Day 5: Bike? What bike?

We took breakfast in the hotel, and after arriving too late to get food the previous evening I took full advantage of the "all you can eat" breakfast buffet. Over breakfast I went through what I saw as the options for traveling home. The Aberdeen -> Bristol Parkway service runs only once a day, at 08:25 (but we had found out at the booking office at Inverness that the cycle spaces on that service were already reserved) so option one was to book that service, stay another night in Aberdeen and travel in the morning. The other option was to take a route involving various changes and chance the availability of bicycle spaces (potentially getting stuck at an intermediate point, but that isn't really any worse than staying put in Aberdeen).

After we had eaten our fill I headed off alone to the railway station to see about booking passage. It turned out that only one of the three spaced on the 08:25 service was still available, so with that ruled out I purchased tickets for travel to Bristol today. I then took a wander around Aberdeen, questing after some brown paper and parcel tape (as I had a feeling this would serve us well later). As I wandered the cobbled streets near the docks I encountered some beautiful medieval architecture (regrettably I had left my camera at the hotel). The detailed Gothic structures being far better appreciated by daylight than the dull light of street lamps (as we had seen them during our brief excursion around Aberdeen en route to Thurso).

The game plan for the railway was to head for Edinburgh initially and then Bristol or South Wales, probably via Birmingham.


The leg to Edinburgh was strait forward, comfortable and irritatingly beautiful. During both the rail journeys along the East coast the North Sea shore looked tantilisingly beautiful. The skies were clear and the sea was a deep blue, like a gem set within the strange shapes of the wave hewn land forms, and pastel colours of rural Scotland.


The firth of forth looked particularly attractive the charming stone construction of the small harbour, contrasted against the grand scale and industrial overtones of the Road and Rail bridges. I found the obscured view of the bridges from the railway to be disappointing. At this point most of all I felt a pang of regret at what this trip could have been.

During the course of the trip Rich has had a few "issues" with station ticket barriers. I thought though that headed homeward, with only a single ticket and having already made 6 visits to railway stations under his belt this trip he would have it down by now... but once I went through the ticket barrier at Edinburgh, were we were changing tain, I once again turned to a conspicuously empty space behind me. Eventually Rich found his way off the platform and joined me on the station concourse.
Edinburgh is a large station, with many of the platforms only accessible via bridge. We made our way to platform 11, laboriously detaching and reattaching bits of kit to our bikes to fit in the lift, were a service for Portsmouth Harbour (calling at Bristol Parkway) was shortly to depart. When we spoke to the guard we found that all of the cycle spaces were booked from Edinburgh, so we couldn't travel. We then spoke with a member of the station staff to try and find out the availability of spaces on the next (and last) service to Bristol.

Eventually the verdict came back; only one space was available. I ran into the two ladies who had booked the other two bike spaces. They were very pleasant and had strong (and rather scathing) views on the provision for cyclists on the railway. We lamented the demise of the guard's van in latter years and discussed the rules for the class of train we were to travel on.

The rules make it clear the the train will carry only three bicycles. Together the four of us implemented the cunning plot, which I had begun to hatch back in Aberdeen; we dismantled Rich's bike and rapped it in the brown paper that I had purchased. We were now traveling with three bicycles... and one parcel of bicycle components :-)


The bicycle space claims to be for two bikes. This seems to assume that everyone rides a BMX, because its almost impossible to get them in. Three of us spent about 10 minutes getting the bikes into their space. They only fit with one bike rear wheel up, and one bike rear wheel down (but there are no instructions, and this is not how the illustration showed it). It would have been nice if the cycle accommodation on these trains had been designed by someone who had seen a typical bicycle, rather than heard a vague description of one. (though they look fine in the picture, the issue is getting them through the aperture that leads into the storage bay, and doing the necessary turning around in the confines of the train car.


On the train.

The train journey from Edinburgh was the usual cramped and unpleasant affair that I've come to expect from these long haul routes, though we did manage to get seats from Newcastle. We rolled into Bristol parkway just after 22:30, leaving enough time for Rich to catch the last connection to Newport at 22:45.

