Big ride North

---

On arrival back in London, most unusual as it was warm, sunny blue skies & spring & new growth budding everywhere so we availed ourselves the opportunity and ambled around Wimbledon common before unpacking our bikes, dusting off the moths & taking a wobbly 25km trial ride to Calshot and back.
The following day we made our way to Southampton and friends Dave & Sarah joined us with their 'hard core' bikes for our 2nd training ride and lunch. Knackered and exhausted and out of breath, whilst they bobbed merrily along chatting and whistling we realised we might be in a 'little' trouble fitness wise !
Undaunted the next day we packed the bikes, pumped the newly replaced tyres (by Jans Dad whilst we away), oiled the chain and with audible groans from the bikes - wobbled our way to Gosport ferry for the channel crossing to Santander / Spain.
A fellow biker joined us to find the campsite from the ferry, eventually huffing & puffing to the campsite atop a hill of course, we pitched our new tent in the lee of a hedge, opened our new camp stools, uncorked the Spanish roija and all rejoiced that we made it to our 1st nights camp !

The following week we soaked up the glorious sunshine, crisp mornings, turquoise bays with crystal water, quaint fishing ports of Islares, Castro Urdiales & Sopelana. A very interesting chanel crossing in Bilbao was a platform (with 9 cars, 2 trucks, 7 bikes and umpteen pedestrians) suspended by cables under an H steel framework that travelated the platform back & forth every 10 to 15 minutes. Precarious to say the least, but novel.

Ondarroa and then we were on to one of our all time favorites in San Sebastian where we treated ourselves to a few days off from riding and time to absorb the taste, flavours and ambiance and the last of Spain before we cross into France.........what a treat (our bottoms and saddles agreed).

On to Hendaye and St Jean de Luz, before stopping for an obligatory 10am coffee atop the cliff overlooking Biarritz beach and the perfect surf rolling in off the point and into the beach break and being taken advantage of by many locals and visitors alike.
The cycle paths and country roads are now frequently lined with old mature cork trees, trunks visibly scared by many years of service. Pathways also slowly starting to lead through forests and beach pine groves, and so it is we find ourselves one morning in the eery sand choked roads, houses half buried, surf town of Saint Girons. Assuming the town was deserted and being reclaimed by the sand smothering environment, until life started emerging from those stores that had now opened for the start of Summer season trade.

Our camp that night was almost at the waters edge so we soaked some late afternoon rays, barefoot in the sand and warm enough for a brisk fresh swim.
The following morning we cycled through a 'free camping' site with possibly 100 camper vans scattered throughout the forest, a small port village of mussel farmers and on to Maubuisson, before the salivating scents of fresh warm chocolate crepes crept up on us and we were forced to make a brief stop at a Royan port stall and replenish our sorely ignored tummies.

The coastline now is shifting from long stretches of sand dunes to rock and small bays with outcrops hosting fisherman cottages on stilts with their iconic poles and nets suspended out front of each hut, ready for action when needed.

Our riding now becoming pasture of ponies, reminiscent of the camargue, grand country manors, fields of feeding wild geese and recently arrived migratory visitors on route to their summer homes, and overgrown green pathways encasing us in a soft hue of pea-green soup, before the heavens opened once again and we arrived at Rochefort dripping from head to toe.
Our spirits were lifted when during a brief respite we noticed the square rigged masts of L'Hermione (......) and hence the next hour or so were distracted sufficiently enough not to notice the weather.
So distracted by things nautical our next stop at La Rochelle and its medieval port entrance with a plethora of boats and floating craft all and sundry. Watching the dirty ancient vocation of ragwormers still practiced today ,digging up mud worm amongst the low tide sludge, for market...............so we lunched on fresh rolls, tomatoes with cold meat on the bank overlooking the port, and just soaked up the day.
The old town, it's castle, three towers and well preserved history, stores of exquisite ornate french pastries and cakes, made it exceptionally difficult to leave and get the legs working again.
And so down soggy mud paths, past reed beds to the moldy little town of Marans (where numerous moldy boats are moored cheaply) and slipped past La Faute sur Mer and L'Aiguillon sur Mer before we had to line up with the traffic to wait the tide dropping sufficiently to expose the 4.5km roadway at "Passage du Gois" and the centuries old crossing only available twice a day.
It felt a little like Moses and parting the waters - lucky timing for us.
Through Ville de Pornic, Paimboeuf and back to Nantes (our starting point last year) and nice to be on familiar territory, once again.

