FNRttC The Fridays Tour 2023: London-Paris-London, June 16-24

[StuAff]

Day/night/day one
This will be a long one. A very long one. So long I’ll probably write it in chunks as and when and might not finish it…but here goes. The excellent club tour report is here, and I’d recommend you read that first, both for a handy entertaining summary with some splendid pictures, and for its multiple perspectives. That’s the CliffNotes, or YouTube edit version. This, on the other hand, will be the multi-volume encyclopedia, or the blu-ray extended edition box set with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Everything you didn’t want to know about this tour and hadn’t thought about let alone asked. Not just the riding but the food, the hotels, the Calvados, the trivia and the tantrum (singular, mine). More of everything. So it’ll go on a bit, just like this introduction…

First day’s riding was, aptly for the club, a night ride, from our usual starting point outside the NT on the South Bank down to Newhaven and hence the Saturday morning ferry to Dieppe. With the need to make that sailing, head honcho Tim had decided we’d get going at eleven rather than the usual midnight, just in case. Given my working hours (2130 finish), touring post-work wasn’t a sensible option, I’d have enough gear as it was.… I had the choice of taking an extra day off, or (also if I couldn’t get the night off) the usual motorised trip home and then switching bikes and gear and riding solo to Newhaven- much the same distance as everyone else would be doing, though somewhat flatter, and I’d easily beat them to the port. Fortunately, I got the night off, so option A it was. And no, I didn’t consider riding up to the smoke for once…I could have done it, naturally, but another 80 hilly miles with 8.5 kg of luggage for some reason did not appeal. I did a fully-loaded test ride on the previous Sunday, 19 miles & nearly a thousand feet of climbing, including up and down Southwick Hill Road (1.3km at an average 6.9% gradient, maximum 9.7%) with no issues.

For once, then, a fairly-relaxed pre-night ride day. A couple of errands in the morning, including picking up another of my bikes after a service (the Tripster had its own service the previous week, just in case of delays etc, but got a clean bill of health). Packing didn’t take long (item no.1 after last year, the D-lock), though (as ever) I hadn’t thought of everything. Set off at 1915, with plenty of time to make the 1954 train to Waterloo (the last fast service of the night)…I get about a mile down the road and wonder if I’ve forgotten my earphones. Pull over and check. Yes, I had. Whoops. Rather than go shopping at Waterloo/on the ferry/in Dieppe, a quick return home, shove them in my pocket, off again…in plenty of time for that train, thankfully, about fifteen minutes to spare (other, slower services would still have done to make the rendezvous). Service runs a bit late but then gets into Waterloo pretty much on time, and I fill my bottles and have the pre-ride sandwich before leisurely making my way down to the NT, where I was among the first arrivals, just after ten.

Below: The standard bike-on-train photo

The south bank is never that quiet when we meet up there, and at this earlier hour it was even more banging than usual. The tourists (27 of us after a few sadly had to withdraw for various reasons, 25 were at the start with two to join later) were augmented by twenty or so others for the night. Usual safety talk, and a few introductions/reintroductions later, we were off, mostly on the now-stock route south, though there was naturally rather more traffic than we usually encounter. Down we went through Vauxhall, Stockwell, Clapham (alongside rather than through the Common), across Tooting Common, then Mitcham, Wallington and Coulsdon. Bob took a tumble but was thankfully only a little shaken and good to continue. We had an unexpected walk on the approach to Farthing Down due to roadworks, before the climb (and descent) itself, thankfully uneventful.

We made it to the scout hut at Burstow bang on schedule, just before 3am. We were pretty much blessed on the mechanical situation all night, there were very few if any delays (the excellent weather undoubtedly helped, less grot on the road to deflate tyres). Max and crew laid on splendid hospitality, as they always do. The usual grind of Turners Hill followed, then the rolling swoopy stretch through Ardingly, ended by the why-is-this-blasted-thing-here kick into Lindfield.

Progress continued to be steady, and we were into Newhaven before 7.30, so plenty of time for breakfast before the ferry (check-in closing at 10.15 for 11am sailing). Tim had arranged for the tourists to eat at the Brewers Fayre pub near the ferry terminal (the others had a separate breakfast venue booked, or could make their own arrangements). After a pretty good breakfast, with efficient friendly service, round to the terminal. With a large group and post-Brexit passport controls, getting the paperwork done took a little while (gave Tim the passports, checked, handed passports back, boarding cards, cabin tickets…). Nonetheless, we were soon on the boat and ready to go…to Dieppe, and to sleep. Most of us found lounge seats and dozed sporadically. Thankfully, there were few loud annoying messages on the tannoy, and I for one got a least a bit of a nap before our arrival in Dieppe (on time). Rosemary, who’d got the ferry to Ouistreham (Caen) earlier in the week and ridden from there, met us there. We’d all made our arrangements for accommodation, so groups splintered off here and there as we headed in to town. Self, Peter and Nasir were all in digs on the southern side of town, so we got the grindy climb on the D925 the others would ‘enjoy’ in the morning out of the way earlier than them. I think that was the smart choice…

Nasir was in the F1 (brand name posh, hotel budget), Peter and I (and someone else, it transpired) were in the Ibis, where I’d stayed on a somewhat ill-fated day/night in 2016. Making my way to Le Havre after the Brussels-Ostend night ride (Saturday night of the May Day weekend), I’d set off from my hotel in Poperinge, not too far from the French border, at 7.21am, for what should have been a long but fairly straightforward run to a further overnight in Dieppe. After an increasingly fraught day, with an off, multiple excursions into fields, a train to try and catch up a bit, I made it to Dieppe after dark only to do multiple laps of the town failing to find the Ibis. I eventually got there after midnight! Given that little escapade, I’d taken extra care in route planning, and aforementioned grind notwithstanding, we were soon there.

