...I just nipped down to Montpellier..but I'm back (again) now!

[Bigtallfatbloke]

The appearance of the bic pen in my saddlebag made my day…and I set about writing down my thoughts on the trip so far. Here is a direct quote from my log as of the 18th of August:

“ Happy so far. Tough rides across ‘rolling hills’ and today’s headwind has me very concerned I can make Montpelier by 1/9. The heat will be another factor and it could stop me riding all day. France seems to be closed. No cars on roads & everything is shut. The French I have spoken to seem to know only one word..’NON’. Shinto is doing well but the load is WAY too heavy. I feel as if God is with me, seems stupid but there you go. I have met some nice people. Water is my biggest issue I need to carry two bottles + a 1 &1/2 litre bottle and it is not available easily. This place is so bleak that if I have a bike issue nobody would ever find me. I just pray I don’t. There aren’t as many campsites here as people said & many are closed. Apart from one night the sites have been very poor. I am spending less though and hope these savings will help me when I get south where it is expensive. I am very tired, would like to take more time but can’t. Also I am bored on my own. No power for camera anywhere. Found just one supermarket from day one to 18/8! I feel insecure and just want to get this done. There is no safety net and this country is very alien to me. I wish the family would call/text more, it’s my only lifeline to safety. I think I will need to ride out of the midday heat which will really slow me down. France isn’t as picturesque as many claim, it’s dirty and derilict for the most part.

So you can see that things weren’t all rosy. I had put myself into a strange and challenging situation (for me) & was finding it tough..but even though I felt as I did, I still enjoyed it..how weird is that?

I woke early and to my relief the referees whistle was actually a bird singing. I packed up and left before anybody asked me for my ticket. I took some time in the village to take a few snaps before riding off. If I thought yesterday was tough, today was going to to be tougher. My days target destination was the town of Dijon. Shouldn’t be a problem, I thought, the D971 or N71 in codebooks looked ok on paper anyway…which is when I got hit by the worst headwind I have ever ridden in. I was having to pedal down steep hills just to keep Shinto from stopping. We had to fight for every metre today & I didn’t get onto the big front cog wheel all day.. On the good side the sun was shining brightly all day and I was riding without a shirt for the first time since I was 16, when I rode to Paris with some school friends. In Chatillon Sur Seine something remarkable happened.. I found some shops that were open. I bought some ready made Chile con carne for dinner which added to the weight as it only comes in giant size tins and it was pretty much all they had which I recognised as edible, cheap & and easy. No problem I thought , at least the road is flatter today. I should have looked closer at the map as south of Chatillon Sur Seine the green straightish line starts looking more like a green snake, a clear indicator of the hills I had to face with my giant sized tin of Chile con carne. The heat and the hills were unbearable here. My knee was painful again and I was concerned something would tear inside of it soon. I needed to get to Dijon but it was looking doubtful. I headed through forgettable places like Chanceaux and Champagny over the top of a plain. Then came the small village of St. Seine L’Abbaye. As I approached I could see it down in the valley before me. It would be a fun ride down, but I could see the hill on the other side which I would have to climb if I were to make Dijon that night. My knee told me not to try the climb until the morning, my head told me to agree and my heart sank as neither my map or my GPS were showing any signs of le camping in St Seine l’Abbaye. I took a deep breath and rolled off down the hill. What a ride! As I went down the wind seemed to get behind me for the first time all day and the hill went on forever and got steeper. I was moving like a bullet, well more like a tank on skies really. My Computer and GPS clocked me on that hill at 84.3km/hr!! I was hanging on for dear life, petrified my wheels would fall off or something. I was fully loaded as well and the brakes weren’t going to stop me at that speed. As I got nearer the village the wind seemed to move around to the front again (it was me moving not the wind) and slowed me down a bit for the final approach to St. Seine l’Abbaye international. Phew…total exhilaration and full realization of my own mortality had finally arrived in my life. I taxied to the terminal building otherwise known as the only small shop in town, took a deep breath and went shopping for some bread (which they didn’t have) and some fresh fruit etc..but above all water in readiness for the climb I knew I would have to face. As I left the shop I looked up and saw a sign that read ‘Le camping municipal st seine ‘abbaye’. There is a God!...so much for le page juenes and Archie’s campings poi files. I wasn’t going anywhere near that hill until morning after all.

