All Things Beautiful #6

Why don’t we ever hear about this sort of thing in America, where it’s over fifty percent Electronic Voting now.  But then it the land of the free and home of voter fraud.

French latest to realize the perils of e-voting

By Ryan Paul | Published: July 09, 2008 - 08:32PM CT

A study conducted by a researcher in France has uncovered that polling locations which use electronic voting machines exhibit a higher number of discrepancies than those using conventional paper ballots. Unsurprising to those who have followed the problems plaguing e-voting since its introduction, the revelation has fueled renewed calls for greater scrutiny of electronic voting technology in France.

The study was conducted at over 21,000 polling stations by comparing electoral registers, which voters sign after voting, with the total vote counts from machines and paper ballots in several elections. Discrepancies were found at almost 30 percent of polling stations that use electronic machines and only at about 5 percent of those using paper ballots. Based on the results, the researcher believes that broader studies are needed to determine the scope of the pattern and the reasons for the discrepancies. The root cause is thought to be technical rather than a result of widespread operator error because the margin of discrepancies increased in later elections when voters were already familiar with the systems.

The results were announced at a press conference hosted by Ethical Citizen, a transparent voting advocacy group that partially funded the research. “For more than a year, Ms. Chantal Enguehard—a member of the Laboratory of Computer Science, Nantes Atlantique (CNRS UMR 6241)—conducted the study in conjunction with the Observatory of the vote to determine whether it was possible to observe quantitatively alterations or improvements to the functioning of polling stations equipped with computers to vote,” said Ethical Citizen in a statement. “The first results, announced at the press conference, confirm this hypothesis and show the need to develop for the future tools that will enable independent evaluators to to measure the quality and reliability of elections.”

Old tech that still works great
Image credit: David Monniaux
Licensed under CC Attribution 2.0

France has had a rocky relationship with electronic voting since the introduction of the technology in 2004. The machines have faced significant criticism from organizations across the political spectrum and have been met with particularly high skepticism from elderly voters who distrust the machines and have difficulty operating them. The country suffered an electronic voting catastrophe last year—the first time that the machines have been used for a presidential election. Voting was disrupted by the same kind of technical problems and machine failures that we have seen plague many elections in the United States.

Electronic voting technology is fraught with risk and endangers the transparency of elections. Security audits conducted on virtually all of the major voting machines in use today have been found to have serious flaws that can be exploited to interfere with or manipulate the outcome of elections. The latest problems uncovered in France further demonstrate the need for greater scrutiny and skepticism—if not a return to good, old paper.

All Things Beautiful # 5

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Our Warrantless Wiretapping Lawsuit

posted by Katrina vanden Heuvel on 07/10/2008 @ 3:36pm

This afternoon, President Bush signed the FISA Amendments Act of 2008, a piece of legislation that will needlessly expand the government’s ability to spy on Americans and ensure that the country never learns the full extent of Bush’s unlawful wiretapping. There were many good Senators who showed courage in standing up to the White House and for the Constitution, but not enough.

A few hours after Bush’s signing, The Nation joined with the ACLU in a lawsuit filed in the US District Court (Southern District) of New York challenging the constitutionality of the Act. The Nation is suing on behalf of itself, our staff and two of our contributing writers–Chris Hedges and Naomi Klein. The defendants are the Attorney General of the United States, Michael Mukasey; John M. “Mike” McConnell, Director of National Intelligence; and Lt. Gen. Keith Alexander, Director of the National Security Agency and Chief of the Security Service. We filed suit along with a coalition of other plaintiffs including Amnesty International USA, Human Rights Watch, Global Fund for Women, PEN American Center, Washington Office on Latin America, Service Employees International Union and several private attorneys.

Why are we joining this lawsuit?

For 143 years, The Nation has believed that an essential element of patriotism is the unyielding defense of civil liberties. Immediately after 9/11, as a fog of national security enveloped official Washington and the mainstream media enlisted in the Administration’s war, it was clear to us that the need for an independent and critical press seemed never more urgent. The speedy passage of the repressive Patriot Act, with scarcely a murmur of dissent in Congress, and the establishment of military tribunals were troubling signs that a wartime crackdown on civil liberties was under way and called for vigorous opposition. Criticizing government policy in wartime is a not a path to popularity. Our patriotism was questioned, we were called “anti-American.” Yet, as it has at different times in our country’s turbulent history, The Nation marched to a different drummer and stood firm in defense of our core constitutional values–believing then, as we do now, that it is possible to defend this country from terrorists while also protecting the rights and freedoms that define our nation.

Today, we are proud to join with the ACLU and other plaintiffs in this lawsuit in the belief that the government ’s surveillance activities should respect, not trample, the Constitution. Our history as America’s oldest weekly journal of opinion has taught us that surveillance powers can easily become a threat to a free and open society.

