Apologies for the crap spelling and grammar. Written in a hurry and can't be arsed to fix it!
Our tour this year:
So we set off first thing on the Sat to Dover to camp up before catching the ferry to Dunkerque on the Sunday. I was a little disorganised (and hungover) and it became clear we weren't going to get down there on time on pedal power alone (the route through Kent is also rubbish as we have found out previously - also about 100 miles!) so we got a train. This was always going to be the shittiest part of the tour anyway.
We got to the campsite near Deal and it was so warm that we didn't bother with tents. In the morning, the woman didn't even charge us as we hadn't put up tents!
The route to Dover was shit. All main roads. But we got there (if a little late) and got on a boat.
The crossing was calm and uneventful - apart from my stunt riding coming off the ramps in the 'kerque. Basically lost control of both wheels completely on the metal bit! But of course, I held it and regained control as Erron behind simply shouted "Whoah!"
We pedaled east and stopped at a bar for a Kronie. It was good to see the French completely ignoring the smoking ban!
We carried on and found some town (the name of which escapes me) and found somewhere to eat. As it was getting late and there were a couple of campsites nearby, we decided to stay there for the night.
The campsite was typically French ie the toilets were revolting! The town was also typically French ie there were no bars open!
We trudged back to the campsite to find a bar right there! Gah! If only we'd known that in the first place!
It was 10pm by now and the bar closed at 8!! However!!! "French chick" (the first of many named females on the tour) was still there and happily served us beers with a cheeky smile even though the bar closed hours ago. She was rather lovely.
In the morning, we packed up and headed for Belgie.
This is also the time when I noticed my camera was nowhere to be found. Ho hum, I'll buy another - I probably just left it on a bar table somewhere. Or some French chav nicked it.
It didn't take long to get out of France and when we saw the sign for Belgie and the old border building we gave a triumphant punch in the air.
This is when things started getting mad!
As soon as we got into Flanders, the road widened and we were treated to nice wide cycle lanes. There were bikes everywhere. Utility cyclists wanging it around on town bikes and hardcore roadies in their club kit.
"This is great" I said "All we need now is some hot chicks on bikes!" 10 seconds later about 15-20 hot girls came cycling in the other direction - all singing happily! We were in heaven!
Next up we came to a bit of a big junction and we needed to take a left. "Shit what do we do here" we thought. No problem. Every single car just stopped and waved us cheerily through!! We loved the place already.
This is where some details may not be entirely in order and may be a bit hazy. This is because this is the point where we got on the famous Belgian beer!!
We found a campsite near the town of Niewpoort on the north coast. It had a bar so we sank a few Jupilers before pitching tents and heading into the town.
We drank quite a bit of beer before returning to the campsite including some cranberry beer that the waitress found rather amusing. I suppose it was obvious - that's very much a girls beer!! We necked a few trappist beers too. Very, very dangerous!!
When we awoke in the morning (somewhat late) we were pretty hungover!
As I lay in the shade, Erron went into the town, only to return with some tins of Jupiler. Sorted - that'll get rid of the hangover!
It was clear at that point that we would be staying another night. So we went into the town, got something to eat and consumed (rather less) beer that evening.
We got up in the morning in fine spirits and carried on our journey.
Our Flemish was now excellent - well, we knew how to order beer and the pleasantries that should be made on such transactions
We stopped for a beer mid morning in a well old skool locals bar. Nobody spoke English, but that wasn't a problem now! We ordered a couple of Jupilers and sat down inside (it was very hot). As we got to the end of the glass the woman behind the bar asked us if we wanted another. We weren't planning on another but thought we might as well as they're such tiny glasses. Then she pointed to this old guy intimating that he was paying! We thanked him and necked the beers. This was the first of many incidents of Flemish hospitality.
We carried on our way and I must admit that things are a bit hazy here, but lets just say we ended up kipping in a church yard under the stars in a small town called Torhout.