Now riding on cycle-ways , bridle paths, old tow paths alongside the canals through Gruenrouet and on to our campsite at Saint-Clair was picture book to say the least. Redon, Malestroit & alongside Canal de Brest, past colorful ornately decorated gypsy caravans until we stopped at the old now disused station building of Cloitre - Lanneanou and rested up to prepare our fresh rolls for lunch. Rummaging about, roll in hand, in the derelict remains we come upon two fully fledged owl chicks frozen motionless, camouflaged by the mold stained walls but mindful of our every move. Within days they would now be capable and hunting for field mice, as adults.

From here we were only a few hours cycle to Morlaix where we were to meet up with Roger & Jules (now living in Dubai) that we had not seen in 12 months....great excitement.
The following 3 or 4 days we explored, feasted, drank, rested together like there was no tomorrow, and would pay for it ! They had to leave and back to Dubai, and us for fear of being overweight, unfit and the bikes incapable of taking the extra baggage we had gained, so set off in the rain, waved our goodbyes ( until who knows when when meet again) but had to walk and push at the very 1st incline.......glad they were out of eyesight.

The weather lifted clearing to a stunning day of beautiful bays, boats a plenty, some sitting high and dry in the mud on shoal keels. Past the 4000BC, 7m standing stone of St Uzec, over the 17th Century iron bridge and into Treguier and its grand cathedral. Still having time in hand we can make it to Lezardrieux to overnight and to our surprise meet Annie & Francios (also cyclists) that we had met on route earlier at St Clair, so arranged dinner together. After a sharing stories, campsites and cycling tips over a wholesome country feast, the next morning we set off once more for St Malo.

We took yet another ferry to cross the bay and on arriving presumed we had been transported back in time to the 16th century, with a square rigged barque harboured in front of 17th century port warehouses and homes, looking quite surreal. Then we made for Cherrueix and our campsite.
The fishing fleet vessels (size of a long bus) were emerging from the sea, driving ashore up the long flat beach to park ! Amphibious trawlers with wheels !

Following day we rode in warm sunshine to the magic medieval ocean island and castle of Mont St Michel, and the location of this years start of Tour de France. After depositing our bikes, baggage and gear we walked the 3km causeway to scramble up the fortress, in the dungeons and around the ramparts, quite a special place.
The next day opened 'soggy' , nothing open in Pont Hebert village we finally found a bus shelter alongside a salmon run, so stuffed in our mushy cheese & tomato rolls, left some remains for the bedraggled buntings and sparrows hopping about just out of our reach.

Then on past the strategic WW2 bridge at St Fromond and on to St Lo (start of day 2 TDF). Things warlike have started popping up around us, then we reach the beach establishment of Grandcamp Maisy and monument to the US troops of the D Day landings. The following couple of days felt as if we might be part of a gigantic film set. Military green uniforms, tanks, armored cars, motorcycles, jeeps, flags etc were at every turn....setting up for 2 days time for the annual memorial 6th June.