Despite being on the ground floor, the split-level design of the hotel meant I had to lug the bike down a few stairs (the receptionist offered a store room but we both opted for in room). Plenty of space for the titanium roomie. Shower and laundry later, Peter and I went round to the nearby retail complex for dinner at Flunch, a self-service chain restaurant (hot food cooked to order). I just had bread and cheese as I didn’t feel that hungry (suspend your disbelief…), Peter had a steak. Then, an early night beckoned, it had been a very long day, night and day…

 

[Domus]

That was my first steak (Haché) for about three years after altering my diet to be less meaty. It was VERY tasty.

 

[StuAff]

Day Two: Dieppe to Evreux

After an early night, an early start. As our ride leaders had advised, and I knew all too well from previous experience, getting food in France (and most of Europe…) on Sundays and public holidays can be a real problem. Those supermarkets that open only do so during the mornings. Finding restaurants and cafes at all in rural areas, let alone in suitable locations, can also be an issue. And we were a big group too, of course… We’d therefore been advised on certain days- and this was most emphatically one- to have a packed lunch. The obvious choice for that, as France remains a nation devoted to fresh bread (none of this Chorleywood process cotton wool stuff here, most of the time at least), a boulangerie stop- many bakeries (and there are many, many) open early in the morning, seven days a week. In this case, I decided to get that done before breakfast, allowing plenty of time to make the rendezvous for out-of-town riders, just round the corner by the Decathlon store, at 8.30. I was on the road before 6.30, and despite a navigational error or two, I was back at the Ibis, lunch in bag, within half an hour. A leisurely and comprehensive breakfast followed, and something purporting to be English Breakfast tea reminded me why I generally stick to coffee in mainland Europe. Didn’t do that again… It was a surprise to find Martin at breakfast. He’d had various misadventures finding the hotel last night. Been there, done that…

The original plan was to stop at a motorway service area. Plan went out the window when Rosemary advised of a major problem. There was a major (generally every five years) gathering of tall ships in Rouen. The grand finale: they were all sailing back to Le Havre, that day, with the result that every downstream crossing of the Seine was closed, including the ferries (to allow the ships passage and prevent crossings being blocked by spectators). The new route had therefore been created over the last couple of days before we left, and we’d go through Rouen rather than around it.

Team Ibis made its way round to our rendezvous point (a five minute ride) at the local Decathlon at 8.15. We had a bit of a wait for most of the in-townies. As Ross put it, “any thoughts of an easy day were dispelled as we made our way out of town up a long and testing climb. At the top of the hill we collected a handful of riders who had stayed out of town and hadn’t fancied rolling down to meet us at the railway station”. Or, they picked the best option

We had quite a few riders with various Shimano Di2 electronic gearing, and it seemed like a majority of the mechanicals we’d experience during the tour were Di2 related (this would surprise Ingrid the boss at my LBS when I told her, it certainly did me). This was the first. Our rider had taken the rear wheel out for easier access during fettling. As a result, the rear derailleur was no longer shifting across the whole cassette. Once the assembled IT help desk team decided it needed recalibration, the necessary buttons were pushed and shifty goodness restored. That sorted, off we went into an already damp morning. The portent of things to come…


Early progress was good and the terrain pleasant as we followed the Scie valley south, and we stopped in Auffay (commune of Val-de-Scie) for a regroup, some nipping into a tabac for coffee. Still damp, nothing more. Though those who didn’t have mudguards, I have no doubt, were already regretting that particular equipment choice. An hour or so later, the pretty town of Cléres had an open supermarket and boulangerie, and most of us took the retail opportunities, in my case the former, for further food. A couple of sharp testing climbs followed, no walking for me as yet if I remember correctly. Lunch stop was now a drive-through McDonalds on the north side of Rouen. I and a few others ate our picnics on the grass outside, and got to be entertained by a remarkably inept driver. Being unable to navigate the one-way system, she blundered over a high kerb because she wanted That Space Right There, Not Another One, right in front of us. She then proceeded to senselessly murder an innocent plastic bollard, just sitting there minding its own business, before parking across two spaces and finally taking her offspring for some saturated fat. She somehow didn’t damage her car in the process.

Thoroughly sated (in my case, the ham sandwich and pain au raisin were excellent), on we went. It was sunny at this point. Not that it would last. Rouen proved to have an excellent, and seemingly new, series of cycle lanes, and we smoothly made our way through the city. A further sharp climb (about 300ft and up to 8%) followed south of Rouen. And then the rain…

When I say rain, I mean ‘deluge’. Tim referred to it as biblical. Nope, I’ve ridden through biblical. This was apocalyptic. If it had a soundtrack, one track above all others came to mind, by those Four Musicians of The Apocalypse, Slayer.

