Funny touring stories

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Mass insanity? After ascending and descending the Izoard I was intending to should have stopped to camp overnight at Guillestre, however at the roundabout the road to Guillestre was downhill for about a mile whist the exit toward the col de Vars was fairly flat. On the basis that I would have that extra ascent to tackle in the morning and that it was only 1pm and that my memory of the mapping said the Vars was fairly easy I decided to go on. 19km of hell, the hardest undulating false horizon/ false flat col ever. More towns called Vars along the way giving the impression you are nearly there (they are ski towns with the likes of Vars xxx and Vars station in the titles) OK so not really funny, however gasping to the summit I met up with another British Tourist, well Liverpudlian (hiya Graham:hello:) and telling him my tale of stupidity he said he had done an identical trick, coincidence? He then went on to say that a couple of Aussies where on their way from the refuge and they where all planning on camping in Jausier. Meeting with the Aussies and chatting away, they had also decided on descending the Izoard they didn't fancy dropping into Guilllestre only to have the climb out the next morning, so that made 4 of us at the summit at the same time all having made the same decision mistake.

Camping with a couple of teenage lasses in the caravan next door, I was all snuggled up in my bag around 9.30 and they where having a drink in their awning. We all know how sound travels at night, well one of them must have had a bad experience with her bloke and had decided she was going to partake of the furry cup. Have you ever heard a bird chatting up a bird? Was very tempted to get up and offer a few tips!
I eventually fell asleep when her victim friend was explaining she was a catholic and wanted to try a bloke first before committing (unmarried I would have popped round and offered my services for free!) as she hadn't particularly enjoyed her first experience of Lesbo tongue but quite enjoyed the intamacy, her 'groomer' agreed it was strange and that this was also her first try but she had always loved her and would give her all the time in the world yadda yadda yadda

Last night in Luz and I was struggling to find reasonably priced trad French restaurant (why is fondue always served as a dish for 2?) and ended up in what appeared to be the best if a little small Pizza place in town. Through overhearing another patron enter the place I quickly realised it was an ex-pat paradise and run by a bloke from the North of England, though the staff where French and he was fluent French speaker, and most of the conversation in the restaurant was conducted in French. Though I am by no means fluent after 3 weeks I was getting by so was also speaking in my best French.
Shortly after I had ordered a British family where seated at the table next to me, typical stereotypical brits abroad, no manners, no respect, the teenage son and younger daughter might have had a smattering of schoolchild French but the parent where relieing on shouting. Don't get me wrong either these weren't chav package tour but appeared respectable middle class. Anyway the parents proceeded to slag everything off in their best stage whispers confident that no-one would understand them. (This was a small place and the owner was never more than 10 ' away) The drink was foreign crap, the starter was French, the waitress was slow, the pizzas base was too thin, the topping was different to pizza hut etc etc.
Continuing to talk French myself to the waitress I complimented her on the food and wine and asked for the bill. As it was my last night I was paying with a pocketful of loose change and as it happens it was the owner who came across. Passing him a fist full of coin he exclaimed in French along the lines of 'what the bloody hell am I meant to do with this lot' so in my broadest Yorkshire I said 'sorry old cock for the shrap but I'm barn home tomorrow' to get the reply in his best best drawl, 'nay problem, change'll come in handy' Needless to say the looks on the families faces was a picture as they turned from white to bright red and started mumbling between themselves! Well I found it funny!!
 

doog

....
I arrived at a camp site in France after a very long day. It was a municipal. The toilets were facing right onto the site so every bugger sat in their chairs outside their motor homes could study all those going in and out of toilets (they weren't in a block if you know what I mean)

I went into a kiosk, observed by half the site and I think I ended up in a ladies as some woman tried to beat me to it but I was desperate. There was a lake to their left but a cyclist using the bogs was apparently more entertaining for the crowd but there was also a bit of a commotion brewing because I had leapt in before the woman and she didnt like it.

The loo was dire, crap and tissue everywhere .I did my business, in the way you do (sort of hovering) with the woman right outside and then tried to leave said hell hole kiosk.

I pushed the door and nothing happened. I continued to push and still nothing happened. I paused before proceeding to batter the living hell out of the door almost taking it off its hinges before eventually sussing that I had to pull it open.

When I walked out there must have been 50 people laughing at me,at least I think they were laughing.
 
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OP
BigonaBianchi

BigonaBianchi

Yes I can, Yes I am, Yes I did...Repeat.
On the trans am this summer I pulled up at a gas station for gatorade ...it was H O T and this place was the only habitation I'd seen in about 40 miles or more. Sitting on the bench on the forecourt outside the store was an old red indian native american and a small mangy dawg. His long grey hair down to his waist and wearing nothing but a very old torn faded pair of jeans and a suntan on skin like leather. He was just sitting there gazing at the endless hills in th edistance that surrounded us. The hills were barren, just rock and very sparse desert like brush. They all looked exactly the same. This place was bleak...if the tumble weed had rolled along there and then I would have been looking for clint eastwood.

I said Hi How are you doing...expecting the usual ..i'm good how you doing...where you riding too etc..