I pitched on the only few square metres of flat grass on the site and set about cooking my meal and taking a shower etc. The ground was heaving with ants so I moved the tent a few times to where there were less ants. ..who then went and told all their shitty little ter mates where I was. A proud looking French lady well dressed with grey hair and too much jewellery rolled up after my meal of giant sized Chile con carne announcing that she was the warden of the site and that she would like to see my passport and take 5euros off me! Bloody cheek, and a rip off I thought but I was too tired to move on and paid up. Five euros for me then was a lot, the previous two nights had cost me a total of 3 euros and one of those included two tents, and what was with all this passport crap? I put it down to her need to feel important in her role and forgot about it. Little did I know that the further south I would ride the more demands for passports and official rubber stamps and receipt pads would increase, until reaching monumental bureaucratic rip off proportions in Montpellier.

As I was washing up the trangia 27 cook set I carry, a beaten up old white van drew up next to me in a cloud of dust. Out stepped a huge black guy with Rastafarian dreadlocks and two front teeth missing and uttered the immortal line….’watcha mate ‘ow are ya fella?’ He was from sowf London on a camping trip in the works van with his wife and two kids. They were lost, having driven almost as many kms as I had ridden and were wondering if this was a campsite or not…erm..hello…read the sign on the gate …wot sayeth..LE CAMPING followed by clear instructions to pitch and the warden will visit to collect zee papers and du monneyes. ‘Oh right you are mate’…nice people, and very friendly but not really all there I suspected. Here I tied my hi vis vest to the outside of my tent for the first time. It was all too easy for some other (not all there driver) to arrive after dark and for me to wake up with a wohnwagon on my head. This was going to save me from morons I convinced myself as I went to sleep….for five minutes. Five minutes?? Yep…Look at the name of the town…St Seine l’Abbaye ; it’s a village built around an old Abbey…and what do Abbeys have? Bloody great big loud Abbey bells that’s what, and muggings here had pitched right underneath them. No wonder the ants were trying to escape into my tent.
Tomorrow I faced the climb out of town or a longer but flatter yellow road alternative….I would sleep on it. I stuffed my ears with Pirates of the Caribean music from my ipod to cover up the bells and headed off to the land of nod. I had ridden 85km and spent 15 euros today. Tomorrow the aim point was to be the town of Chalone Sur Saone south of Dijon.

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

As I was getting accustomed to I awoke at dawn and set about repacking the gear. I was into this ritual now and new how it went together. I have my own system and every thing goes in the same place each morning and night. That way I can find things easily and I don’t lose things (except pens).
Shinto seemed to have rested well too and we decided to forget the wimpy yellow road option attack the big hill full on first thing and get it done with. I think it took nearly an hour to get up it, but get up it we did in full sunshine. Looking back down on the village I felt a sense of pride mixed with stupidity, this was the biggest hill Shinto & I had ever ridden up and we had done it fully loaded.
Pretty much as we reached the top the wind picked up and the skies darkened. The weather became progressively worse by the minute and when it finally rained it REALLY rained. Then to make things even more fun it got cold. The temperature dropped rapidly and out came the waterproof jacket and overshoes. Riding got harder and harder and eventually I found refuge in a grubby bus shelter. But it was clear to me that this storm was not going to pass today at least. I had no choice but to ride it out and get as far as I could, might as well get cold and wet moving south as sitting in a grubby bus stop eh? Near Beaune I pulled into a petrol station and asked the lady there what the weather would be like today and tomorrow (I did this by pointing to a pre translated set of useful French phrases…like when the hell is it going to stop pissing down Madam?) I was duly welcomed with a shrug and the definite fact that this would last for three solid days. Bon jour, my arse. I was freezing, so I put on my Gore-Tex wind stopper long cycle tights on the petrol station forecourt as Madame watched me strip off for the CCTV and don black cycle lycra tights, I wondered if I had made her day. I doubt it. I made Dijon during this bleak day, but to be honest apart from a brief peak inside it wasn’t worth stopping around for in the rain…besides Dijon mustard isn’t such a prized possession in our household, but that’s another story.