(for something slightly more gentle, ‘Riders on the Storm’, perhaps). Photos definitely worthy of one of those album covers… If this seems like I’m exaggerating, there were orange (second highest level) warnings in more than 40 departments, the Eiffel Tower struck by lightning twice, widespread flooding, including in Dieppe, hail, winds of up to 123 km/h…and we were in the middle of it. The ride rapidly splintered as small groups sought shelter wherever they could, and waymarkers got heroically drenched. I ended up with three others in a bus shelter, as we waited for it to ease, even a tiny bit. Eventually, we pressed on, still in heavy rain, and the roads were awash in places, like fords. Oil got thoroughly washed out of drivetrains. I did have my Shimano Gore-Tex boots on, but they’re not impervious to water, and when they get wet they stay wet. The Sealskinz socks would have least kept the feet dry. If I hadn’t left them in the pannier. That wasn’t nice. The boots would take a couple of days to dry, before I got them wet again…

Helen did a short video which shows the conditions we were suffering.
Below, the view from that bus stop…

Finally, the rain eased off then stopped. It was pleasant again (well, apart from us all being drenched, and squeaky drivetrains…). Evreux, a mere 77 miles from the Ibis, was finally reached just after seven. Making my way from our rendezvous point at the Cathedral to the hotel, I managed to crack the screen on my phone (thankfully not too badly, I’ll get it fixed at some point). Quite a few of us were in the Greet hotel (a rebranded Ibis budget given a boho chic eco makeover, much of it cycling themed), and the helpful staff let us store the bikes in a downstairs room.
Below: rather nice print in my room

Though the Greet had a restaurant, it was closed on Sunday evenings, and the receptionist recommended the amusingly named London Pub brasserie a short walk away. Most of us ended up eating there. Beef carpaccio proved excellent, and on the dessert menu there was a cafe gourmand, and a cafe gourmand London, the latter featuring (for a very reasonable €1.50 extra) a shot of Calvados. Ah, that’ll do nicely. I did forget the knack of drinking it without sheet-of-flame-down-the-throat, but I’d have more practice during the week. And then back to check if anything was drying (yes, apart from the boots, natch), and bed.

 

[StuAff]

Day Three: Evreux to Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines (and vicinity)

I’d had a bit of an annoying, and potentially awkward problem when booking the next hotel, where we’d spend two nights (tour of some city or other, that one with the big church and the tall tower; oh, and there's this big museum with some tiny Italian picture of a woman) on day two. Having put the full Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines name in the accor.com search engine, that promptly pointed me at what looked like a suitable Ibis budget, and I booked it. James (who’d presumably already spotted the same problem) advised me it was in fact the other Saint-Quentin, the city a mere 120 or so miles away. I wouldn’t actually mind visiting that one, MBK Industrie (Yamaha assembly plant, where they built my bikes with engines) does factory tours. Just not this week, obviously. Three of our Welsh contingent made a similar mistake, fortunately they too spotted it in time, though at the last minute (!) and were able to find somewhere suitable.

A shorter day today. And thankfully, a dry one (weather seemingly alternating between drowning and boiling us, though it wasn’t that hot today). In the (unsurprisingly forlorn) hope that the boots might vaguely approach dryness, I strapped them to the rear rack. No dice…


But first, back to breakfast. In keeping with the Ibis-budget-rebranded-for-hipsters aesthetic, the restaurant’s plates and glasses seemed to have been stocked by shopping at a brocante or three, nothing matching. Though the food was up to usual Accor group standards, the juice dispenser was out of order (DIY orange juice was still available with fresh fruit and a juicer). Worse, the coffee machine was also down. Bah! Nonetheless, nourishment was achieved. Though there were shopping opportunities en route (and I would again use them), the briefing had again advised DIY, and I walked down the street pre-breakfast in search of a boulangerie. A branch of La Mie Caline (sort of like Subway, only good…not like Subway then…) provided a freshly made sandwich and a rather nom (even when warmed and slightly crushed in the pannier when I ate it some hours later) berry tart.

Round to the meeting point at the cathedral for 8am, we didn’t get rolling again for 10 or 15 minutes. One short sharp climb on the outskirts of town as we went onto a plateau for a lengthy stretch, ending with an equally sharp descent (top speed for me 30 mph) into Ivry-la-Bataille, where an Intermarché supermarket awaited. Food and fluid supplies duly augmented, on we went. What went down clearly had to go up again, and there was another climb SE of Ivry towards Saint-Ouen. Most of the rest of the route was up-and-down, with some sharp kicks upwards. I did a bit of walking, but if the size 45 gear’s going to be faster than it’s the best choice.

Lunch stop was in the lovely little town of Houdan, at the 30 mile mark. A number of us were directed to a very nice walled garden by a local, and it proved a most excellent spot for victuals.

More rolling terrain for the next few miles, before another big kick at the 40 mile mark, east of Gambaiseuil. We had a lengthy puncture stop at Montfort-l’Amaury, where we had the only shower of the day. In those conditions, that made the cobbled roads (and these were more Classics pavé than tourist cobbles, i.e. big and rutted) rather treacherous, and a stretch of walking, or tentative riding for the braver, ensued until that sweet, beautiful tarmac resumed. Coming out of Montfort there was a long, fast descent, up to 9.5%, which ended with another upwards kick. This area seemed to be geologically twinned with the IOW…
Below: Montfort-l’Amaury

The last stretch was, unsurprisingly, firmly in the realms of urban grot, the western ‘burbs of Paris. Concrete, roundabouts, traffic galore. And tediously slow, of course. In other words, just like entering London in daylight hours. Lovely. After reaching our rendezvous point (the SQ town museum, in a concrete precinct), those of us in my particular Ibis Budget (Saint-Cyr-l’Ecole) made our way over there, a short further hop. A slightly unusual one for the chain (I think it was one they’d taken over rather than built, and a little rough round the edges), in a rather unusual location (back of a petrol station forecourt- charcoal briquettes out front, naturally). I was on the first floor. No lift, and the stairs were awkward as well- wide at the ground floor level then splitting into left/right sections. Really awkward. Nonetheless, otherwise usual chain standards present and correct- decent size room (I had a fan, handy for the laundry), all mod cons at breakfast, and helpful staff. I was able to borrow some microfibre cloths which finally got those shoes dry by Wednesday morning. Yay!