But he just kept staring at the endless hills and said..."I lost my truck"

Ever seen the outlaw josey wales?? The old indian in that film was this guy I'm sure.

"You lost your truck?? " I tried not to laugh...

"We (him and his dawg) went a walking up there (points to hills and moves his arm across the horizon)...left the truck and went a walking....that was yesterday..."

Me.." Oh"

"Yeah...and my dawg here took off...and when we got thirsty and hungry the truck was gone...well it's up there on one of those dam hills somewhere...but I'm dammed if I know which one"

"...so we headed down here to the store to git watered and fed...and Im wondering which way to head back out agin to git the dam truck"

"...took me a whole goddma day to walk down from the dam hills...(looks at his dawg with wild staring hate filled eyes)..."

(magy dawg cowers and hides under bench in shame)

...Me..."(smirk) erm...so which one are you going to try first?"

"weeell I was gonna try gitting a lift from somebody at least to git me back to the road...but I've been here all afternoon and your the first guy I seen pull in...and that bike of yours aint got no room do it...so I giss Im gonna start hiking over thattaway...and work my way round in a circle...I got me some jerky and candy and water...gonna take me a day maybe more...but I gotta git my truck dont I"

Me

" I suppose you do yes"
(in head...I want some of what this guys smoking!)
 

vernon

Harder than Ronnie Pickering
Location
Meanwood, Leeds
I stayed at a camp site near Lochwinnoch in Scotland on a JOGLE ride. I told a camper who was curious about my ride that I was cycling from John o'Groats to Lands End and a few minutes later heard her tell her friends that I was cycling from John o'Groats to Lanzarote. I giggled silently for a few minutes.
 

doog

....
I stayed at a camp site near Lochwinnoch in Scotland on a JOGLE ride. I told a camper who was curious about my ride that I was cycling from John o'Groats to Lands End and a few minutes later heard her tell her friends that I was cycling from John o'Groats to Lanzarote. I giggled silently for a few minutes.


I got slightly lost cycling to Exmoor in the really hilly bit North East of Bampton. There are roads around there that you can hardly walk up, let alone drag a fully loaded bike up. I finally arrived at this fantastic camp site at a place called Upton. Seriously this place is brilliant. Washrooms are 5 star, there is shop where you help yourself and leave the money in a pot and a pub next to the site.

Anyway I rocked up looking like a bag of sh it and feeling like I needed Oxygen . £10 later (well worth it) I wheeled my bike over to the corner of the field and threw it on the grass and collapsed, completely and utterly wrecked and looking like a car crash victim.

This guy walks up and in all seriousness states 'Hi, are you here for the Iron man competition'.............................:laugh:

ps

- im late 40's, slighty overweight and probably look older than the average grandad
 

gwhite

Über Member
I was riding from Zeebrugge to Bordeaux pulling a trailer and as it was the first week in June I had only summer gear with me. All day there were showers of icy rain literally every twenty minutes and my legs were blue with cold. I'm old and have dodgy knees anyway so have difficulty climbing on and off the bike. While on a minor road I really needed to pee so stopped at the grass verge but couldn't get my knee bent enough to clear the top tube and my foot is caught fast. I gave a mighty wrench and found myself flying through the air only to land in this ditch in around three feet of icy water. So I'm sitting there up to my shoulders in water as the bike lands on my head and I'm thinking, well this is as bad as it gets when the trailer arrives and again I'm pushed under water. Now I'm pinned down under this ice-cold water by the weight of both bike and trailer and realise that I could be in trouble here. I manage to wriggle out and up the bank where I caught hold of the trailer and pulled both it and the bike up onto the verge.
On the whole it was not one of my finer moments.
 

vernon

Harder than Ronnie Pickering
Location
Meanwood, Leeds
I was sitting in a lonely pub at the edge of Exmoor at dusk with bats flying around outside in a creepy American Werewolf in London style atmosphere. The landlady is a tad off the wall dressed in gypsy style clothing, dirt under her finger nails serving beer from a pump attached to a bar with sufficient dust on it to enable someone to write 'clean me' in it and a large chunk of cigarette ash dangling over my pint attached, firmly I hoped to the cigarette gripped in her pursed lips. In the back room was a teen age girl who, having heard that I was cycling a LEJOG announced that she had a purple bike and promptly disappeared into the back of the pub. The beer tasted just 'on the turn' and the crisps were close to their sell by date with a commensurate past their best taste. Ten minutes later the child reappeared and announced breathlessly that she'd been on her bike and had cycled round the church ten times. Her cross eyed father who'd appeared during her absence and had been counting broom seeds, the boiled extract is a good expectorant I was informed prior to the commencement of the count, with his gypsy wife cursed the interruption as it has caused him to lose count. My head was whirling with the bizarreness of the situation that I found myself in and was making my mind up to beat a retreat from the madness that I found myself amongst. In a pregnant silence, the husband leaned over to me and said, "Would your wife miss you sir?"