In the brief filed today in the US District Court, we provide reasons for participating in this defense of our republic. Here are a few:

* Because of the nature of our work, The Nation’s editors, columnists and contributors routinely engage in telephone and e-mail communications with individuals outside the US. These communications are vital to providing up-to-date, accurate information about emerging news stories and informing longer-range analytical articles on international topics. Some of the information exchanged by the Nation’s editors, columnists and contributors through these communications constitutes “foreign intelligence information” as defined by the challenged law. For example, the Nation’s staff members and contributing journalists routinely communicate by telephone or e-mail with political dissidents in other countries, foreign journalists in conflict zones, representatives of foreign government and individuals with connections to dissident political and social groups. Some of these communications relate to the involvement or alleged involvement of the US government or its allies abroad, or of the US military and its contractors, in repression and human rights abuses. Some of these communications relate to the subjects of terrorism, counterterrorism, or the foreign affairs of the US.

* We believe the challenged law undermines the ability of The Nation’s editors, writers, contributors and staff to gather information that is critical to their work. The ability to communicate confidentially with sources is essential to journalists’ work. Many of the people with whom the Nation’s staff and contributors communicate will not share information if they believe that their identities cannot be kept confidential. Some of them fear retribution by their own governments; others fear retribution by the US government; still others fear persecution at the hands of terrorist groups. The risk that their identities will be revealed will lead some sources who otherwise would have shared information to decline to do so.

Specifically, we cite the work of our regular contributors Chris Hedges and Naomi Klein in our filing. Hedges, in his reporting on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the so-called war on terror regularly communicates with sources in countries like Palestine, Iran, Syria and Sudan. Klein, in her essential critique of the extension of radical free-market capitalism and the resurgence of imperial militarism, routinely communicates with journalists, political activists, human rights campaigners in the Middle East, South America, and around the world. Sadly, we believe that the communications critical to their reporting could and would be monitored under the FISA Amendments Act. Certainly scores of other journalists would shoulder the same risk.

We are proud, then, to join with other patriots who understand the government’s legitimate interest in protecting the nation against terrorism can be fulfilled without sacrificing the constitutional liberties that make the US worth defending.

Cycling Paris to London - Day 6 & 7

Thursday 3.7.08 & Friday 4.7.08

Yes, I’m afraid you guessed it, I didn’t cycle to London! On Thursday I went to the cinema, this is a return journey of about fifteen miles, so not a bad trip. I wanted to get the chance to use my Cinema pass once again after having paid for it for the past six months without using it. I also felt that if there was some chance of my cycling on Friday it’s best if I didn’t sit around the house all day doing nothing!

As soon as I arrived to the house on Wednesday evening I was offered a paid trip to London Friday on the train by Jeanie’s mother. This was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I will not lie to you in saying I feel I cheated just slightly. I set out from Paris with the wish to do the whole trip and haven’t. The fact is that the sixty plus miles from Shoreham-by-Sea to London is long and hard! My body hurts enough as it is, plus once I get to London I’ll be cycling everywhere so my chances of becoming a lazy fat bastard over the next weeks is sadly slim! It was an amazing journey and one that I will never forget. I have done the best part of a return voyage from London to Paris on two very questionable mountain bikes and certainly this time in questionable shape. The eighty kilometre day was by far the hardest but also one of the best. I recommend it to any of you nuts out there that feels like a challenge!

Cycling Paris to London - Day 5

Wednesday 2.7.08

I woke up this morning at seven. I couldn’t sleep. After getting into bed at nine with great confidence that I’d have at least ten hours of solid bliss I came to realize there would be nothing of the sort happening. I tossed and turned for hours after I turned off my computer. At first listening to the chatter outside in the gazebo where we’d eaten then to the crickets. I knew it was eleven with the arise of darkness but I could do nothing about it. By twelve I believe I was asleep, and for some odd reason Jeanie must have had issues with her goodnight text as when it came it came three times. The ringing of my text alarm only annoying me further.

It’s now a lovely day. I sit at the desk in my bedroom and have even retrieved my hat for protection from the early morning sun. There are clouds in the sky that look to pass and a calm cool that didn’t exist in yesterday’s heat. Of course I wasn’t awake at seven am yesterday, so perhaps it was the same then! I further my work on yesterday’s entry and before I know it eight has rolled around and I must prepare for the day ahead. There is not much to do, but filling up waters, eating a light breakfast and fuffing about can take it’s time. I met Françoise outside and he was kind enough to put a bit more air in both tires. The old girls rear tire was looking rather desperate this morning and the improvement was noticeable immediately.

I dressed in my standard white wife beater and blue gene shorts, it’s amazing to me they can’t walk on their own at this point as I’ve been wearing them for the past two hundred kilometres. No, I take that back, it’s more like a few thousand kilometres, as I wore them on my eighteen hour bus ride from Madrid to Paris as well. At any rate, they are a testament to all cut-offs!

I said my goodbyes, put on my helmet and walked up the drive to the road. It’s a nice farm, the kind of land I would perhaps one day like to own. My bum is tender from the start and my legs a bit stiff, but as I always say, ‘the first kilometre is the worst’! Its twenty-three kilometres to Dieppe and from there another few to the ferry, at best I have thirty to cover and should be easily done in a few hours. I check my clock to see its ten to nine, perfect.

