Volcanic peaks and stunning views: why cycling is booming on tropical Réunion

Snaking into the hazy horizon, a hulking concrete-and-steel structure coils around Réunion’s north shore. Thrust skyward on enormous girders rising from this Indian Ocean island, which lies between Mauritius and Madagascar’s east coast, we’re cruising along the Nouvelle Route du Littoral — an ambitious 7.5-mile highway, built metres from the craggy coastline of steep cliffs that is ordinarily too dangerous to skirt far below. 

Due to be completed by the end of this year, the new €2bn (£1.7bn) EU-supported project will link the cities of Saint-Pierre in the south and Saint-Denis in the north, via the airport and popular resort base Saint-Paul, and is estimated to be among the most expensive roads in the world. 

Technically, I’m still in France. Connected to Paris by the country’s longest domestic flight, the overseas department of Réunion is a curious mix of the familiar in a setting that’s just like its tropical island neighbours. Carved by a multitude of tectonic rumblings and volcanic activity, vast craters gape across its rainforested heart. Steep slopes soar and lava fields tumble so close to the ocean that they’re sometimes kissed by the surf. Meanwhile, the island’s cafes serve crisp baguettes, buttery croissants and bottles of Bordeaux — all of which are payable in euros — and smooth, well-graded roads are signposted in French.

One popular cultural pastime Réunion didn’t naturally inherit from its French motherland, however, is cycling. But that’s all set to change now exploration on two wheels has started to take off.

“We’ve been hiring bikes and running trips for some time, but now the sport is becoming increasingly popular with travellers,” says Gildas Le Pessec of mountain biking specialists Rando Réunion Passion. 

After collecting me from my hotel in Saint-Paul, we drive along corkscrewing roads to reach our starting point, 2,200 metres above sea level on the steep slopes of Piton Maido, one of Réunion’s many jagged peaks.

Towering above the Cirque of Mafate, a nature reserve in a caldera formed by the collapse of a volcano, the balcony of Maido plunges into a bowl of knife-edge emerald peaks trickling with waterfalls and deep valleys scattered with clusters of isolated farmhouses, which are only reachable by helicopter or on foot. Or so I’m told — sadly, on this brisk morning, everything below me is engulfed in impenetrable mist.

Skirting the fringes of the reserve, the Maido trail is a challenging and thrilling descent winding through dark forests and flower-filled meadows before ending up at the sea. As we approach the starting point, it dawns on me that I’ve never actually been on a mountain bike before. I’ve ridden over pot-holed roads and rocky trails on two wheels, but I’m unfamiliar with the bouncy, forgiving suspension of these specialised machines. After a quick five-minute tutorial on pedalling techniques, body position and when to change gears, I nervously realise that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

But, Gildas insists, the trail is suitable for all levels, and in our group of 10 cyclists there are even a couple of young children. He tells us to follow his lead, with frequent stops to share his tips on how to tackle the trickiest sections safely. 

“Don’t look directly down,” he warns, glancing in my direction. “Always keep your eyes about 20 metres in front, on the path ahead.”

For the next half hour I barely lift my head. But when I do have a chance to look up, I’m met with impressive scenes: thick clusters of sweet-smelling Japanese cedars glistening with dew drops and tangles of native tamarind trees woven with bromeliads, ferns and wild orchids.

But I’m taking too long appreciating the view. “We’re going to take all day if you carry on at that speed,” says Gildas with a smile, instructing me to loosen my grip on the breaks to pick up pace — even though there’s never any real sense of urgency.

Splashing through puddles, skidding across muddy slopes and bumping through tunnels of grass so long that I can no longer see the sky, I eventually hit tarmac and views of a sparkling teal horizon. The sensation is similar to popping a cork from a Champagne bottle — I let out an enormous sigh of relief. Never has flat, horizontal ground been quite so appealing, but I come away feeling invigorated.

The slow lane

Although Réunion is gaining a reputation for being an adventure playground, not all cycling activities require nerves of steel. At Atmosphère Péi, Aurore Laurent and her long-term partner Mikael Benard offer far more relaxing rides on recumbent bikes. After discovering the strange three-wheeled contraptions while living in Montpellier, Mikael fell in love with the “comfort of this small cart” and says he has ambitions to offer multi-day tours in future.

Much more stable than cycling on two wheels, the bikes’ upright seating position is also better for posture. Best of all, there’s no chance of missing the views around you. “I call it my cinema,” says Aurore, who describes the bike as “a tool for exploring the landscape”. 

Our half-day trip along the Route Des Laves starts in Sainte-Rose in the southeast of the island, a two-hour drive from my hotel in Saint-Paul, and continues along the National Route 2. Hugging the coastline, we pedal in the shadow of Piton de la Fournaise, one of the most active volcanoes in the world. Formed around 500,000 years ago, this furnace explodes into action on average every nine months.

During some of the most dramatic eruptions, lava flowed almost into the ocean, leaving behind a savagely beautiful landscape of brittle basalt braids on forested slopes — an area known as the Grand Brûlé. With one turn of my head, I take in views of cloud-draped peaks, rugged tunnels of rock and waves frothing at the shore. True to Aurore’s words, it’s like watching the world unfold on an enormous wraparound screen. 

After two hours of cycling, I still feel surprisingly comfortable in the saddle. By now, I’ve built up enough confidence to freefall down hills without clutching the brakes, using my bodyweight to curve around tight corners while enjoying the fresh wind on my face. Drivers are courteous, shifting aside to give us plenty of space, and curious pedestrians grin and holler for a ride on our novel modes of transport.

Before ending our journey, we call into Bitasyon Bio, an organic farm close to Aurore’s home in Saint-Philippe. Having taken over the reins from his father, Benoit, Franck Morel makes the most of Réunion’s fertile volcanic soil by farming vanilla, cocoa and various fruits in his agroforest.“My grandfather was one of the first people to produce the Victoria pineapple,” he says proudly, referring to the island’s famously sweet variety of the fruit. “And my father was one of the first people to refuse using any chemicals on his farm.”

Our conversation is interrupted as Aurore’s phone begins to buzz with an alert that Piton de la Fournaise may erupt that evening. To my surprise, neither she nor Franck seem particularly bothered — a combination of typically French sang-froid (composure) and laid-back island mentality. Everyone on this geologically active outcrop has, after all, learned to live alongside nature.

“There’s no rush,” she says with a smile. “In Réunion we always have plenty of time.”