...I just nipped down to Montpellier..but I'm back (again) now!
- Thread starter Bigtallfatbloke
- Start date
Page may contain affiliate links. Please see terms for details.
Cathryn
Legendary Member
- Location
- Marlborough, Wiltshire
Being an old fashioned kind of girl, BTFB, I think you made the right call. I don't think I could live with myself if I cheated on the husband...even with Daniel Craig!
Great trip though
Great trip though
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
I the spend does not include flight costs. I got a lift through the chunnel so that was free . It only refers to food, drink and campsite fees. I had no bike repairs to pay for en route thankfully although I did lash out £120 on the bike before I went.
The cheapest campsite was free, then the next up was 1.5 euros, then they increased in cost & paperwork and swimming pool size as I rode south. The maximum campsite cost was at Monthellier plage at 20 euros ish. I did not drink much booze at all, just 2 bottles of local plaonk and a bottle of cider at no mor ethan 10 euros th elot. I cooked my own meal each evening which mostly was rice /pasta and a tin of ready made stuff from the supermarche, which actually were very good to eat and cheap. I was given a fair amount of free alchohol by other campers I met on sites for which I thank them.
Itcan be done cheap, i prooved it. However remeber that I rode alone and did not stop except to sleep and eat. In my experience the more people you ride with the more you stop and the mor eit costs when you stop.
I havejus tspent all day typing up a fuller journal of the french trip, i need to spell check it and add some pics, then i will pos tit up.
I do carry three watwer bottles but the lower white one contains the meths for my trangia. I often tied a bottle of water to my rear rack n addition to the two water bottles (& meths) as there were lots of long hot baren stretches with no water as th eshops were usually all shut.
The cheapest campsite was free, then the next up was 1.5 euros, then they increased in cost & paperwork and swimming pool size as I rode south. The maximum campsite cost was at Monthellier plage at 20 euros ish. I did not drink much booze at all, just 2 bottles of local plaonk and a bottle of cider at no mor ethan 10 euros th elot. I cooked my own meal each evening which mostly was rice /pasta and a tin of ready made stuff from the supermarche, which actually were very good to eat and cheap. I was given a fair amount of free alchohol by other campers I met on sites for which I thank them.
Itcan be done cheap, i prooved it. However remeber that I rode alone and did not stop except to sleep and eat. In my experience the more people you ride with the more you stop and the mor eit costs when you stop.
I havejus tspent all day typing up a fuller journal of the french trip, i need to spell check it and add some pics, then i will pos tit up.
I do carry three watwer bottles but the lower white one contains the meths for my trangia. I often tied a bottle of water to my rear rack n addition to the two water bottles (& meths) as there were lots of long hot baren stretches with no water as th eshops were usually all shut.
I often tied a bottle of water to my rear rack n addition to the two water bottles (& meths) as there were lots of long hot baren stretches with no water as th eshops were usually all shut.
Ah. I sweat a lot, Tarbes to Lourdes via the Tourmalet included a coffee, an orange juice, two cans of fizzy orange, a litre of that yoghurty strawberry stuff and 6 litres of water. Didn't pee till I got to the summit- that's the sweat stain down my shorts, honest!
Dunno who the strange knitwear models are on the left.
Looking forward to the read, BTFB
Ah. I sweat a lot, Tarbes to Lourdes via the Tourmalet included a coffee, an orange juice, two cans of fizzy orange, a litre of that yoghurty strawberry stuff and 6 litres of water. Didn't pee till I got to the summit- that's the sweat stain down my shorts, honest!
Dunno who the strange knitwear models are on the left.
Looking forward to the read, BTFB
vernon
Harder than Ronnie Pickering
- Location
- Meanwood, Leeds
Bigtallfatbloke said:
You clearly need to carry a hydration pack. I use a Camelback Mule with a three litre bladder. I've only once ran out of fluids once in the four years that I've owned it and that was after its second filling on a particularly hot and humid 100km audax ride in Yorkshire.
Bigtallfatbloke said:
In August. The French go on holiday in August. Everywhere closes. Including hotels. Go figure.
It's truly pleasing to see you doing good mileage 'sur velo'. In my humble opinion, touring is a great way to spend a few weeks. You don't have to think about what to do (except on rest days), you just look at the map and work out the day's general direction.
vernon
Harder than Ronnie Pickering
- Location
- Meanwood, Leeds
yello said:
I'm surprised that BTFB had problems with shops being closed. The only places that were closed and I wanted them open were the restaurants specialising in frog cuisine. There were plenty of patisseries open that I wished were closed
.
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
My cycle tour down to the Med August 2008
Photos in order of ride here:
http://s412.photobucket.com/albums/pp207/Bigtallfatbloke/?albumview=grid
It had been all of 1 day since I returned from riding down the length of Germany from Bremen to Basel in Switzerland & already I knew I couldn’t stay home alone in dreary old Essex, with nothing to do. I had to ride more. My initial plan last year had been to ride across France, however for some very solid practical reasons I decided to ride in Germany instead. Although I really enjoyed the German tour something inside just kept telling me I could do more, now was the time to go to France, it was now or never for me. I had 4 weeks to do this in…lot’s of time. I had two weeks at home resting and sorting a few family things out and then planned on taking 14 days riding down to the med on my own while the family did their own thing, ironically back in Germany where I had just left.
I set about planning the detail of the routes. I knew from Germany how easy it is to get lost and how important it is to find the campsites and bike repair shops etc. This time my new GPS was going to need to work well & that meant I needed to learn how to drive it and programme it. Time to hit the internet and programme in the detail of the routes using www.bikeroutetoaster.com map source software and GPS Babel software. Sounds easy right?....erm…well think again! In reality it took me nearly 12 days solid route programming with these toys (in the event 3 days more than it would take me to ride the bloody tour!) I checked and re checked my camping gear, tool kit and took a little more than I did in Germany as a result. The bike was heavy but I thought I could pull it, given how fit I felt after the German ride…little did I know about French hills and headwinds!
