SteveCycles

Click here for the Routemap

I would open this post with a picture but I cant remember taking one. The reason? The Weather!

Now, living in Devon, I’m quite used to the wet stuff dropping from the sky. It’s quite a regular thing down our way. It’s rarely a problem as we’re all geared up for it. I on the other hand, whilst in France was far from prepared. I didnt account for such eventualities as 2 degrees C, driving rain, sleet, and at one point, snow! Even the new gear I bought yesterday was struggling to cope with it.

I left Chaumont and immediately headed downhill towards the canal. The downhill bit made me wince with the cold in the air. Luckily for me (and this is the only piece of good fortune to fall my way today), the wind was from the north and although bitterly cold, it would give me a bit of a helping hand.

5 miles after setting off, spirits were quickly dampened (saturated actually) as rain started to fall. It fell downwards and at times horizontally. My new so-called weatherproof gloves were useless under such conditions as the circulation to my fingers retreated and numbness replaced it. The old feet weren’t fairing much better and after 25 miles or so on the canal, it was time to leave it due to there being a tunnel. This would mean going over the top but before departing the canal, I sought some shelter in a small shed that was provided for the very purpose.

Whilst sat in this shed, a local employee stepped out of his Renault. He was from the canal and waterways authority and approached me. He was of huge build with glasses that made his eyes look wider than they actually were. He reminded me of one of those filtered selfies you see on social media these days. It also gave him the appearance of someone that had just received some shocking news! In addition to this he was clearly very accomplished and adept at cigarette smoking. I watched as he took a long hard drag on a Gauloise before inhaling it deeply and continuing his conversation. I then stared in disbelief as this inhaled smoke was showing no signs of escaping. Between sentences he also had a terrific wheeze but then that’s no surprise! For the sake of reference we’ll call our smoke-swallowing friend Michele (all men in France called Michel drive Renaults and smoke Gauloises). Michele told me in pigeon english that I could proceed no further on the canal and needed to go over the top. I replied in pigeon French that I knew this was the case and then went on to enquire how steep ‘over the top’ actually was. After swallowing another litre of smoke, he gave a shrug and replied ‘pas mal’ – meaning ‘not too bad really’. At this point, I then had a brainwave to try and warm up my now-numb hands. I had a dry pair of fleece gloves which I then put on underneath a couple of polythene bags to keep the rain off. Actually, one was a Tesco’s carrier and the other had some stale brioche rolls in which I binned. It worked. Before long my hands were warm as I left the familiar and flat canal and headed for the hills. Michele had already stumbled into his Renault and departed the scene.

As it transpired, it turns out that Michele is also a bloody liar! The climb up to the town of Langres was brutal and with numb feet and now-warm hands I pushed the bike upwards with each summit concealing another. Langres seemed to be well appointed with plenty of bars and cafes (all closed of course). I was tempted to stop off and try and find somewhere for lunch and/or at least a hot drink but nothing was open (as usual!). On the way out of the town, I spied a restaurant that was open and almost turned tail and went in but then I thought, if I do go in and ‘de-robe’ so to speak, it would be even harder to get going again. The rain was still falling and turning to sleet. Utterly miserable it was too.

The southbound road out of the town then commenced with a 3 mile descent. I freewheeled down and with the tailwind, was soon cruising at over 30mph without even turning a pedal. Under blue skies and warm sunshine this would’ve been fab. Today tho, as the sleet then morphed into snow, the wind chill on my delicate face was now well below freezing. Also, after all the climbing, my hands were now hot, moisture had condensed in the plastic bags making the gloves wet and within an hour my hands were on their way to being numb once more.

With relief, I was back on the canal again. The tunnel was obviously the summit of the canal and after climbing gradually, it was now my turn to descend. A quick look at the Garmin told me I still had 42 bitter miles to cover. I’d given up on any ideas of lunch and just went for it. 42 miles pretty much without a stop apart from junctions where roads cross and you’ve no choice.

It was a quick 40+ miles (by my standards) and on arrival at Heuilley sur Saone, I found the accommodation quickly and was given a very warm welcome with hot tea and an offer to wash and dry all of my kit. Result! 70+ miles in total in dreadful conditions. If I’d been at home I wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of venturing out in it.