The dull grey somber drizzle set the mood there on to Utah & Omaha beach landings of US troops, Gold, Juno & Sword beaches landings of UK & Canadian troops, cemeteries with carpets of crosses, church grounds entertaining military troop bands refining their repertoires, monuments surrounded in khaki uniforms going about their respectful thanks givings to fallen comrades and family.
Needing a little boost we stopped at Cafe Gondree stationed at Pegasus Bridge where we were to find out became famous as the landing spot for military gliders with troops (at night) to break enemy lines.
The bar was now packed with those few still alive, annual veteran pilgrimage and their family members. Some of their stories quite incredible, and now in their late 80's still enthusiastically making the journey to catch up with old cohorts. On to Caen with its imposing castle & beach front grand homes of a time past. Trouville and its now famous timber beach boardwalk was quaintly impressive, when as we cycled out and up a narrow country lane with no cycle shoulder, held up a convoy of Land rover (ex Field Hospital) 5 ton trucks (now rebuilt and modernized). We stopped and chatted to the enthusiastic owners and had to be crow barred away to cycle on to the very beautiful and picturesque port village of Honfleur, encircled by period timber yachts and fishing boats - I had just arrived in heaven.

Back to reality, cycled over the 3km mighty steep and modern (very high) hump back bridge and on to the coastal village of Etretat surrounded by imposing 100ft cliffs (could be in Dover). we took a magnificent hike along the edge with each new precarious point eclipsing the previous panorama. Our pathway now eased away from the coast, past country chateaus and in particular 'Chateau de Janville', pea green pastures and shady translucent green forests before ending abruptly at a village in the throes of a carnival fund raising fair (for a village resident cyclist to ride the circumference of Mont Blanc). My worms in the stomach were screaming for food (so it had to be around lunch time) we loitered around a shipwright shed with BBQ sausage, chips & Cote de Rhone for Euro 3, but it looked as though all was sold out and lunch over !! We must have looked so forlorn and our miserable starving faces must have softened the stall holder as they asked us in...fed us...watered us and we finally wobbled out an hour and a half, over satisfied.

Dieppe seems to have been one of Monet's haunts with various locations along the coast where towns and villages showed his paintings of the location. Keeping with the theme Le Treport, St Valery sur Somme a bit further North, both masters Boudin & Degas also made frequent visits to the area leaving their mark.Then the sobering site of Etaples military cemetery where more than 10700 Australian, NZ, Sth African, Canadian & English WW1 troops have been laid to rest.

A brief stop in Calais, before camping in the beach sand at De Panne, past numerous forms of lighthouses & beach windmills and the colorful port of Breskens with its waterborne, fish smoking, shroud climbing maiden - fish store boat in the harbour. A crossing on yet another ferry and we were in Vlissingen. Briefly we are in Belgium.

We cycle past a forest like field of brightly painted, cone topped navigational marks ready to be deployed to seaworthy clients or into the ocean. Then we were on to hot apple pie & cream with coffee at the Westkapelle memorial on the coast and the site of the Benares coming to grief in 1911. The gorgeous picturesque village of Verre with its boat lined canal and quaint ornate architecture made a picture postcard scene at every turn, so we settled on a canal bench, watched the passing people parade and delicately honed into our fresh wholemeal rolls and fresh produce for lunch. The following morning we stopped for our habitual morning coffee & pastry, and had an hour chat with a 72 year old (1st time away from his wife ever) to trial his homemade recumbent bike and trailer (and was loving the freedom !), we made for yet another ferry crossing to arrive at The Hague.

We scoured the Koffy Huis's, scoffed pannenkoeken (pancakes & pastries), searched for squiffy, skew & wonky cathedral spires, ogled over romantic couples on the canal bridges gazing deeply into each other, and chatted with an artist sketching a pen & ink immensely ornate 2 metre long cityscape. Tearing ourselves away we ambled on to Delft where it seemed all the canals had been transformed into art galleries. Then it was back on the road to Leiden, where Rembrandt was born (15th July 1606), past numerous variety of windmills and fat bloated laden barges passing mere inches from each other, with the expertise of a master craftsman, to Amsterdam and the imminent arrival of our cycling friends from Perth (Ian & Jen) the following day.

---