Author Topic: Here I go again  (Read 3025 times)

Here I go again
« on: 28 November, 2013, 05:30:14 pm »
Day 1
You would think I would have learnt my lesson last year. Stay home! I can’t, the flipping road calls.  France is good. Lets do France again. No don’t! Yea, let’s do it. My imaginary friend has turned up early this year. Out with the maps. Draw lines. Curse at the computer whilst trying to load routes into GPS. Get frustrated fall out with my wife, growl at the cat or is it the other way round? You’ve got to love touring.
I’ve spoken once to a guy who is also in France at the same time and thinks it could be good to travel together. I’m wary after last year when I lost my companion after one day and ended up on an expensive lone tour. Still we exchange details with this new contact. I don’t let him know about last years trip. Best not.
Lessons to be learned as any brainless MP will recite. This year I’m taking an emergency tent and sleeping bag plus bubble wrap for a mat. I’m heavy enough without taking a load of heavy camping gear, which I hope not to use.
Oh and I’m having another go at Warmshowers. Last year I asked six of them to host me for a night. Not one sodding reply. This year I’ve changed my Lycra dressed, look at me, so big and muscular [LOL] profile pic to a picture of a, non-threatening, granddad me in Eric Morecambe shorts holding on to a Touring bike in order to stay upright.

It works! I start to get replies. Pity ones of course but who cares. I’m accepted for five nights in total.
Ok. Airport. No problem checking in. Bike in box with camping gear and panniers. Wait in line for Ryanair flight. Eva Braun in Ryanair suit comes down the line with cardboard box to see who they can catch out with an oversize bag. She’s disappointed when she sees my stuff sack and has to settle for making a young mother and kids unpack in front of the desk.
Not a bad result for her I thought.
 A guy next to me starts to chat. I thought he had a stutter but no. He’s pissed! Off to see his DddddDaughter in TttttTours I ffoo. Oh it’s me, I found out.
No bother I let him lean on me [not that I had a choice] as we progressed down the tunnel. Once aboard I dump him and manage to shoulder charge a couple of those, everybody wait while I slowly fill my overhead locker, types out of the way and nab a legroom seat.
I’m flying to Tours. Did I not say? Flying to Tours and riding down the west side of France to Beziers, as Beziers is the only place I can realistically fly back from to Manchester.
Quick, easy flight and I’m walking across the tarmac to a shed/customs at Tours tiny airport.
Get the welcome to France bit off Customs, as I’m rollocked for letting my foot stray over the yellow line while he was scrutinising the persons passport in front of me. Once he decided which was the right way up, I was allowed to cross the magic line and dispatched with a casual sneer into the baggage hall/hut.
Drag the bike box outside and start the reassemble. It starts to rain. Why does it do that when it knows you have a bike in bits?
The uniformed, yellow line fanatic, gun, fag and hat set at a haughty angle, comes out and passes me, on his way to his mums I suspect, having done his community service.
 I manage a childish “Tosser” under my breath as he passes. He heard, but don’t think he understood. Too late mate. I’m in.
Well. Bikes together. GPS is switched on and I ride slowly out towards my first night with a Warmshowers host. Get to the first junction and look down at GPS and it say’s
“Where the f… are we. Why have we left home?” Okayee. Lost already. Traffic is crazy. Nobody around. I’ve not totally trusted the GPS and have printed a little map. That’s fine but none of the roads have signposts. So I head into the centre of town. Find some young humans and ask in my usual crap French for help. They look at me dumbstruck. I can see them thinking, should they fight or flee? They go for acting dumb. Pretend to look at my map and shake their heads in amazement. One even has an Iphone thing and look on there for me [I’ve won them over to the pity me bit]. But no, even that does not bring a result so they slope off to McDonalds and leave me to it.
I boot Garmins finest up again, and it goes all French and decides to tell me where I am. Using my incredible intellect and good luck I find the street where the host lives.
While riding up and down I hear. “James”!
It’s the guy I’m staying with waving from an apartment balcony in a gated compound. He runs down and lets me in. What a nice guy. Pleased to see me. We take the bike up in the lift to his apartment. He stows it in the lounge.
He introduces me to his girlfriend who does not speak much English and is engrossed in her laptop. She manages a hello and returns to the screen.  The guy Pierre is great. Only young and speaks good English. After a while I have to ask if I can sit down and if I can have a glass of water. Of course. A beer is offered and accepted with relish.
He then goes to work on a MTB he has on the balcony and I’m left with the silent girlfriend.
It’s awkward so I go to help fix the MTB.
They are very good and we all sit down for supper. I think the silent GF is just shy as her English is not good but not as bad as my French. I do get the impression though that she did not know I was coming and maybe they had had words before I got here.
They inform me that they were going on an MTB trail ride tomorrow so have to be away for 7.30. I’m to be kicked out early. I’m also kipping on the couch. But that’s fine. It’s free so who am I to be picky.
Its now 9pm and off they trot to bed after giving me a sheet for the couch. Good job I brought the sleeping bag.
Nothing left to prove. http://adenough1.blogspot.co.uk/