Anyway, all done! Tomorrow is Sunday and the forecast is changing for the better!

Ciao for now.

Hi folks,

Whilst I pedal my merry way across this foreign land amusing the locals with my crap French, let’s not forget the reason this is happening.

The Brain Tumour Charity works tirelessly researching this dreadful thing and of course is funded by donations. If you do have a few quid to spare then please give something. Just a couple of pounds can make a difference.

The link is here to donate

Also, towards the end of the ride, I’ll be doing a Guess the Miles competition where you can guess what the total will be and make a £2 donation to the JustGiving page. I’ll post the total mileage on the penultimate night and give you a rough guide on the following day’s route. The winner will get a £20 John Lewis voucher. It’s only a couple of quid so worth a shot!

Also if you’d like to drop in and see my progress, you can by clicking here

Thanks for your time and Bonne Journée!

Click here for today’s routemap

90+ French miles were in the offing today. After yesterday’s downpour, I’d spent a fun evening getting everything dried out for today. The route for the entire day was pretty straight forward and that was to pick up the cycle path on the Marne Canal and keep pedalling until my little GPS told me otherwise.

Today had been on mind for a good while. Why? I dont know. It’s only just 15 or so more than what I have been doing so it’s no big thing.

The canal appeared 100yds from the B&B. Freshly laid tarmac, smooth and quick. The morning was cold and damp after a night of rain. They do say that all good things must come to an end which is exactly what the tarmac did after 5km! Immediately it transformed into a rutted grassy track littered with potholes full of murky beige water. It’s as if the French road-surface team simply ran out of materials and said, “Sod it? That’ll do, its Friday, let’s have ‘arf day”

As there was no alternative, there was little choice but to proceed. After 15 mins of pedalling and swearing and asking myself ‘What on earth am I doing on a grassy, muddy lane in freezing cold France at 7am?’, I reached a village and walking in the opposite direction was a lady in her sixties walking her jack russell (who actually looked as pleased to be outdoors as I was!). For the sake of reference, we’ll call her Marie-Claire (all women called Marie-Claire in France walk Jack Russells). Anyway, in my best pigeon French I asked her if the surface improved from here on in. To which she replied “Oui, C’est bon!” Excellent! With renewed spirit I continued and after 200 yards it got worse, and worse and then to the point where it was unrideable (if there is such a word). It turns out that Marie-Claire is in fact a bloody liar. It’s most probably the case that the dog has had enough after 150yds and turns for home so she’s never been any further!

Now, inland waterways in France were built originally to transport goods back in the days of yore just like they were in England long ago when we used to actually export stuff! Canals were dug through valleys and countryside and if the lay of the land was too difficult, They’d dig tunnels. The canal I found myself on was in a valley and any diversions away from said waterway required a hill. With the towpath in the condition it was, I had no choice but to hit the tarmac and climb out of the valley. This I did and then thought I’d throw caution to the wind (which incidentally was turning nicely around to a northerly) a few miles later and drop down to the next village and try my luck on the canal once more. Straightaway it was bad but then suddenly, Bingo! Everything came good.

Who says water doesnt flow uphill? Well the elevation chart proves it does! Nah not really, every 800yds or do on this canal there’s a lock or écluse if you’re a Frenchy. Once upon a time, these were manned constantly and the lockeeper’s houses still exist. Now tho, everything is automated and the job, long gone.

It was still cold and I had concerns about the suitability of my kit as the forecast for the following day was horrendous. So, at the town of St. Dizier I bought some new gloves, long cycling trousers (thermal and waterproof), new over shoes and a buff scarf thing. After telling me the price and picking me up off the floor of the shop, the shop assistant then forced me, under much duress, to empty my wallet. I then reluctantly settled the bill and departed the shop in floods of tears wondering how next month’s mortgage arrears will be paid. 10 minutes later, the sun came out and I was down to short sleeves!

Back on the canal, back on good surfaces and progress was swift. There was even a bakery (and it was bloody open!) by the canal. Lunch was sought and at some point a fresh ham baguette was to be had.

