Skim vs. France - Sunday - Day 9

Rest day today and most thoroughly well earnt. I decided to stay in paid camping an extra night for three reasons: the niggle in my right calf has every sign of turning into a serious strain; I've underspent my budget everyday so deserve to spend a little; my rear wheel problem combined with reason one will mean that the Col du Tourmalet will indeed have to wait until next time thus I've no need to hurry to get there worrying about getting up the mountain and back in time for my friends wedding.

So with a rest day called I get to relaxing as best I can but I do need to go to the shops and being this map-close to what looks like one of Europe's longest and most stunning beaches (well on the map anyway) I have to go right? Only a twenty mile calf stinging round trip. Ouch. Probably shouldn't have done it for current/increasing the current injury problems; definitely should've done it for awesome beach reasons. Now I'm not much of a beach person but what a stunner it was, soft light yellow sands, inviting blue waters but with a surf to challenge anyone seeking anything more than a dip. Mind it did make me more that a little body conscious. There were some stunning attractive bronzed goddesses, each more beautiful than the last and each knowing it more than the last; looking through my expertly under-tanned (but with highly amusingly cyclist tan lines) pudgy body, only seeking the eyes of the muscular tanned elite, of which there were many.

Mind you I did forget just how naked the French get at the beach. There were sights that could've made you blind and sights that would make you wish you were. I mean I'm no prude, if you want to rock out with your cock out it's up to you but heavens to Betsy, please don't walk around the tide line bending down from the hip to leisurely pick up sea shells. I mean the eye of Sauron has a less intimidating stare than the anal wink I was given by Mons. Middle-aged-spread-all-over-tan-man. C'est la vie. Back to camp for some proper rest and dinner, for tomorrow it's back to the road, pain-killered up and hoping for good times.

Skim vs. France - Saturday - Day 8

Up and at it for a leisurely 9:30 today, for I was going to be reaching the coast by today via a quick ferry across La Garonne at Blaye saving me the maelstrom of major roads surrounding Bordeaux and the promise of much easier navigation. Wish I'd been a bit more eager for the get go this morning for as I arrive at the small port in Blaye for the ferry it would appear that I missed the boat (literal-a-mon) by twenty five minutes and the next one is two and a half hours away. Now I'm left with a decision, do I strike out and strive to find a way around outer Bordeaux? or sit and wait in hope that I can find a campsite near the coast much later in the evening. I choose to sit on the dock of the bay.

I suppose this is one of the big draw backs with this type of cycling trip, especially solo, is that you really can't just lock your bike up and go for a wonder, you're kind tied to your bike with all of your belongings strapped to the back of it. Unless you've somewhere safe to stash your stuff you're stuck, and with Blaye in full market day swing I don't really fancy lugging the the whole lot around a busy town. It's a shame and I do feel a pang of loneliness as I sit by myself, but ah well, you can't dwell on thoughts like those when you know you're going to be by yourself for at least another week; time to exercise my mind a little and develop an idea two that have been niggling me.

Well the last 35 miles were smashed in two hour and a half hours, no mean feat when you're carrying the equivalent of an extra two-thirds of a person on the back of your bike and the temperature has steadily risen all day making a total fluid intake of seven and a half litres today! I arrived at the campsite quite exhausted to what I perceive to be a 'camping full' (french equivalent of) sign but as luck would have it that was just for the motorhomes/caravans, there was room at the back for a tent; at thirteen Euro's very reasonable also. First things first, it's shower time, eight days one proper wash (baby wipes for the vitals) and dear sweet deity of choice it was a-mother-flipping-azing! I'd compare it to fasting for a long time eating the merest of morsels then having that first bite of a full meal, it truely makes you appreciate it when you get it. It feels so good to be clean. Unfortunately I have developed a little niggle in my right calf on the way here (largely due to the very flat, very straight roads encouraging haste), I might have to stay here another night. When it came to washing my clothes my fatigued mind didn't make the best observational choice as I washed them in entirely the wrong sink. I did wonder why someone was giving me a dirty look whilst a scrubbed my week old cycling clothes in the face washing sink (the sink for the clothes was on the other side of the block I discovered). No harm done I'm sure, not speaking the language helps with faux pas, no doubt, just doing my bit to improve the British reputation on the continent. Now just dinner and a thorough study of the map to see if I can still make it to the Pyrenees and back up in time for my friends wedding party. Bonne nuit.

