This is simply the transcript of the journal I wrote up at the time, with occasional additions to clarify whatever nonsense I wrote that I can't now understand, or where my memory is stirred from reading the journal to add in some extra detail. As a result, there will be an almighty tense confusion. I apologise now for that.
2016 Cherbourg - Caen
Day 1 - Tuesday August 2nd. As transcribed on the ferry and at our Chambre d'hote that evening.
SW London - Pompey, Cherbourg - Le Rozel
Lu and I both awake at 4am. Up at 5.20. Cold shower. Banana. Left at 06.01. Bikes had been stacked on the car rack the night before. Pootle to Pompey. Mild panic as satnav said A3 was closed at Liss. Nothing on Traffic England so we pressed on. Road had been closed for overnight works and we got to the closure point shortly after it had re-opened. Light rain at home. Very moist on top of the Hogs Back and through the South Downs. Took 1h 20m to get there. Offloading very quick thanks to the wonderful new rack. Re-arranged one set of handlebars and applied luggage to the bikes. (Lu has two panniers and a basket, Joe and Izzy both have rack bags and I have two panniers, a handlebar bag and a rack pack.) Queue at the port was perhaps 15 minutes. Light rain again. Met three guys from Nottingham who are heading for Paris. Their train was delayed by four hours so they kipped outside the port rather than knock their B&B host up at 3am. Now 8.30 waiting for Ferry to sail at 09.00.
Very lumpy run across on the cat. People throwing up all around us. Many simply sitting in their seats and just letting the contents of their stomach heave out. Not pleasant. Brittany Ferries crew were brilliant. Always in attendance, sick bags and buckets and mops in hand. They had to work really hard on this crossing. Their planning even goes as far as turning the heating down before setting sail (warm and fuggy makes people more likely to chuck). After years racing offshore this is something I am mildly resistant to (both the seasickness and the sight of other people heaving). Joe disappeared for a bit and we had to put out a call for him on the tannoy. He had slipped outside with his hood up and I failed to spot him. Izzy not feeling great but she didn’t chuck.
In Cherbourg by 13.10 and a very wet and windy France waits ahead of us. Off the ferry and out of the port (including an unnecessary loop around a traffic island where we were faithfully followed by a whole line of cars). Exit from the port is due East. We were flying. Oh dear. We’ll be turning through 180° heading to the West side of the Cotentin peninsula in about half a mile. Into the teeth of a pretty steady F6/7.
Satnav. What a wonderful invention. It saw us out of Cherbourg and on the right road. But equally I wouldn’t be without a map (thank you @mmmmartin). (I just texted him to say thank you. He is on his way to Nord Kap. We were in heaven in comparison.)
Story of the day ? Rain and headwind. OMG. Hard work. Constant hard work. No let up. Only about 24 miles but felt like 50. I had a wibbly wobbly route planned to make the most of the quieter (i.e. deserted) roads. (Little white roads on the map as opposed to the hustling bustling yellow boulevards, or so I thought.) Everyone very wet and Lu very cold (it’s August in Normandy FFS - what on earth is going on ??) so we cut down to the straight line route, on a yellow road. Which was as deserted as the littler roads, but more direct and, thankfully, much less up and downy. (Is there a word for that ?) Managed to not find anywhere to eat on the exit from Cherbourg and now we were worried. Cold, wet and very hungry and not a hint of there being anywhere to get some tucker until we were nearly at our destination. Lu was so desperate she ate (no, she wolfed down) a Mule bar. She normally eschews stuff like that.
Huzzah !! Found a roadside cafe/boulangerie that was open and piled in. Dang. Cafe not open. Kids had a slice of pizza each and Lu and I went for a fougasse (I think it was - sort of like a pizza but with bread). Very welcome, even if it was cold. The front door had the tiniest canopy over it, and if we squeezed close we could just about get out of the rain. There was a bit of passing trade here, and, to a man, everyone looked at us like we were mad.
Still lots of ups and downs, but with more consistent gradients than the smaller roads of our earlier convoluted route. Sometimes we were in the clouds. Last climb up to Les Pieux, then down to Le Rozel and finally Sillery. We stood on the doorstep of M et Mme Bigot’s lovely little cottage, and dripped, ever so persistently. Mme Bigot really looked quite concerned, but in a moment had thrown the door open to our accommodation and led us in. She gathered together some wood and lit the wood burning stove, showed us around and then returned with a clothes drier and showed me where the log pile was. The pot of tea I knocked up was possibly the finest tasting tea I had ever had. As soon as we were dry and changed our thoughts turned to supper, and Mme Bigot offered to book us in to the only restaurant within about three miles, only to find out that it was ‘Mussel Night’ and it was fully booked, but they do take away pizzas. It was still pouring so she ran me down there and back (about a mile) in her car so that I could order and pay. And half an hour later her husband popped back to collect the six pizzas. (And yes, there are only four of us, but we’re worth it. And all but half a pizza was gone in the space of about five minutes.) What amazing and lovely people.
I sat up late feeding the fire so that we would have dry clothes by the morning. Forecast for Wednesday was more rain, and whilst we all had a change of clothes, we didn’t fancy a second wet day at the end of which all our cycling gear would be wet. (And amazingly, everything did dry, though the cotton socks and under crackers needed a final blast on one of those electric radiators in the morning.)