The bulk of the ride is fine. I think about how different it all looked and felt in the snow and can’t help but laugh at knowing I passed this farm, just like all the others with ignorance the last time around, now I’ve had a very small taste of French farm life! The air had a chill to it and there seemed to be a million little fruit flies, or whatever these small bugs are, in the air. It made me go slower, more than once I cycled through a large group of them and stung my teary eyes. If I ever do the Greenway again in the summer I will have glasses or goggles. Yesterday I got one in my eye and I thought it was bad, in the first hour this morning I had half a dozen in my eyes and more on my body. The Greenway continues till nine kilometres outside of Dieppe at which point it become very unclear what the next step is. I followed the road up hill till I got to the main road and turned in the same direction I’d been going in for an hour already, not looking forward to getting back in touch with traffic I slowed once again and wondered when I would see a bakery.

I did manage to find that bakery where I again managed to find a few lovely Chasson au Pomme delights and a baguette. The Baguette was my way of preparing for the long boat journey ahead of me. As I ate my apple turnover I dreaded what was coming next. The morning had been short and easy up to now but a large hill was on its way! In January I was not able to properly go down the hill, its snake like way was covered in snow and ice and I had to do all I could not to slip off. Oddly enough my chances were better on the bike as the tires seemed to hold a better grip than my shoes. This time around was the up hill bit, a single hill that has been on my mind since the day I started off in Paris. This hill alone almost thwarted my whole journey.

As I got back on the bike and started following Dieppe signs there was no sign of the mountain I had feared. The signs were leading me in the opposite direction I was certain, and after about ten minutes I knew without a doubt I had passed my big hill. There was a slight sigh of relief and happiness as I followed a sign saying Ferry. Turning into a round a bout and taking that first right I had to stop and check the signs again, I was about to go uphill! The signs were most assuredly correct and I put my head down and started up the hill. It didn’t seem too steep while by no means being a slight inclines either. I just didn’t look up as I’ve come to find the best way when on a hill, watch you’re feet! As vans, Lorries, cars and even a horse and buggy (joking) passed me by I lumbered up the hill for a good ten minutes. The weather had turned from the day before into a cloudy stormy look that blew up bits of dust into my eyes but kept me cool at the same time. Almost up the hill I noticed the underpass I’d been on in January. It was there that I felt the true chill, on one side the road was wet and cold on the other frozen and cold; I had to give a little laugh and smile knowing I’d probably never see these roads again, they had treated me well on a whole. The ferry way a further five kilometres from the top of the hill; I road on knowing I’d be there sooner than later and my journey was nearly finished.

The steep drop down into the harbour that housed the ferries was still an awesome site in the grey dim. The cliffs shone white with a rock whose name I don’t know, they are awesome high flat slabs where the coastline had been cut away at some point long ago to build these docks. I could not see a ferry present but then being an hour and a half early one wouldn’t expect it to be awaiting my arrival just yet.

I easily handed over the twenty-five Euros to the lady behind the counter and knew I’d have some waiting to do. With any luck in the sitting room I could find a plug and work on writing more of this diary. As with any daily journal it’s quite a challenge to keep up! If nothing else there would certainly be outlets on the ferry.

On January 1^st 2008 I left Newhaven, England at ten p.m on my way to Dieppe. It was cold and I was already tired as I laid out my sleeping bag between the seats and settled down for five hours of restless sleep. This time I would have liked to do the same thing but I knew it wouldn’t happen. Getting on the ferry I saw an outlet and turned on one of my current favourites, Hellboy.

The journey seemed to last forever and I was very restless. I always get nervous around immigration officers; the American’s being the worst but that’s closely followed by the British. This and I wasn’t sure about cycling to London now. My trip from Paris had been wonderful but I knew the Shoreham-by-Sea to London route, it was not easy, and not all that pleasant. I was seriously thinking to spend tomorrow at the cinema and then once again putting my bike on a coach and then hitting the streets of London.

As the ferry arrived and I went downstairs to find my bike already untied for me my mind was in a whirlwind. My pannier bags had been conveniently left on my bike and there was little I had to do but have a small conversation with an immigration officer, this didn’t matter, my trip to London was on my mind. Much to my surprise one of the immigration officers, in learning I was on my way to the Brighton Marina told me about a lovely turn off that aloud one to avoid all the hills and traffic that normally mares ones way to the city. Thanks to this turnoff at Seaford the trip was far more pleasant and enjoyable along the long white cliffs that mirror the French shores.

I took the national route 2 from the Brighton Marina following the coast line all the way to Shoreham-by-Sea where I was going to meet once again Jeanie’s parents. This time without Jeanie present! I wasn’t greatly concerned and too tired after the past week to have much time for concern anyway. They are nice people and wither it was on a bike or on a bus I would be in London by Friday!

Just a note

I’m sorry about not having finished off my series on Paris to London and on Pueblo Ingles.  Tomorrow morning when i will have time these two, especially the cycling articles.  Talk soon, Jeffrey

I would like to add to this note that i have finally found a place to shop in London.  Most of the bins are locked away it seems in the capital but i’ve found a very generous Tesco’s attached to one of my local petrol stations that has proveded well the last few days and i’m certain will continue to!

