For those who are interested and even for those who aren't (because it will still be here), here is an account of my bike trip to France in May 2007.
The videos taken on my phone have sound but are very small. The ones taken on my camera are larger but have no sound. In either case, you will need QuickTime player to play these. If you haven't got this installed then you can get it free here. Mind out you don't download all the rubbish they want to download with it though, unless you particularly want to that is!
A full photo album of the trip can be found here
A beautiful morning and at 8.55 am, waiting for the Dunkirk ferry on Dover docks, it was already very warm. Three Goldwings parked ahead of me, one a trike and all with trailers en route from South Wales to Holland for a Goldwing get together. Really nice people, although I just don’t get the Goldwing thing.
I had been pleased with the TDM’s fuel consumption in “touring” mode – I’d last filled up with 203 miles on the clock (soon to be changed to kms) and still had 3 litres left, so on that basis I could squeeze nearly 240 miles from a tank, but I’d rather not try. We were asked to move across to the marshalling area so they could get us on first. By this time there was a BMW 1100S rider from Stratford upon Avon, who I chatted to on the crossing. He was going down to Dijon for the annual classic bike gathering; I must remember that for next year as a “focal point”. Just as I started to move across, a car driver was shouting frantically behind me to the rider of the ancient Matchless (early ‘60’s) who was going to Antwerp; I had already thought, “rather him than me” on such an old machine, when his efforts at kickstarting ejected petrol over the hot exhaust and the machine caught fire, the flames rising and increasing very quickly. Needless to say, all around moved away quickly and someone appeared with a fire extinguisher before the tank exploded.
We all discussed this on the ferry – poor bloke – he was quite unscathed and I suppose its better it happened here than the other side of the water (or in the ferry when starting off again!)
I cleared
the ferry terminal in Dunkirk, which is like Stansted Airport car
park in that it seems miles
from
the actual place itself. My first stop was to be Agincourt as a few
years previously a friend and I had gone there and were going to
have our pictures taken with our bowfingers intact. We had
forgotten, so now was the opportunity again. It was also a good
opportunity to cool off a bit and ponder the air jacket, but instead
I decided to ride with the normal jacket partially unbuttoned for a
through draught. I had another small draught of beer on the way at a
roadside café, I have absolutely no idea where, but everyone was
friendly and accommodated my basic French. I must have sounded like
Office Crabtree I goss.
I had pre-programmed the Garmin before I left home with all the small roads and waypoints. Even without using the earplug, the instructions came up quite clearly and when finding the hotel in Rouen it was indispensable. Although I had asked for garage parking for the bike the (very) attractive receptionist said that there was no garage space for bikes, but I could leave it right outside the hotel door. The hotel was on a square next to a church, so I chained her up (the bike not the receptionist), set the alarm and after a great shower went off exploring Rouen. When I got back there was a Dutch coach either side of the bike, so it was quite inconspicuous from the road anyway.
I
sat in the lee of the cathedral under an umbrella, had a nice meal
with red wine, another pretty girl serving and then a wander round
the old town, including a walk by the Seine. There were lots of
joggers, cyclists and skaters on the wide walkway by the river and
upon return to the hotel at about 10pm I sat outside with a
Kronenbourg – it was still lovely and warm.
The night’s sleep was a bit poor though – unfortunately not because the receptionist had forced her charms upon me, but because one ear was half cocked waiting for the bike alarm to go off and the other kept hearing what I can only describe as a skip lorry picking up a skip full of bottles then dropping it from 6 feet. This happened about three times, but I could never see where or what it was.
I was looking forward to breakfast, but there was a huge queue of elderly Dutch ahead of me, so I changed into my bike gear and loaded the bike up first as the queue went down. This also left two very capacious pockets in my trousers to take some extra items to eat during the day. The French seem to like dipping croissants in hot chocolate in the mornings but I can’t say I adopted the local custom – I wasn’t quite pining for bacon yet but it would have been nice. I was amazed by how many Dutch people seem to be called Morgan – they must get awfully confused. A Town Called Malice by The Jam played in the background, a per pro of nothing.
I
had plotted a route which took me east of Rouen and followed the
Seine south. A very pretty route it was too, with limestone cliffs
on my left and the river on my right. There is a huge rock at,
appropriately, La Roque, which looked like a head looking out over
the valley, although in the picture it was really
too far away for my
little digital camera . I stopped for some water and a stretch
at Anderlys, a quiet little village with some impressive ruins on a
hill overlooking the valley further south, but not the way I was
going.