And so to bed, clean, dry and warm. Something that had seemed a distant prospect only about four hours earlier.
(To be continued.)
2016 Cherbourg - Caen
Day 1 - Tuesday August 2nd. As transcribed on the ferry and at our Chambre d'hote that evening.
SW London - Pompey, Cherbourg - Le Rozel
Lu and I both awake at 4am. Up at 5.20. Cold shower. Banana. Left at 06.01. Bikes had been stacked on the car rack the night before. Pootle to Pompey. Mild panic as satnav said A3 was closed at Liss. Nothing on Traffic England so we pressed on. Road had been closed for overnight works and we got to the closure point shortly after it had re-opened. Light rain at home. Very moist on top of the Hogs Back and through the South Downs. Took 1h 20m to get there. Offloading very quick thanks to the wonderful new rack. Re-arranged one set of handlebars and applied luggage to the bikes. (Lu has two panniers and a basket, Joe and Izzy both have rack bags and I have two panniers, a handlebar bag and a rack pack.) Queue at the port was perhaps 15 minutes. Light rain again. Met three guys from Nottingham who are heading for Paris. Their train was delayed by four hours so they kipped outside the port rather than knock their B&B host up at 3am. Now 8.30 waiting for Ferry to sail at 09.00.
Very lumpy run across on the cat. People throwing up all around us. Many simply sitting in their seats and just letting the contents of their stomach heave out. Not pleasant. Brittany Ferries crew were brilliant. Always in attendance, sick bags and buckets and mops in hand. They had to work really hard on this crossing. Their planning even goes as far as turning the heating down before setting sail (warm and fuggy makes people more likely to chuck). After years racing offshore this is something I am mildly resistant to (both the seasickness and the sight of other people heaving). Joe disappeared for a bit and we had to put out a call for him on the tannoy. He had slipped outside with his hood up and I failed to spot him. Izzy not feeling great but she didn’t chuck.
In Cherbourg by 13.10 and a very wet and windy France waits ahead of us. Off the ferry and out of the port (including an unnecessary loop around a traffic island where we were faithfully followed by a whole line of cars). Exit from the port is due East. We were flying. Oh dear. We’ll be turning through 180° heading to the West side of the Cotentin peninsula in about half a mile. Into the teeth of a pretty steady F6/7.
Satnav. What a wonderful invention. It saw us out of Cherbourg and on the right road. But equally I wouldn’t be without a map (thank you @mmmmartin). (I just texted him to say thank you. He is on his way to Nord Kap. We were in heaven in comparison.)
Story of the day ? Rain and headwind. OMG. Hard work. Constant hard work. No let up. Only about 24 miles but felt like 50. I had a wibbly wobbly route planned to make the most of the quieter (i.e. deserted) roads. (Little white roads on the map as opposed to the hustling bustling yellow boulevards, or so I thought.) Everyone very wet and Lu very cold (it’s August in Normandy FFS - what on earth is going on ??) so we cut down to the straight line route, on a yellow road. Which was as deserted as the littler roads, but more direct and, thankfully, much less up and downy. (Is there a word for that ?) Managed to not find anywhere to eat on the exit from Cherbourg and now we were worried. Cold, wet and very hungry and not a hint of there being anywhere to get some tucker until we were nearly at our destination. Lu was so desperate she ate (no, she wolfed down) a Mule bar. She normally eschews stuff like that.
Huzzah !! Found a roadside cafe/boulangerie that was open and piled in. Dang. Cafe not open. Kids had a slice of pizza each and Lu and I went for a fougasse (I think it was - sort of like a pizza but with bread). Very welcome, even if it was cold. The front door had the tiniest canopy over it, and if we squeezed close we could just about get out of the rain. There was a bit of passing trade here, and, to a man, everyone looked at us like we were mad.
Still lots of ups and downs, but with more consistent gradients than the smaller roads of our earlier convoluted route. Sometimes we were in the clouds. Last climb up to Les Pieux, then down to Le Rozel and finally Sillery. We stood on the doorstep of M et Mme Bigot’s lovely little cottage, and dripped, ever so persistently. Mme Bigot really looked quite concerned, but in a moment had thrown the door open to our accommodation and led us in. She gathered together some wood and lit the wood burning stove, showed us around and then returned with a clothes drier and showed me where the log pile was. The pot of tea I knocked up was possibly the finest tasting tea I had ever had. As soon as we were dry and changed our thoughts turned to supper, and Mme Bigot offered to book us in to the only restaurant within about three miles, only to find out that it was ‘Mussel Night’ and it was fully booked, but they do take away pizzas. It was still pouring so she ran me down there and back (about a mile) in her car so that I could order and pay. And half an hour later her husband popped back to collect the six pizzas. (And yes, there are only four of us, but we’re worth it. And all but half a pizza was gone in the space of about five minutes.) What amazing and lovely people.
I sat up late feeding the fire so that we would have dry clothes by the morning. Forecast for Wednesday was more rain, and whilst we all had a change of clothes, we didn’t fancy a second wet day at the end of which all our cycling gear would be wet. (And amazingly, everything did dry, though the cotton socks and under crackers needed a final blast on one of those electric radiators in the morning.)
And so to bed, clean, dry and warm. Something that had seemed a distant prospect only about four hours earlier.
(To be continued.)
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