I was soaked , cold and peed orf with a capitol P. But ironically looking back on it , this was one of the better moments, simply because I did not give up, I got through it and did it without any help from anybody. In Charlene Sur Saone I decided that I should get a hotel in this downpour. Besides once again Le campings seemed to be non existent on my map and Archie’s camping’s. I headed for the Imbiss hotel who told me they wanted to take 77 euros off me, so I headed to the Formula 1 who were full, and finally to a the other small hotel whose full name escapes me..where the rather flirty woman on the desk informed me that whilst I was extremely welcome Shinto was not as he might mess up the carpet. Love me love my bike I thought and set off into oblivion again. As I was leaving she came after me and asked if I have ‘une petite tente’…my schoolboy French had my mind wondering for a second but then I realised she was trying to ask me if a campsite would help me. Just around the corner over the bridge was the municipal camping for the town, once again invisible on my map and Archie’s camping’s. She tried to spend as much time as possible giving me directions but I had no idea wtf she was talking about so I just hit the tit on the GPS and put my faith in satellite technology to guide me into the site. Twenty minutes later I was there, and what a tip of a place it was too. The pitches resembled passchendale in the rain and the bloke wanted to steal 10 euros off me for that. Things were getting more expensive as I went south. BUT for a ‘mere’ 3 euros extra I was allowed to chuck all my wet kit in the dryer while cooking my dinner…superb, dry gear for the morning at least. Two other solo cycle tourers had also clearly suffered at the hands of the flirtatious hotel receptionist and ended up on the front line of the western front like me. One guy who said nothing to me when I spoke to him…must have been Belgian I reckoned, and an Australian who was off to do the pilgrimage in the book I carry but never read. This guy was pissed off, I mean he was in a real strop with the weather, had he had a gun I doubt he would have seen the dawn break. Opposite me were a group of brits in campervans that had clearly seen better days. They were loud but friendly. I said hi and they instantly put two bottles of beer in my hands and invited me to a bar b qued pork steak, which having just eaten my own meal I declined, but the beer was not going anywhere. We spoke all evening about our respective trips and when they realised that I rode more Kms a day that they drove on average the free beer just kept coming and coming…all this while the grumpy aussie sat in his soaking wet gear, beer less, in a muddy tent cursing the world and his uncle, who was no doubt a Frenchman. Meanwhile my camera was being charged up on the reception so I would be able to take some pics tomorrow.
With 4 more bottles of beer ‘to put strengfff in ya legz’ I crashed out in my tent, totally dry inside, with dry clothes and a belly full of free beer. Like I said, there is a God.
I had ridden just 80km and spent 23 euros, the highest cost per km yet.

