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 31st and the 5th of January. I left London with a friend on the 31st 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 5th 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!