In Germany in July the radweg system had taken its toll on my bottom bracket and wheel. Although mostly good surfaces, many were also poor surface quality, just dirt tracks & the German rule about riding on pavements in the towns meant constant riding over curbs which eventually cost me. I needed a wheel true on that tour and another when I returned, my bottom bracket had also gone and a new one was fitted along with some new spd pedals as the old ones were worn and bent due to a lot of standing as I rode over the bad radweg surfaces in Germany….I was already £120 out of pocket, hmmm…now I really have to go to France! I had taken a fall in Meersburg on the Bodensee the previous week and although the cuts to my knees, arm and head where healing ok the swelling and pain in my wrist was not. I was having trouble lifting things (erm like a loaded touring bike) and I didn’t have enough time to get an x ray. I knew it wasn’t broken as I wasn’t writhing in Agony and screaming out for sympathy (that’s what men do isn’t it girls?), but I had real concerns about riding across France alone with a damaged wrist…luckily it wasn’t my drinking wrist so I decided I could survive.
Photos in order of ride here:
http://s412.photobucket.com/albums/pp207/Bigtallfatbloke/?albumview=grid
It had been all of 1 day since I returned from riding down the length of Germany from Bremen to Basel in Switzerland & already I knew I couldn’t stay home alone in dreary old Essex, with nothing to do. I had to ride more. My initial plan last year had been to ride across France, however for some very solid practical reasons I decided to ride in Germany instead. Although I really enjoyed the German tour something inside just kept telling me I could do more, now was the time to go to France, it was now or never for me. I had 4 weeks to do this in…lot’s of time. I had two weeks at home resting and sorting a few family things out and then planned on taking 14 days riding down to the med on my own while the family did their own thing, ironically back in Germany where I had just left.
I set about planning the detail of the routes. I knew from Germany how easy it is to get lost and how important it is to find the campsites and bike repair shops etc. This time my new GPS was going to need to work well & that meant I needed to learn how to drive it and programme it. Time to hit the internet and programme in the detail of the routes using www.bikeroutetoaster.com map source software and GPS Babel software. Sounds easy right?....erm…well think again! In reality it took me nearly 12 days solid route programming with these toys (in the event 3 days more than it would take me to ride the bloody tour!) I checked and re checked my camping gear, tool kit and took a little more than I did in Germany as a result. The bike was heavy but I thought I could pull it, given how fit I felt after the German ride…little did I know about French hills and headwinds!
In Germany in July the radweg system had taken its toll on my bottom bracket and wheel. Although mostly good surfaces, many were also poor surface quality, just dirt tracks & the German rule about riding on pavements in the towns meant constant riding over curbs which eventually cost me. I needed a wheel true on that tour and another when I returned, my bottom bracket had also gone and a new one was fitted along with some new spd pedals as the old ones were worn and bent due to a lot of standing as I rode over the bad radweg surfaces in Germany….I was already £120 out of pocket, hmmm…now I really have to go to France! I had taken a fall in Meersburg on the Bodensee the previous week and although the cuts to my knees, arm and head where healing ok the swelling and pain in my wrist was not. I was having trouble lifting things (erm like a loaded touring bike) and I didn’t have enough time to get an x ray. I knew it wasn’t broken as I wasn’t writhing in Agony and screaming out for sympathy (that’s what men do isn’t it girls?), but I had real concerns about riding across France alone with a damaged wrist…luckily it wasn’t my drinking wrist so I decided I could survive.
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
Kick off was to be the morning of August 15th (my birthday!) I was very unsure in myself if I had it in my to do this trip alone. The nearer the off the more nervous I became & then it was time to go. The family were driving over to Germany so I hitched a lift through the Chunnel which was good because it saved me the cost of a ferry etc. Right up until I loaded my Dawes galaxy bike onto the roof of the car, I was still not sure if I should/could do this trip. But still inside I knew I must.
We said goodbye in a supermarket car park in the small town of Bapaume. It was a convenient kick off point because it was just off the auto route to Rheims where the family were heading and I had been here before and so felt a little more comfortable. It also meant I could avoid the dreary ride out of Calais europort. I was VERY nervous and even then contemplated wimping out. The bike was loaded up, the final goodbyes were said, pictures taken and with some final words of encouragement my wife was gone. That is when I realized just how vast France is & how small and irrelevant one man on a bicycle is. Blimey mate, WTF are you doing???! I had no way back now, the only way home was south, Montpellier or bust, so I started to pedal.
The decision to start the tour on a road I was familiar with from a previous visit was a good one. It softened the impact of arrival in a foreign land somewhat. I knew that if I headed down the road out of Bapaume along the Somme battlefields I would reach Albert. My plan was to spend the day pottering around the First World War battle fields of Poziers, Beaumont Hamel , Ancre, Thiepval, contalmaison, La Boiselle etc along the D929 and tributary roads/paths and then head into Albert to get a cheap hotel just for the first night. That way I thought I would have an easy lead into the tour and could start the serious riding in the morning. In the event however my nerves left me almost instantly and I was in a good mood. I have seen these battlefields before and whilst interesting they are pretty depressing places. Also I knew that once into them I would probably stay to long as the subject has been a fascination of mine for years. But the reason I decided to limit my time there and move on quickly was mainly a fear of falling into a depressive mindset early on in the tour. I have suffered from depressive illness for many many years and this trip also had one other important purpose for me, it was to give me time out on my own to come off the medication that had supported me for 10 years. I needed to ride, I did not need to bury myself in the terrors of WW1 on day one of my trip. So I said goodbye to the Somme nightmare at the Lochnager crater at la Boiselle and decided against Albert town centre. I pointed he bike south.