England

I’ve only just gotten back and already I’m not even sure if I can still call it home.  I have lived in London on and off for nearly ten years and never so much have I felt it moving away from me.  I remember clearly the day of the London Bombing on the 7th of July.  They were horrific for sure but London and I felt England, just got on with it.  The feel of the people was one not of fear but of confidence in their city and their country.  People were upset but not paranoid.  Tony Blair, the then Prime Minister, flew down to London from his conference in Scotland and spent the day in London, sending a message of calms not of fear and hate unlike Bush’s reactions a few years prior.

I now sit in London having arrived three days ago and feel my adopted land is not quite my own anymore.  I feel fear and distrust.  Tonight I watched an English film called ‘The Edge of Love’.  I would not recommend it but there was one line I’d like to paraphrase. ‘I’m fighting this war so that the fear will not have to be lived with’.  He was talking about the Second World War That fear that his character fought against is alive and well so far as I can see inside the walls of this island.

Sitting in my in-laws house in Brighton the TV blared on about knife crime.  Apparently one person a week dies in London because of a knife.  If I think about one in twenty million I don’t feel I should be afraid.  If anything it seems like a low number from me.  They were selling this story everywhere continually.  All this does is make people paranoid.  It’s ridiculous, it’s not that the news stations actually care, but this news sells, it gets people nervous and probably incites some to carry knives as ‘protection’ when they normally never would.  Certainly if you have a knife or weapon on you you’re more apt to use it, no statistic will show otherwise.    I have no interest in living or taking part in a society that is afraid of its own shadow.  Afraid nations are ones controlled and anything but free, just look at America, especially post WTC Bombings.

I will leave England in less than two months time.  I know I will return, but at this moment I don’t know if I will ever live here again, and that saddens me.  When people become so afraid, as most Westerners are it makes me sad.  When one no longer trusts their neighbour, or thinks they are constantly at risk of being mugged, killed, robed or anything of that nature then something is going wrong.  I would like to ask all of you how many of you actually know someone that’s been robed, killed, anything that the media spreads, has any of these ‘content and rising issues’ ever happened to you?

It was interesting, talking to my friend in Madrid a few weeks ago I mentioned Gypsies.  In England they don’t seem to affect us as much as on the continent.  I had read a very good article in The Economist on the Gypsies of Europe and mentioned it to them.  He immediately mentioned that he didn’t like them, so I asked why.  His phrase was that he’d been robbed by one.  I had to investigate further: when he was ten years old a Gypsy walked into his fathers shop.  She then walked out holding a case of cigarettes.  She was walking so casually with it that they figured this normally very heavy box must be empty.  Upon checking the inventory, as each box contained about 200 cartons, his father discovered that they were a box short.  They’d been robbed by a woman believed to be a Gypsy.  For this incident twenty five years prior he distrusted and disliked Gypsies.  It’s a great example of blind fear which always leads to hatred.

As I see the media and government turning England into a nation of afraid people it scares me.  I have lived and walked the streets of London since I was a child without feeling or seeing harm.  This city I love has moved away from me for many of my own personal reasons, the least being crime.

Have the lessons of a war fought seventy years ago been forgotten?  I’m about to move back to Asia.  The West is not afraid of Asia just yet, but in my lifetime they will be.  A larger more powerful China and India will create conflict and turmoil that may or may not affect Europe.  Certainly it will affect America which will likely rub off on England.  One day I will have a family of my own.  I don’t know the environment they will grow up in, and I’m not particularly afraid for them; but I believe it’s my responsibility as a parent to teach them not to be afraid.  I wish corporate media felt the same way I do.

Cycling Paris to London - Day 4

Tuesday 1.7.08

I’ll tell you now I’ve just gotten to my host families farm after cycling eighty kilometres today. I would love to write you about my day at this moment but it’s going to have to wait till this evening or tomorrow morning! Talk soon it’s time for a movie and a kip!

A bright sun is shining through my window along with a cool breeze that promises to grow warm as the day moves on. The birds chime in the back round adding to the feel of a country morning. It’s not even half seven here and I’ve suffered another rough night of sleep. I don’t know what’s keeping me up these nights, last night in Beauvais I slept very well but the rest of my nights in France have been restless. My legs are not sore but they have become quite tight this morning, it’s no great surprise and although it concerns me slightly I know there’s nothing that can be done. Today I will do fifty kilometres broken up by a four hour break, it shouldn’t be too bad. Lets talk about my eighty kilometres yesterday though, as it’s far more interesting that the future!

Moments before I’d gone to bed in Beauvais my eyes were on a map telling me my journey to Osmoy St Valery was going to be a bigger one than I’d planned. For some reason I’d thought my trip would be in the thirty kilometre range, but looking at the map I couldn’t believe that it might be in the seventy range. I refused to believe still the next morning at half ten when I finally pushed off. I slept well and felt better for it; at least if I were to be on the bike all day I felt rested.

My little piece of paper told me the first thing to do was head for the D-901 to Troissereux. Most of the D roads are small country roads; there are also even smaller C roads that seemed to be of no use to me. I found a map of Beauvais and located the D-901 with ease; it was not long before I was once again climbing up a slight incline. The D-901 was promising to be a much larger road than I’d counted on. A single lane highway that straight away brought me to a large hill with large Lorries passing me by at a reduced eighty kilometres an hour. With all the weight on my back and general uncertainty about my bike I hoped this would not last long. In January coming down this way I’d missed completely my D roads and ended up on a large motorway for all of today’s journey. It had not been pleasant, especially in the winter chill, but today I knew would be better, somehow coming this way it seemed easier to find the right roads; and also at the time in January I’d already been cycling for four or five hours by the time I was meant to look out for the small roads, it was a disaster of a day really.

