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Published: August 31st 2008
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One problem which we had foreseen with the camping idea was that without the heavy encumbrance of a stove, pots and mugs we couldn’t even have a cup of tea when we woke up. Rather than spend time cycling around trying to find breakfast, a task likely to be considerably more challenging even than finding a restaurant in the evening, we had decided instead to dispense with an early breakfast. We would get up, pack our tents, head off, and look out for the first opportunity to stop at a café en route.
This morning, I wake to a clear blue sky and sit in the sun contemplating the field of bullocks next door, wondering what to do about waking Polly and Chris (we had agreed to wake each other up at 9AM). All of a sudden, one of the bullocks rears his head back and proceeds to bellow at 120 decibels for a full minute - job done! We pack our panniers and set off again.
Back in the saddle, with the sun in our faces, we are starting to appreciate the qualities of travel on two wheels. You start to notice all sorts of small things, like
On the ferry at Duclair
Polly and Chris - crossing the Seine hairy caterpillars crossing the road in front of you, and the sound of the ears of wheat clicking as they dry in the sun. There is hardly any traffic on this route towards Duclair, which is our chosen crossing point of the Seine.
Stopping at the first opportunity for breakfast, in St Pierre, we do what is customary and buy pastries in a bakers, then go to a café to eat them with our coffee. It seems strangely un-vertically-integrated that it should be necessary to separate ones purchases in this way, yet it turns out to be the only way to get a complete breakfast.
We head down the hill into Duclair, bypass the queue of traffic waiting to get on the ferry, and whizz straight onto the waiting boat. Until planning this route I had forgotten how few crossings of the Seine are available at least to the west of Rouen. I remember my father taking the ferry at Caudebec, a bit to the west, when there were no bridges available, and I also remember how interested he was to see the construction of the new bridge at Tancarville in 1959. I see there has since been
a second bridge built to replace the Caudebec ferry (the Pont de Brotonne) but our maps from the 1960s do not mention this.
Having crosed the Seine, we are in a big upturned horseshoe so by heading south we are following the river on our right and travelling on the flat river plain. Very pretty scenery, easy cycling, and hardly a car in sight. To our right we can see the occasional 19th century villa overlooking the river and it reminds me of some impressionist paintings.When we diverge from the river at Yville-sur-Seine, we go up a long forested incline which represents the southern side of the valley of the Seine. We pass a smart chateau which overlooks the river, and stopping to admire the view we surprise a plummy English family by addressing them in English (they obviously didn’t see the GB plate on my bike).
Chris always forges ahead on any hill, while I simply reduce my speed and gears until I reach a sustainable comfort zone (usually marginally above walking pace). We have endless discussions about aerobic and anaerobic energy but frankly none of us has the faintest idea what we are talking about.
Passing through Bourgachard (easily missed, even on a bike) we head down the D83 and take a slight wrong fork (my mistake) which leads us to Boissy-le-Chatel. It is a tiny place, it is definitely lunch-time, but it is also “le quinze aout” which means nothing is open. We sit on a bench and finish various stale bits of bread and biscuits and warm water.
We do some hurried route re-planning which takes us via tiny roads to Harcourt and then on to Beaumont-le-Roger where we plan to stop. En route we find a big campsite at Salverte but after a quick tour we decide it is a bit brash (even for us) and also too early to stop.
In Beaumont, we stop at a bakery and buy ice creams. The lady here says no, there is no campsite in Beaumont. She asks each of her customers in turn, all to no avail. We hold a committee meeting outside the shop to weigh our options. The lady is still asking every new customer about campsites. Suddenly a lady emerges from the shop with her teenage son and daughter. Apparently, they say, there is a campsite in Conches, opposite
the swimming pool. This means another 20km but with the promise of accommodation, it’s worth it. We thank the family profusely and set off again.
Entering Conches, Chris spots the sign to the swimming pool and we are soon at the gates of a suspiciously empty campsite, having clocked up a total of 94km and not in a mood for compromise. A brief enquiry in the caretakers house confirms my suspicion. The campsite closed 2 years ago. Oddly, however, the grass has been mown and the place looks in reasonable shape. I ask the lady if there is any chance we can pitch our tents somewhere - yes if you go down the far end, she says. Excellent. We have soon set up camp. Polly tries her luck with the shower block and finds, amazingly, that once she has waved away the cobwebs to get to the taps, there is even hot water! Someone obviously forgot to cancel the maintenance and service contracts.
I notice that Conches is on the “Old Route” marked by my father on these maps. This might well have been a stopping point for him, as it would be well placed for him to
break his journey to Vigeois. We head off into town for dinner, and there is a promising looking Logis de France - the Hotel de Normandie. Without further ado we enter and enjoy an excellent meal. Even the carafe wine is superb. Polly is particularly keen on the “Three Elves of Cheese” as translated on the English menu. I feel sure this was somewhere my parents would have stayed.
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