We said goodbye in a supermarket car park in the small town of Bapaume. It was a convenient kick off point because it was just off the auto route to Rheims where the family were heading and I had been here before and so felt a little more comfortable. It also meant I could avoid the dreary ride out of Calais europort. I was VERY nervous and even then contemplated wimping out. The bike was loaded up, the final goodbyes were said, pictures taken and with some final words of encouragement my wife was gone. That is when I realized just how vast France is & how small and irrelevant one man on a bicycle is. Blimey mate, WTF are you doing???! I had no way back now, the only way home was south, Montpellier or bust, so I started to pedal.
The decision to start the tour on a road I was familiar with from a previous visit was a good one. It softened the impact of arrival in a foreign land somewhat. I knew that if I headed down the road out of Bapaume along the Somme battlefields I would reach Albert. My plan was to spend the day pottering around the First World War battle fields of Poziers, Beaumont Hamel , Ancre, Thiepval, contalmaison, La Boiselle etc along the D929 and tributary roads/paths and then head into Albert to get a cheap hotel just for the first night. That way I thought I would have an easy lead into the tour and could start the serious riding in the morning. In the event however my nerves left me almost instantly and I was in a good mood. I have seen these battlefields before and whilst interesting they are pretty depressing places. Also I knew that once into them I would probably stay to long as the subject has been a fascination of mine for years. But the reason I decided to limit my time there and move on quickly was mainly a fear of falling into a depressive mindset early on in the tour. I have suffered from depressive illness for many many years and this trip also had one other important purpose for me, it was to give me time out on my own to come off the medication that had supported me for 10 years. I needed to ride, I did not need to bury myself in the terrors of WW1 on day one of my trip. So I said goodbye to the Somme nightmare at the Lochnager crater at la Boiselle and decided against Albert town centre. I pointed he bike south.
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
Although most people seem to think France is flat in the north I can assure you it isn’t. The expression ‘rolling countryside’ really means…’try to ride this place with a heavy bike and you are screwed’. Yes I was already regretting carrying more than I did in Germany. I was carrying too much load and my knees were already painful on day one. I had reduce the weight, but how? This was a question that would bug me for the next few days until I finally started ‘losing’ non essential stuff a few days later. I rode and rode, sticking pretty much to the route I had planned for the next day. The sun was shining and the wind wasn’t too bad even though it was from the south. I needed to put some kilometres behind me, I wanted to get away from the limitless numbers of cemeteries and monuments to the innocent children slaughtered for nothing all those years ago before I got down in the dumps, my camera was broken and I had to hit the dam thing hard before each shot just to fire it up.; it had been damaged in Germany when it got a proper bath in a storm on the Wesser river last month, anyway, I was heading south as fast as I could maybe it would dry out soon.
I wanted to avoid the bigger roads if possible however I am not one to hang around and dilly dally all day, I need to see that I am getting somewhere. To me one tree is pretty much like another tree and the phrase ‘wonderful scenery’ (often easily dropped into a conversation by cyclist types) is usually just another way of saying ‘there are lot’s of hills, ride up them if you will muggins’. My map consisted of pages torn from an AA 1:180,000 road atlas (that’s 2.8 miles to the inch in old money). On it the roads show up as:
White = ‘wonderful scenery’ but not really going anywhere near where I need to go
Yellow = Ok scenery and little traffic, and even go in the right direction sometimes
Green = Nice long straight roads with some scenery thrown in for good measure, but with a little more traffic
Red = exactly the same as the green roads but just seem to go elsewhere (they are French roads and they can bloody well colour them in how they like ok)
Blue= Auto routes or motorways which need to be avoided by cyclists who value their life
My map had no campsites marked ( don’t forget like most things in this world it was designed for the car driver’s convenience and they don’t need to know where a camp site is because they can just drive around effortlessly until one appears). So I had spent time marking the campsite locations I thought I might need on my ripped pages in advance. I had got this information from the French yellow pages (or Le page juenes) in the internet. This site is just about the most useful I found because it shows you the municipal sites as well as just those looking to screw campervanners out of every cent of their hard earned holiday cash. I had also loaded up my GPS with some POI (point of interest) files from ‘Archie’s camping’s’ on the net, which are free and just about the best listing of European campsites I could find on line for use in a GPS.