I’m going to tell you a bit about it…My trip from London to Paris took place between December 31^st and the 5^th of January. I left London with a friend on the 31^st and six hours later my old mountain bike arrived in Brighton. I spent that night and the following day with the family before heading off on a ferry the night of the first. Arriving in Dieppe at six am in pitch freezing blackness I cycled out of the harbour and found the start of my general route. It was however pitch black till half seven and sprinkling with rain, therefore I didn’t start moving till half seven by which point I was frozen. As I moved into the direction of the Greenway and eventually on to it ice and snow were abound. I was wearing every warm bit of clothing I had and for a long spell had ice on myself and my bike. It was miserable. After a short bad nights sleep on the ferry I was nowhere near ready for a morning of cycling in the snow! I was meant to cover a hundred and ten kilometres that day. After ninety I came to Goruney and decided to take a bus. There were only twenty kilometres to go but at this point, and on the large traffic filled road I felt it would be dangerous to attempt them. I was cold throughout and not enjoying myself in the slightest, there really was no other smart option. The one hour bus trip put me instantly to sleep till the driver woke me and I found my way to my host. The rest of the trip went far smother and I did arrive to Paris on the 5^th in time to meet Jeanie at the train station, so all went well, but my memories of this particular route are harsh ones!

Back to Beauvais and yesterday! The D-901 fortunately was a short stint, after a mere twenty minutes I was confronted wit a sign showing the D-133, my road. I was headed to a place called Songeons, the shock came when Songeons was listed as 24 kilometres away! I knew this was not even the halfway point but sucking it up I cycled on. The road was indeed blissfully less busy and for large spells I was all alone. The French rolling hills became enduring with a bright sun to my back and no wind to speak of. This was more like it! Anytime there is a steady incline, even if it goes on for miles I don’t mind as much as the up and down of normal hills. In this case it was all steady up hill. I felt slightly robbed of my downs as if they are not steep enough my bike doesn’t seem to really roll. Even on the big downgrades I don’t really need to break, the bike simply won’t go that fast!

It took me just over an hour to make it into the village of Songeons. A lovely little place of perhaps ten thousand I was immediately looking out for a patisserie. I had eaten a banana in Beauvais and was ready for a bit more food. A Chassau aux Pomme (apple turnover) and a half a baguette were just what I wanted, and for one euro forty I couldn’t complain. There was a gazebo sort of thing just in front of the patisserie which was perfect cover. I sat there looking at my phone and being very pleased with it not yet being noon. I would leave Songeons at noon and head to some town called Gailefontaine. It seemed to me I must be halfway to Neufchatel, my big destination of the day.

Once to Neufchatel my day would not be over but it’d be close enough to feel over. The farm I’m now writing from is fourteen kilometres from Neufchatel, and I figured this was an easy hour that I needn’t worry about. With any luck I’d be there at three. I left Songeons and twelve on the dot thinking Neufchatel would be about twenty kilometres making Gailefontaine ten away and a perfect distance for a short break. Five minutes later I was struck dumb with a sign sayings Gailefontaine was 23 kilometres and Neufchatel 39 kilometres away! I couldn’t believe my eyes and had to work hard in those first moments to look at the countryside, smell the fresh air, feel the sun on my back and remember why I was doing this amazing journey. If anything could give me the energy for another forty plus kilometres it was the natural beauty I was surrounded by. I put my head down and rode on.

The road to Gailefontaine was lined with small villages. How they have managed to survive and stay occupied I don’t know, but then I suppose they are mostly aging farmers. Some of the listed buildings were well over a hundred years, one proudly claiming to have been built in 1789! Amazing it’s still standing since they certainly used just brick and mortar, or some variation of said in those days. It was riding through one of these towns that a small chemists’ sign showed the temperature at 28.5. This is cooler than it was in Spain but the heat was still quite palatable. I still didn’t relish the next four hours but found it difficult to be too negative given the incredible landscape. I suppose if I’d been born on a farm or anywhere but in a big city this wouldn’t be as appealing, but San Francisco, New York and London posses very little foliage and natural beauty in comparison.

My journey continued to move along at a faster rate than I’d anticipated. The entirety of the twenty-four kilometres felt like it was a slow incline. Despite this fact at a quarter past one I found myself not a kilometre outside Gailefontaine. Gailefontaine is small, no one will deny this, but seeing a steeple I headed towards it and found across the road from the church a patch of grass nicely shaded by a small tree. I didn’t have much food, but it was certainly time to eat. My half baguette and a chocolate bar were going to suffice; it was time for chocolate sandwiches! I decided a decent break was needed. My shoes were very wet thanks to wearing the overshoes, but having not warn socks I think it was better than it could have been. It seemed that everything was wet in fact, so my gloves, shoes, overshoes and helmet were quickly put into the sun for a bit of drying out. I ate my sandwiches and put my head down for ten minutes. Nothing hurt too much, my legs were tight and my buttocks were certainly getting sore but half an hour under the tree did a world of good. I knew for a fact there was only sixteen kilometres to go till Neufchatel, then another fourteen to the farm, I was over half way there! And once I got to the Greenway without traffic and relatively few rolling hills I’d be laughing.

