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A return to France, this time with Malcolm, gave me a great opportunity to put my new bike through it's paces and also to spend some time with my pal of many years. I had met Malcolm in a pub, strangely enough, on the eve as he was about to start work for me as an activities instructor. Some 40 years later and many shared experiences, including a kayak expedition in Finland, acting as a witness at his wedding to Natalie, being Godfather to his eldest son, Charlie and just to lighten the mood, a gruesome recovery of a drowned fisherman from the Bristol Channel at 4 0'c;ock in the morning in June 1991, we remain friends. We see each other once or twice a year for a catch up which usually involves some sort of activity.
So it was that we gathered in Lancing, packed our bikes and very kindly got dropped off at Newhaven by Natalie ready to catch the ferry to Dieppe. A collection of cyclists joined the queue including another Riese & Muller bike! We were first to embark so were able to get a comfortable seat with a view and close to the bar.
Four hours later we arrived in Dieppe and headed for our hotel, and as requested, had been allocated a room on the ground floor. The only problem was that it appeared to have one double bed. Over the years I have shared tents with Malc but never a bed and so I returned to reception to explain our dilemma- without hesitation the receptionist, who wouldn't have looked out of place as a nightclub bouncer, brushed passed us and headed straight to a cupboard which she duly opened and pulled down a single bed with an hysterical cry of "VOILA!" That night saw us and the two bikes and our luggage crammed into our small room!
DIEPPE TO FORGES LES EAUX
Our first day of cycling was to be a gentle introduction - a relatively short hop of 59kms down the Avenue Verte which runs along the old railway line all the way to Paris. Our start to the day was somewhat hampered by the torrential rain that started early in the morning so we decided to delay by having a late breakfast followed by a coffee. We found a suitable cafe which was sheltered but did seem to attract a varied and eclectic clientelle - ourselves included.
Once the sun did appear we headed out of town and followed our route along the Avenue Verte along the Bethune valley passing fields of cows, small villages and an occasional Chateau.
About 2 kms after passing a bike repair station at the side of the track, the first of our mishaps occurred, when I say OUR mishaps, read MALC's mishaps. A rear wheel puncture on any bike can be a pain but doubly so with an electric bike with the motor in the rear wheel. Malcolm limped back to the bike repair station where we made use of the electric pump to reinflate his tyre in the hope that the self sealing "slime" that had been put into the inner tube would do its job and seal the hole. And miracle of miracles....it did .... so we had lunch. On closer inspection of the tyres on Malcolm's well maintained Raleigh, there was virtually no tread whatsoever on both tyres - he may as well have been riding on slicks!
So onward we trundled, a little later than anticipated but still time to take on board some liquid refreshment in Neufchatel en Bray in a very busy cafe where we witnessed an oriental man smoking what could only be described as a piece of garden cane with a bowl on the end of it billowing smoke from what looked and smelt like dog's droppings!
Arriving at our hotel in Forges Les Eaux we noticed that despite the town's size, there were very few people about. The hotel was fairly central so we found the only restaurant that appeared to be open and ordered food with a handful of other early evening diners. Our stroll back to the hotel through the deserted streets was suddenly interrupted when we walked passed a fast food emporium selling kebabs. The place was rammed - full of people sitting down, ordering take aways and queueing out of the door. I suspect we may have missed a trick here! To bed for a good night's sleep was what we needed. What we got was the nearby church clock chiming every 15 minutes. As the night before, finding somewhere open for a coffee and a croissant in the morning, proved to be a challenge - if you wanted a handbag, a haircut or a pharmacy, you'd have been spoilt for choice.
FORGES LES EAUX TO ROUEN
Leaving the Casino and the large hotels of Forges Les Eaux (obviously where all the action was the previous night, apart from the Kebab shop) on Saturday morning saw us pedalling on quiet undulating country lanes through wooded areas, sleepy villages and a Chateau that was being used as a film set. We offered ourselves as extras but were politely refused.
Shortly before lunch and in the middle of nowhere Malc announced that he had another rear tyre puncture, he also admitted later that prior to this , his front brake cable had snapped. I cycled on to the next village which was 3km ahead to see if there was any kind of shelter - there wasn't! By the time I got back to Malcolm's position he had the bike by the side of the road on a grassy verge next to a house with a high hedge, behind which there was a dog barking loudly and a pile of dog mess that was menacingly close to the upturned bike. My calls for the dog to be quiet fell on deaf ears, even with my best schoolboy French. Could things get any worse .... Oh ! Yes!