Anyway I digress…
…At la Boiselle I looked down into a very big hole in the ground called the Lochnagner crater, which is where on the first day of the Somme attack British engineers had tried to blow up the Germen trench system they faced before they walk across no-mans land. Here I decided I needed no more holes in my life and picked up the nearest south facing yellow road, the D329 in the direction of Bray sure Somme. I had a campsite marked there so I thought I could get there easily enough. Also at this point I hadn’t really grasped how far the maps actually covered per grid section. In my mind these were huge distances when in reality I would get through three pages a day. It was easy going and I just kept riding along this yellow line..erm..road though Bray sur somme, Rosieres, En Santerreand & on into the town of Roye. Here I decided to test out something. I had no desire to navigate through French towns, if I could I would go around them. However this one looked innocent enough on the map and besides I had this fancy GPS gizmo with me and, well now looked like a good time to see if I could get through the middle of a French town without getting lost. Besides I knew that sooner or later I would have to face Lyon, so I wanted to know how easy or otherwise it would be. My fears were put to rest some 20 minutes later when I emerged unscathed on the other side of town on the correct road!! Blimey this is good I thought, and besides I feel great and although the bike is heavy I’ll push on down the D934 to Noyon, one of those green lines I was talking about earlier and kip there. Noyon came and went remarkably quickly and it was starting to dawn on me that the map scale was making the distances look bigger on paper than they were on the ground. I felt like I was covering a lot of ground, besides it was still early and there was no ‘Le camping’ marked on my map in Noyon so I pushed on. I was starting to get tired and had covered most of day twos planned ride already on day one, so I was looking for the next ‘Le camping’. After all those kind peeps on the cycle chat forum had all told me that in France there is a campsite in each and every village, no problem right? Hmmm…
I wanted to avoid the bigger roads if possible however I am not one to hang around and dilly dally all day, I need to see that I am getting somewhere. To me one tree is pretty much like another tree and the phrase ‘wonderful scenery’ (often easily dropped into a conversation by cyclist types) is usually just another way of saying ‘there are lot’s of hills, ride up them if you will muggins’. My map consisted of pages torn from an AA 1:180,000 road atlas (that’s 2.8 miles to the inch in old money). On it the roads show up as:
White = ‘wonderful scenery’ but not really going anywhere near where I need to go
Yellow = Ok scenery and little traffic, and even go in the right direction sometimes
Green = Nice long straight roads with some scenery thrown in for good measure, but with a little more traffic
Red = exactly the same as the green roads but just seem to go elsewhere (they are French roads and they can bloody well colour them in how they like ok)
Blue= Auto routes or motorways which need to be avoided by cyclists who value their life
My map had no campsites marked ( don’t forget like most things in this world it was designed for the car driver’s convenience and they don’t need to know where a camp site is because they can just drive around effortlessly until one appears). So I had spent time marking the campsite locations I thought I might need on my ripped pages in advance. I had got this information from the French yellow pages (or Le page juenes) in the internet. This site is just about the most useful I found because it shows you the municipal sites as well as just those looking to screw campervanners out of every cent of their hard earned holiday cash. I had also loaded up my GPS with some POI (point of interest) files from ‘Archie’s camping’s’ on the net, which are free and just about the best listing of European campsites I could find on line for use in a GPS.
Anyway I digress…
…At la Boiselle I looked down into a very big hole in the ground called the Lochnagner crater, which is where on the first day of the Somme attack British engineers had tried to blow up the Germen trench system they faced before they walk across no-mans land. Here I decided I needed no more holes in my life and picked up the nearest south facing yellow road, the D329 in the direction of Bray sure Somme. I had a campsite marked there so I thought I could get there easily enough. Also at this point I hadn’t really grasped how far the maps actually covered per grid section. In my mind these were huge distances when in reality I would get through three pages a day. It was easy going and I just kept riding along this yellow line..erm..road though Bray sur somme, Rosieres, En Santerreand & on into the town of Roye. Here I decided to test out something. I had no desire to navigate through French towns, if I could I would go around them. However this one looked innocent enough on the map and besides I had this fancy GPS gizmo with me and, well now looked like a good time to see if I could get through the middle of a French town without getting lost. Besides I knew that sooner or later I would have to face Lyon, so I wanted to know how easy or otherwise it would be. My fears were put to rest some 20 minutes later when I emerged unscathed on the other side of town on the correct road!! Blimey this is good I thought, and besides I feel great and although the bike is heavy I’ll push on down the D934 to Noyon, one of those green lines I was talking about earlier and kip there. Noyon came and went remarkably quickly and it was starting to dawn on me that the map scale was making the distances look bigger on paper than they were on the ground. I felt like I was covering a lot of ground, besides it was still early and there was no ‘Le camping’ marked on my map in Noyon so I pushed on. I was starting to get tired and had covered most of day twos planned ride already on day one, so I was looking for the next ‘Le camping’. After all those kind peeps on the cycle chat forum had all told me that in France there is a campsite in each and every village, no problem right? Hmmm…
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
At la Pommeraye I noticed the green line had become red but was still called the D934, I wondered if this was some kind of secret French warning system for lack of ‘le camping’? Never mind there is one at Camelin just off track on the D6 I thought and headed of in a general thataways direction. By now it was HOT, I was tired and the bike had become a lot heavier somehow. I also needed to eat. Hmm…this looks like the place as I rolled up outside a big gate marked ‘le camping’. Tentatively I walked in to big courtyard where (much like everywhere today) there was no sign of human life. I was very thirsty and looked around for a tap which immediately made the hidden owner perk up and rattle off a few choice words of ‘welcome’ in frog at me…ok I thought. time to impress with my skool boy frog…”Je cherche le camping moon sewer?” Perfect, I was impressed……”Quoi??”…je repete……”Je cheche le camping mon sewer?”…ah oui ici le camping c’est ici…Bon I thought…”Mais C’est ferme aujourdoui” ..Bollox I thought.
“C’est ferme monsieur” was a phrase I got to hear several times a day. It was always said in a tone designed to infer the outmost idiocy in the question that preceded its use. “ of course it’s bloody closed, why wouldn’t I have known that, it’s only Friday why wouldn’t it be closed??
Whilst unable to offer me ‘le camping’ this old fella did at least let me fill up my water bottles before he said au revoir to yet another crazy cyclist from the land of Le Rost beef. I headed south again …the town of Soissons was looming but I was to tired to make it. No le campings marked on my map…so there was nothing else for it, I would have to test out Archie’s camping’s POI files in my GPS, I hit find and up came the list of two campsites nearby not listed in Le pages Juenes it seems, either that or I had missed them more likely. The plan had been to head down the D6 (red line) into Soissons, but instead I took my first detour from the plan and headed down the D145 (also known as the D2 under the French law of secret road name codes). I rolled up outside the campsite at Vic sur l’aisne. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere this was a 5star campsite and it was BIG. Wall to wall campervans or Wohnwagons as I had come to call them in Germany. Brits everywhere, a pool, takeaway food, restaurant, river, fishing, excursions and bike hire. This’ll be expensive I thought as I tested my French again at ‘le reception’. You should have seen the look on the fat wohnwagoner’s face next to me at le reception when I got charged just 5 euros and he got hit for 20euros! Priceless. I pitched my tent and took a shower. Then started to cook one of my emergency packets of ready mixed pasta I had brought with me as the shops so far in France had all been ‘C'est ferme monsewr’.