After twenty plus kilometres of up I was delighted by the next sixteen to Neufchatel. Taking only forty-eight minutes the vast majority seemed to be downhill. It seems that the universe is fair after all. I’d already convinced myself that it was best the two longer legs were at the beginning and then now when I really needed an easy spell I got one. There were two stops along the way as my arse became numb and I simply couldn’t go on, but for the most part I was quite happy about how things were going. It was three o’ clock and time for another break. I knew the next fourteen kilometres were for my benefit but it’s hard to believe at the time. I finally found the Greenway and had another ten minute break. I simply had to keep in mind how much amazingly easier this leg would be without the snow and ice!

The thing that pleased me the most was to see other cyclists on the route. Mostly people in ordinary cloths out for a ride on a sunny day; just the people you want to see using such facilities. Young and old alike, I only saw one other man in cycling gear. Okay, I’m not really in cycle gear but I have the overshoes and gloves, so that gives me some point of legitimacy! I didn’t really see anything on what I believe to have been ten kilometres not fourteen. It took me just over half an hour and I really sped along while trying to be respectful to the half dozen people I passed. I just wanted to get there at this point, my arse was hurting to a point of no return and although I felt I could make it to Dieppe this night if need be I was very happy for that to have not been the case.

As I arrived at the turn off for Osmoy-St Valery it was about what I’d expected. A very small country road leads along in two directions. From the map I’d received I knew to turn left and it was number sixty. In the country houses can be spread quite far apart but thankfully this was not the case here. A few minutes later I arrived at a very professional looking farm numbered 60. Coasting down the drive there was a massive garage with two massive extremely expensive looking tractors. Okay, I admit, they probably were not tractors as such, but some sort of similar equipment. The one had a six step ladder leading to the driver’s seat! The old red brick house looked extremely pleasant and I felt out of place being dirty and sweat filled. It was now half four, I’d been on the road six hours, double the amount of time I’d hoped would be the case when I’d arrived in Beauvais yesterday afternoon. This being said I felt good. After such a challenge a man should always feel good about himself. Despite my never ending misgivings over my fitness level I couldn’t help but be proud. Eighty kilometres on a crappy old mountain bike with cheap tires. It’s always good to have faith in your stead!

The house was lovely and everyone in the house spoke only French! It was another challenge in a day of challenges! I spent half an hour with the speaking with the mother before heading to my bedroom for a shower and a lie down. It just occurred to me I should tell you how I ended up at this house! Though Couch Surfing I found a man living in this house, a young man. His profile said he was living in New Zealand at the moment but I decided to write him anyway. Not to ask to stay at his but to see if anyone he knew could host me. He replied saying I could stay with his parents, so here we go, I’m sitting in his parents house, who speak no English and wondering how the evening is going to go. I did manage to comprehend that her brother and his wife were coming, and they spent a lot of time in England, so heading into the shower I didn’t feel too bad about the night ahead; at least I was in an amazing place and was aloud to relax for the next few hours.

The evening went well but I retired very early to my room. The brother and wife didn’t speak a word of English to me, wither they did at all or not I can’t say, but they didn’t help me any. At nine I went to bed not feeling my presence needed any longer. I understood less and less as the night went on and contributed very little as it was. Two nights in a row now I’d been forced to speak French, it’s good but difficult! I went to bed with an episode of Family Guy and multiple sore bits that I tried to ignore!

Cycling Paris to London - Day 3

Monday 30.6.08

I was in no rush to leave Chantilly this morning; I saw no reason to be! Sarah was up and out of the house long before I was away and it wasn’t till nine that I started to stir. I don’t know why but the couch was not very comfortable so for the second morning in a row I didn’t feel particularly rested, at least my body didn’t ach yet. My trip to Beauvais was looking to be around forty kilometres; great news without a doubt as three hours on the road was more than enough it seems to me.

I was not surprised when eleven came around and I was only just putting on my overshoes. The journey I remember as being a nice one. In January in Beauvais I was so dead that anything less than my hundred kilometres in the snow was going to be a plus. Mostly along country roads it had taken me four hours to get to Chantilly, I could only hope for the same fate today.

Starting off I immediately took the wrong turn! I headed out of the house as though I was going to Paris, not a major delay just a slight regression later on down the road. My road map and directions were written on the back of the Decathlon receipt from the day before. It went along the lines of:

D 17 Villars  -   D44 Dir Noailles  -   N1 to Beauvais

That’s it, this is how specific I was looking to get. I would attach a small drawing or something if there had been one, but that’s all I wrote. On Friday coming from Paris was luxury having a map brining me almost all the way to Chantilly, and more importantly out of Paris. That would be the one and only time I’d see a map unless at house online checking for the next day. At any rate I was not concerned, the signposts in France seem quite efficient and I’ve done the route before, so how difficult could it be?