Tonight’s dinner proved a serendipitously good evening. Everyone (or nearly everyone) from the hotel took a short walk down the road to a tabac. Like the hotel, a bit rough around the edges, and the staff were probably expecting a quiet Monday night where it was barely worth their trouble opening. Then a load of Brits walk in (and a few more followed) in search of booze, food and booze. They turned on the charm. We were charmed. Ice thoroughly broken, some quality pub, er, tabac, grub followed. Merguez, frites et salade in my case. Tiramisu for afters. And was there a round of Calvados? Check: yes, Pontiff still head of church of Rome. Excellent!

 

[StuAff]

Day Four: Tour de Paris

A sort-of-rest-day today, and a lot more options for people. Some were doing their own thing: Robin was visiting a friend in Saint-Denis and getting his gearing looked at in Decathlon, and quite a few people considered they’d been there done that for Paris, so did Versailles, for one example. Peter was sadly sick, but thankfully recovered in time to continue the trip. The majority, nonetheless, were doing a tour of the obligatory tourist hot-spots. I didn’t consider doing a rest day big ride, as on a couple of tours, because Paris Urban Grot in all directions. For those doing the tour, there were further options: ride into the centre and back, or do the touristy bits, then find a bar and train back…

Back at the lovely concrete precinct at 9am, and then off we went, probably remarking to ourselves how light these bikes are without a week’s worth of touring kit. First stop was Versailles. Now, Tim had deputised, outsourced, lumbered and press-ganged various bods to talk about each point of interest. So we’d spent time (quite a bit of time in my case) cribbing off Wikipedia, mostly. If my memory is correct, Martin took this one. I had the pick of the bunch (IMHO) but also did an impromptu spot when we got to the Place d’Armes, That was the site of a very, very good evening out indeed back in September 1993, Jean-Michel Jarre’s home city date on his first European tour (previous shows had been one-offs, and I’d missed the Docklands one in ’88). I’d been a fan for years (still am), and when the UK shows clashed with the Reading Festival, Paris was my best option, so glad I took it. A mind-blowing show from the man who invented the modern stadium gig, it’s on YouTube in multiple versions, try this.

After a coffee stop at a superb vantage point in the Parc de Saint-Cloud, we crossed the river on the Pont de Sèvres and headed up to the next stop, the Bois de Boulogne (the Paris version of Regents Park for keen roadies, the Hippodrome de Longchamp, and, er, sex workers…). Iain got that one. Even by this stage, we were having rather more trouble with drivers than the rest of the tour combined. We’d had the odd close pass on the previous days, but aggro went up to eleven as we got into the city centre. At one point, I was right behind Tim when an idiot on a scooter nearly collided with him cutting into the cycle lane. No sooner had he done that, then he nearly hit me too. Some of us started practicing our French vernacular. I was thinking of trying the German, those curses have a marvellous anger to them. After riding up to the The Roundabout Of Death at the Arc- no we didn’t ride it!!- Ade did the talk on the Champs-Elysées, then we rode down it. Thankfully, a segregated cycle lane, unlike the last time I rode it back in 2010, touristy cobblestones and much less uncomfortable on 35mm tyres than they had been on 25s. Crossing the Place de la Concorde on foot was more than a little heart-in-mouth. Next up, the Louvre (James, fittingly as someone working in art and antiquities).

Below: A view from Parc de Saint-Cloud

Notre-Dame was next (Ash, perhaps?), and finally, my turn, for the piéce de resistance, the amuse bouche on the meal, Mr Eiffel’s big tower. But first, there were photos, obligatory, of smiling cyclists in front of the big pointy thing that says Paris even more clearly than those five letters. Tim was having issues with the self-timer on his camera when a very nice man with a very serious DSLR offered his assistance. Giorgi, a Georgian, took a few shots with Tim’s camera then his own, links to the full gallery here.

Now, in the absence of Ian our resident historian, sadly forced to drop out of the tour on doctors’ advice, I (a mere postgraduate degree level historian) felt obliged to step up to the plate and deliver Facts, Lots Of. No metaphorical General Ignorance buzzer would be sounded on my watch, oh no. I’d spent an hour or more compiling a comprehensive potted history of this legendary structure, and if anyone objected it was of course Tim’s fault. Ask a historian to give a talk and you’ll get one. I was nonetheless forced to truncate it a bit, as people were wilting somewhat in the midday heat and lunch was increasingly attractive, even to me of course. Some thought it was forty degrees…er, no, it wasn’t…but a drink beckoned, so off we went, avoiding some more dubious road users on the way.