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

I felt bad about leaving early the next day without a proper goodbye to the Brit campervanners. But they likely wouldn’t have surfaced before midday based on a scientific theory I have relating to beer consumption per minute the night before. I wish them well and hope that one day the vans will move further than 100km without a breakdown. The skies were grey but it wasn’t raining. I was hoping that as the storm seemed to be going north that by riding south as fast as possible I would reach warmer parts soon. I was right, but for most of today the skies remained grey, but dry. I took things easy today as the prospect of getting through Lyon was looming larger with each km. Still just about everything in France was closed, it was like a time warp, or Martians had invaded and taken all the Frenchies away for experimentation or something. The only live person I met was another Ozzy cycle tourer who was drifting across France on his bike. Shinto was creaking badly after the soakings these last few days and the front brake needed tightening up, which as it turned out was to be the only mechanical ‘issue’ I faced all tour! I stopped for lunch in a small village square somewhere on the yellow line marked D933 possibly Cursery or nearby, and sat out under skies with gaps appearing to let the sun through, the weather was getting better. I ate the last bits of chocolate cake I had been unable to stuff down my gob last night and drank the last two free beers I had carried with me. The beer went directly to my legs and my desire to hurtle through France on a bike left me instantly, not a good thing when alone on a bike with nowhere to sleep, but I lived with it for an hour or so. I bypassed the town of Macon to the east, preferring to avoid the inevitable navigation issues and cobblestones and continue down on the D2 towards the campsite at Chatillon Sur Charlarone. It was a pretty straight road with limited traffic as usual, and again as usual what traffic there was behaved itself very well, allowing lots of room for me when passing. I often got toots of encouragement as well and people waving, which made a change from the mindless aggressiveness I have to suffer from white van man and chavvy oik nerds on Essex roads back in the UK.
I found a small shop and bought food and some cider of all things. I could not find the campsite I was heading for and so as a last resort hit the tit again on the GPS and Archie’s camping fired up and listed one site with no name on the D82 north of a small place called Relevant. I went there. As I approached I was convinced this was just another closed site and I would have to ride further to find somewhere, but just then I reached a farm gate with a sign on it..’Le camping’. by now the sun had come out and it was a glorious evening. The campsite was set in a wonderful apple orchard, there were only one or two French campers there, not even the inevitable Dutch wohnwagons had found this place yet. I made a promise to myself not to tell any other Brits where this wonderful little site is…but I think I just broke that one, oh well..Right next to where I pitched the tent was a real gem, a small private swimming pool for use by me the camper! I had a good meal, a wonderful apple orchard setting, a bottle of cider and my own private pool, and when the camping boddo finally arrived he was not only friendly, never used the word NON once, but also spoke English happily. On top of which he didn’t need my passport and only took 4 euros off me. It was here that I realized the French have a secret network of campsites which are not signposted from the main roads. They keep these to themselves preferring to send the ignorant hoards of wohnwaggons to the so called 3,4,5 star sites to get ripped off. Tonight I was grateful for their deceit. I swam and watched the sun go down in my own apple orchard, mildly blitzed on the local apple juice. I ate pork steak which I fried in olive oil garlic and herbs on my trangia stove, life was good, just wish the family were here to share it with me. I slept well having ridden 87 km and spent 12 euros. Tomorrow I would attack Lyon.

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

Up again early I set about planning the way through Lyon…then I decided there was no point and reverted to plan A. I switched on the GP and pulled up one of the pre programmed routes I had spent so much time planning last week. Today I would place myself at its mercy and pray it would get me around Lyon on the route I had told it to last week. Today was a HOT sunny day, and for the first time all trip I was to benefit from a tail wind all day. My GPS had been told to take me around to the east of Lyon and cross the river at the bridge at JONS. This route had also been chosen because it was seemingly flatter than to the west(??) and it passed right next to the airport, which I had thought would give me a halfway bolt hole home should I have felt like it at the time. In the event I was having so much fun that there was no way I was going to get on a plane at Lyon. I stopped to take pictures of the airport though a sunflower field and that was as close as I was going to go. After crossing the bridge at Jons I was eternally grateful for the GPS as the route took me the quickest way through the back streets and industrial areas which without the GPS would have been impossible to navigate I feel. Ok so it’s not the prettiest route but I just wanted to get there, so it suited my purpose. Standing on a railway bridge was a German cycle tourer ( I could tell by his outfit and his ortlieb bags). I went over and in ‘fluent’ German had a 30 minute chart about where we were both going, been etc…nice guy, just a shame about his nasty train spotting habit. My target was to be the camping site at Viennes south of Lyon. Oh how innocent I was. Vienne proved to be an absolute nightmare for a tired loaded cyclist. Suddenly I was thrown into a cesspit of busy fast highways, impossible to avoid where all the main roads converge coming out of Lyon next to the Rhone .It was time to dig out the hi vis vest and place the extra cool looking old Giro helmet on my head, I did not want to die here. I was aware that somewhere amongst all this chaos was a campsite, but I put all thoughts of finding it out of my head as I concentrated 100% on staying alive, and staying alive meant getting outta there and heading south, so that is what I did. I picked up the D4 yellow road (its’ tough to see on the map next to the nightmare auto route A7 and the Green E15) and peddled the F*** out all the time keeping up a running dialogue with God and Shinto, the only two around to help me. Talking to God helped, he provided a perfect cycle path out of Vienne that ran directly along the west bank of the Rhone once I crossed over to the west bank next to the red D386 or N86. This lane was superb, just bikes, no cars, great surface and right on the waters edge. I stuck with it as far as I could, some 20 kms approx. Then I Crossed back over to the eastern side on directions from Archie’s campings and my GPS to the village of St Rambert d’Albon where once again the French secret campsite policy came to my rescue. I rolled up to the bar, at speed, where a thirty something French cyclist lady looked me up and down with a look bordering on shock, I decided to put my shirt on. I had stocked up on a bottle of 3 euro Cotes du Rhone some cheese, tomatoes and grapes, pretzels and some cakes. It has been a long hot hard day and I didn’t need to be cooking another giant sized chille con carne! The campsite warden was a nice lady in her 70’s I would say. She was wrinkled, but the wrinkles were caused by years of smiling and too much sunshine not old age. She invited me to go swimming in the pool which was huge, and even better, void of humanity. I was free to pitch my tent wherever I liked for 5 euros including the pool. Brilliant, God was listening. The French lady who had looked me up and down as I arrived decided to pitch her tent 5 metres from mine, even though the field was empty and she could have pitched it 50 metres away at least. I was sitting there wondering if my cumbersome entrance to the site had actually had a positive impact on her when her husband rolled up and made her move the tent! I went swimming for an hour in the evening sunshine and having locked up Shinto under an apple tree finally crawled into my tent as the sun set to the sounds of a heated conversation in French from the woman’s tent some 25 metres away now.
It had been a tough ride. The GPS had done its job and got me around Lyon without any navigational nightmares I had ridden 138km and spent 17 euros.