Riding along I realized why I’d decided to do this trip again; it’s beautiful! Riding through France only increases my desire to one day live in this fantastic country. The small villages, rolling hills and lack of moderninity in the form of high rise buildings is a breath of fresh air after four months in Spain. I think had Spain’s villages and cities been even a fraction as nice as an ugly city in France I would have enjoyed it so much more. The simple fact is that much as Italy has let me down for this exact reason on multiple occasions Spain has followed suit. Madrid won a lot of ‘brownie points’ with me thanks to some lovely people. Paris continued to move me in way that no other city, or woman for that matter, has managed in my twenty-eight years. I once again felt while riding the streets of Paris that its beauty alone could bring me to tears.

Back to the road…there isn’t much more to say! It was a short day, even shorter than expected. Having left at just gone eleven I arrived after a few breaks to Beauvais at two. I was a bit hot and sweaty but not that much, it was a nice easy trip and I even managed to explore the city a bit before my hosts arrived home. They were having a little going away party for a friend that night and I wouldn’t get to bed till midnight which was difficult but the last hour was spent talking to Jeanie (the girlfriend) so that made it all a bit easier!

Cycling Paris to London - Day 2

Sunday 29.6.08

A nice easy Sunday ride was the idea. The house I’m living in is technically in a town called Gouvieux just five kilometres outside of Chantilly. Chantilly is known for its large Chateau built in dedication to horses. The owner of the Chateau, many moons ago was certain he would be reincarnated as a horse, and being an eccentric built huge stables, racing and training grounds and of course statues of horses everywhere! I was to go and have a wonder around then head to Senlis which is an old town with a big church. Cobble stoned streets line the small alleyways where shops live simultaneously with the tourists. It’s meant to be nice. The house being oddly full and I being on the couch as the spare room is taken I was awake throughout the slow wakeup process of the rest of the house. At half ten we went to get croissant and bread while the women stayed at home drinking tea along with their morning cigarettes.

As noon rolled around it finally felt time to move out of the house. Sunday was always going to be a day off. I had no intention of riding to Beauvais directly after not knowing how tired I would be from the first day, but having Saturday be so much easier and my body being largely without pain now, I was happy to go out on a little thirty kilometre ride. Plus, I had no luggage! This at least psychologically made all the difference in the world as I left the house and headed straight up a hill for the next ten minutes.

Getting into Chantilly was straight forward enough but I bypassed the Chateau and came up on a road just behind it which let out a lovely view overlooking the gardens and intertwined ponds. Without being in a rush I cycled on. The terrain as throughout this part of France is rolling hills; one is constantly going up and down through now lush fields of grain and woods. I would tend to guess before this land was agriculture it would have been woods as its certainly well arboraceous and incredibly beautiful.

Coming off the little main road I turned off into a village on the way that possessed nothing more than a church and a pub. The road turned in my direction and I continued along a deserted street lined with amazingly large beautiful homes. It’s the sort of place that feels quite while still being so tranquil that living there is incredibly tempting. Remember on the train it’s only half an hour to Paris, that’s the incredible part. It’s so beautiful and so close to a major city if that’s what you’re looking for. Tomorrow on my arrival in Beauvais I will enter what Ryan air call Paris! It’s one hundred kilometres from the centre of Paris but they have the cheek anyway. Therefore three days after leaving Paris I’ll be back in a way! My little road finally met back up with the big road and within minutes I passed the city limits sign. Just as I did so, heading up yet another hill, I could feel my bike go a bit funny. The problem with having an old funny bike is that when it goes funny it’s hard to know if it’s anything to be concerned with or if it’s a blip in the cog. This was no blip.

I’d gone fifteen kilometres in the hour’s time since I left the house; but now standing at the top of the hill looking down at my punctured tire I wondered what to do. I knew I could certainly call Sarah if need be but I really didn’t want to. Looking at the little bus timetable that was nearby told me it would be another two hours before a bus came at which point it’s hard to say if the driver would accept a bike or not. Logically therefore (in my world) I started to walk! I figured if I could at least get the bike into Chantilly and leave it there for a bike shop to look at tomorrow then I’d have half the work done, therefore I went with my bike along the road. It was beautiful but I had no idea how much time I’d need to walk fifteen kilometres. When I was sixteen living in New York I could do a mile in fifteen minutes, but that was the brisk pace of Manhattan and my stead has long since fallen short of that mark. I knew there was a sign ahead that said it was five kilometres from where I’d gotten my puncture so soon enough I’d have some idea.

Forty-five minutes later; I found the signpost with glee. Ten minutes later I tied my bike up to a lamp post and walked on. The front tire, the punctured one, had lost all its air whereby the front tire itself was taking a beating. That beating lead to deterioration which lead to my either having to lift the front end of the bike up for the rest of my journey or abandon it. Fortunately I had my lock with me so without hesitation taking my gloves, water and helmet I carried on.

It took me just under three hours to walk the distance with utterly dead feet. I don’t know why I didn’t call or send a text to Sarah but it seemed the decent thing to do, walk. Putting her out on something that I could do myself didn’t seem right, along with the fact that I could do it, as I showed to myself. No my easy little daydream Sunday was not quite what it was meant to be, but this trip is about getting fit and living life, feeling the soil between your toes and all that. I was happy to have accomplished my walk and ride even if it did nearly kill me!

