Reims.

Upon my departure I imagined writing a little ditty every evening snuggled up in my tent, but, as with all things unkown it has turned out very differently. I have just managed to maintain enough energy at the end of the day to errect my tent, cook food and place a log book entry (somthing I promised my self I would do reardless of fatigue!)

So my ramblings for the moment are a collection of thoughts over the last week.

In short, it has been mental, which I guess should be expected. I will try to re-cap briefly the goings on over the last 4 or 5 days (I had to ask somone what day it was today as I had lost track......... BRILL!)

My head started spinning a little whilst on the ferry. Ideally I would be crossing into foreign lands in daylight, nice and early, but it happened to be 9.30pm in the evening through my own stubborness to plant wheels on foreign soil on the second day from leaving Shepherds bush green. To calm my nerves I decided a shot of whisky was in order. The barmans hand “slipped” after he found out what lie ahead for me, it was a full glass of dutch courage, hence my amble off the ferry was a very wobbly one........”stay on the right side Glen!” ........” it was a 3 story spaghetti junction, there was me and a ferry full of articulated lorries. I felt, sorry, re-word that, I WAS very small.

As a note for cycling on the right side of the road. My mind can drift into its own little world, with all the things to look at, let own to think about staying on the right side of the road has proven very difficult, then a T junction approaches and utter confusion sets in. I do hope by the end of Europe it becomes a little more engrained into my wondering mind.

Waking in Calais I slippped out of the campsite so early no one was there to receive payment, “c’est la vie” and at last I could sit in the morning sun at the table of a French cafe order a coffee in French and watch the world pass by, particularly the parts that were going to work (most satisfying)

The journey started in ernest as I clipped my feet into the peddles to leave Calais, my head was spinning with a total lack of comprehension as to what was unfolding infront / inside of me. Once again I became very nervous, with no reall ability to focus on the street and people around me. That is when the compass (I’m thinking of giving it a name, is that wierd?) which I had only brought as a gadet one “should” have if in lands unkown, instantly started telling me what to do. If I arrived at a T junction pondering over a left or a right, the compass would say, "you need to go East" or "south!" and so began the simplicity of my navigation.

I had made it into the roling lands of Northern Fance, and it was quiet. To a Londoner it was apocalyptically quiet. I had always wanted to choose the back roads on my trip South but every village I passed through exhibited very little signs of life. I suddenly remembered what I had been told about population density etc....... man, it was quiet and by the second day I loved it. As long as I could find a shop selling water every so often all was well. In fact I re-descovered the old Northern tradition of wishing random old men in door ways with walking sticks a very good morning. After a while I positively relished the next village where I may chance upon a a flat capped man whome I can raise my hand and say “Bon jour”, always to be returned with a smile
and some slightly more complicated reply!

A beatifull secret camping spot which promptly

turned to a pool of mud after torrential rain

For Sale only 350,000 pounds!

As an aside to bonjour’ing.(I am in the middle of my second beer after a week of serious mileage and alcohol abstanence)..... I have been welcomed into the cycling family of France by none less than the lycra clad racing crew, of which there are many. They pass me at speed regularly. Despite my severely sweating brow and sub 5mph speed I love the little nod or lift of hand they would give me. Wonderfull. As a close to the subject it has been rare to see any other type of cyclist except men on there own zooming along with go-faster attire, I even seen one overtake me, then pass by, going in the opposite direction about 5 minutes, on his way home?

I realised how little I knew of the places I was traveling through when I started passing War memorials and “Tombes de guerre du Commonwealth”.Emabarrising as it is, things only made sense when one of the afore mentioned lycra clad cycling men (he was 65 years old!) pointed out I was about to cross the River Somme.

The next few days day were spent between the wonderfull highs of zooming down hills at 35mph and passing another tombes de guerre, I literally lost count of them and despite hearing of the men lost in the first world war I had many hours of solitary cycling to think about it some more.



At the time of writing this I have peddled about 350 miles and despite giving away various items to campsite people to reduce weight (which seems to work as payment for rent) 350 miles on a loaded cycle is very different to anything I could have known. My left knee has persistently reminded me of this fact. Just when all was well, and the wind was in my favour (unusuall) it would cry out and force me to shout back “Bl**dy hell”. Other bits of legness seem ok but that left knee has a mind of its own and is always there to remind if I am pressing too hard on the the peddles. Having said that this afternoons ride into Rhiem felt like some invisible cycling force had fitted go faster tyres to my bike. I kept checking trees etc for signs of a tail wind but no, it was all me! Cruising, Saberton style at 18mph.

My very own portable washing line

Here in Reims I have decided to take the day off and sort “bits” out. But alas France is still deserted, it is a national holiday. Typical ! The time I want to treat my self to the world of coffee shops and wine everything is closed!

I have spent the day wondering the streets of Reims and literally stumbled into none other than her lady the Notre Dame, she was huge and absolutely gorgeous. A very calm respite indeed to sit in awe of her size and sup coffee (plus cake, yeh nice). A really did feel a little silly this time, having no idea I was in the same town as the Notre Dame a cathedral I have always wanted to see.

A definate purchase shall be the Rough guide to Switzerland in an attempt to save further self emabarassment.

My goodness, look at the time, so much to ramble about but must dash.

Still wrestling with the reality of things, mais c’est superb!

Au revoir mes amis.

Glen the aching knee cyclist.