Not entirely sure how I got roped into this, but I think, roughly speaking, six dads-from-school had hatched a plan to cycle to Paris in December last year without thinking about the logistics or the purpose. Tack on a cash-hungry charity and a-bloke-who-knows-about-cycling-an’-that (me!) and it all starts looking a bit more real.
Come January and a few holes emerge. Notwithstanding BSOs, only two of them own bikes. Consequently training is behind schedule and there’s a general dearth of equipment and awareness of what three days on a bike might look or feel like. So, we’re off to the Evans sale and a training schedule is in place.
Fast forward to 29th Feb and we’re off for our inaugural shot at distance cycling – London to Newhaven. A dress rehearsal for leg 1 of the actual trip. 5/6 show up for departure and off we go. By the time we’re over the North Downs, one rider is in a lot of difficulty with the smallest inclines and it seems that most have spent more time in Evans than doing the training. We tow the struggler to Newhaven, which masks the lack of preparedness in other riders.
By mid-April we’re approaching a complete set of resources. We’ve got bikes, a route, hotels booked, some idea of how to get back, some sponsorship, tickets for the ferry, and a bit more training under our belts. An early decision to rely on a support vehicle (this is SW19 we’re talking, right) is looking shaky: we don’t have a vehicle or a driver. A chicken-fox-bag of corn-river-boat puzzle ensues, the result of which is I’m to drive car to each day’s destination and cycle back to meet the group around halfway. This gives me half a day of responsibility-free solo riding, but leaves the group exposed to the risk of getting lost (I am route master) and mechanical failure (I am mechanic) for the first half of each of the two days in France.
8AM 29/4 and we’re off. From Wimbledon we head to Coulsdon, over Farthing Down and straight down through Sussex to Copthorne. Stopping off at Turners Hill, we’re not in bad shape. It seems lessons from 29/2 were heeded. Training’s been taken more seriously and we’ve given up throwing ourselves up the hills only to run out of steam halfway up. The rest of day 1 passes uneventfully with a sharp left at Ditchling and a gentle trundle to our accommodation in Seaford. A moderate north-easterly’s been largely favourable, so we’re stowing bikes and settling down to a bite to eat around 2pm. Siestas (did I mention the group’s largely southern European), bike rack wrestling and other fairly humdrum activities ensue before dining at Gino’s and a respectable bedtime.
Day 2 starts early, attaching bikes to car, cycling contingent pedalling to the ferry and so on. One rider’s son has been unwell, so he takes the train back to London to help his wife. Now we are 6. At the ferry it turns out we’re not the only ones excusing ourselves from the Royal street party and setting our front wheels south. We are very conspicuous wimps with our car as we’re joined by more and more fully-laden tourers. No matter. We front it out well and trundle aboard the 9.30 sailing to Dieppe. Stowing bikes on the ferry is, “Lean ‘em up against each other over there,” and I breathe a sigh of relief that my precious frame (I know, I know) is safe from damage atop the car. We settle down to four hours of leisurely route planning and ferry-style dining.
We part company in Dieppe at 3pm (FR time). A few spots of rain elicit the usual non-cyclist reaction. Despite my observations that (a) it’s warm, (b) you’re going to sweat, so you’ll get wet anyway, and (c) your skin is waterproof, jackets are donned and we split. The group take to the Avenue Vert. I head for our accommodation 100km south, near Gisors. We reconvene (en velo) just south of the end of the Avenue Vert.
Reviews of the Avenue Vert are favourable. I had been worried that a shared use facility would compromise progress or test politeness/safety. Unfounded, as it turns out. It was pretty much all bikes and they made good time. On the journey out to meet up I’d pretty much followed my nose, looking at the map now and again, which meant I wasn’t the most fantastic guide on the way back. But with open country, a real shortage of other road users (I counted six cars in 40km) and beautiful weather, what’s the hurry? Seems my charges were a bit more enthusiastic about the most direct route possible and were positively allergic to not knowing exactly where they were. After I got my map reading into gear and sorted a couple of a mechanicals and a puncture, we drew into the hotel grounds as the sun set. Altogether a stunning day’s cycling. The medical kit came out for a grazed knee (unclipping fail) and the day concluded with continental cuisine a la posh.
Day 3 took a leisurely start. We’d broken the back of Dieppe – Paris, so with 80 km to go I loaded the car and took off for Paris. Taking my optimism too closely to heart, the group hung out for a bit, turned a few kms and stopped off for a leisurely lunch. I hit Paris around 12.30 and after all the usual car/city faffing, swung my leg over the crossbar at about 1pm. Another warm, sunny day with moderate north-easterlies made my route out a real joy. Drivers in Paris can get a bit close, but respond well to smiling/waving etc. Heading out of the city needs a map to get you over the river in the right places, but other than avoiding the really big roads, it’s all pretty safe. Out into open country and reconvening follows a similar pattern to the previous day, albeit with the group a bit further back than planned due to lunch-related loitering. Up and down we go heading back towards Paris with a rash of four punctures hampering progress. Big hello to the Weybridge posse who we re-met outside Courdimanche (we’d traded banter on the ferry).
Drama strikes 20km from the Arc de Triomphe. One of our group spots a red light a bit (but not very) late. Jams on his brakes, takes a line over the bars and comes to rest with a cry of anguish. It’s an obvious broken collar bone and a bit of scuffing to knee, back and jaw. We pack him off in an ambulance with his brother, give our names and DoBs to a copper (wassatallabout?) and leave two surplus bikes with reluctantly friendly couple for later collection. I am politely waspish in replying to lucky-he-was-wearing-a-helmet asides.
A comparatively uneventful roll into Paris concluding with much chest puffing, handshakes and photography.
185 miles over three days. Pretty easy terrain. Anyone who’s read this far could do it.
Positives: Northern France is lovely for cycling. The White Lion in Seaford offered cheap, friendly accommodation and the guy in charge couldn’t have done more to help (secure bike storage, packed breakfast). Sponsorship raised £10K for an orphanage in a Nairobi slum.
Could have been better: Newhaven to Dieppe ferry timings are a pain – it’s either a near-overnight, or (our choice) half a day wasted. Disappointing for me personally was the group’s unchanged attitude to cycling. No commuting volunteers. None took it seriously as either an alternative means of conveyance or (God forbid) a lifestyle choice.
Special thanks to Hatler for sound advice on divvying up responsibilities and Andy C (not, as yet, of this parish) for newbie training tips.
Final analysis: Nairobi orphans 1; cycling nil.