In grappling to remove the rear wheel we discovered that Malcolm's comprehensive tool kit lacked one essential ingredient - a spanner of the correct size to remove the wheel nuts. Our answer was to try and repair the puncture without removing the wheel - not easy but possible. That failed miserably and just as we were contemplating our next move a knight in shining armour appeared out of nowhere. Ludovic was out running and stopped to ask if we needed help. His English was better than my French and he explained that he only lived 4km away and that he was willing to run home, jump in his car with his spanners and return to help! And that's exactly what happened - not only did he return but he gave Malcolm his spanner to keep! We changed the inner tube and thanked Ludovic profusely for his generosity and assistance - a true knight of the road. With the wheel sort of back on, we limped to Rouen and the sanctuary of the Mecure Hotel, where Malcolm did some shopping, returning with 2 inner tubes, a brake cable and 6 cans of Kronenbourg. An Uber into the city for some beers and a pizza and an Uber driver that charged me twice ended an eventful day.
ROUEN TO FECAMP
After feasting on the buffet breakfast we made our way out of the city of Rouen on well marked tracks to be faced with a long gradual climb up to a plateau. With a headwind and Malc's bike not functioning as it should, it was a long laborious morning which after 25 kms and a change of battery, saw us stop in the Jupiter Bar in Freville and plead with the helpful bar owner to let us charge Malcolm's battery. it was at this stage that the subject of catching a train was muted - it was clear that with 35kms still to go to our destination, The Grinstead Giggler wasn't going to be giggling for very much longer! What actually clinched the decision to catch the train was the descent of a very steep hill down a quiet lane. I had gone ahead a few hundred metres to recce the route and whist waiting at the bottom of the hill I was alerted first by a loud grating noise, like someone was dragging something heavy along a gravelly path. Then, as the noise got louder, this apparition appeared before me, hurtling out of control down the hill. It was Malcolm standing on one pedal whilst dragging his other foot along the road in a vain attempt to slow himself down before careering into the woods ahead of him. My mistake was not to have the camera at the ready to capture this death defying feat! We did re-enact the scene whilst waiting for the ferry home, but it wasn't quite the same!
he decision was made - cycle to Yvetot and catch the train to Fecamp. So for 23 euros the two of us and our bikes got to use the TER train which was much easier than anticipated. A change of platforms proved to be a little tricky as my bike was too big for the lift so we had to man handle it down the steps and up the other side - fortunately there was a strong Russian student on hand to help! The trains were clean, on time and had plenty of space for bikes - a real contrast to UK trains!
Our arrival in Fecamp ensured another late lunch on the beach before heading to our hotel in time to soak in the bath and watch the Liverpool v Arsenal game being streamed via Facetime from Richard's TV in Walton on Thames. The bathroom in the hotel resembled a horse's stable with big louvred swing door - bizarre!
FECAMP TO DIEPPE
Our paths back to Dieppe the next day took very different routes. Malc's involved the train back to Rouen and then another train to Dieppe. Mine was a 80km cycle through beautiful French countryside with some amazing views of the Normandy coast and it's cliffs. I actually arrived in Dieppe before my travelling companion so was able to get the bed out of the cupboard ready for his arrival!
Another rainy night in Dieppe found us eating yet more Pizza and finishing the night off with a beer or two. A bit of a lay in the following morning with Malcolm claiming that he hadn't had much sleep on account of my snoring, which I find hard to believe. As we were heading to the ferry I politely suggested that if cycle touring was for Malcolm he may need to get a more reliable bike and more to the point look after it. Just saying.....
A little more climbing with a few decent descents and we were soon on the outskirts of Flers where we stocked up with lunch things for the following day in anticipation that everywhere would be shut on Sunday. As it turned out we needn't have bothered but better to be safe than hungry. The Best Western La Gare was ideal for a night's stay - comfortable ground floor room, secure garage to park the bikes and bars and restaurants within a short walking distance, and a chance to wash my smalls and hang them out to dry! So it was beers in La Tavern and an expensive dinner in La Parenthes of monkfish tails before the day's 900mts of climbing got the better of us and sent us to bed.
DUCEY 87FLERSKMS SUNDAY 13TH JULY
What a difference a day makes! Virtually all of the day's ride would be on a designated, traffic free voie verte and also very gently down hill. Once out of Flers we picked up the V43 cycle route that runs from Paris to Mont St Michel. We coasted past fields of sunflowers, sweetcorn and grazing cows - through idyllic rural France.