Although as usual I had covered Shinto up in the flight polythene flight bag I carry for the benefit of Ryan air and easy jet, this morning there was no dew on it, I took this to be a good sign for the weather & set about breaking camp. As I packed the first bag up the heavens opened and it rained HARD. Great another day carrying a soaking wet tent. I ran for cover under the wash block roof and continued packing. The French couple from the tent at 25 metres cycled past, she waved au revoir while he, dressed in summer kit, kept his head down and suffered the soaking with a shrug. The washroom cleaner I asked about the weather told me it would last all day and I was tempted to re pitch and wait out the storm, but again the old Dunkirk spirit told me that the British thing to so would be to soldier on regardless, besides I wasn’t keen On spending out more just to sit on my own in a tent going nowhere. My previous experience of this type of cold rain on this trip told me to hang the embarrassment and put on my lycra wind stopper tights again, which I did. This immediately attracted the attentions of a middle aged balding German wohnwagon bloke who decided to chat with me…it took me a minute to get dressed and finish the ‘conversation’ by strangely forgetting all my German…that was it, I want hanging around here in a wet tent with a German oddball…I was going south and going now! I crossed back over to the west bank of the Rhône and headed down along the D86 N86 red line through tournon Sur Rhône and onto Valence. At Valence the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun and the sun came out. Within 20 minutes I was out of my winter gear and riding in just shorts again, if there is one thing I now know about French weather it is that it changes very quickly. Valence was another big town I had no interest in riding through, in the event I managed to ride past it without even noticing by sticking to the red N86 which for some reason became a green N86. I knew there were le campings at Charmes sur Rhône and Beauchastel but I had it in my legs to keep on keeping on so I set course for Montelimar where I intended to pitch at the municipal site. But I couldn’t find the municipal site so I let Archie’s campings do their thing again, after all for the last two nights they had produced gems of campsites for me. I followed the purple line on the GPS and it took me right into the campsite just to the northeast of town down some farm lanes. It had a pool full of French kids and a bar full of mafia types clearly in charge of the le reception. I asked how much for my tent for just one night and the underling Mafioso referred this important decision up the chain of command to the Mafioso with bigger sunglasses. “14 euros”..erm…’ferk orf monsewr au revoir, and with that I left. It wasn’t the cost which was a rip off, but I got a bad feeling from the place, Shinto would not have been safe there. It was the right call I am sure, but tough because it was late, I was tired and had no clue how far the next site would be. However I knew I had food, water and a tent and a cooker, all I needed was a 2 metre plot of grass next to the river and I’d be ok. I re-crossed the Rhone and turned south again at le Teil back on the N86 red line where just north of Viviers I saw a le camping sign and rolled in for the night. My decision to move on from camp mafia was the correct one. I was welcomed by a podgy looking French lady with a nice smile who was more interested in my bike than my money. She showed me the swimming pool which was huge and once again I had it all to myself. I was free to pitch wherever I liked and the entire site smelled of the wild herbs that were growing everywhere. I put up the tent away from the inevitable Dutch and German wohnwagons and went for a swim. Once again God had been listening, this was superb. The podgy woman charged me 10 euros which although expensive for what I had been used to I accepted given it’s more southerly location, great pool and pleasant atmosphere, I was also totally knackered. I cooked up a Beef bourguignon (well it was ready made in another giant sized tin but tasted superb) and set about my nightly text message home. Just then my dinner guests arrived, late. I looked up into the eyes of two Lamas. I felt bad that I had already eaten so I threw them the two apples I had picked from the orchard on the way into the campsite and went to bed. Today I had ridden 112km and spent 19 euros.

