Bigtallfatbloke
New Member
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.
“ 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.