Now, the original venue for lunch was dropped in favour of a somewhat nearer one, a branch of Au Bureau, a pub restaurant chain in similar style to All Bar One. Unfortunately, it proved more like All Bar None, staff might have been able to organise drunkenness in a brewery but they couldn’t manage it in an ‘office'. A round of drinks was procured, only for it to be discovered that the lot had been put on one tab. The first staff member dealing with us promptly went on break. It was taking an age to get served and food seemed like a dim and distant prospect when stomachs were rumbling. Tim resolved the situation by picking up the tab on Fridays club funds, and while some stayed put, most of us moved on to other places, including trains back to the digs. Self and quite a few others found a rather more efficient bar by the Pont de Billancourt, who had the revolutionary idea of taking individual orders and payments. It’ll never catch on. A croque monsieur hit the spot nicely for a somewhat late lunch (gone three!), and fuelled me up for the ride back to the ‘burbs.
Below: A large glass of beer, near the camera, at Au Bureau aka All Bar None

It was four, or thereabouts, when Team We Don’t Need No Trains headed back west. Having enjoyed a long speedy descent on our way in, we naturally had the payback of a no less grindy climb on the way out. A smaller, faster group and a more direct route naturally made somewhat faster progress, and I was back in St Cyr at about six. Tonight’s dinner was at a Portuguese restaurant just down from last night’s choice. Excellent grub at a reasonable price, with one slight mix-up where I got John’s main instead of the one I ordered, I'd naturally dug in when the mistake became clear…our host promptly gave me gentle ribbings about it repeatedly. An earlier night beckoned, we were back to an 8am start in the morning.

 

[Domus]

If you are going to be sick on a multi day tour do as I did, pick the rest day. A case of D&V is unpleasant at any time but stuck in a cheap hotel in Versailles with no air con is doubly so. I was so miffed at missing out on the sight seeing day in Paris. I had brought my La Vie Claire jersey specially to ride down The Champs-Elysées. If you wear very dark glasses, close one eye and squint with the other I look vaguely like Greg Lemond whilst wearing it. Still, I wore it the next day so technically I rode in Paris in my special jersey (sort of)

 

[StuAff]

If you are going to be sick on a multi day tour do as I did, pick the rest day. A case of D&V is unpleasant at any time but stuck in a cheap hotel in Versailles with no air con is doubly so. I was so miffed at missing out on the sight seeing day in Paris. I had brought my La Vie Claire jersey specially to ride down The Champs-Elysées. If you wear very dark glasses, close one eye and squint with the other I look vaguely like Greg Lemond whilst wearing it. Still, I wore it the next day so technically I rode in Paris in my special jersey (sort of)

View attachment 699070

Greg himself had diarrhoea on stage ten of the Tour in '86, rode for 60km in distress. He gets back to the team motorhome. It was used for storage, he'd never been in it before. But he knew it had a toilet. He finds the cubicle. Toilet gone, it's filled with more boxes. He opens one to find postcards of Bernard Hinault. Desperate, he makes a cavity & squats down. As Richard Moore put it, "The common perception is that Greg LeMond was crapped upon by Bernard Hinault at the 1986 Tour de France. What most don’t know is that LeMond got there first".

 

[Domus]

I have read that story, Greg says it was a rotten peach given to him by a spectator

 

[ianmac62]

Day Four: Tour de Paris

A sort-of-rest-day today, and a lot more options for people. Some were doing their own thing: Robin was visiting a friend in Saint-Denis and getting his gearing looked at in Decathlon, and quite a few people considered they’d been there done that for Paris, so did Versailles, for one example. Peter was sadly sick, but thankfully recovered in time to continue the trip. The majority, nonetheless, were doing a tour of the obligatory tourist hot-spots. I didn’t consider doing a rest day big ride, as on a couple of tours, because Paris Urban Grot in all directions. For those doing the tour, there were further options: ride into the centre and back, or do the touristy bits, then find a bar and train back…

Back at the lovely concrete precinct at 9am, and then off we went, probably remarking to ourselves how light these bikes are without a week’s worth of touring kit. First stop was Versailles. Now, Tim had deputised, outsourced, lumbered and press-ganged various bods to talk about each point of interest. So we’d spent time (quite a bit of time in my case) cribbing off Wikipedia, mostly. If my memory is correct, Martin took this one. I had the pick of the bunch (IMHO) but also did an impromptu spot when we got to the Place d’Armes, That was the site of a very, very good evening out indeed back in September 1993, Jean-Michel Jarre’s home city date on his first European tour (previous shows had been one-offs, and I’d missed the Docklands one in ’88). I’d been a fan for years (still am), and when the UK shows clashed with the Reading Festival, Paris was my best option, so glad I took it. A mind-blowing show from the man who invented the modern stadium gig, it’s on YouTube in multiple versions, try this.

After a coffee stop at a superb vantage point in the Parc de Saint-Cloud, we crossed the river on the Pont de Sèvres and headed up to the next stop, the Bois de Boulogne (the Paris version of Regents Park for keen roadies, the Hippodrome de Longchamp, and, er, sex workers…). Iain got that one. Even by this stage, we were having rather more trouble with drivers than the rest of the tour combined. We’d had the odd close pass on the previous days, but aggro went up to eleven as we got into the city centre. At one point, I was right behind Tim when an idiot on a scooter nearly collided with him cutting into the cycle lane. No sooner had he done that, then he nearly hit me too. Some of us started practicing our French vernacular. I was thinking of trying the German, those curses have a marvellous anger to them. After riding up to the The Roundabout Of Death at the Arc- no we didn’t ride it!!- Ade did the talk on the Champs-Elysées, then we rode down it. Thankfully, a segregated cycle lane, unlike the last time I rode it back in 2010, touristy cobblestones and much less uncomfortable on 35mm tyres than they had been on 25s. Crossing the Place de la Concorde on foot was more than a little heart-in-mouth. Next up, the Louvre (James, fittingly as someone working in art and antiquities).