I screamed internally thinking of Roysten Vasey and 'special meat'

'Yes she would' I spluttered adding 'But she knows that I'm here because I texted her before i came into the pub'

'That's strange' he said 'I could have sworn that there's no signal around these parts'

My internal screaming intensified and I was compiling a range of exit strategies when he said, "My wife misses me too when I'm away driving my lorry and I'm only away for two night at the most'

I relaxed.

I left the pub and willd camped several miles on having decided no to press on in the dark to the next camp site. I woke the next morning thinking of how silly I was thinking that I thought that my life was at risk in the pub then I remembered that I was wild camping in Exmoor Beast territory.....
 

TheDoctor

Europe Endless
Moderator
Location
The TerrorVortex
This was a on a Normandy trip many years ago. We stayed at Isigny-sur-Mer (which it isn't, BTW), and the following morning it was raining when we got up. And when we went to breakfast, packed, checked out, went next door for a coffee, and a second one, and a third. Still raining.
So we set off anyway. I mean, it's only rain, how wet could we get?
Incredibly, turned out to be the answer.
Imagine three cyclists in poor quality jackets.
Now imagine them after being towed upside down behind a speedboat for half an hour.
We were drenched. Utterly and completely. We got to Carentin, about 10 miles away. We checked into a hotel, and booked dinner at the best restaurant in town, and got showered and changed.
And then the sun came out. Bollocks!
We sat outside the hotel bar, in the sun, all ruddy afternoon watching a local Crit and cursing gently.
While upstairs, drying out on the balcony, our clothes steamed gently.
Rain is a complete git. It knows...
 
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OP
BigonaBianchi

BigonaBianchi

Yes I can, Yes I am, Yes I did...Repeat.
Not funny but 'nice'.

I was cycling back from Holkham beach down to Thetford forest. It was a long ride and by the end of the day I was tired and hungry. It was a bank holiday and everything was shut. Arriving at the camp site ( a beautifil little farm isolated from the world) I check out my on board 'larder'....hmm...3 stale choccie biscuits and a tea bag for dinner mate:sad:. It had been raining most of the day and skies were dark...this was mid august. I pitched the tent in a field with just one caravan in it. Just then th esun dropped below th eclouds and lit up the clouds in orange from underneath, the green field, the cows, the sunshine...If I hadnt been so hungry it would have been idyllic. The farm lady person came over to get her money and I asked her where to nearest place to eat out was....hmm..."well mostly it's all closed today as it's a bank holiday...you can try the pub (about 5 miles away) and see if he has any rolls left from lunch I suppose".

Ok thanks I said resigning myself to a damp night of doom with 3 chocolate biscuits.

Just then a Voice...

" I say there! You with the bicycle!"

Moi??

As I turn around a glass of cold champagne is pressed into my hand. This is John from the caravan.

"you looked like you could do with a drink..my name is John"

Wow cheers mate..I said

"Jolly good sir ..Jolly good!...and when you are finished erecting your tent my wife Shirly and I would like you to join us for a spot of dinner"

T H A N K Y O U G O D!!!

So looking forward to a spot of caravan beans on toast or something I finish setting up the tent, change and walk over the field taking in the full beauty of this simple cow field as the sun shines for the first time today. Here I meet Shirly setting the table outside on the grass. It's a small round table complete with to the ground white lace table cloth, crystal wine glasses (white and red) silver cutlery set formally for each of the pending for courses. Three small handwritten menu cards, Napkins in silver ring holders, candles and condiments in matching silver!

Looking at the menu I am to be treated to four stunning home cooked courses, desert, cheese board, a choice of white and red wines and after dinner liquors. As the sun set behind the cows in the next field we lit the candles and settled down for what turned out to be a wonderful evening swapping stories and enjoying what turned out to be one of the most memorable meals of my life!
 
Having tried to find a sensible route for 2 fully laden touring bikes to get through the North York Moors, we had followed the railway and river which should have given us a sensible route. If only. I do not know how many +20% gradients we had pushed the bikes up and had finally reached one that said 25% and turned around. Pushing the bikes up yet another 20% gradient, we were passed by 5 roadies going down hill at speed. The only bit of their conversation I caught was "they're mad, totally mad". At that particular point in time (6pm ish) I was inclinded to agree with them. We spent the night at the top at the pub, it was downhill all they way the next day. fantastic.

Also in Sweden, my husband had one of his slightly madder moments with a conversation that went
Me - So what brings you here then?
Stuart - The midges.
Me - Oh - are you studying them?
Stuart - No, I think they are studying me. They keep taking lots of tiny blood samples from me, (pause). What brings you here then?
Me - Oh, just a bike ride.
Stuart - Just a small one then?
Me - yes, something like that.
Stuart - Just the 1 lap?
Me - Probably, not decided yet.
(Note about the 'bike ride' - early on a friend informed us that we cannot refer to this cycle tour as a bike ride. As he put it, a bike ride is something you do on a Sunday morning before lunch".

We also had a incident with a car running off the road whilst we were in Sweden. the scene was no cover for a pee, so could only use the long grass but once I was down I would be out of sight, so as I squatted I pulled my shorts down at the same time, in complete ignorance of the fact a car was about to come around the corner. He failed on taking the corner too distracted by what he thought he could see!
 
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