Re: Here I go again
« Reply #1 on: 28 November, 2013, 06:31:48 pm »
excellent, look forward to part deux

Re: Here I go again
« Reply #2 on: 07 December, 2013, 11:14:17 am »
Ditto encore....
Get a bicycle. You will never regret it, if you live- Mark Twain

Re: Here I go again
« Reply #3 on: 29 December, 2013, 06:02:47 pm »
Day2
My hosts wake me at 6.30. Not a bad night on the sofa. They soon set up breakfast that consists of coffee in a soup bowl and some hard bread. Very French I presume and note that the bread has to be dunked in the coffee. Good stuff. I’m sat opposite Pierre and am a bit miffed as he has already has cereal and is wading through a packet of chocolate biscuits with his coffee.
No sooner are the plates dumped in the kitchen than the pair disappear into the bedroom and I am left alone to pack up my gear ready for the early off.
I’m still filling my panniers when a head pops around the door to tell me that they are ready to go. So everything is quickly stuffed away and I wheel the bike out and down the lift accompanied by Pierre.
He opens the door, lets me out and says goodbye. I never saw his partner and am left in the car park to work out how to get out of the security gate.
Bit weird. Can’t remember burping, swearing, or letting one go but am left with the feeling that they could not wait to get rid. Maybe they just thought I was an old fart.
However I’m very grateful for the hospitality and have told him to stay with me in the UK if he’s over there.
I’m meeting my new buddy at his hotel so I have to find my way across Tours at this ungodly hour. Lovely place I think as I cross the bridge over the river. Nobody about except a couple of joggers and I’m not sure if I’m headed in the right direction. I’ve entered the route into the Garmin but it does not want to play. It is a Sunday. Fair enough.
I’m stood astride the bike in a deserted churchyard when a Fireman comes walking down the avenue.  Yes a fireman in full kit. No fire engine. Just one solitary fireman. At 7.30 on a Sunday morning?  What! Maybe it’s a tradition or he’s coming back from a date that likes that kind of thing. My wife…….. Oh never mind.
Monsieur! Pardon! He answers in perfect English and directs me. See that bothers me. How do they know I’m English? I’ve no Union Jack with me. I’m an ugly 6’2”. So I’d go for German if anything. But no, English! Grrr. {I’m not even English though. I’m Irish!}
Anyway I find the hotel easily enough as there is a nice, loaded LHT parked at the door. I park up next to it and in two minutes a voice asks “Jim?”
It’s my new riding buddy Henry. He seems ok for a Southerner [always dodgy] and says it good to hear an English voice [He’s already been on the road for two weeks]. He’s kept the key to his room so I can nip up and use the bathroom for everything that I needed to do before I was hustled through my host’s front door.
I’ve left my phone charger at home so we have a stroll through the flea market that is setting up to look for a replacement. No chance! There are lots of 20yr old chargers and phones among the broken chicken baskets and lampshades but nothing for me.
Why do people buy broken lampshades from carboots? Most Sunday mornings at home on the way to club meets I usually pass somebody clutching a broken lampshade on their way home. Looks like France has got the disease.