Notre-Dame was next (my memory escapes me as to who Tim had outsourced that talk to, I will of course amend this bit when I find out), and finally, my turn, for the piéce de resistance, the amuse bouche on the meal, Mr Eiffel’s big tower. But first, there were photos, obligatory, of smiling cyclists in front of the big pointy thing that says Paris even more clearly than those five letters. Tim was having issues with the self-timer on his camera when a very nice man with a very serious DSLR offered his assistance. Giorgi, a Georgian, took a few shots with Tim’s camera then his own, links here.

Now, in the absence of Ian our resident historian, sadly forced to drop out of the tour on doctors’ advice, I (a mere postgraduate degree level historian) felt obliged to step up to the plate and deliver Facts, Lots Of. No metaphorical General Ignorance buzzer would be sounded on my watch, oh no. I’d spent an hour or more compiling a comprehensive potted history of this legendary structure, and if anyone objected it was of course Tim’s fault. Ask a historian to give a talk and you’ll get one. I was nonetheless forced to truncate it a bit, as people were wilting somewhat in the midday heat and lunch was increasingly attractive, even to me of course. Some thought it was forty degrees…er, no, it wasn’t…but a drink beckoned, so off we went, avoiding some more dubious road users on the way.

Now, the original venue for lunch was dropped in favour of a somewhat nearer one, a branch of Au Bureau, a pub restaurant chain in similar style to All Bar One. Unfortunately, it proved more like All Bar None, staff might have been able to organise drunkenness in a brewery but they couldn’t manage it in an ‘office'. A round of drinks was procured, only for it to be discovered that the lot had been put on one tab. The first staff member dealing with us promptly went on break. It was taking an age to get served and food seemed like a dim and distant prospect when stomachs were rumbling. Tim resolved the situation by picking up the tab on Fridays club funds, and while some stayed put, most of us moved on to other places, including trains back to the digs. Self and quite a few others found a rather more efficient bar by the Pont de Billancourt, who had the revolutionary idea of taking individual orders and payments. It’ll never catch on. A croque monsieur hit the spot nicely for a somewhat late lunch (gone three!), and fuelled me up for the ride back to the ‘burbs.

It was four, or thereabouts, when Team We Don’t Need No Trains headed back west. Having enjoyed a long speedy descent on our way in, we naturally had the payback of a no less grindy climb on the way out. A smaller, faster group and a more direct route naturally made somewhat faster progress, and I was back in St Cyr at about six. Tonight’s dinner was at a Portuguese restaurant just down from last night’s choice. Excellent grub at a reasonable price, with one slight mix-up where I got John’s main instead of the one I ordered, I'd naturally dug in when the mistake became clear…our host promptly gave me gentle ribbings about it repeatedly. An earlier night beckoned, we were back to an 8am start in the morning.

Really good read, Stu! I’m riding the tour vicariously through your reports - thanks!

 

[Domus]

I’m riding the tour vicariously through your reports - thanks!

Standing in the shower eating pastries I hope.

 

[LucretiaMyReflection]

I'm glad I didn't go on the tour, reading the reports. Right decision made, too many hills for me.

 

[ianrauk]

I'm glad I didn't go on the tour, reading the reports. Right decision made, too many hills for me.

...and not enough for me...
Loving the write up @StuAff

 

[rb58]

I'm glad I didn't go on the tour, reading the reports. Right decision made, too many hills for me.

Strange, I don't remember it being that hilly. I do remember the rain though.

 

[StuAff]

Day Five: Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines to Compiègne. Also, My Very Very Bad Day

NB: Most of this was seen by me through an increasingly distorted raging perspective. I wasn’t in a good place and it kept getting worse, it might seem irrational and more than a bit stupid in the cold light of day, it was, really, but hindsight’s marvellous like that. I wasn’t pleasant to be around, but it was worse being me at the time. Really worse, honest. But still better than being in a hospital bed (etc). And I got through it & came out smiling. Eventually. So bear that in mind.

After two nights, we were now heading back north, and back to an 8am start. Rather than heading back to the SQ concrete precinct, when we were all going NE anyway, Team Ibis got a further rendezvous at a suitable roundabout. This was going to be a hard day for all of us, and a long one, even without me throwing multiple spanners in works and toys out of pram. But that came later…

For one thing, it was a hot day. For another: rush hour in Paris suburbs. It was a largely flat day (not that it would seem that way to me later on), but most of the climbing came right at the beginning, as we did a steep descent into the Parc de Versailles, then a climb out of it. Our first crossing of the Seine followed, and much of the next stretch would be on cycle paths. We’d get everything from Dutch-standard loveliness to rough gravel to why-did’t-I-bring-a-fat-bike.