At the small village of Bion we stopped for coffee where we encountered some interesting characters. First, and definitely the most vociferous, was a group of young lads who were seemingly finishing off their night out - pints of lager on the table, extremely animated and loud, particularly when they were joined by another group on bikes, they were clearly enjoying their Sunday and looking forward to Bastille Day. Whilst we were drinking our coffee we were engaged in conversation with a British man who lived locally and worked in Mt St Michel. We didn't catch his name so we named him Benoir - he was extremely helpful in directing us to a place for lunch and suggesting a suitable route the following day. Our third encounter, as we were leaving the cafe, was with another Brit living locally who was cycling and told us he was on a training run for the Turin to Nice race. Sounded very hilly to me.
Shortly after leaving Bion we came across a French couple walking on the path. The woman was walking a horse which was laden with saddle bags and her male companion was towing a trailer behind him attached to his belt. We speculated as to their destination and wondered if some French hotels allow horses to be kept overnight? Probably not in the rooms , we concluded.
Benoir's advice and directions to lunch by the lake behind the church in St Hillaire Harcourt proved to be spot on. We found a vacant bench in the shade and tucked into our daily diet of pain, fromage, tomates et du vin - until Richard knocked over my glass - a waste of a good Cab Sav! Being a Sunday, the park was busy with family groups lunching al fresco and some of their lunches looked like banquets compared to our meagre offerings.
Retracing our track back to the cycle path we started the gentle descent into Ducey and the Great Western Hotel Le Moulin. We were early so the room wasn't ready so we were forced to sit in reception and talk to the english receptionist who very kindly served us beer until we could access our room. We had locked our bikes together in a secure outdoor courtyard and had covered them with some old cardboard boxes which was just as well as shortly after our arrival, the heavens opened and drenched everything. Our concern then turned to where to eat, on a Sunday, the day before a Bank holiday. One place in the small town was open, a Pizza restaurant that had awful reviews and where the receptionist had advised us to avoid. Tales of families being turned away because they hadn't booked, the rudeness of the service staff and the lack of choice on the menu didn't daunt us as we strode manfully through the rain towards our destination. Fortunately, we had had the temerity to book a table and so were pleasantly surprised by the warmth of welcome. The food was good, the service great and the wine crisp and chilled so no complaints from us.... although we did witness a few people who were turned away despite there being vacant tables - obviously not booked.
DUCEY - ST MALO 75 KMS MONDAY 14TH JULY -BASTILLE DAY
The rain had blown through overnight but had left the cycle path out of Ducey treacherously slippery so it was with a little bit of luck and a huge amount of skill that I didn't end up in a ditch as my rear wheel went from under me as I negotiated a staggered gate - Richard's comment ? "I'd have loved to see you in a heap." He was getting his own back for letting him go first across the Pont de Normandie.
The cycle path hugged the coast line and soon opened up views over Bay of Mt St Michel which appeared as a tiny pimple in the distance. Benoir had advised us to take the detour out to the island on the boardwalk so that's what we intended to do.
Once again concern about food raised it's ugly head - we had managed to grab some breakfast before we left the hotel but still had no bread for lunch. As we reached the throngs heading to Mt St Michel we enquired as to whether there was a boulangerie open. We were assured that there was one open in a village called Beauvoir which we would cycle through after we had made the detour out to the Mont. We weaved our way through hoards of pilgrims making their way to the abbey on the tidal island, grabbed the photograph and headed to grab a baguette!
The boulangerie in Beauvoir must have been the only one open in the entire country judging by the queues outside, after all it was a Bank Holiday and a Monday. Richard dutifully joined the throng waiting to snaffle a pain chocolat or two whilst I guarded the bikes. The wait was worth it - a baguette, 2 chocolate eclairs and 2 cups of coffee. The sugar rush pushed us fast and furiously onwards along EV 4 towards St Malo hugging the coastline and the oyster and muscle beds that are so prolific in this area. We lunched as the clouds gathered ominously - rain was definitely on its way and I hadn't packed any wet weather gear but my smug cycling mate had!
The final 10 kms into St Malo was unpleasant.... wet, cold and most of it on a busy main road. Respite was sought in Le Clerc's supermarket on the outskirts of the town. Supplies were purchased and normal service was resumed weather wise as we rolled into the old town to our Hotel. Who says France shuts on Mondays?
Bikes secured, roosted and watered, we headed out into the carnival atmosphere in the bars close to the hotel. Eventually we settled on" Le Comptoir du V", a lively bar tucked away in a side street with outdoor seating. We were royally entertained by 2 guys dressed as women, singing their hearts out and parading up and down the street, all done with typical Gallic flair.
And so our trip ended, a meal, fireworks and a lot of great cycling. Our journey home to Blighty in the Club Lounge was relaxing and reflective.... where next with our new bikes, was the question we debated once Richard had woken up.
Made in the Cotswolds. Published by Éditions Système D Ltd.
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