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

Today I was heading to Avignon. I woke up and opened the fly sheet …I was greeted by a swarm of black ants all over my gear, yep I had been cooking too close to the tent and these little shoots had found me. I brushed them away and packed up my stuff. Since Lyon, navigating had become very easy. All I had to do was follow the Rhône south…that was it. But not only had the navigation got easier but the winds had moved around and were coming from the north…yeeha!! A tail wind all the way to the coast beckoned. I rode along some gorgeous vineyards and through Châteaux Neuf Du Pape. I wanted to by My wife a bottle there but I couldn’t carry it on the bike, besides it’s cheaper in Essex than in the tourist tasting traps. The roads around Avignon were very busy and I found it hard to keep off the bigger roads and still get where I needed to go. Avignon itself is a nice old town full of old buildings and the famous bridge which stops half way across the river. I noticed that all the houses and the general atmosphere of this part of France were getting more and more like southern Spain with each kilometre I rode south. I went to the town of Orange as well. On the way in, it has a nice roman gate…erm…otherwise it’s a town and I don’t do towns, besides a beer in Orange costs 3 euros for a small 25cl glass…’ferk that monsewer’. Here is a section from my tour log Saturday:

Well it seems I have arrived in holiday world! Avignon is heaving with sunburnt overweight brits in campervans. I am sitting in a campsite bar in Avignons municipal camping site on the island in the river near the famous bridge next to the pool. This place feels alien, full of commercial madness, busy and expensive. I have so much time to kill! I can't get up to the castle because Shinto does not like steps. This place is all about the car. I think I will go and get some wine and crash next to the pool. Tomorrow is the final ride day, I will have reached Montpellier in just 9 days! Tina just texted to say she can’t alter the flight. I feel depression for the first time in over a week. I have found some heffe bier at 4.80 euros a bottle! I though F***it and bought two bottles. Everybody I see here has someone, I am the only one alone wherever I go it is sole destroying. If only I could find somebody who would ride these tours with me it would be better. I cannot complain really, because Shinto and God have been constant companions to me this week. Maybe I’ll find somebody to talk to in Montpellier. I suppose I can ‘hang’ on the beaches for a week, but where to sleep? Campsites I hear are full or over 25 euros a night!!