The rest of the day and my heading off tomorrow morning first thing I can only thank Sarah for. As soon as I arrived home she suggested we go retrieve my bike. After a bit of food and rest I consented. Picking up my bike we drove a bit through the town I missed as well as checking out the bike store there that was predictably shut. We then headed on to another city where a large strip of stores existed. Normally on a Sunday nothing would be open, but apparently this being Sales time many of them had their doors open. We went into Decathlon, a large warehouse type sporting goods store that carried not only inner tubes but tires. My fifteen kilometre walk had given me time to think, to think about getting new tires to replace the old slightly worn ones I had. This we did so for a mere eighteen Euro we headed home and I now process new tires.

Okay, I’ll do a quick spell check and see if I can’t get this only now before heading off to bed. Tomorrow should be about forty to maximum fifty kilometres and I’ll look to leave around ten. I am so much more confident after getting here from Paris in four hours that I know things are looking up. According to people here my trip on Saturday was probably fifty kilometres so my timing was great! Talk soon, xx

Cycling Paris to London - Day 1

Saturday 28.6.08

This is it; this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Isn’t that what they always say? At eight forty-five this morning I didn’t exactly feel that way, more than anything I felt tired and annoyed as I tried to get my pannier bags onto their new home. The guess is that my pannier’s weigh about 13 kilos, I give it more like twenty, but then that’s me just being melodramatic probably, truth be told I have no idea how much they weigh, simply that they are too heavy! My starting point is Nugent-sur-Mar, from there I go to Vincennes a large park in Paris, on to Nation, then Gare du Oust, then Saint Dennis, and finally out of Paris and onto the open road, that is the N16. It took me two hours to get to the open road!

I will pat myself on the back for not getting lost or hit while inside Paris. The riding conditions are like the Wild West when compared to London. The round a bouts are a nightmare and I’m amazed that the Valebs have only had two deaths on their hands. Valebs by the way are a brilliant bike rental system in Paris that should spread the world around like wild fire, sadly it probably won’t. At any rate, riding a bike in Paris takes balls and skill; at least I feel that to be the case.

The first two hours I didn’t stop. I was in a bit of pain and drank a lot of water, but the day was overcast and my bike was chugging along. My bike is an old mountain bike by the way; nothing speedy for those of you wondering why I can’t cycle all the way to London in a single stride. It should also be mentioned it’s 300 kilometres or 200 miles from London to Paris and I plan on doing it in little under a week, yes I’m taking my time!

At my first resting point I drank water, looked at the passing cars and patted myself on the back. I hadn’t gotten lost and was on the N16, the road that would take me the rest of my journey. The previous time coming into Paris had been a nightmare in which I spent an hour going in circles looking for my way into Paris, this being said I was nervous last night at my prospects of not getting lost! Now safe and sound at my first stop, feeling very good about myself I set my alarm for an hour and a half when I’d stop again for lunch. I was thinking the trip that had taken me three and a half hours in January would take me nearly double that today. My belly is a lot bigger now and I haven’t been on a bike properly since that last leg into Paris on January 5^th.

Very shortly after I left my first stop at eleven I came upon a sign saying twenty-four kilometres to Chantilly. Wow, that’s not so bad. I was still thinking it’d take me a good three to four hours however, there were hills ahead of me and long open road that my mind cared not to think about! It was only a half hour later that I stopped sheepishly by the side of the road for nuts and water; I was tired, hot and sweaty. The weather should be mentioned and applauded as it couldn’t have been more ideal, slightly overcast with almost no breeze! I was hot and sweaty because I was tired and it’s not cold outside, but had the sun been beating down on me my roadside stop would have been worse and longer. The best part about my stop was its location.

Fields of grain lay all around me! The moment I went into the valley I could smell it. It’s wonderful the smell of food growing, fresh, reliving and alive there is nothing like country air. I was happy; this is why I was doing this insane trip once again. Not pure vanity and the wish to get rid of my belly, but the love of the country and its air, the people, the feel of travelling the old fashioned way where it doesn’t take an hour to get from London to Paris. I will know and feel the journey I’m taking. When I get back to London and kiss Jeanie hello I’ll know what it feels like to go from London to Paris. There will be no bitching about queuing for check-in or some fat guy sitting next to me on the over cramped flight, its about fresh air and free thinking, this is why I’m cycling to London.

Suddenly a sign showed only ten kilometres to go! I couldn’t believe it; I wasn’t going that fast surly. There were some nice hills yes, I didn’t have to peddle at all and was more afraid of the bike falling to bits under the velocity of the road than anything but only ten K left, fantastic. I would need one more nuts and water break however. More and more I started to believe in not only myself but in my bike. To commemorate the moment I took a photo but I can’t show it to you till I get to London and get the picture off my phone!

At 12.45 I pulled up outside Sarah’s door in Chantilly. I’d done the ride in four hours and couldn’t believe it myself. I would like to tell you about the rest of my day but as this is a story of bike riding and it’s nearly half two in the morning I’m not going to! I’ll see you tomorrow for the next instalment. Xx