The scenery around these parts is beautiful. It’s peaceful, plenty of wildlife, serene almost. Every now and then in the shallows you’d hear a little chorus of frogs/toads with just their heads above the surface. On hearing the bike approaching, heron-type bird take off from their nests on the shoreline, fly a wide circle and land where they took off from. Photographs simply cannot do justice to the beauty of this place.

Chaumont was the destination today. A town which, is built on a hill. A dirty-great steep one at that. I was expecting this and after the mileage ticked past 89, the GPS directed me off the canal and onto tarmac and immediately it went UP. It was steep but also short which was a relief. Then there was a long descent before reaching the town. Lulling me into a false sense of security, I thought that’s it! I’ve done it! But no, Mr GPS said there was 1.5 miles to go. Half of which was an even steeper hill.

After much huffing and puffing, I got to the B&B with a big grin. The longest day was done! In the bag! Finito! Must be neat half way now! Its not going to get any worse than that! Or is it? Hmmm, well stay tuned for Day 6 (when I’ve written it)!

Bye for now!

Click here for today’s routemap

My host in Marle laid on a breakfast fit for a king this morning. Breads, pastries, cakes. An utter carb-fest! Afterwards, I was actually ready for a lie down and not spend half a day on a bike. After waving goodbye to Monsieur et Madame, I pedalled off only to stop after 25yds as my Garmin watch had crashed. A quick look on Google on how to reset it and I was away again. 2 miles later after a long climb out of the town I was at the bus stop in the little village, Autremencourt. This is where my knee finally refused to bend anymore back in September. It was a good psychological victory to get here this morning.

Again the rolling countryside afforded me some swift progress before dropping down into a wetland nature reserve which was, naturally flat but also devoid of any tarmac. Once again, Google maps had played a blinder during the planning stage. I was slowed down quite considerably weaving left and right to avoid the pot holes this lasted a couple of miles but at least the sun was shining and all of the wind turbines I saw in this area were stationary – always a relief for a cyclist!

Today’s ride was a proper smorgasbord of environments; quiet roads and country lanes, busy as hell ‘D’ roads, and then some ridiculous thoroughfares avoiding the motorways.

I wonder who, at Google’s mapping department selects such ‘roads’ and deems them suitable for cycling – a sadistic b@#$%&d! That’s who! After 50+ miles the last thing you want to do is push a bike up stuff like this.

It wasnt all bad though. After quick progress on a rolling D road with articulated lorries affording you the courtesy of passing as wide as they can, I entered the town of Reims and immediately picked up the canal cycle way which skirted around the place. Not very picturesque in places due to some heavy industry going on and a lot of abandoned buildings but it made a nice change after the previous 20+ miles.

Now, usually when rolling along a canal towpath, one would see a variety of wildlife – ducks, swans, geese etc. However, this one was a little different as there was none to be seen. What there was plenty of however, was piles of white-coloured metallic scrap objects every couple of hundred yards. These mounds are the discarded findings from those people that are into ‘magnet fishing’. What you do is go onto Ebay and pay a small sum for a neodynium magnet, attach it to a rope and then chuck it into the canal in the hope of finding a discarded safe or a biscuit tin full of gold bullion etc. In reality tho, and certainly in this canal it was more like an old ‘baccy tin and a rusty hub cap! Altho there was an exception which was lain on the bank in all its glory- a moped! Imagine the effort it took to extricate that from the water! He’d probably phoned his wife and told her to put a deposit down on that Mercedes as his luck had finally changed! And now there’s one disappointed magnet fisherman in Reims with a hernia and a bad back!

The latter part of the ride went a bit pear-shaped in all honesty. The route into Chalons en Champagne was to come off the main road and drop down onto the canal towpath for a flat end to the day. This wasn’t to be as after what seemed like 10 miles of crappy farm tracks, access to the canal was barriered off. So…..back I went muttering the odd profanity and back onto the main road. I was then routed onto these ridiculous rutted tracks around the perimeter of agricultural land right beside the motorway (much to the amusement of passing traffic I’m sure!)