Then I met up with Sarah and Darren from Ipswich over in the next tent with their kids. I had bought a 6 euro bottle of wine to celebrate my first day’s success and because the camping was cheaper here than I had thought (based on my experiences of expensive German campsites in July). I had pretty much polished this off and was ready to sleep when we got talking and the next thing I know I getting handed Bacardi and cokes all evening and we are chatting away like old friends! A nicer family one could not hope to meet in the back of the French beyond on a bicycle. We chatted about le camping, the battlefields of WW1 and the madness of riding a bike down to Montpellier. Then it was 1am and time to hit the sack, or in my case the alpmat and blacks el cheapo sleeping bag. I had had made it to France, overcome my nerves and ridden 128 km on day one. The first day had cost me 11Euros. I slept like a baby.
Next morning dawned and I awoke early. I knew now just how big France really was and the only way home was south, away from home. I took my marker pen and highlighted yesterdays actual ridden route for my log then took the decision to continue on my deviation from the planned route (which would have taken me down the green D1 from Soissons) and after de camping, set off down the yellow D2 again via Villers, Cotterets and the D936 (green) via Varinfroy to May En Multien where I picked up the D147 yellow (also coded as the D3 and D53) to Changis Sur Marne where I knew there to be a le camping next to the Marne river. However once again it was to early to pitch tent by the time I got there and I pushed on along the D407 green line from La Ferte Sous Jouarre in the direction of Montmirail where I had no less than four le campings listed.
The second days ride in France was a tough one. Although nice and sunny all day, I faced a seriously strong headwind from the south west which sucked the life blood out of my legs. Besides the bike was still way too heavy. It was just then that the terrain changed from ‘rolling countryside’ to rollercoaster ride..great, just what I needed… determined to push on and keep positive I kept riding as long as I could through empty ghost towns with the theme from the good the bad and the ugly echoing around my brain. I did however managed to find one shop in a petrol station that was not ‘c’est ferme monsewr’ and bought some food, pasta, tomato sauce in a jar and some tuna fish…not the cuisine France boasts so much about but it would do me tonight, I was knackered. Then my right knee went. Pain is not a long enough word for how that felt. I was seriously worried I may need to terminate the tour; tonight I would get ruthless with my kit and chuck out anything I could live without. Out of the blue I saw a sign for le camping..just the job so I followed it. At the gate I was presented with a huge sign in French which I tried to decipher whilst the angry dog on the other sign alerted the owners to my presence. In front of me stood a middle aged lady in serious need of a diet and a bicycle tour dressed in just a bathrobe. I asked if this was the le camping and she said ‘Oui’…blimey, I thought, a French person who actually used ‘oui’ in preference to ‘non’ I thought…ok I thought let me hear it…c'est ferme monsewer’ right?.. ‘Non’…cette une camping naturiste monsewr’…I had found the only nudist colony in northern France and whilst it would have done me for the night I had no ‘le permitte’ and so had to move along, forever grateful that she had found time to grab a bathrobe when her dog barked.
“C’est ferme monsieur” was a phrase I got to hear several times a day. It was always said in a tone designed to infer the outmost idiocy in the question that preceded its use. “ of course it’s bloody closed, why wouldn’t I have known that, it’s only Friday why wouldn’t it be closed??
Whilst unable to offer me ‘le camping’ this old fella did at least let me fill up my water bottles before he said au revoir to yet another crazy cyclist from the land of Le Rost beef. I headed south again …the town of Soissons was looming but I was to tired to make it. No le campings marked on my map…so there was nothing else for it, I would have to test out Archie’s camping’s POI files in my GPS, I hit find and up came the list of two campsites nearby not listed in Le pages Juenes it seems, either that or I had missed them more likely. The plan had been to head down the D6 (red line) into Soissons, but instead I took my first detour from the plan and headed down the D145 (also known as the D2 under the French law of secret road name codes). I rolled up outside the campsite at Vic sur l’aisne. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere this was a 5star campsite and it was BIG. Wall to wall campervans or Wohnwagons as I had come to call them in Germany. Brits everywhere, a pool, takeaway food, restaurant, river, fishing, excursions and bike hire. This’ll be expensive I thought as I tested my French again at ‘le reception’. You should have seen the look on the fat wohnwagoner’s face next to me at le reception when I got charged just 5 euros and he got hit for 20euros! Priceless. I pitched my tent and took a shower. Then started to cook one of my emergency packets of ready mixed pasta I had brought with me as the shops so far in France had all been ‘C'est ferme monsewr’.
Then I met up with Sarah and Darren from Ipswich over in the next tent with their kids. I had bought a 6 euro bottle of wine to celebrate my first day’s success and because the camping was cheaper here than I had thought (based on my experiences of expensive German campsites in July). I had pretty much polished this off and was ready to sleep when we got talking and the next thing I know I getting handed Bacardi and cokes all evening and we are chatting away like old friends! A nicer family one could not hope to meet in the back of the French beyond on a bicycle. We chatted about le camping, the battlefields of WW1 and the madness of riding a bike down to Montpellier. Then it was 1am and time to hit the sack, or in my case the alpmat and blacks el cheapo sleeping bag. I had had made it to France, overcome my nerves and ridden 128 km on day one. The first day had cost me 11Euros. I slept like a baby.
