Just Keep Pedalling

Cormeilles to Verneuil-sur-Seine

I forget whether it had rained in the night or if there was just a heavy dew, but everything was damp outside as I emerged. I’d taken my laundry in the night before, so it was no more than a slightly wet saddle to contend with and there was breakfast first during which it’d probably dry – especially as it stood in the sun somewhat as I wheeled back around to the garden where the entrance to the main house and breakfast room were. A man I took to be the owner, somewhat older than me, offered juice, coffee, a selection of pastries, and some cheese to go with the fresh hunks of baguette. Simple, standard fare but perfect to start me off for first couple of hours riding of the day. His English was patchy but better than my French – and between those we managed some pleasantries and a description of my destination for the day: Paris, or at least the suburbs just this side of the city itself. He bade me “bon courage” as I slurped down the last of my coffee and kitted up to roll out. I really hoped the new sunscreen worked and give my face a chance to heal slowly.

Isigny-sur-Mer to Cormeilles

Sipping tea in bed, I reviewed the day ahead. The wind direction looked kind, the distance was modest with few enough hilly sections that I could see and count them. There was a threat of rising heat in the afternoon though, so I resisted the temptation to linger and headed for breakfast as soon as the restaurant was open. It’s unusual for me to get more than 5 or 6 hours sleep on long rides, so the 7+ hours I’d got last night was almost as big a bonus as not having to ride out at 5am and scout for breakfast along the road.

Poole to Isigny-sur-Mer

It has to be said I enjoyed the simple pleasure of a hotel breakfast, basic as it was, rather than rushing to pack up and get rolling. Sure, it was still an early start (I was down as the restaurant was just opening) – but that was entirely about making it to the ferry for my crossing rather than an urgent need to get cracking on another day of monumental mileage. In fact, even if I added the included the kilometres from here to the port with those on the other side in France I’d still be under 100km for the day – almost more time spent on the boat than the bike. I could get used to this way of riding. I don’t recall now if I spoke to anyone at breakfast, beyond exchanging the usual pleasantries – I have a vague recollection of an elderly couple next to me inquiring on my journey.

Sidmouth to Poole

The ferry from Poole was an early morning crossing, meaning the most practical approach was a leisurely ride down the day before and an overnight stop somewhere near the port. So in theory I could have left home quite late. Except my ‘training’, if it could really be called that, had been very light with the plan to ride myself fit over the opening days. And one of the toughest legs of the whole ride was the first one, on what promised to be a hot day. So I decided to leave early, get the first of 3 chunky climbs out of the way, and then grab some breakfast. I guess it was around 7:15 as I rolled down the drive and out of our road. I was accompanied by an odd sensation for a couple of reasons. Firstly, despite having lived here for 6 years, I was leaving our village by a route I had never ridden before. Secondly, was how unusual it was for me to begin a big ride by heading away from home (the only other occasion being my jaunt down to Lands End and back).

I don’t generally plan large rides in consecutive years – partly to give my body a break, but mostly to give my mind a break from the constant need to stay reasonably fit. So I guess I’ll have to pretend this summer’s 1,800km ride is just a short little tour. Although as I finally get back to some actual training after a long bout of Flu it does not feel that way. The legs are surprisingly strong given my lack of riding – some leftover fitness still from all those kilometres last year. The lungs are in catchup though. Anyhow, enough about that – what is the tour all about?