Day 4: Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory

The poor weather that had blasted over the firth at us over night continued into the day. I for one was certainly quite reluctant to break camp and loose the shelter the tent was offering, but we weren't going to get around the North Sea by sitting in a tent (no matter how much I wish that weren't so). When we got back on the road I was decked out in gear that doesn't normally see the light of day until November (long sleeved jersey, gillette, full finger gloves and 3/4 bib-tights). Even so, with the most difficult leg of the first few days out of the way we felt quite positive.

Our ride today called for us to take the Nigg ferry. We stopped at Tain for a few supplies (also for the first cash point since Thurso) to ask if the ferry still ran and was told that it departs from Nigg at 15 and 45 minutes past the hour.


Those Norwegians get everywhere

Rich hadn't slept all that well in the tent and his knee was a little painful after our saunter through the peaks the previous day, with a marked effect on his pace. He lagged noticeably, the loss of our porridge and Welsh cakes the previous evening is unlikely to have helped either. As we headed down to the Nigg ferry his pace was noticeably dropping.


The North Sea Cycle Route invites us to take a long ride, off a short pier.


When we arrived at the ferry pier we queued up behind a local motorist and waited on the very exposed dock side for the ferry. The swell was considerable and looked like it would make the short voyage quite interesting... it wasn't to be though, as shortly the motorist at the head of the queue (who I had earlier engaged in a short chat, before they retreated into their car out of the wind) reemerged and announced that they had telephoned the ferry man and that it wouldn't be sailing today. I replied that "Well, at least we won't have to stand about in the wind any more".

We began heading back up the peninsula to take the long way around via Alness and the A9, but Rich's legs had started to betray him. We paused to consider staying at the B&B adjacent to the Ferry pier to see if the Ferry would sail the following day, but the decision was taken to press on.

In the bad weather, and carrying the injury progress was slow. We stopped at the next Inn we came to for a hot meal out of the rain, and to consult our maps in an environment which wasn't guaranteed to shred them. We discussed how far we might get with the ride, at what pace we might make etc. I also tried to convince Rich to take some anti-inflamatories (he isn't one for medicines). Eventually I tabled the unpalatable question; "is it sensible to continue?". Rich was stoic, and felt that he could carry on, but I reminded him that the question at hand is "should you", not "can you". Many a cyclist has had to hang up their Lycra permanently because of knee injury; better to avoid making it worse and be able to ride another day. The North Sea cycle route isn't going anywhere. As we closed the discussion we intended to make for Inverness (some 30 miles from where we were), stay the night and review the situation about continuing with the tour in the morning. As I watched Rich limp out to the bike and the way the cold affected him as we prepared to roll out it became clear that Inverness was going to be a challenge, and continuing with the tour was almost certainly off the cards. Having vanquished the peaks, we now looked to be facing defeat at the point of victory.


Riding along the exposed North Sea coast in the rain was uncomfortable, but occasionally beautiful.

For Rich the ride became a struggle against a painful injury and the prevailing inclement weather. For me the ride presented different challenges. My mind raced with, predominantly grim, permutations of how our situation might deteriorate further. Meanwhile the wet, cold, wind and heavy A9 traffic was a source of significant discomfort. My response to all of those things would normally be to set a fast pace, keeping my self warm through the effort and safe by reducing the speed with which other traffic closes on me. On the narrow and busy A-road it was also quite difficult to keep tabs on Rich (as one tends to drift out into the road when looking over the shoulder).
I adapted by spinning a higher cadence than normal; this helped keep the circulation going (and I just had to deal with the traffic). Rich just summoned up vast quantities of grit and determination from goodness-knows-where to allow him to continue, despite his obvious pain.






When we eventually rolled into Inverness Rich had a noticeable limp, and my feet numbed to the core. We had made an average speed of just 6.5miles per hour since the Inn. At that pace there was no way we were going to be able to continue. With no obvious place to stay jumping out at us, we headed for the train station (partly to get a look at the clock as we had no idea what time it was) and decided to look at the possibility of heading back to Aberdeen immediately (as from Inverness there is over a days travel to Newport/Bristol by rail).
Thankfully after days of my laptop giving me an error which translates to "Ach, are ye daft laddie!? Ye be in the highlands now, y' will ne' find any of yer Internets up here!" I was able to get online. I booked a room at the Travel lodge on Bridge Street in Aberdeen where we had stayed on the way up (chosen for its proximity to the station, and the fact that we knew how to find it, rather than its acoustic merits) and we made our weary way on the next train.