Skim vs. France - Friday - Day 7

Today was a gloriously sunny day, but it was still quite cold. I think I might've got a little bit caught out by the chilly breeze with a smidge of sunkissedness for my efforts, twas wonderful cycling weather though. On my way down and across another page of the map a small sad face of realisation ( :( ) came to me whilst getting my spoke key out to true my back wheel again, that if I've had to do this twice in a week that A: these are shit wheels and B: I'm probably not going to be able to climb a mountain; a dream I've had since sitting with my dad watching the Tour de France as elite athletes creak up stupendously impressive mountains to jaw dropping heights to fly down the other side. I mean there's quite a bit of difference in noticing a wobble and pulling over into a farmers field to straighten it and noticing it on the way down or up a massive mountain that has little to no side of the road. I'm all up for a bit of danger but that might be taking it too far. As the bad guys in the cartoons I used to (still) watch 'I'll get you next time, Pyrenees!' and with considerably better wheels you can bet. Still I'll to look up at them from the bottom, silver lining I suppose, something about the journey being the real prize or something.

I did however get to visit the lovely village of Breville today, not only a fine manufacturer of cheese toastie makers (and what I called actually called cheese toasties for a large part of my formative life) but also a fine village. The entrance to which was guarded by a beautifully carved wooden sculpture, I marveled at it as I rode past but entering into the town proper there were more of these sculptures, life sized fairies, a model solar system, all the little traffic posts outside the school had a different wooden animal or head carved into it, the clock at the centre of the village was also made of wood with three figures holding it up. I almost cycled through without stopping to take photo's, fortunately I thought such an undocumented exit would be a crime, so briefly doubling back I snapped some of the best. Closer inspection only increased my awe of these beautiful creations, I would've quite happily moved there and become an apprentice wood carver; maybe that's a tale for another time.

On I went and with my need for a wash getting more desperate by the day as I was becoming quite ripe, so I kept a sharp eye out for places apt to do it. Just outside of Cognac proper I spied a perfect place a secluded bend of a river that wasn't over looked and was easily accessible. Right I'll just nip into Cognac to get some vitals and come back here for a sneaky wash. It was not for me you see I found my way, by following advertising signs to the nearest supermarket (always no more thanfive mins away where ever you are, apparently) and inadvertently found myself on quite a mzjor dual carriage way with no choice but to go all the way to the other side of town and with not one scooby as to how to get back. Ah well by the morrow I should be in a campsite by the (hopefully) beautiful coast just past Bordeaux where heavenly showers (hopefully) await. Until then :)

Skim vs. France - Thursday - Day 6

Although the day started off wet and cold I wanted to get on the road early as I was camping in quite an exposed place that was also too close to residences for my comfort. I haven't mentioned it thus far, but sleeping at night has been a problem for me but I did have quite a full nights sleep which I think quite lifted my mood. I don't quite know when I became a light sleeper, I certainly didn't used to be but I most certainly am one now! I think that fact that I'm sleeping on patches of ground that I shouldn't be combined with the fact that some of the fields have been near to trafficked roads, whilst I have been able to keep my tent from the head lights (most recommended) the noise of the car passing on the road is louder than you think, especially when all that's separating you from that noise is the thin membranes of the inner and outer tent.Still up and onwards!

I accomplished a comfortable seventy miles today; comfortable for the fact that the wind direction was now a juicy tail wind making a solid six miles an hour difference to my average speed, which granted doesn't sound much but spread over a day allows you the comfort of longer breaks and feeling not the least bit stressed when you check the map for the hundredth time that day. I did notice, well I should say my derriere noticed that the road surface isn't as pleasant as my earlier experiences. My prostate feels as though its gone nine rounds with Mike Tyson and still has to face another three. Another couple of days and I should've reached the west coast past Bordeaux having thoroughly earnt myself a rest day.