Early on Ash had a very serious mechanical. His front brake packed up in a pull-the-lever-and-it-does-absolutely-nothing fashion. The pads were apparently worn to practically nothing. He’d had the bike serviced by someone who’d previously done a good job, many positive reviews…time to find someone else, definitely. Ash was escorted to an LBS, and the rest of us pressed on. We had a stop at a drive-through branch of the golden arches in Conflans-Sainte-Honorine, about 22 miles in. With the initial look at Ash’s bike, the paths, the traffic…we took 3 1/2 hours to get there. Once Team Brake caught up, Ash now able to stop safely, we’d spent another half hour there.

There was another stop, at a massive Carrefour, lunch to be a picnic by the Oise a few miles further along. Shopping done (sandwich and a couple of Paris-Brest in my case), on we went. And my mental state went a bit pear-shaped. Tim asked me to mark the first roundabout. A simple one: round to the second exit, rejoining the D922 we’d been on already. But someone had the (perfectly simple, certainly safer) idea of cutting across the roundabout to rejoin the road. All of a sudden, I appeared to be invisible and unimportant to about half the group. I’m in their line of sight. If I can see them, they can see me. Wearing bright yellow. Waving, and increasingly shouting, furiously. And I’m being ignored, or so it felt. I knew Andrew was there at the exit, and he knew I was there…but all of a sudden the phrase ‘there’s no I in team’ seemed a bit close to home. I’m on a busy roundabout in a foreign country. I’m not doing this for my own benefit, so why are they ignoring me? Why don’t they care? It seemed I was being left to my own devices. No, I wasn’t, but that’s how it felt in my temporarily disordered noggin. When the TECs did the same, I made my way to catch up, already furious. Tim reminded people about how to traverse roundabouts. I only got angrier and angrier. No-one said sorry we didn’t see you, etc, and those that did talk to me got their heads bitten off.

When we got to the (fabulously pretty, I could see that even in my state) picnic spot, I ate alone. Partly because I didn’t want to be with anyone, at all, and partly because I didn’t want to upset anyone, as contradictory as that sounds. I was already thinking I wanted to leave the tour and get home ASAP.

Could it get worse? Oh yes. I had a saddle sore coming on, right under one of my sit bones where it was guaranteed to cause maximum discomfort. Boiling rage plus boiling heat plus sore. Great combo, eh? I ended up walking up a load of inclines I’d have easily managed because apart from the sore, my riding mojo had gone AWOL. To be honest I couldn’t tell you much about the rest of the ride, it was just a case of getting it over and done with, but an increasingly frazzled peloton (it wasn’t just me, the heat was punishing) was gradually split up as faster groups headed up the road.

I eventually got into Compiègne and to the Ibis budget at about 7.30. There was a big street music festival on, and someone had decided Nirvana’s ‘Come As You Are’ needed a more jaunty tone. He was very, very, wrong. It had been a long hot old day. I was still distraught and took it out on a few tourists in the lobby, before heading to my room and looking for options to get back home. Went round to a supermarket for a rubbish sandwich (the bread was that Chorleywood cotton wool) and to the Gare, where the ticket machine was unable to sell me a ticket to Caen with a bike, nor tell me why, just like the app, and the office was closed. Back in the room, I got to enjoy a terrible band murdering ‘Anarchy In the UK’. At least it wasn’t ‘Pretty Vacant’, that might have caused a massive implosion of irony.

Thankfully, it would get better…much better.

 

[StuAff]

Day Six: Compiègne to Arras: A Very Very Good Day.

I woke early, after a fitful night’s sleep (more often than not the case in any hotel room, anywhere). Messages had been going back and forth on the WhatsApp group and helped, greatly, in settling my mind in a positive direction. So, at 5.22, I posted that:

Right....having sort of slept on it, I'm still in. SNCF might or might not sell me a ticket to get to Caen. If I ride to Dieppe, that's over a century in the rain, solo. I felt like absolute s••• yesterday. Basting in my sweat, covered in road crap, and I felt alone, that people had treated me badly. Then I got some really s••• cover versions inflicted on me in Compiegne. Oh, and a bit of a saddle sore as well. That snowballed. It might have seemed over the top and unreasonable that I was so angry, but it was the way I felt. I don't pretend I'm happy when I'm anything but. However, the explanations and apologies for the situation are accepted. I'm in lycra. Minty arse lard (copyright la belle Claudine) has been applied. I'll be round the corner at 8am. And if anyone fails their cycling hazard perception test today....well, just pass it, OK. Hugs and kisses, a grumpy old bastard.

Abnormal service resumed, basically. Water under the bridge, and also in the sky. Weather much more to my liking. Rather cooler. OK, the all-too-accurate forecast was for rain, steady rain, but this was ‘normal’ rain not ‘Are there some dodgy-looking blokes on horseback in the vicinity?’, or ‘This is just like that Black Sabbath album cover’. Excellent breakfast, again, and then round to the rendezvous at the Eglise Saint Jacques, where tree cover was already being well utilised. Rosemary had discovered her front tyre had flattened overnight and decided to go for first an LBS, then the train. Jim had been deputised to be ride leader today, and though it was another challenging day-well, the morning was at least- he dealt with it superbly, an excellent job. A baptism of damp! We’d already had our version of A Sunday In Hell. This was more A Thursday In Slightly Unpleasant Conditions During The Morning, The Afternoon Became Very Pleasant Indeed. Not exactly a catchy title, but you get the point.