Today my destination was Montpellier! I was way ahead of schedule thanks to putting in some early high km days and a strong tail wind from Lyon south. My pre planned GPS routes when used had really saved me a lot of time and hassle and so far I had had no mechanical problems at all with Shinto. I could have stayed a day more in Avignon but it is just another expensive town and by now all I was really thinking about was getting to the beach. I left early as usual and took a leisurely ride down the D2a D2 yellow to Beaucaire and then the D15 yellow to Arles. It was hot and getting hotter. My thermometer told me that even when riding (allowing for wind cool factor) it was 35 centigrade! There are no watering holes either between villages and even then it’s always pot luck if anything would be open. I was pre hydrating & carrying as much water as I could but still I ran out. I wanted to go to Arles to see the town where my son had stayed on a school exchange visit. He had reported back that ‘it wasn’t all that’ & I have to agree with him that it isn’t. There are several old roman ruins and an old roman amphitheatre with are worth a look, but otherwise once again I have to say it is just another busy town, dirty and expensive with terrible road surfaces for bikes. I adopted my usual approach to towns I ended up in, I took a couple of pics to show I had been there then legged it out as fast as I could. It amazes me that hoards of tourists actually bother to visit these places and spend cash in these tourist traps, oh well I suppose if it floats their boats and makes them happy…but I suspect the reality is that when the see me on my tour bike they would all rather be on it instead of being ripped off left right and centre and stuck in the traffic jam back to the over priced hotels.

Next stop Montpellier…yee ha! Looks like we are going to make it Shinto me old mate!

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

I approached Montpellier from the the south east after a horrendously long barren hot ride in along the D570 and D58 roads through the Parc Naturel region de Camargue. I can't tell you why it’s designated as a regional park, it all looked as bleak as everywhere else to be 100% honest. It was 35c+ in the shade and I had no water left. I was riding in pretty much nothing and in the breeze I felt like I wasn’t getting burnt…Mug. I had sun cream on but being without a good woman to rub it into my back , well I would pay the price later. I did find one hut en route selling melons and other such important ‘local produce’ like the Dijon mustard they didn’t have in Dijon. I rolled up like some kind of pale rider on a horse with no name and shouted to the owner women ‘Avez vous du l’eau?’ …she looked perplexed; was it that I didn’t like her melons or had I forgotten to spit tobacco or something? I repeated the question and eventually the penny dropped, here in front of her was a cyclist in need of water and prepared to pay for it, I could see the cog wheels of her mind turning as she decided how much to rip me off for…then she announced that it would be 3 euros for two small bottles!!! BEEEITCH! I bought it only because I was in serious risk of dieing of dehydration, but one day I will return and poison all her melons.
I was getting close to the med now, I thought I should be able to smell it soon…but I saw it first. In my imagination the first view of the med had been of a blue sea under a blue sky. What transpired in fact was a chemically polluted purple sea under a brown sky from the chemical works…nice. I headed through the village of Aigues-Mortes, if Mortes meant death then this place is correctly named. Then up into La Gru du Roi and la grand Motte, each characterless shiteholes full to capacity with tourists eager to get ripped off. My image of Montpellier was fading fast. I knew that I could not stay here so I went along the ‘Road to hell’, other wise known as the coastal D59 into Palavas Les Flots to find a campsite. The traffic here was just unbelievable, the road surface was almost unridable and everything just added up to a serious accident waiting to happen. I HAD to get out of here fast. I went into the first campsite…here I was greeted with suspicion, primarily because I was on a mode of transport alien in these parts, and secondly because I was English. They wanted to take 29 euros off me for one night camping in their hell hole. I decided to fill up my water bottles and move on, but was tracked down by a bouncer with a walkie talkie in a golf mobile and told to check in or leave, as I was deciding to leave the asswipe turned his cart without looking and hit Shinto and I fell. Luckily all was ok but this scumbucket very nearly ruined the entire trip. I moved along to the next excuse for a campsite, Montpellier plage. I was tired, hot, thirsty and pissed off. I had no choice but to hand over the 20 euros and pitch on a 2 metre patch of litter and fag ends. I had already decided that I was out of here on the next flight and texted home to make arrangements. Hang the extra cost, this place was just pure HELL on earth.