Today's extended lunch was demanded by my kit that needed a good drying out and the fact of a thankful tail wind was made a delight not just because of the high grade food but because I was allowed to observe a falcon hunting for its lunch, deftly hovering before plunging to strike and return. A joy to watch it hunt for just over an hour or so, come to think of it I have been rather spoilt for wildlife thus far; boar, deer, birds of prey by the butt load, all kinds of funky insects and smaller mammals. The French countryside is chocked full of the good stuff! Though I have to say I've definitely done farmland, the scenery hasn't really changed since I've arrived, and whilst it has been a pleasure to ride seeing mile after mile of massive fields in various states of growth and harvest it does get a bit samey. Mind I did get to cycle through France's main apple growing region today, might've foraged me up a selection of choice apples which I'm pretty sure were going to spoil if I didn't liberate them; bring on the coast and mountains!

Skim vs. France - Wednesday - Day 5

Thankfully today was a much better day. Though it was still very damp, as was almost all of my belongings, it wasn't raining! It was quite cold though, I wasn't out of long sleeves all day. However it was occasionally broken fluffy clouds filling an immense amount of the horizon I was headed towards that cheered me greatly as I started my days ride in this relatively flat part of the country. Eating into the miles I was glad to see it was a wise decision to set camp early last night as for the next twenty miles or so there were no real contenders for camping. There were some extremely busy roads, a massive power plant with full industrial surrounds but after that blot on the landscape I came to Chinon and wow! Pretty as a full roast on an empty stomach. A wonderful wide river running through the centre of it spanned by a low arched bridge it was truly pleasing after passing through a couple miles of industrial grey. A mid morning break was spent in a farmers field just out of the town propped up against some rolled hay whilst trying to soak up the occasional patch of break through sunlight.

On from Chinon and had a lovely day meandering along tiny back roads. I think my French is improving also as in one of the tiny towns I was struggling find my way out of I met two Irish lads who before I knew they were Irish I fully 'Bonjour'ed and they mistook me for the real thing, either that or they didn't fancy stopping to talk to a lone cyclist who fired a greeting at them as they mumbled a return bonjour and cycled down a road that I knew would bring them right back to where I was now (as I had just done). Intimidating foreigners with confident French talk, I think I'm becoming a local. A nice long stop for lunch to allow my gear to dry off in one of the sunnier spells of the day put my moral back into the green zone. Even getting quite lost towards the end of the day due to a combination of a road being resurfaced (no small undertaking in France), my not being able to see the sun (bring compass next time) and some of the roads I was travelling not being on my map couldn't dampen things. Although my campsite is the most exposed one I've chosen yet, a small scenic triangle of chained off grass not too far from houses, I decide it simply must be, I'm sure it'll be reet. Le grande voyage continues!

Skim vs. France - Tuesday - Day 4

If Sunday was a test then today was a low. It rained for most of the day, a hearty test of character when almost your entire day is spent outside. Well with this flip of the script it should stop me from banging on about the the lack of water at least! With the rain hard in you loose much of your vista and without being able to look around and say (or at least think) Wow, the cycling becomes so much more of a chore. Negative thoughts that are usually easy to keep at bay with a quick 'shut up and check this out.' are the first to come lurking to the forefront.Niggles and aches that spoke gently but persistently on previous day were complaining much louder today, namely my saddle contact area (gooch) and dodgy left knee.

With visibility low navigation becomes increasingly hard, doubled by the fact that you need somewhere dryish to get the map out. Town navigation is hard enough as no French is set up with any common sense, much is a huge part of their charm and character nut Mon Dieu! When the road map you have shows you nothing but roads going in and out with the interconnecting roads in the town mere guess work of direction and one way systems all you've got to go off is road numbers most of which are only shown on the way out of towns, it's downright perplexing. I got lost twice in Chateau-du-Loir only to find that when I eventually did get out onto my desired road the D10 that whilst making my way down this changes number, sans turning or junction but only for a little bit when it reverts to it's previous number. Now normally I probably wouldn't have noticed this but having got lost twice already it was the last thing my fried and depressed mind state needed.

One sight that did cheer me up was the most hilarious cycle lane ever. It was only about three hundred meters long and I'd say a foot wide from the curb, followed exactly and by exactly I mean right angles some empty parking bays that were bookended by six inch high concrete curb. The diagram provided just to the left may be an artists impression but is no exaggeration; it gave me a good chuckle.