This wasn’t just a ride of two halves on account of the weather. There was a lot more climbing than the previous day, but the biggest climb of the day came in the first fifteen miles, after a smaller warm-up, then an equally steep drop, before a lengthy stretch at much the same elevation throughout. More climbing from about 50-55 miles, but after the initial kicks upwards, fairly level again.

Nonetheless, early conditions remained less than ideal. Regroups were generally sought where there was plenty of tree cover, or a handy bridge. Iain took a short video. It looked worse than it was, honest, but it looked bleedin' awful! Absolutely no-one was singing like Gene Kelly, but spirits remained high. Nonetheless, some people were already thinking they’d had quite enough of the rain already. Tim paused for a fettle, somewhat ironically, at a car wash. Not long after that, we reached the Auchan supermarket in the town of Nesle, about 31 miles in, at 11.30 or so.

Original plan was to do shopping there, then another supermarket opportunity (for picnic) at Péronne, 46 miles in. Plan again heavily modified, or thrown out of the window. An early- or first- lunch stop, as people needed a breather. Or at least some time under cover. Not just food, but additional clothing was being sought. Bin liners were being deployed as waterproofing, expect to see a Rapha version soon. In my case, I also sought lubrication for the Tripster’s somewhat noisy drivetrain (Titus had applied some a couple of days before, but it had almost certainly washed out). I found a small but well-stocked bike bits section- tubes in all sorts of sizes- which had some Michelin oil. Just the ticket. I applied a bit there, and gave it a better going over that afternoon. Formidable!

Also good, the food shopping. A (very decent) sandwich, banana, a litre of orange juice (even on this day, I was working on the basis that it was much better to keep the fluid levels and fluid supply levels up). The bakery section had pastei del nata, and even better pastei del nata with berries. Aha, I thought that’ll do nicely. Picked a pack up. But no, there was something even better than that. Yellow stickered pastei del nata with berries, fifty percent off.…and they were excellent. Also excellent: Calvados, from the splendid Busnel distillery many of us had visited a few years back, had been procured. Nicely warming…

We temporarily colonised the entrance lobby (was there garden furniture? Mai oui!) and a friendly staff member enquired with Gordon about what we were doing. I added the weather forecast: ‘mauvais, mauvais…’. At this point, we split into two. Several- Team Thoroughly Sensible, or Team Namby-Pamby- decided that’d had enough liquid inundation for one tour and decided to make their way to the nearby Gare. A typically lengthy journey, over two hours and changing at Amiens, but they obviously made better time than the rest of us. Team Looney/Hard Persons would press on. I naturally went for the latter. Yes, the boots had got wet, again, there was a small puddle in each…but the Sealskinz were keeping my feet dry. I was (mostly) dry on top, the jacket might be a bit old but still waterproof. And lycra dries fast anyway. As for the sore, the old (expired 2015….allegedly) pot of chamois cream had provided soothing goodness. Most of the time: nada, zilch, nothing to notice at all. At worst, I was feeling a slight sensitivity, and that was just a sign to reapply. No pain, no problems putting the power down. On y va!
Below: Damp Cyclotourists in a Auchan Lobby, by French Weather, 2023

Below: Shopping, a Still Life

An hour later, we were on our way(s). Team NB made a perfectly reasonable choice to train it from there, but that also meant they missed the weather improving, massively. First the rain eased, then it stopped, and there was this big orange thing in the sky, again. Team Looney reached Péronne at about two, and stopped for twenty-five minutes or so by the Museum of the Great War (the cafe was closed, but there were some interesting outdoor exhibits). John had been procrastinating somewhat about whether his (tubeless) front tyre had a puncture that needed fixing, or whether the spurts of sealant in the tread indicated that the liquid goo had done its job. Hint: it needed fixing, and now it got fixed…

From then on, the terrain was (pleasantly) rolling, and in bright but not boiling sunshine. There was an unexpected but very welcome bike-washing opportunity. There was a churchyard, with a tap and jerry cans available to water plants. Or sluice over bikes so they no longer look like they’ve been doing Paris-Roubaix in a wet year. Much better, even though mudguards kept much of the grot off the Tripster and titanium is (relatively) a piece of gateau to keep clean.

Two hours or so of very pleasant riding (though with a puncture or two to break up the momentum) in very pleasant conditions later, we reached the outskirts of Arras. Team Looney reunited with a somewhat rejuvenated (this is not a euphemism, though they’d already been on the sauce) Team Train in the Grand Place (ouch, Classics cobbles). A drink or two (more) followed.

After an hour or so, I headed off to my out of town hotel, B&B Hotel Arras. Cycling team sponsor, as it happens. Quite a few people were in its centre sister hotel, and hadn’t been allowed to put bikes in room. Mine had told me ‘if its clean’. Er, not quite…though I had got a lot of the grot off. The receptionist, however, didn’t bat an eyelid. The best bike accommodation of the tour: ground floor room, nice wide corridor made getting her in and out easier as well. I wanted some non-food shopping as well as grub, so given the time I did both at the (unsurprisingly massive) Auchan right over the road. A (very nice) salad box (and teeny brownie) and lemon tart for me. For that sore, a tube of Neutrogena (I had one at home & forgot it). For the shoes, some microfibre cloths to get at least some of the water out. And for cleaning the roomie, wet wipes. Certainly not spotless when I was done, but much better. More ‘a puddle or two’ than ‘post-Roubaix’…81.6 excellent miles done, and one last full day of French riding to look forward to.