We had a pleasant chat with some locals, whose merry state appeared to be liquor induced. They were not impressed with my answer to "when was the last time you were drunk?"


Even after the day we had had this still made me chuckle. This is the sign above the door of, what appeared to be, an old club adjacent to Aberdeen railway station (which has 8 platforms) called Platform 9. Someone has added 3/4 to the end in permanent marker; tastefully done graffiti.

We arrived at the hotel at about 23:45 and hastened to bed, as it was too late to get food.

Possibly things might have been different had we waited for tomorrows Ferry, but in honesty I think the damage was done before we ever set off that morning.

The day reminded of something Graham Fife had said at a recent lecture in Bristol; "No mountain, no ride is ever ridden once and forever; you ride it afresh each time". This ride wasn't, on the face of it, all that hard. It is relatively flat and is generally unremarkable however our situation created a ride that posed a real challenge. We didn't ride a fast ride, or a long ride, but Rich certainly rode a courageous ride; and this, to my mind, is the sort of ride cyclists appreciate most of all.

Day 3: The Highlands

We got a good breakfast at the B&B in Bettyhill, and naturally, I flapped my gums with the owners a bit more leading to our not leaving until 11:00ish.

As we set out for Lairg things seemed to be going well. There was some gorgeous riding along the cliffs as we followed the north coast of Britain to Toung. Regrettably my video clips fail to do justice to the expansive sea views, but do catch some touring cyclists heading back up into Bettyhill.

A man from Porthcawl spotted my flag flying and pulled along side to inquire about our trip. I was pleased that the flag was still effective in Britain.





Once we turned south at Toung, we found that the "main road" over the highlands is single track with passing places. With a bike as laden as mine the regular requirement to stop and start to give way was exhausting.
The highlight was giving way to a HGV, that took the entire width of the track and pushed a wake so strong that it almost knocked me to the floor as I stood at the side of the road.









Feeling a little unwell, and attempting to bring Rich around to my touring philosophy, I insisted on a stop for afternoon tea stop at a remote highland hotel. It is set up as a way station for tourists selling fuel, food and drink in addition to providing accommodation. We were offered seats in the hotel lounge, which we slumped into gratefully. I imagine to those around us though, the image of two cyclists clad in Lycra (and if I'm honest more than a little dirt) pouring tea from a pot into china cups in the palatial surroundings of the hotel lounge was probably more than a little incongruous.




Day 3 (our first proper ride day) though turned into an unexpectedly low day for both of us. We had both been under the weather leading up to the trip. For my part I had been suffering from nausea, stomach cramps and other, even less pleasant, members of the ensemble which are together known as "gastro-intestinal distress". As a consequence I had lost a fair bit of weight before we left. I hadn't really given this much thought, but at points during the day I found my legs to be way down on power compared to what I can usually manage. There were undulations that would normally not have troubled me, or even slowed my down at all, for which I was having to get out of the saddle and tackle them with significant exertion. Consequently I was relatively slow over the central highlands, and Rich in a significant turn around, ended up waiting on me at times. The feeling of weakness was soon followed up with a recurrence of the injury in my upper thigh/groin that I had experienced on my last tour. I'm also generally (as those of you who have seen me going about in December in my shorts may have guessed) not prone to feeling the cold, but today I found my self donning leg warmers and gilet; a sure sign that I was out of sorts.

Reaching Lairg was a nice mile stone, because it is a calling point on the railway that runs from Inverness to Wick. By reaching it therefore we had completed a big loop around this part of the highlands; up by rail, down by bike.
In Lairg we stopped at a Cafe, with a small jetty into the loch.


I took this picture for my friend Anne, as a follow-up to the "valiant duck" video from my 2010 trip. I call it "let sleeping ducks lie".

The cafe' its self was a lovely, place with a retro, 40s look about some of its fittings.

After the highlands we decided to push on from Lairg (the "cross roads of the north") to Tain, an additional 30miles. It was in this latter part of the day's ride that Rich found his earlier exertions in the mountains catching up on him. He began to experience joint pain and as we went his pace slowed noticeably.