Next morning dawned and I awoke early. I knew now just how big France really was and the only way home was south, away from home. I took my marker pen and highlighted yesterdays actual ridden route for my log then took the decision to continue on my deviation from the planned route (which would have taken me down the green D1 from Soissons) and after de camping, set off down the yellow D2 again via Villers, Cotterets and the D936 (green) via Varinfroy to May En Multien where I picked up the D147 yellow (also coded as the D3 and D53) to Changis Sur Marne where I knew there to be a le camping next to the Marne river. However once again it was to early to pitch tent by the time I got there and I pushed on along the D407 green line from La Ferte Sous Jouarre in the direction of Montmirail where I had no less than four le campings listed.
The second days ride in France was a tough one. Although nice and sunny all day, I faced a seriously strong headwind from the south west which sucked the life blood out of my legs. Besides the bike was still way too heavy. It was just then that the terrain changed from ‘rolling countryside’ to rollercoaster ride..great, just what I needed… determined to push on and keep positive I kept riding as long as I could through empty ghost towns with the theme from the good the bad and the ugly echoing around my brain. I did however managed to find one shop in a petrol station that was not ‘c’est ferme monsewr’ and bought some food, pasta, tomato sauce in a jar and some tuna fish…not the cuisine France boasts so much about but it would do me tonight, I was knackered. Then my right knee went. Pain is not a long enough word for how that felt. I was seriously worried I may need to terminate the tour; tonight I would get ruthless with my kit and chuck out anything I could live without. Out of the blue I saw a sign for le camping..just the job so I followed it. At the gate I was presented with a huge sign in French which I tried to decipher whilst the angry dog on the other sign alerted the owners to my presence. In front of me stood a middle aged lady in serious need of a diet and a bicycle tour dressed in just a bathrobe. I asked if this was the le camping and she said ‘Oui’…blimey, I thought, a French person who actually used ‘oui’ in preference to ‘non’ I thought…ok I thought let me hear it…c'est ferme monsewer’ right?.. ‘Non’…cette une camping naturiste monsewr’…I had found the only nudist colony in northern France and whilst it would have done me for the night I had no ‘le permitte’ and so had to move along, forever grateful that she had found time to grab a bathrobe when her dog barked.
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
I was cruising, well limping more like, into port when I heard a yell from behind me in what was clearly not a French accent, more American really. “ Hey buddy, wait up!! You speak English right?”…erm yes indeed old chap how the devil are you? Greg from New York had arrived. Greg was on a fully loaded up (four pannier and tent trek road bike! We rode into town like a couple of cowboys in a Clint Eastwood film and as the tumbleweed drifted across main street we finally found le camping municipal in Montmiral and pitched our tents. The site was empty apart from us, the obligatory huge Dutch wohnwagon and a French cycle tourer couple who instantly latched onto us believing we looked like we knew what we were doing.
Greg was a great guy, friendly and positive with a good happy go lucky attitude. He had been touring Europe on his bike for 3 months. He had no real idea of where he was or what day it was, just that he was heading to Heidelberg in Germany to see a friend and that meant he had to ride in a general north east direction. His maps had been stolen as had his camera and tent. He now had a new pop up tent from decathlon but his map just showed the death trap blue and green roads so he didn’t seem to use it much! He had been wild camping in the woods for weeks and tended to avoid campsites wherever possible, but tonight I guess he needed a shower and somebody to talk to in English for while. We both tipped out our food pannier bags and pooled our resources and cooked up a great meal of rice, mixed vegetables, French sausages ( the tuna tin could wait until next time), ,garlic, olive oil herbs followed by a packet of chocolate kinder cakes. Not bad for a couple of lost soles on bikes a long way from home. Tonight’s le camping cost just 3 euros between us, I paid as Greg had no cash and had done all the cooking and provided the majority of the ingredients…well the sausages and cakes which were the most important bit!
Greg had been to Montpellier earlier on in the summer. He told me it was hot busy and a nightmare for camping, later on I would discover that this was probably the only American who didn’t over exaggerate things. Up until now I had not been able to keep my log properly as I had lost my pen. It’s amazing how important a simple pen becomes when you need one and France is ‘C’est ferme’. I borrowed Greg’s, it will be interesting to read his log one day and see what he made of the evening. I wish him well and hope that one day he will get a proper map & find his way out of France.
The two French cycle tourers who had latched onto us were capable of speaking English, which was a problem for Greg as he was American, however communication channels were open and it soon became apparent why a French man would want to speak English…he needed us to fix his bike. Greg set about re setting the de railer system and telling him what a crap bike he had while I just watched in case I could learn something…which I didn’t. We got to talking about tents and the heat inside etc and I mentioned that a good idea to combat the heat was to use a silver space blanket (like marathon runners are given at the end of the race) to line the tent. The next minute the French cyclist had dug deep into his pannier and gave me a brand new space blanket! After all he was going north and I was going south so I would likely need it more than him he felt…I didn’t tell him how cold it can get in the north.
Today I had ridden 110km and spent 10 euros.
I locked Shinto up to the nearest fence and hit the alpmat again..
Wait a minute..hold up…Shinto??...yes Shinto is my bike. Let me introduce you. She’s a 2007 Dawes galaxy touring road bike, with an added brooks B17 champion saddle and some shimano m250 double sided spd pedals. I had some extra padding and new bar tape fitted after the fall in Meersburg and the tyres are schwalbe marathon 28’s. She has the supplied rear racks from new and a set of Blackburn custom low rider front racks fitted. The pannier bags are carradice overlanders…yeah yeah…but why ‘Shinto’?
Well…in the summer of 2007 I rode up to Norfolk and around the coast and back home on my first tour since I was 16. My wife had bought me a book to cheer me up from the depths of depression one day about a bloke who walked to Santiago de Compostella or somewhere in Spain on a pilgrimage. His mule was called Shinto. I carried that book all over Norfolk and never really read more than 3 pages. I carried the same copy down the length of Germany and never read it. I carried it through France and never read it. It has become a kind of lucky charm to carry this book on tour but not read it (no wonder the bloody bike is so heavy)..anyway so I named my bike after the mule in this book I have never read but carry all over Europe on a bike, makes perfect sense to me!