Some time after a tree sheltered lunch, as it started to smash it it down once more I'd started to notice that my back wheel was feeling a little spongy and every now and then would give me a little shimmy to the left. It was an odd feeling that filled me with no small amount of dread and as I was also coming up to a section of the map that looked like I would need some savvy I decided to find a camp site early this day and after only a sixty miles of riding, my shortest day yet one was discovered. Setting my things off my bike not setting anything up as it's still quite early I flip the bike to have a little look at that wobbly wheel. Gash pony! Some of the spokes are seriously waggle dance loose. Truing a wheel isn't fun at the best of times, massively satisfying when done but still quite a stressful process, doing so in a damp field where you're miles from the nearest town and don't speak the lingo, by jingo it gets you in a fluster. Yet it also focuses the mind to a point where you must get it right, with the rain holding off so I can try to dry out a little I sit down to the task. I have to say, not a bad job in the end of it and I'm glad I caught it when I did so at least now I can keep an eye on it. Now, with no local folk having a look around, I set down for the night time for dinner, tea, pipe, relax and bed. Here's to a better tomorrow.

Skim vs. France - Monday - Day 3

Thankfully today was a much better day. Though the old nemesis of that pesky headwind was still about, facing him in the morning is a much easier prospect. My lack of luck in finding a shop that would sell me water in bulk last night means that this takes top billing on the priorities list, to the cash for water dispensary post haste! Cloud cover with an attempt at rain through the night (more just a warning of what could happen; some plastic bags to keep my vitals dry priority No. 2 me'thinks) makes the morning ride fairly cool thus meaning that my paltry 100ml odd of water should last me.The first town I hit with hope La-Ferte-Vidame is stunning, proper olde worlde looking village that looks like it was built for the grounds keepers of the huge Chat at the villages head. Sadly no real shops, well nothing that looked like shops in what was probably a selection of listed (or the French equivalent there of) buildings; still a pleasure on the eye and mind but water is my monkey for now.

On my way out of the town I spy a secluded but quite large lake with full and daunting 'PRIVE' signs all over the small entrance, do I risk a a dip and quick wash? It has been three days of near non-stop sweating and whilst it's not warm enough to give the clothes a quick once over my body certainly needs it. Man wasn't supposed to wash with baby wipes alone! Luckily it's just a chain on a hook guarding the entrance, which I unhook run my bike down the stairs and pop back to leave no clues of trespass to the casual observer. Upon closer inspection the water is quite murky and there are what I assume were little fishing jetties placed around the edge of the the lake. It's a big old lake, surely a little soap and some non-fecal Skim filth could do no harm? After hiding my bike a little and retrieving my soap one final quick look about to make sure I wasn't about to get shot I strip down for a scrub. Though the water was murky the wash is revitalizing and not wanting to overstay my welcome I re-pack to lumber my laden bike back up the stairs and out with anyone, barring the trout, none the wiser!

Fortunately in the next town, a solid 20 miles from my start point I find a shop large enough to sell bulk water and top up on other vitals. As I get to the check out with priority one thoroughly ticked and seeing as the skies haven't let up there threatening loom I ready myself for priority two. In the most pathetic French I ask for three carrier bags. As I'm not buying a lot the attendant points to the rucksack I'm carrying and after several French attempts that fell to a bewildered expression (I'm pretty sure I definitely said it right) eventually says in English. 'Just put in there.' Looking at me like I'm simple I explain it's for keeping things dry on a bicycle as I catch myself miming the motion of pedals with my hands I think maybe she has a point with the simple thing? Still she asks the burly security guard if this is ok and he says yes. Crickey, all that for three bags, which were all paid for, I suppose it's a good policy as if it was that much hassle at home I'd bring my own for sure.

Onwards, with my bottles all full and a extra bottle of water strapped to the rack (learning see) I set off and seeing as how yesterday I went in the wrongish direction (south east) I thought I'd try some white map roads (the smallest denomination of road avaialable) one word, Bliss! Proper bendy and hilly raods but most of all as far as traffic went they were quiet and much less exposed to the wind. Cue a blissful day of riding meandering, forested roads and the joy of finding a open shop in the evening, for the first time since I arrived in France I could settle down at the edge of a farmers field, tucked nicely away from roads or houses and have more water than I could drink. I think a well earnt cup of tea was well past due, not wanting to take milk on the road it was a delicious cup of spiced rooibos, slipped down a treat with dinner and a pipe. Happy days.