By 11 am I
had enjoyed some great sweeping roads where a steady 90mph could be
maintained
most
places, and I was really too hot to continue in my ordinary jacket
by now. It had been hazy but now that was burning off, so I stopped
at Vernuiel for Le Sandwich and coffee; in hindsight I should have
been taking on much more water than I was, more of which later! I
changed into the air jacket, enjoyed a great sandwich and pondered
the menu du jour. Three courses with wine or beer for 10 E – we
really are ripped off over here aren’t we! I was saving myself for
an evening meal so the sandwich was just fine. Yet another stunning
waitress. Ooh la la.
The
next planned stop was Le Mans. I just wanted to go to the 24 hour
course and also to have a look at the museum there. Hardly any
signposts, but the Garmin got me there. By now it was well into the
30’s, no air and heavy and oppressive as hell; in fact, I felt
really ill and faint. Lack of water during the day I fear, so I took
on as much as I could at the café in the museum, but I still felt
pretty bad and wondered if there would be another corner of some
foreign field that was to be forever England. I decided to get to
the hotel at least where I could have a long shower and rest. As it
turned out I wouldn’t have to wait that long as the lightning
started and the heavens opened. I was hoping it would rain and there
was no way I could have changed jackets from the air to the Cordura
as I would have simply expired in the heat! 20 miles of rain brought
relief, although just seeing where I was going was a challenge at
times.
In
the wet the French road surfaces are slippery at best. Throw in
random overbanding and the white paint on the road markings, which
unsettled the bike even when upright, and the whole experience was
becoming less refreshing. However, arrival at Angers, which is a
pretty city, saw me virtually dry again, the rain having stopped. It
was a bit of a chore finding the hotel as the road was blocked not
200yds from it, but I found the underground public car park at Le
Raillement which was free for bikes and attended 24 hrs. It was only
100yds from the hotel, so a couple of trips saw the bike unloaded
and locked for the night.
The room at the Hotel Continental was quite pleasant and the receptionist decided that her mediocre English was a better bet than my French, so we had a little chat and I went out for a walk around the city and a meal at Le Place de Raillement, sitting outside watching the sun set drinking red wine and eating blue cheese. After the antics of the skip lorry the night before, I had a good nights sleep, especially knowing the bike was secure.
Breakfast was the usual disappointing ensemble of bits and bobs that passes for a continental breakfast – at least this time they had an egg boiling machine so I could have a couple of soft boiled eggs too. The day was overcast but dry and thankfully not as hot as the previous day. The hotelier was polite though very miserable.
The
previous day I had wondered how the hell I was going to get back out
of the car park and the attendant had to show me round to where the
ramp was at the back. Fuelled up, set the sat nav and stopped by the
Loire at St Mathurin-sur-Loire for a break and some pictures. One of
my favourites is of the man fishing by the riverbank. If the weather
was going to take a turn for the worse I resolved to go straight to
Vendome, but as the day progressed the sun came through and it was a
very pleasant day’s riding when the roads dried. Again, some really
nice sweeping “D” roads.
On
the way I came to Saumur, its turreted castle imposing itself over
the town. I parked up by the river and walked up to the town for
coffee. It was market day and every sort of local produce was for
sale – in fact, it was a proper market with people selling their
home produced vegetables, fruit, bread and sausages. Certainly a
town I would choose to stay in another time. Before leaving I rode
up to the castle and took some pictures of the Loire and the town.
There
were some dark clouds, but overall there was a weak but warm sun –
in fact, ideal biking temperature. I plotted a course to Villandry,
where there is an impressive chateau and gardens, although in fact I
didn’t go in as I had plans for another one later on. Instead I took
luncheon at the side of the road, choosing from the set 11E menu,
starting with duck pate followed by lamb cutlets and cheese. Another
nice waitress, who was lost for the English word for agneau and
thought I didn’t know what it was until I made baaing noises. Well,
we both laughed anyway. Sitting there and eating, I realised I
didn’t have to rush everything and actually decided to slow down
with each mouthful.
The
route east took me through Tours, which is a very large city with
lots of tower blocks and little evidence of anything to stop and
look at, although I’m sure it has a medieval centre, but I wasn’t
looking for it today. I was, instead, off to the Chateau de
Chenonceaux, pictures of which I had seen on the web before. The
black clouds had gone now, there was a nice breeze and it was about
25 degrees or so. The house itself was very busy with visitors, so
instead I stayed in the grounds and gardens. The video on the
left was shot with my phone, so it is very small.
Plotting a “shortest route” on the Garmin to the hotel at Vendome took me on some very small roads, but through rolling countryside and tiny villages. I parked directly in the large garage at the hotel, although later in the evening I asked if it was locked at night and the proprietor said it wasn’t, but they had another small garage which I could put the bike in and lock the door, which is what we did. The room was quite large, although the toilet seemed to be in a wardrobe and the bidet was in the bathroom across the bedroom, which was rather odd to say the least.