.. Dawn came too early.
Greg was a great guy, friendly and positive with a good happy go lucky attitude. He had been touring Europe on his bike for 3 months. He had no real idea of where he was or what day it was, just that he was heading to Heidelberg in Germany to see a friend and that meant he had to ride in a general north east direction. His maps had been stolen as had his camera and tent. He now had a new pop up tent from decathlon but his map just showed the death trap blue and green roads so he didn’t seem to use it much! He had been wild camping in the woods for weeks and tended to avoid campsites wherever possible, but tonight I guess he needed a shower and somebody to talk to in English for while. We both tipped out our food pannier bags and pooled our resources and cooked up a great meal of rice, mixed vegetables, French sausages ( the tuna tin could wait until next time), ,garlic, olive oil herbs followed by a packet of chocolate kinder cakes. Not bad for a couple of lost soles on bikes a long way from home. Tonight’s le camping cost just 3 euros between us, I paid as Greg had no cash and had done all the cooking and provided the majority of the ingredients…well the sausages and cakes which were the most important bit!
Greg had been to Montpellier earlier on in the summer. He told me it was hot busy and a nightmare for camping, later on I would discover that this was probably the only American who didn’t over exaggerate things. Up until now I had not been able to keep my log properly as I had lost my pen. It’s amazing how important a simple pen becomes when you need one and France is ‘C’est ferme’. I borrowed Greg’s, it will be interesting to read his log one day and see what he made of the evening. I wish him well and hope that one day he will get a proper map & find his way out of France.
The two French cycle tourers who had latched onto us were capable of speaking English, which was a problem for Greg as he was American, however communication channels were open and it soon became apparent why a French man would want to speak English…he needed us to fix his bike. Greg set about re setting the de railer system and telling him what a crap bike he had while I just watched in case I could learn something…which I didn’t. We got to talking about tents and the heat inside etc and I mentioned that a good idea to combat the heat was to use a silver space blanket (like marathon runners are given at the end of the race) to line the tent. The next minute the French cyclist had dug deep into his pannier and gave me a brand new space blanket! After all he was going north and I was going south so I would likely need it more than him he felt…I didn’t tell him how cold it can get in the north.
Today I had ridden 110km and spent 10 euros.
I locked Shinto up to the nearest fence and hit the alpmat again..
Wait a minute..hold up…Shinto??...yes Shinto is my bike. Let me introduce you. She’s a 2007 Dawes galaxy touring road bike, with an added brooks B17 champion saddle and some shimano m250 double sided spd pedals. I had some extra padding and new bar tape fitted after the fall in Meersburg and the tyres are schwalbe marathon 28’s. She has the supplied rear racks from new and a set of Blackburn custom low rider front racks fitted. The pannier bags are carradice overlanders…yeah yeah…but why ‘Shinto’?
Well…in the summer of 2007 I rode up to Norfolk and around the coast and back home on my first tour since I was 16. My wife had bought me a book to cheer me up from the depths of depression one day about a bloke who walked to Santiago de Compostella or somewhere in Spain on a pilgrimage. His mule was called Shinto. I carried that book all over Norfolk and never really read more than 3 pages. I carried the same copy down the length of Germany and never read it. I carried it through France and never read it. It has become a kind of lucky charm to carry this book on tour but not read it (no wonder the bloody bike is so heavy)..anyway so I named my bike after the mule in this book I have never read but carry all over Europe on a bike, makes perfect sense to me!
.. Dawn came too early.
OP
OP
Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
The dew on the outside of the tent was more serious than yesterday I thought..yep it was raining. Greg decided to hang out on the site until the sun shone, I however in true bulldog spirit that separates us islanders from our colonial cousins I soldiered onto into the abyss in the direction of Sezanne along the green D373, a decision I did not regret as the clouds cleared and the sun set in. I did however have a wet tent on board, which helped to counter act the weight I had shed by ditching non essential items the night before.
Shinto was doing well. In Germany she had suffered on the bad road surfaces, I was determined to treat her better this trip, primarily because I had no clue how to fix her if she broke, and it was clear to me by now that there are no people left anywhere in France to help & certainly no bike shops within a weeks walk to help. If something went wrong I was gong to be well and truly ‘ferked’ as they say in France. I was careful not to ride over any cobblestones or bad roads, which had caused the damage in Germany. So I rode through Sezanne, instead of by-passing it according to plan, and instantly found cobblestones
It was humid and all day I was riding along behind a storm which was heading south. This was good for several reasons. Firstly I had a tail wind, secondly the roads were cleaned for me as I rode but I kept dry all day. Although I could see water everywhere there was (as usual) not a drop to drink. France was still ‘c’est ferme’ Village after village passed resembling ghost towns….where the hell is everybody I shouted at the top of my voice frightening the cows as I headed south east through Angllure and Mesgringigny where I took the D20 yellow line down into Troyes. Troyes is just another French town until you get to the middle bit, which like many towns tends to be the picturesque tourist part, or as far as I am concerned …where the bloody cobblestones are. I took a WALK around town and checked my spokes on the other side. I set off towards Terriers along the D49yellow road . Le camping terriers ‘c'est ferme monsewr’…oh really? Well there’s a surprise, ‘how the F*** does anybody in France make a living erm…Madame?’ I had no choice but to keep going. But where? I see no le camping’s on my map and Archie’s camping’s not being of much help here either. It looked like my first wild camp was looming.