Skim vs. France - Sunday - Day 2

Today was a test. It started off most pleasant, it was nice and cool, breakfast was a flapjack which was donated to me by the venerable Boz and Sooz and oatcakes dry and my water supply was dangerously low; luckily a nearby Carrefore saved my life by being open. Re-supplying I thought 'If I nail a litre of OJ and get another litre and a half of water (basically refilling my bottles on my bike) that'll see me through until I stop to re-supply for dinner.'  Of course forgetting that it is a Sunday and that all big shops and most little ones close at midday. Happy for now in my ignorance the four litres of fluid I managed to get my hands on through the day disappeared with a velocity that truly took me by surprise.

I digress, as the morning continued being increasingly pleasant I still felt a tremendous oneness with myself and my surroundings, the miles rolled by with a gentle but persistent haste. I absorb myself in the pleasures of looking at a map, having a vague direction I need to be going in (largely south with a little west thrown in), looking to avoid or navigate around obstacles (major roads, cities, and rivers) and getting on with the task of enjoying the stunning countryside that France has to offer. It was little things like crossing the Seine on a free ferry was bewildering at first but as the shock wore off that they weren't going to ask for money for the extremely short crossing made it all the more pleasant.

Lunch, sitting in the shade of a tree by a Boule trap in a sleepy village whilst I devour a large sandwich of cold cuts (ham in this case), a brick of cheese and salad, rounded off with some juicy in season yellow plums can be heartily recommended; throw in a short nap and it's heaven sent. As I battled further south I arrived at the town of Couches-en-Ouche to find the town centre, and the direction I would've liked to have gone, blocked off. Bugger, I thought as I studied the map to see how far I'd need to back track but as I did the sound of music availed my ears; Street Festival! That I have to admit were playing some rather good brass and percussion based funky jazz. With the main street cordoned off the bands would walk up and down stopping at various busy places to play a few songs for the gathering crowds pleasure. Largely this consisted of the bars, which were packed full and flowing out onto the street but occasionally they would meet and have a mini battle. It was a highly entertaining interlude, even the random AC/DC cover band at the end of the road gave me a giggle, though it is odd when you hear songs you know sung in heavily accented English.

 

Unfortunately I did get a little lost and whilst I did end up heading south it was in the slightly wrong direction, it was time for the first of many de-tours. If only it wasn't for the consistent head wind which for the last forty odd miles of the day and had me swearing at it on more than one occasion the day could've continued to be pleasant. Alas the old worrying water situation wasn't much better today with the previously mentioned lack of shops I dwindled to my reserve bottle, which was planned for cooking alone. Finding another lovely campsite in a unused field next to a road and behind a hedge I settled down for the night with a pleasing dinner of rice, veg and sauce (I'm afraid I did drink the rice water, desperate times); a pipe and the liberal application of aftersun (of course I'm creaming myself through the day but that didn't stop me from cooking) I was ready for bed. Another small section of France conquered, the search for fluids will continue tomorrow; bonne nuit.

Lesson for the day: looks and comfort are two different things in a saddle, the latter should always outweigh the former.

Skim vs. France - Saturday - 8/9/12 - Departures & Arrivals

 {Morning}

The ferry has been made in ample time. Rising at a sensible time from the sofa of two very good friends in Brighton (big hugs to Boz & Sooz) I set out for the first part of my solo adventure with twelve or so miles to the port in Newhaven. The teasing southern coastline is sampled and enjoyed in fine weather, though it had a crisp autumnal edge was soon defeated by glorious sunshine and several short sharp hills to warm the cockles. The disappointment of facing this journey alone was short lived as the excitement started to rise as the British shore line rubbed itself out on the horizon. A good friend (who remains good to this day) started off positive about coming but slowly changed to non-committal then made the definitive 'I won't be coming.' just a week previous. Unperturbed I sought out high adventure in strange lands for myself. Well that and the fact that I had to get to the south of France for a friends wedding coupled to the fact that I'd just bought a new touring bike (though I still love you Matilda!) and had paid for all other transport (ferry there & plane back) meant of course I was going!