At Invershin, about a third of the way between Lairg and Tain the route (Sustrans' National Cycle Route 1) using a foot bridge slung below a viaduct that carried the railway we had used the previous day to reach Thurso... this involved climbing three staircases, each about 9 feet high. This is not easy to accomplish with touring bikes, and one wonders what the route planner was thinking.


I understand that Sustrans don't have control over how local authorities set up their pathways etc, but they could at least have mentioned the need to man handle well over a 100Kgs of touring bikes up those stairs on the route guide.


We met a lady, touring solo from Land's End to John o' Groats.


About 3 miles from our destination; (the camp site near Tain) my front wheel rolled over a tack (yes, another tack), and punctured. It was quite exposed and cold, so it took quite some time to get it fixed.

Tonight we're camped out on the edge of a firth (probably not for the last time). There is quite a bit of a wind, which is making for a... dynamic camping experience.

There was a marvelous end to the marvelous day:

• Shortly after arriving, I found the washing-up liquid had leaked all over my cooking-stuff pannier.
• Rich spilled our porridge
• Then we ran out of gas for the stove (before we could make more porridge, or cook the Welsh cakes that I had prepared

Plenty of room for improvement :-)

Day 2: On the Road Again

We had just a few precious hours to sleep at the Travel Lodge in Aberdeen, due to an early departure on the train. Unfortunately the traffic noise, and the loud antics of "out goers" (I loved that term) were not conducive to a lot of actual sleeping. For my part I was slightly annoyed at my self when I realised my windows had actually been open the whole time, so I probably could have a better sleep than I did. Rich in particular didn't manage to get much sleep in.

The train journey its self was another lengthy affair, a further 7 hours (including an hours change at Inverness). In contrast to the main-line journey of the day before, this was a 2 car "sprinter" train, running mostly on single track; many of the calling points were request stops. Some of the views from the train were quite lovely, and the journey was altogether more civilized; instead of being wedged in like cattle for hours we sat in seats, read books etc. That said we didn't converse quite as much with our fellow passengers.
At Inverness we met a couple of guys heading up to start the John o' Groats to Land's End run. They were carrying day sacks and unmodified racing bikes, having opted for the B&B option. I admit to feeling a pang of jealousy, thinking about how much faster and easier this might be if I weren't carrying all the gear I needed to camp.



Our bikes, neatly stowed on the Inverness to Wick train.


The train ride it's self afforded some beautiful views of the coast, the odd Loch and then the highlands. Looking through the train windows, one got a genuine sense of the great forces that had carved the landscape over thousands of years. In one particularly wide valley I could picture the mighty glacier that must have carved it so long ago, super imposed over the flocking birds and grazing animals that reside in its present lush, green state.

Having left Aberdeen on the 07:14 service we arrived at Thurso at 14:24. Today, day 2 of the trip, was the first with an appreciable amount of riding. This did not get off to an auspicious start when I pumped up the tyres on Rich's bike at Thurso station. He was really nervous as I pumped them up to 60 psi; I assured Rich that he could trust what the manufacturer had said as to the maximum pressure for the tyre (65psi in this case) and listed all the benefits of higher pressures for touring. True to my word the tyre held the pressure... the rim however, had apparently fatigued and dramatically exploded under the pressure with a resounding bang. So there we are stood on the platform at Thurso station, the start point for our ride, and it looks like its all over; Rich in particular seemed very down hearted. Fortunately the extra wheel proved its self most admirably. I switched Rich's destroyed front wheel for the "extrawheel", and with the addition of a few cable ties to stop the dangling strands of wheel rim from catching we managed to get back on the road for the short ride into Thurso town.


Shredded; the wheel rim was destroyed beyond any possibility of repair.

"The bike shop" (its the highlands, so there can be only one) in Thurso; the place to go in Thurso for bicycle repairs, advice, local information and cutting edge political debate. If you're in Thurso and don't need any bike bits, I suggest you find a reason to go anyway. An inspection of the rear wheel showed that it was also showing the tell-tale warping that precedes a fatigue failure. After some discussion we decided to get a new wheel set, a cheep and cheerful pair, but something new would be far less likely to fail in the middle of nowhere. The owner/operators are friendly, helpful knowledgeable and make very entertaining conversation. They also raised a very interesting issue with recent changes to the Cycle to work scheme which are making the government look just a smidgin anti-green. Whilst they were providing all that, they also dropped everything to get Rich's gears switched to a replacement wheel set, refit the tyres and a new tube and even inflated the tyres up with their track pump.