When I left
the hotel for a walk I felt I had made a mistake, passing the French
equivalent of Poundstretcher and a couple of dodgy bars. I then
remembered that on the way in I had seen a
bridge and some old
buildings, so I retraced my steps, went over the bridge and into the
delightful little town itself. I have enough French for a large
beer, which went down very well at a really friendly café in the
centre. After stumbling upon a christening in the cathedral I found
a table at the pizzeria and had a fruit de mer pizza and some wine,
followed by the best Crème Brulee I have ever tasted in my life.
It was clear that there was a triathlon due nearby and the restaurant was packed with a lot of the contestants and family, including a toddler who had the most beaming and enchanting smile I have seen in a long while. It is strange how little language you actually need with people to know what one is thinking and feeling, and also to sense a good friendly atmosphere (or otherwise, although I didn’t get that on this trip)
The early
morning was a bit overcast and quite chilly. Breakfast at 7.30
followed by a walk around the old town, trying to see what the
weather might do before deciding whether to ride at all today. The
are some splendid ruins on the hill overlooking the town, so I
headed for there, taking a lot of pictures on the way. Found a
bargain car, although I think the MOT may have expired.
A
middle aged French jogger spoke to me, to which I replied “Je
ne comprend pas, je suis Anglais” at which he
stopped and switched to English, pointing out the viewpoint through
the gardens.
On
the way down it started to drizzle, then rain, so after sheltering
for a while I went back to the friendly café for an espresso or two,
then back to the hotel to read. A bit later I ventured out for a
bite to eat and watched the World Superbikes from Silverstone (which
was run in a downpour) from another café as I drunk yet more coffee
and ate a Croque Monsieur. I returned to my hotel when the rain had
almost stopped, read a bit more and in the evening went back to the
pizzeria; good meal and some of the same faces from the night
before. A steak, some wine and cheese and then back to the room. The
only TV station in English was CNN, but I got enough news to know
that nothing much had changed.
Overcast and
gloomy, but soon cleared with a few light showers. It was quite
cool. Today I was going to ride south and cross the Loire near
Sancerre. The town of Sancerre is sat high on a hill which I take to
be an old volcanic plug. The tiny cobbled streets in the old town
were a challenge on a fully laden TDM, although this was nothing to
one town where the centre had been “paved” with tiles that had all
the grip of ceramic bathroom tiles when wet. They looked pretty, but
were lethal, not just for bikes but for pedestrians too; cars would
just lock up if they had to brake hard in the wet.
Health and Safety is something that doesn’t seem to exist much in France. Whilst we sometimes moan about a nanny state, no building site here would allow someone to use a petrol pavement slab cutter without ear defenders, goggles and a hard hat, and quite rightly. I didn’t observe such niceties in France.
I needed
some coffee and a stop, so I found a little café in
Saveur-en-Puisaye. I had a sausage sandwich, forgetting that these
wouldn’t be bangers as I knew and loved, but instead was a rather
chewy dry cured saucisson. No English spoken, but all smiles and
welcomes. As the roads were pretty dry now and I was only 40kms from
my destination I decided to take a detour and used the map to find
some squiggly roads east and south. The N6 was a great piece of
road, very fast and undulating, dry in parts, damp in others. There
are more road surfaces in France than patches on a quilt, so
discretion was always observed, not least as the TDM’s tendency to
run wide was exacerbated by the panniers.
I arrived at the hotel in Auxerre at about 6pm, which was about 4kms from the town centre. Charming lady on reception, spoke no English but spoke French slowly and clearly for me so I could understand everything she said. The hotel had its own underground garage which she knew I wanted and wrote the code for the doors down for me. Later I actually managed to ask her to get me a taxi, which she did straightaway. The taxi came in about 10 minutes and was driven by another lady who had no English, but we managed to understand each other and even arranged for me to be collected at the same spot at 9 pm. Formidable.
Auxerre was an odd place – a bit like Buxton – you expect it to be quite genteel but it is a bit rough in places, so a miss on the next trip but the roads south of there, like the N6, are a yes.
Awoke to some blue sky and passing clouds. I passed on the 11E breakfast offering in the hope of finding a nearby stop for some petit-dejeuner. Fuelled up, but it became quite overcast and cold and I was feeling a bit pissed off, although it was dry. I decided to stop at Troyes for coffee and food, but this looked a bit like Tours and try as I might the one way system didn’t want to get me anywhere near the historic centre owing to lots of road works, so I pressed on, cold, hungry and thirsty. I found a café which was open (most of France seems to be shut all the time) but whilst the coffee was good, they didn’t sell Le Sandwich, so I had a Twix for breakfast instead, but at least I warmed up a bit. The proprietor did explain that the boulangerie sold Le Sandwich, but it was too difficult to try to find the words for “would you mind if I bought one and ate it in here?”, so I didn’t try.