Henry knows his way out of Tours so I let him lead. Till he gets lost! Doesn’t matter. We are lost outside a McDonalds. I need breakfast so dive in.
“Vous ne comprenez pas l’angais, Mademoiselle?” “Of course Monsieur.” She speaks perfect English.  {Probably an English degree student on minimum wage.]
And they do a bacon and egg burger. Plus every table has an itablet fixed to the top.
I love Macadees when I’m abroad.
Now I’m cleaned and fed I’m rocking. Off we head. Tonight’s stop is Chatellerault, another Warmshowers Host. I’ve only booked myself in here so I text them to see if they can squeeze another in but assure them that its no problem if they can’t.
They soon come back to confirm they can handle two of us. I didn’t want to book for two anywhere as I was not sure Henry would turn up, or if we would last that long riding together after last years debacle.
So. Henry. He’s ok. Laid back. Almost horizontal. Slower than me but carrying more stuff and a heavier bike. Smokes now and again. All puts me at an advantage except he’s twenty years younger than me, but we seem to get along. For now! Did I mention he’s a Southerner?
It’s pretty good riding on French country roads. We don’t have a proper map between us and as it appears to be a Bank Holiday in Garmin land we have to rely on the printed pages of the route that I decided to bring as a standby.
I reckon it’s about 50 plus miles and we have agreed that if one wants to jump ahead its ok as long as nobody turns off. This works fine though it’s usually me that jumps ahead as we don’t have a matched pace.
 The roads are good and we have time to shop for lunch stuff when we find one open. Pretty rare on a Sunday in France. The weather is ok. Not great but ok. At one point we meet a Dutch couple and ride alongside. They have cycled all the way from Holland and are camping. I think he’s keener on the camping than her, which is understandable. It must be love. My wife says she’d rather trap her hand in a door.
Believe it or not we are faster than them and his wife complains about the pace, so we leave them to it.
Late afternoon the weather closes in and the heavens open. The wind gets up too and I stop to put a jacket on. Well that’s the last I see of two pairs of glasses. Henry had committed the sin of haring off and making a turn so I have to fly to catch him. I stop him and go back in the pouring rain but no sign of the bloody glasses. How can that be?
We are close to our destination now and the weather is rubbish. Strong winds cut our pace, the odd shower and hills appear. It’s a struggle. A cursing, what the hell am I doing here struggle? You know what I mean.
We finally. Bloody finally, hit the village where our host resides. We are worn out. He’s a smoker and I’m old. Come on!
The address is a number on an old stone gateway up a side road. The gate is open wide. So we peep through. Hear a shout. “James, James”. A guy comes rushing out of a house in the grounds to shake my hand. This is Klaus our host. He is so pleased to see us. “Come, come” He takes us into a huge barn to park the bikes next to an old car, tools, motorbike and bits of building stuff. Then we are led into the house. House? Did I say house? Nothing like mine.
Klaus informs us that he has plenty of room. A room each, en-suite. I tell you, this place is like a château. It’s beautiful. I’m led down a series of steps to a huge bedroom with a great bathroom with towels laid out. “You wish to have a shower. Yes?” “Yes great” “Ok. Or swim if you wish?” “Swim?” He pulls back the bedroom blind. I’m overlooking the swimming pool. Wow! I would have been happy kipping in the barn. He leads a bewildered Henry off to install him in the east wing at the other end of the house and I dive in the shower.
Once showered I wander into the huge kitchen to find a cold beer waiting for me. Henry is already smugly installed.
We are knackered but happy. Who wouldn’t be? Klaus’s wife Juliet turns up and joins us for a beer. Then Klaus asks if we want to see the village before dinner. There’s dinner?
Sure we cannot refuse. A nice stroll before dinner. Trouble is the tour is on the bikes. He pulls a recumbent tandem thing out of the barn. The last thing we want to do is get back on those bikes. But our lovely hosts are so keen to show us the area we go for it. We are out for an hour! Off road mostly. Those recumbent things can shift!
Once we are back the dinner that has been cooking is served. Before we take out places in the dining room [you should see this place!]. It’s like a castle. We are taken on a tour of the wine cellar. It runs under the house and is full of allsorts. Wines, beer, champagne, jams spices. Never seen anything like it. Our host grabs bottles of Red and Rose and we head back to the meal. What a meal!
As much beef as you can eat plus potatoes and veg etc. And the wine. Oh boy does it flow. Klaus disappears down to the cellar and comes back with jugs of the stuff.
I’ve lost the plot by 10.30pm. Juliet [they both speak perfect English by the way] toddles off to bed and I’m gone as well by 11.30.
 I leave Henry to it. I think I’m a lightweight.
What a day?