Before I left I had spent some time reading a tour log on the net by a Brit cyclist who had ridden a similar route to me a few summers back. In it I recall him saying that the village of Les Riceys was worth a visit and that he had stayed there. So it seemed as good a bet as any so I pointed Shinto south again and rode off along the D452 yellow line to les Riceys. Tired and hungry, they hills arrived again. The village of les Riceys is remarkable ‘busy’, there were real people around and the entire place had been decorated in flowers on every house and window. It looked great. There were champagne tasting places and wine ‘stuff’ every where. There were even several good looking hotels with people eating outside on terraces. Then it dawned on me. The chap I had read about wasn’t camping, he was hotelling it, there was no Le camping in les Riceys. That was sit. I couldn’t cycle another km tonight, I was staying here whatever happened and I wasn’t about to lash out on a hotel when it wasn’t raining and Shinto and I had just lugged a heavy wet tent all the way up here. Then I saw a German wohnwagon driving along blocking the road (they are experts at that) clearly lost and looking for a campsite. I rode up next to the passenger window and banged on the window. If she could have looked down at me she would have done, but I am tall and on a big bike and she was sitting low down in her padded lardarse seat. I offered to show them the way to the wohnwagon camping (it’s a concrete car park with a sign on it that says car camping only). They seemed to decide that this maniac long haired English berk on a bike was their best bet of finding more comfort, so they followed me around the back of the big châteaux looking place to the football field car park. We could find nobody around and it was getting dark. I had done all I could to help them out but it seemed sleeping in a car park wasn’t their style so they ‘ferked orf’ without so much as a ‘viehlen danke’, leaving me to pitch my tent on the football pitch. I just hoped that when I woke up I wouldn’t be in the middle of the local cup final or something. I cooked up the rice tomato pre cooked pasta sauce and tuna and enjoyed it more because of the weight I knew I would not have to carry in the morning than the meal itself, although it did the job. Todays ride had been pleasant, isolated hilly and void of ‘le campings’. I fell asleep in the knowledge that I had ridden 138km heavily loaded and spent just 2 euros on a bottle of crappy fizzy orange drink because the only shop I found that was not ‘c'est ferme’ didn’t sell water, & a bic pen.
Shinto was doing well. In Germany she had suffered on the bad road surfaces, I was determined to treat her better this trip, primarily because I had no clue how to fix her if she broke, and it was clear to me by now that there are no people left anywhere in France to help & certainly no bike shops within a weeks walk to help. If something went wrong I was gong to be well and truly ‘ferked’ as they say in France. I was careful not to ride over any cobblestones or bad roads, which had caused the damage in Germany. So I rode through Sezanne, instead of by-passing it according to plan, and instantly found cobblestones
It was humid and all day I was riding along behind a storm which was heading south. This was good for several reasons. Firstly I had a tail wind, secondly the roads were cleaned for me as I rode but I kept dry all day. Although I could see water everywhere there was (as usual) not a drop to drink. France was still ‘c’est ferme’ Village after village passed resembling ghost towns….where the hell is everybody I shouted at the top of my voice frightening the cows as I headed south east through Angllure and Mesgringigny where I took the D20 yellow line down into Troyes. Troyes is just another French town until you get to the middle bit, which like many towns tends to be the picturesque tourist part, or as far as I am concerned …where the bloody cobblestones are. I took a WALK around town and checked my spokes on the other side. I set off towards Terriers along the D49yellow road . Le camping terriers ‘c'est ferme monsewr’…oh really? Well there’s a surprise, ‘how the F*** does anybody in France make a living erm…Madame?’ I had no choice but to keep going. But where? I see no le camping’s on my map and Archie’s camping’s not being of much help here either. It looked like my first wild camp was looming.
Before I left I had spent some time reading a tour log on the net by a Brit cyclist who had ridden a similar route to me a few summers back. In it I recall him saying that the village of Les Riceys was worth a visit and that he had stayed there. So it seemed as good a bet as any so I pointed Shinto south again and rode off along the D452 yellow line to les Riceys. Tired and hungry, they hills arrived again. The village of les Riceys is remarkable ‘busy’, there were real people around and the entire place had been decorated in flowers on every house and window. It looked great. There were champagne tasting places and wine ‘stuff’ every where. There were even several good looking hotels with people eating outside on terraces. Then it dawned on me. The chap I had read about wasn’t camping, he was hotelling it, there was no Le camping in les Riceys. That was sit. I couldn’t cycle another km tonight, I was staying here whatever happened and I wasn’t about to lash out on a hotel when it wasn’t raining and Shinto and I had just lugged a heavy wet tent all the way up here. Then I saw a German wohnwagon driving along blocking the road (they are experts at that) clearly lost and looking for a campsite. I rode up next to the passenger window and banged on the window. If she could have looked down at me she would have done, but I am tall and on a big bike and she was sitting low down in her padded lardarse seat. I offered to show them the way to the wohnwagon camping (it’s a concrete car park with a sign on it that says car camping only). They seemed to decide that this maniac long haired English berk on a bike was their best bet of finding more comfort, so they followed me around the back of the big châteaux looking place to the football field car park. We could find nobody around and it was getting dark. I had done all I could to help them out but it seemed sleeping in a car park wasn’t their style so they ‘ferked orf’ without so much as a ‘viehlen danke’, leaving me to pitch my tent on the football pitch. I just hoped that when I woke up I wouldn’t be in the middle of the local cup final or something. I cooked up the rice tomato pre cooked pasta sauce and tuna and enjoyed it more because of the weight I knew I would not have to carry in the morning than the meal itself, although it did the job. Todays ride had been pleasant, isolated hilly and void of ‘le campings’. I fell asleep in the knowledge that I had ridden 138km heavily loaded and spent just 2 euros on a bottle of crappy fizzy orange drink because the only shop I found that was not ‘c'est ferme’ didn’t sell water, & a bic pen.