By
now, I wanted to go home. Slowly though, the clouds cleared and the
countryside changed as I entered the Champagne region and was riding
through vineyards I had only seen on the TV before. It was still a
little chilly, but the views were great and my whole spirit lifted
as I rode round through the hills.
I found the
hotel in Reims quite early in the day as I wanted to walk round and
sightsee, and I’m glad I did. Bike locked in the hotel underground
car park, nice hot bath and by the time I went out the temperature
must have increased by 10 degrees. I could see the cathedral from my
bedroom window so I headed for there. Fantastic sight and to crown
it all there
was a choir practising which sounded truly amazing. En
route, remembering I had only had a Twix all day I bought a sandwich
from a shop which was really good and very welcome. The evening meal
I took at one of the brasseries near the cathedral. I had veal in a
cream sauce, was tempted to buy a bottle of champagne until I saw
the prices and finished with their Crème Brulee, which wasn’t up to
Vendome standard but was nice none the less. In the lift back at the
hotel the father in a family group said “bon swarr” thinking I was
local,. then I overheard his wife speaking in English. “Oh, you’re
English!” I said “Well, we’re Australian actually mate” he said.
“Oh, you know what I mean, that’s near enough” I replied, “someone I
can actually understand and chat to!”. They apologised for the
brevity of the chat as they got out the floor below me, but wished
me well with a “Good on yer mate”. I like this travelling thing.
I woke up realising I had a cold. A full blown, sneezing snotful of cold. With a mere 400 miles to do today, what a charming prospect. However, there was no real alternative and at least the hotel buffet breakfast included eggs. I checked out and the very pretty receptionist said “zust you and your bike, 600 kms?”. I thought of saying that she was welcome as pillion, but didn’t embarrass the poor girl; I must have been feeling ill!
Anyway,
today was fine and dry and the roads I’d plotted into the Garmin
were nice sweepy and twisty. I came across a town I hadn’t planned
to stop at called Laon, high on a hill to my left. What I thought
were ruins on top turned out to be a cathedral in a medieval walled
town. The cathedral towers had many statues, but mainly of cows and
sheep – quite bizarre actually. The road up and down was really
looping and steep.
My route
insisted on taking me onto a toll road, which I didn’t want,
although I wouldn’t have been on it for long. I hadn’t a clue how
much it would be, so I turned around and set a 15kms detour into the
sat nav. I found some of the best biking roads of the week quite by
accident. My next stop was to be Thiepval, the combined Commonwealth
and French memorial on the Somme designed by Edward Lutyens and
built in 1932. It had started to rain by now, not too heavily. I
always think that these are very moving places, but I also get
annoyed that whilst there are Anzac cemeteries and memorials, South
African cemeteries and memorials and British ones too, all that
commemorates the thousands and thousand of non white troops who died
fighting for the Commonwealth is usually one small stone like the
one at Ypres.
On the steps
was a very moving single red rose, left there by someone’s great
grandchildren and simply thanking their great grandfather, who had
perished on the Somme, for their lives. It is sobering to imagine the horror
which went on across the rolling fields.
I flew up the N12 to see if I could get the 5pm ferry instead of the 6pm one, but as they only went every 2 hours that theory didn’t work. There was only one other biker on the ferry – a huge Dutchman on a FJR 1300 going to Ireland. We chatted on the crossing but went our own way at the terminal.
It was a pleasant evening so I decided to go home rather than stay at my sister’s house at Sevenoaks. I was pleased to be back on grippy tarmac again and sat at a steady 100mph or so. Sneezing into your crash helmet at speed on a bike is an interesting event, although if I never do it again I shan’t feel cheated in any way.
Bt 9 pm I stopped for a fuel top up at Newmarket and also bought some milk so I could have some tea in the morning. I don’t think I have ever been so cold and actually wondered about continuing. The sat nav said 55 miles to go; I thought it was much more, so I resolved to sit tight and get home. I don’t think the cold I had was helping much here either.
Eventually home by 10pm. Put on the heating and hot water, but it took me hours to get properly warm again.
In one week I had been both the hottest and also the coldest I have ever been on a bike.
Next time I will take more French with me and go further south. I will also get the TDM seat re-upholstered first!
Photo album here (N.B. this will take you away from this site and into a folder on my site)