Nothing left to prove. http://adenough1.blogspot.co.uk/

Re: Here I go again
« Reply #4 on: 21 January, 2014, 10:54:14 am »
I've decided to move these over to my newly aquired Blog http://adenough1.blogspot.co.uk/ in an attempt to inspire me to get off my fat ass and write more.
Meanwhile I'm off out for a ride. :)
Nothing left to prove. http://adenough1.blogspot.co.uk/

Riggers

  • Mine's a pipe, er… pint!
Re: Here I go again
« Reply #5 on: 30 April, 2014, 09:03:36 am »
A pleasure to read Adders. And so funny. You've probably heard it before, and if I've said it before in your previous jaunt, then I'm about to repeat myself but, you surely have enough material for a book!??
Certainly never seen cycling south of Sussex

Hummers

  • It is all about the taste.
Re: Here I go again
« Reply #6 on: 01 May, 2014, 12:56:40 pm »
A pleasure to read Adders. And so funny. You've probably heard it before, and if I've said it before in your previous jaunt, then I'm about to repeat myself but, you surely have enough material for a book!??

Riggers, are you volunteering yourself for some pictures again?

Just in case you are, remember what happened last time  ???

The police, CID, confiscation of your abacus, the tag and a total banishment from online chat rooms etc.....

Know the risks.

H

LEE

  • "Shut Up Jens" - Legs.
Re: Here I go again
« Reply #7 on: 01 May, 2014, 01:01:37 pm »


Am I alone in looking at that standover height and wincing?
Some people say I'm self-obsessed but that's enough about them.

Riggers

  • Mine's a pipe, er… pint!
Re: Here I go again
« Reply #8 on: 01 May, 2014, 01:35:24 pm »
Adders is either winking or wincing. You be the judge.

And if he were a centrefold, surely an inappropriate staple would interfere with that winking or wincing.
Certainly never seen cycling south of Sussex

Riggers

  • Mine's a pipe, er… pint!
Re: Here I go again
« Reply #9 on: 01 May, 2014, 01:39:13 pm »
A pleasure to read Adders. And so funny. You've probably heard it before, and if I've said it before in your previous jaunt, then I'm about to repeat myself but, you surely have enough material for a book!??

Riggers, are you volunteering yourself for some pictures again?

Just in case you are, remember what happened last time  ???

The police, CID, confiscation of your abacus, the tag and a total banishment from online chat rooms etc.....

Know the risks.

H

I said book. Not some filthy degenerate publication you tricked me into sending you risque photographs. I know you returned them, but I'm pretty sure some are missing, you rotter!!
Certainly never seen cycling south of Sussex

Re: Here I go again
« Reply #10 on: 25 June, 2014, 09:05:15 pm »
Quote
Am I alone in looking at that standover height and wincing?
No I'm well clear. It's the Eric Morecombe shorts that are deceiving. That bike unusually for a tourer of that era has a slightly sloping toptube. Or a crossbar as a real cyclist would say.
The book? Especially the stuff I've yet to mention. There was this trip with this.......  Never mind.
 My wife agrees with you but I'm a lazy git tha knows.
Nothing left to prove. http://adenough1.blogspot.co.uk/

meddyg

  • 'You'll have had your tea?'
Re: Here I go again
« Reply #11 on: 18 July, 2014, 02:38:35 pm »
Do we think adenough is 'Lost in France' ?

ou peut-être il en a eu assez ?

Re: Here I go again
« Reply #12 on: 18 August, 2014, 09:05:28 pm »
No. I moved it over to my blog as I was repeating myself.
Nothing left to prove. http://adenough1.blogspot.co.uk/