Come five o-clock we were actually in a position to head off from Thurso (we were actually quite sorry to go, but needed to reach our destination before dark). We decided to head West, skipping the 60Km round trip to John 'O Groats, on the basis that we needed to return at some point to complete the Orkney and Shetland legs of the journey. I set off out of Thurso, setting my usual aggressive pace up the hill to see how Rich fared. Two thirds of the way up I pulled into a parking bay overlooking Thurso to see how he was fairing. In the relatively short hill I had him sweating buckets and had induced a mild asthma attack. Although my Asthma has been much improved of late, I have a great deal of empathy with the position of having an asthma attach, so I decided it was probably best that Rich set the pace for a while. Under the circumstances, it was rather heroic of him to try and follow my pace for as long as he did.


The dunereey Nuclear Power facility, under a striking Scottish sky and illuminated by shafts of sunlight. Lots of important science was done here, from scratch, so I thought the resemblance it holds to an Aperture Science enrichment sphere was quite apt.

At about 19:30 we reached our destination; Bettyhill. This is where the trail turns south, away from the coast and heads to Inverness. The guys in the bike shop had said that we would find out why it was called Bettyhill when we got here; I was hoping they meant that it would be funny in a slightly retro and feminine way, but it turned out to be up some steep climbs.


The camp site reception and hotel were closed so we got the last twin room in one of the B&Bs. They were also good enough to cook us some food, despite the late hour. I don't normally care for chips but these were lovley; crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside (the Jamie Oliver describes his perfect chip). The B&B is housed in a lovely little listed building, and I can say this (and I can think of no higher compliment for accommodations in an wilderness like the Scottish highlands) had a shower, which was hot and lovely. Rich had suffered rather badly from lack of sleep in Aberdeen, had a touch of motion sickness on the trains and had just put in his first proper days touring in four years, so he turned in right away. I sneaked off to write the blog/journal in the bar and chat with the locals about travel, adventure and the local traditions.

Rich has done a lot of training for this ride, but the focus has very much been on getting heavy weights up hills (an area he felt particularly weak in on our 2007 tour, when he had to walk a lot of the hills). Consequently he suffered a little when it came to putting the climbing together with the speed and endurance aspects that are needed to make meaningful in-rodes into the 6,000Km North Sea Cycle route. He had to call a halt to catch his breath on quite a few occasions and I sensed a few doubts were creeping into his thinking. The empirical facts though are these; in 2007 we completed the 250mile Lon Las Cymru route in 6 days. Today in about 2 and half hours of riding Rich covered over 30miles, in conditions which were equivalent to a normal day on the Lon Las Tour. In terms of pace that is a night and day improvement, and a very respectable pace to set on a laden touring bike.

Day 1: Once More Unto the B[r]each

Today I set off with my old cycling buddy Rich on my second tour of the year. This time we're headed up to Scotland for the first leg of the North Sea cycle route.


Rich

Day one is a train journey up to Aberdeen. On the super advanced British rail network that takes over 8 hours, and naturally due to the high quality of the rolling stock, a whole carriage was out of service due to a fault. This meant hours of standing, shuffling about and generally enduring discomfort.

We met a few interesting people en route.
The first was a lady who was traveling with two bikes strapped together (one was a road bike, and it had a carbon fiber TT frame tied on to it, so they could be wheeled around on one set of wheels). We had a good long chat about long chat covering most elements of cycling, including her boy friend's Paralympic ambitions for 2012. She was reading a degree in East Asian studies, so we discussed some of the peculiarities of those cultures, and the demographics of the student population in that field. Unsurprisingly Anime, cos-play and similar activities are very popular, although our traveling companion isn't all that into it; she prefers bikes. She was also adorned with a wrist band from www.CyclePure.org; an campaign against drugs in cycle sport.
For part of the journey we discussed educational reforms with a couple of Drama/Performing Arts teachers.
Reading and Leeds festivals are this weekend, so we later ran into a group headed to Leeds with their weekend's worth of camping and giging gear in tow.
Towards the end of the journey we met a lady from Scotland who has lived for some 9 years in California. The different influences on her accent gave her quite an interesting voice.
There were several exchanges with myriad commuters about the conditions on the train, the psychology of rail travelers.