Opposite me was a group of four peeps from England getting drunk outside a small tent. We got talking and ended up sharing the evening together. They had jumped on a plane with nothing but the clothes they wore and bought a tent on arrival. One of them could sing well on his guitar and the inevitable sing-along ensued on the beach. Loti was a very cute lady and we instantly clicked, we seemed to have a lot in common as characters & she had a superb body ..not that that had anything to do with it of course. The temptation to hang out with her was strong, but after a nice evening on the beach I made what was the correct decision and left for the airport at 5am having had no sleep. My plane checked in at 7.30am and I had a bike to get on board. I rode as directed by the GPS in the dark to the airport and re packed all my gear in the groundsheet I had been sleeping in all tour to save excess baggage fees. I couldn’t get my pedals off the bike and was worried they would refuse to check Shinto in, so I got some tape from the air France counter and covered the pedals which did the trick. Looking out of the window on the flight home I could see the entire Rhone valley where I had ridden down in the last few days, it looked huge. Northern France was covered in cloud and I was happy I wasn’t underneath all that lot! On arrival at Stanport airstead Shinto was in one piece (unlike on arrival n Bremen in July) and I loaded her up and rode home against a strong southerly headwind and under cloudy English skies. I was happy to be home. I had achieved all I had set out to do, I wasn’t bothered about the rubbish that is Monthellier, I had just ridden across France on my bicycle and nobody can ever take that achievement away from me.

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

To sum the trip up, it was superb, tough at times but rewarding. I wasn’t there for the scenery which I am sure will surprise most cycle tourers, I just needed to prove to myself and the world that I could do it on my own, and I did. I have several words of advice for anybody looking to follow such a path:

1) bring you own loo paper and disinfectant..this is France
2) Make sure you know how to fix everything on your bike yourself. I saw just one bike shop all trip and that was , of course, c’est ferme monsewer’
3) Take less gear than I did
4) Plan your routes but be flexible on the ground.
5) Beware of hot young women like lotti it isn’t worth it!


Will I do it again…no, I’ve done it now, but I will go back to France with a cycle group or partner one day and do a more relaxed trip perhaps, but for now it’s just me and Shinto out there and we aren’t stopping for nobody!

Bon soir
Cette Journal c’est ferme .
http://s412.photobucket.com/albums/pp207/Bigtallfatbloke/?albumview=grid

 

[spindrift]

What. A. Post.

 

[HelenD123]

Superb write-up.

 

[Tony]

Chapeau from me, too! You do realise that you make me want to go straight back out again?

 

[yoyo]

What an enthralling account. Your posts have me totally behind schedule for the day! For the most part I know what you mean about French towns and scenery. Mr Yoyo and I decided to holiday in France this year and give Switzerland a break for fear of getting tired of it. We took quick trips to Basel and Heidelburg and these were the best days. However, I do think you might have enjoyed Dijon more if the weather had been kinder. We had a lovely day there and it was a city worth visiting; we also have some good photos of Troyes. On our travels I viewed the hills as a cyclist and am under no illusion that getting around on two wheels is easy. Cycling from the Channel to Med and the lenght of the Rhine are two tours I would love to undertake and your accounts have not put me off. You're right about the loo roll even if public hygiene in France is infinitely better than it used to be. You have done so well with your high mileage and I hope that you continue to recover your health and wellbeing.

 

[Bigtallfatbloke]

Thankyou all.

The Rhineradweg bikeline maps are still sitting on my floor here..I may still do this ride one day..I only hesitate because it is getting towrds later summer now and I dont fancy the Rhine in the rain much....possibly next spring...who knows....it's an option. As indeed is the Dutch LF1 & LF10...I mean I have th emaps now so I may as well use them! I reckon the rhine radweg would be just over a weeks ride for me if I am solo & the weather is good...but if I rode with a group or partner then it woud be longer especially if city centres are on the agenda....dunno...my head is still full of new bike syndrome and a little voice that keeps whispering ...'What about America?"...." you tough enuff?"

 

[spindrift]

I only hesitate because it is getting towrds later summer now and I dont fancy the Rhine in the rain much

September's a great month for cycle touring.

Your posts have made me....pensive.

 

[Smeggers]

An excellent read. It gives Bill Bryson a run for his money!

 

[spindrift]

An excellent read. It gives Bill Bryson a run for his money!

Tell you what, it makes me wanna get me Dawes serviced, which is the sign of a great travelogue I spose....