Two minutes after leaving the tracks and hitting tarmac again, out of nowhere the heavens opened. Torrential rain. I was 2 miles from the finish. The Garmin lost its gps link so was useless and my phone kept reverting back to the homescreen as the rain was hitting the glass. After faffing about for 20 mins, I found a bus shelter and was able to route to the right address…..or so i thought…..

On arrival, there was a young lad (we’ll call him Jean-Claude) unloading groceries from his citroen (all men in France called Jean-Claude drive Citroens). He beckoned me over and invited me to bring my bike into the garage. Wanting to get out of the wet stuff, I obliged and Jesn-Claude then offered me a hot drink. Lovely! I thought. I then asked (in French of course!) if he was the son of Sylvie. He looked at me puzzled and replied (in French also) that Sylvie had been dead some seven years! I then looked at him in a way that said,

‘I’ve not got the right house here have I?’

He then simultaneously returned a glance that said something like,

‘No you prick! I invited you in to get out of the rain!’

If I’m honest I was relieved as I thought there was some sort of French Norman Bates thing going on!

Anyhow, 10 minutes later I was in the right house and then spent the evening drying out all of my kit. I couldn’t face going out again in the weather so asked the host if she would phone and order me a pizza. It was bloody lovely after all of that!

A real mixed day and glad it’s done. Hope everything improves tomorrow as it’s the longest day with over 90 miles to cover.

Bonjour!

Click here for today’s routemap

Day 3 started very early – nothing to do with cycling. More to do with a drunk middle aged house guest that was also staying at the Airbnb. As explained yesterday, this Madame had turned up to stay as she was attending a party in the area. Now, the house where we are now both staying is of very modern design with an open plan layout on the ground floor. Like most French houses, the ground floor is also tiled throughout and this combined with the owner’s minimalist tastes then results in a large space that can carry sound very well. I found this out at 1:37am when Madame returned from the party a little worse for wear after an evening supping côtes du Rhone and no doubt a couple of brandies after dinner etc etc etc. Anyway, through the front door she came with a clatter of heels that echoed throughout the house. I woke up and immediately thought we were being burgled. Then I heard Madame talking loudly in slurred French before clattering up the laminate floored staircase and into her room. Ten minutes later, with heels now removed, off again. First to the bathroom where she knocked over a load of toiletries and then rather swiftly downstairs to the only toilet in the house where she proceeded to eject all of the evening’s food and drink. Once again, this solo performance resonated throughout the building and after 10 minutes of this, I began to think surely there can be any more and yet, there she goes again singing yet another verse!

She finally drew her performance to a close after several encores and settled into a death-like stupor. I never heard from her again.

The following morning, following the usual French brekkie, I made my way southeast towards the town of Marle. The winds today were favourable mostly which enabled a steady rolling average over gently undulating countryside. Being a bank holiday in France, it was always going to be tricky finding somewhere open for food but I struck gold in the town of Marciennes and even stopped there for coffee too. In the chiller they had some wraps that were made on the premises. One variety was labelled ‘Bresilien’ or Brazilian as we know it. What on earth could be in that? No hares I hope (boom boom). Turned out it was what we British know as coronation chicken. Very tasty even if it had warmed up in the French sunshine!

The route chosen this time differed slightly to miss out some so-called cycle paths and a quicker way taken. I did then later on pick up the original route at Le Cateau Cambresis. Out of here is a long, long climb that I remembered from before and a climb that I struggled to complete with a bit of a gammy knee. This time though, a much different story as I got to the top in one go and was bearly out of breath. At the top of the hill sits the WW1 Highland cemetery. I stopped here in September where the winds were so strong, the surrounding trees were bent over like the postman at Christmas. Today though, a complete contrast as the same strees were bolt-upright (much like my postman on Valentine’s day!).

Now by this time on the 1st attempt, I’d been punched in the nuts by a 50-something Pharmacist who was fitting out my knee with an elastic support bandage.

By now the flatlands were well behind me to be replaced with long straight roads with hill after hill after hill. Marle was a very welcome sight after another 70+ miles in the saddle.

Tomorrow it’s the same again before the biggest day of this mad dash across French France.

À bientôt