At Edinburugh the fourth train manager of the trip took over. He decided to have shout down the carriage about the way we stored the bikes. We went to have a look, and found there was no possible way of moving them, but this didn't stop him from putting out two more announcements over the PA. A short while later I caught sight of him walking up the train. I started walking towards him, and he immediately reversed direction in a manner that held a suspicious resemblance to someone running away.


Richard and I have also been making efforts to get reacquainted. Though things got off to a rocky start when Rich confessed to preferring Star Trek: Voyager over The Next Generation..

5 and a half hours into our journey the train started traveling along the cost (that would be the east cost, as opposed to the West coast where we started our travels).


Back on my travels

Its interesting to note that on my TGV journey, which was a similar length, I was at my destination long before the 5 hour mark, everyone had a seat and the air-con worked effectively. I'm starting to lean towards the view that French trains are better.


Aberdeen

The Scottish Trip

I'm headed off on my second tour of the summer. An old acquaintance of mine, who goes by the name of Rich has asked me to accompany him on the 6,000Km North Sea Cycle route.
6,000Km is rather a lot to do in one sitting, so we're starting by taking the train deep into the Scottish highlands, heading to John O' Groats (the most northerly point on the British main-land, and then cycling south (as far as we can get in a week).

Two weeks on...

Its two weeks since I've returned from my trip, and thought I would give an update about the "aftermath".

An odd thing about going to see Le Tour de France is that (when you go by bike) you don't actually "see" a lot of it. Of this year's tour I saw only the three parts that I was at in person and coverage of the finish at Plataux le Belle on stage 14 (which I caught in a cafe on my way to Carcassonne). Due to my delay getting home, by the time I went to work on Monday I still didn't even know who the winners were. I told my colleagues that I had to catch up on Le Tour, and to please not spoil the ending. I almost got away with it, but as he got up to leave at the end of the day my colleague Paul said "I still can't believe that Cadel Evans won the Tour"; I gave him a somewhat withering look, which led to him apologizing profusely... but the damage was done.
None the less I did eventually get caught up on the tour highlights.


I found my self on the ITV highlights for stage 12.

Back at work, its generally expected that people bring back some sort of confection from the place you've visited. Unfortunately the logistics of this don't pan out too well when traveling by bike... so I made cake instead.


I donned my old Tour de France beret whilst I cooked.


Le Tour cake


Cake of cheerfulness. I took it into the office on my bike, and in the process the smiley face got smashed off :-(


An odd consequence of my trip is that I'm starting to get this odd impression that Bristol is a perpetual festival town. Last weekend, the first weekend back from the trip, was the weekend of the Bristol harbour festival. The weekend before I left was the St. Paul's Carnival... next weekend is the Bristol International Balloon Fiesta :-)

180degree view of Bristol's floating harbour during the 2011 harbour festival.

Whilst I was in Carcassonne, it came to my attention that due to the time that elapsed between blog posts I had been reported as a missing person, and InterPol had been searching for me. (the reasons for my not having posted for a few days were many fold, but I consider it wisest not to go down the line of explanation in this medium).
Since I've been back, as I've caught up with more and more of my friends, details have emerged of the extent of the rumors of my demise and the details of what transpired back home. A few highlights were discovering that the police had been round to my parent's house, that international calls between Hong Kong and Britain were placed by people asking after me. Its fair to say that chain of events is a source of some regret for me.


I've had some good memories to reflect on though.


The trip in retrospect...

