scouring maps, Google Earth, regional archival websites, and contacting the town halls to collect any relevant information.

After a few months of topographic investigation and archival research, I was finally able to precisely locate many of these historical images and draw a map tracing my grandfather’s footsteps. The photographs were taken in three main French regions: Burgundy, where my grandfather was born and lived until he was around five years old; and Massif Central and Auvergne, where he grew up from 1937 to 1947 in Aurillac, the main town in the Cantal district; and Cannes on the Côte d’Azur After, where he and his family moved after World War II in 1947.

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The trails he followed during his young years were finally unraveled, laid out on a map before my eyes. I packed up my beloved Kona Sutra LTD gravel bike and my mirrorless camera system and hit the road, focusing for the first part of my journey on the Auvergne and Massif Central region. The best way to connect the different places where the photographs were taken was to follow two tracks in the Auvergne area, which promised a beautiful bikepacking journey across the French backcountry.

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At the end of August 2020, I left my home in the French Alps in Grenoble by train and started the first track, the Grande Traversée du Massif Central, a route stretching north to south from Clermont Ferrand to the Mediterranean Sea. This mountain bike route crosses some of the most remote and beautiful areas of the French Massif Central, notably an ancient volcanic mountain range named the Chaine des Puys. It can also be cycled with a gravel bike by taking a road stretching beneath now extinct volcanoes and shortcutting some of the steep rocky climbs via gravel and pavement.

During this first part of the journey, I kept wondering how the places my grandfather had known and hiked nearly 80 years ago had changed, if I would even recognize them from the pictures, and how the passage of time had shaped new landscapes. Arriving in the Cantal district, in the vicinity of Aurillac, where my grandfather grew up, I was overwhelmed with emotion as I came by an old shepherd shack where he and his Boy Scout friends used to camp in the mountains. Here it was, this old tiny stone hut that had survived its travels through time, snowy winters, rough winds, and rainy days, staying up in spite of everything.

Comparing the present to the old pictures, I was able to recognize many of the distinctly shaped rocks used to build the walls. In the background, the meadows and pastures had been replaced by forests due to decreased pastoral activity, and a small chairlift for skiing was now running in winter. After a short hike, I reached a second mountain hut that had been recently renovated but had kept its much of its original character. From there, I was able to contemplate the same scenery that he’d looked out upon many years earlier. From the pass above this hut, I took a random picture of the landscape and surrounding summits. Weeks later, back at home, I realized it was exactly the same panorama, taken from the same vantage point as one of the winter pictures taken in the 1940s.

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For two and a half weeks, I continued cycling along the Grande Traversée du Massif Central, taking detours from the original route from time to time to reach various locations, encountering more of my family’s memories and legacy, such as the medieval Chateau de Messilhac, a high spot of Boy Scout outings during WWII, as well as the road leading to the Puy Mary Pass, which is quite unchanged since the pictures were taken.

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Conversely, other spots had been so altered that it was difficult to walk down memory lane. The old fountain at Vic-sur-Cère, where my grandfather used to play with his toy boat, was nowhere to be seen, and the magnificent park in Aurillac, where the family used to stroll and the young boy would ride his bike, had been transformed into an ugly parking lot. The old tunnel in Le Lioran, which originally linked two valleys, has been demoted to a service vehicles only tunnel and is unfortunately no longer ridable.

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My journey led me southbound and I finally reached the Mediterranean Sea near Sète, where I boarded a train back home. This route provides ample wild camping opportunities and reaches many scenic villages via gravel roads or forest singletrack, giving a unique feeling of wilderness and remoteness. In a way, bikepacking allows you to experience nature and travel as it was many years ago: with a slow pace in remote places and riding a timeless means of transportation.

In 2021, I crossed France westward from Valence to the Atlantic Ocean, traveling through several French mountain ranges such as the Ardeche, Cevennes, and the Aubrac Plateau, and along the Lot and the Dordogne Valleys to Bordeaux vineyards. I was carrying a picture of my grandfather as a 15-year-old Boy Scout in Rocamadour, a scenic medieval village in the Lot Valley. To precisely locate the spot, I shared it with a town hall officer, who very quickly identified it for me. As I explained my project and said I would cycle to Rocamadour in the summer, he insisted on greeting me.

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Indeed, when I got there, I received a warm official welcome from the mayor’s representatives and was very proud to be presented with the medal of the city known as the “sportelle,” a gesture that’s continued on since the medieval times of the pilgrims stopping in Rocamadour on their way to Santiago de Compostela. I felt this unexpected event was a wink from my grandfather across time. I was also able to visit the caves of Lacave in the Dordogne Valley, where my grandfather’s scout troop was pictured in 1943. The Salle des Nerveilles and its amazing stalactites has fortunately remained unchanged.

Reaching the location of an old photograph always elicits a lot of mixed emotions, as it highlights the environmental changes, the inexorable passage of time, and the loss of loved ones. On multiple occasions, human activity and modern society have led to deep changes that can be heartbreaking, especially around villages and city centers. Natural settings and landscapes are also subject to changes. Some are related to human activities, such as the recess of pastoral life in the mountains, and others are due to climate change, such as the Jordanne River in Aurillac, which used to freeze each winter—as evidenced by the old photographs—and does so very rarely these days.

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This journey connected me to my grandfather, not only through following his steps, but by better understanding his love for traveling by bicycle and the values he taught his grandchildren: living in the outdoors, closeness to and respect of nature, working hard, getting off the beaten track, and leaving no footprint. I had many valuable encounters along the way, meeting workers in the fields, farmers, backpackers, other cyclists, etc., all of whom were always keen to help or to share experiences. Adding to this were all the people I contacted to get information on the location of the spots where pictures had been taken and those who became interested in the overall project of touring my own family history. Many people showed enthusiasm and were inclined to help in some way. Some people kindly opened their doors to allow me to access their now private properties, as was the case at Chateau de Messilhac.

This project addresses various challenges and points of interest: touristic, historical, and geographical as well as familial and intimately personal. Most of all, traveling 80 years back in time is a way to grieve my grandfather, allowing me to discover snippets about him and his life along the way. A journey through Burgundy and the Côte d’Azur remains on my bucket list for future bikepacking adventures across France. Many photographs spanning my grandfather’s whole life are still in the boxes, and the research and project will live on.

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