So to keep myself sane I thought a diary of events should be in order. I have to admit I'm more than quite looking forward to the challenge. Yet this is merely an introduction, my bike, though fully laden, is still in the hold and not one inch of French soil has been cycled. Excited anticipation of good times, tempered fears of bad times, my my route (apart from a vague south west notion) and my campsites which hopefully will be almost entirely free and wild all still in the theory stage and not yet in practice. So for now I ease back into my deckchair soak in some early glory from the smiling sun and inhale some rejuvenating sea air. Viva la Francais!

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{Afternoon}

Arrival, Deippe is in full swing! There is a Kite festival going on by the beach, an absolutely dazzling array of different kites are afloat on the sea breeze and the town is super busy on this hot Saturday. Unfortunately the traffic is so dense and I'm still wobbling on a fully laden touring bike that will take at least a solid day's worth of cycling to get re-used to the the weight of that I cannot stop to take a photo. The crawl of stop start traffic whilst trying to navigate out of the busy port town is not so welcome but a small price to pay for such a introduction. West is all I need to know for now until I can get out far enough to head south away from major roads. Getting out of the town was no small feat but deftly done in just under an hour. Out of the town I find dreamy roads that curve and sweep around hair pin corners as they ascend and descend the rolling coastal hills. With the beautiful climate I embrace France's terrain like a new lover, passionate and enthusiastic to explore as much of her ample body as she'll allow whilst hoping that my fumbling gropes and gasps are just as pleasing for her. Along the road a little bit I spy my first Patisserie, do I stop so soon? Of course I do! With bread being three of my main food groups I am quite frankly in heaven. So dusting off my non-existant French I step in to order my 'Une Baguette s'il vous plais.' Unfortunately there was quite a queue in front of me. With my nerve faltering I seem unable to help but mimic the ladies in front of  me rendering my request to have a high pitched feminine tone that is far from my gruff macho manly gravelly voice. Never the less I seem to be understood as we trade €0.83 for some of the most delicious bread; crispy, fluffy, crunchy, moist, springy, airy all-round-mouthgasm. Although I promise just to have a little bit half of the large baguette is devoured on the spot.

Still miles need to be done and a small part of France needs to be conquered before bed time. Yet I must say as I go about the thirty odd miles it is going to take my body a while to adjust to the climate, I am so glad that my bike can take three water bottles. Just out of a tiny town of Limesy I find a suitable field by the edge of a forest, the key to a good field for wild or fly camping is one that is quite secluded and has no crops on or near because surely no-one would be angry at you for camping on one of those? The French are world renowned for being open and friendly to those hapless Brits who don't even speak their language. After pitching my tent I get down to a meager meal as I discover there were no proper shops near by and I was quite tired, shrinking my small amount of French to full English thus meaning stopping to ask impossibly out of the question. After a sleep and a small ride tomorrow I'm sure I'll do much better.

Settling down for the night with a good pipe everything seems right with the world, I even have my first encounter of the trip with a large sounder of Boars! Ruddy glad there's a fence in the way as they are big buggers but they make hilarious noises! Oinking, grunting, squealing and squelching, a delight to observe. Lesson of the day: Learn much more French!

Departure Lounge

Rife anticipation of departure is fleeting,
A feast of unknown treats laid for eating;
To sate my hungers lust
Take to the road I must,
With these first steps taken,
Spirits of adventure awaken,
Strap my life to my bikes rear,
Excitement here walks with fear,
But with joy and adventure hand in hand,
I'll garner strength to explore this land.

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Whist no major cycling expedition will be taking place this year, due to ill time allowances of the corporate world and total lack of respect as to what is really important, I reminisce of last years epic adventure. It was an 850 mile trip by bike pretty much taking in the length of France; as I was travelling alone and to save myself going insane I wrote a travel journal. What better possible way to resharpen my writing senses than to write that journal here. I will warn you parts of it might get repetitive as I do bang on about the weather a fair bit, but spending the almost the entire time outside one tends to look to the skies for inspiration and encouragement. The above poem was penned on the ferry going over and thus the adventure of Skim vs. France began.

Fallow Field Ripe for Planting

One nights worth of promise,
Small hopes planted from this,
Shall germination take this seed?
Longing for beauty and not just weed.
Old mind of past hastens excitement,
But settle I will just for contentment,
Over-eager old me oft left wanting,
Happy for now just to be planting.

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A long time coming a?