My top 5 experiences of the trip

5. The covered market in Paris
4. Racing the tour de France Caravan between stages 14 and 15
3. Towing Chris through the hills in the South of England. Using a bit of rope we had, in essence, constructed a 5 wheeled, 10 panniered pseudo-tandem bicycle. As terrible as the situation was, when it actually worked and we got up the first decent hill I laughed harder than I have in a long time (unfortunately I was too exhausted to laugh on the subsequent climbs).
2. Carcassonne; very beautiful (although a bit of a tourist trap)
1. My top experience was having people run along beside as I climbed the Col-de-Tormalet. As rode up the climb on my 3 wheeled bike, a number of people did the traditional run along side, like they do for the riders in Le Tour. One French gentleman conducted a little interview with me. "Vous destination?" he asked. "La Sommat!" I replied. He went on to ask me where I was from, an after he had jogged about 100m with me he looked at me and said "Are you ready for the Tormalet?". I responded "Oui Mousiour!", he gave me a little push and shouted "Alez, Alez!". It was absolutely marvelous.

Bottom 5 experiences

5. Sleeping under a tarpaulin in a layby in Northern Spain. (although it did add to the sense of adventure)
4. Trying to board the TGV with all my gear.
3. My day 9 puncture. (mostly because of the mental transition from a high to a very low point).
2. Loosing my Duck. I really liked that duck.
1. Discovering that I had been reported as a missing person.

Top 5 quotes

5. The many unexpected chants of "Wales" from people seeing me ride along, such as the one I recieved in central Bilbao
4. Arriba! (Shouted at me, as I passed through a small Spanish village, on an 8% gradient)
3. Oh la la (climbing the col de-tormalet)
2. Oh la la la (climbing the col de-port-de-Aspet)
1. Alez! Alez! (the classic wins out)

Day 17: Journey's end

In the morning I rode back to the station in Newport, partly disassembled my bike again and boarded a train to Bristol, which actually called there this time (After some lengthy explanation of why I was traveling from Newport to Bristol on a Reading to Bristol ticket).

So ends my journey, on the same day Le Tour de France finishes in Paris.


Vive Le Tour!

*Editor's Note: I've retrospectively added picture and video content for the previous blog entries as and when I've been able to get the material uploaded. If you read the older blog posts as the text was posted, you will find there have been significant additions.

Day 16: Odyssey

I don't really have a full day (or possibly two would be needed, given that my legs have already been imposed upon to carry me across France) to ride from Epsom back to Bristol, so some sort of Rail cheating was needed.
I decided the only candidate stations were London Paddington and Reading. These are the only two stations where I was sure that I could access a direct train to Bristol, without using a lift or stairs to access the relevant platform. (as I had no desire to repeat the experience of nearly being separated from my bike on Suburban rail services in Greater London).

Chris was holding a BBQ, so naturally I could not make an front to my host by declining his tasty, tasty hospitality. I hung out with the cool engineering crowd, which included a few cyclists with whom I speculated about the outcome of Le Tour de France, which concludes tomorrow in Paris. After today's individual time trial it could be a very close thing, so potentially the traditional uncontested parade into the capitol would become a hard fought race for the yellow jersey.
I left about quarter past five, and decided that although London Paddington station was substantially closer (about 35Km vs some 65Km to Reading).

I stomped through the undulating roads of Surrey and Berkshire, receiving the occasional look or toot at the epic bike. After a couple of full weeks of touring though I was really felt it; my muscles starting to grumble at me. Even so it had a good feeling of a moderately challenging home stretch and I rolled into Reading at around 20:45. I noted that Wokingham seemed a very pretty town on my way through, but didn't stop save to occasionally get my bearings and scoff a sandwich. scoff a sandwich. Shifting that loaded touring bike doesn't half burn up some calories - were told 5000kcal a day for touring in the Pyrenees, and I think that could be an underestimate for the weight on my bike.

I got to the station, disassembled by bike and joined the 21:11 service, bound for Swansea via Bristol Parkway. I had picked just the right spot to park my bike so that when the train came to rest the door to the luggage compartment was right next to it. Once aboard I slumped in my seat, pleased that everything seemed to have gone as smoothly as I could have hoped... but all was not well. The train was held at Reading due to signal problems between Reading and Swindon. This delayed us considerably which was frustrating but I could deal with being late. When we arrived at Swindon it was announced that (almost unbelievably) the train was not to call at Bristol after all, but be diverted via Lydney and Gloucester to call next at Newport. The delays meant there would be no possibility of getting a connecting service at Newport for Bristol, and no rail service was running there from Swindon. This was massively frustrating, but I decided that the only sensible avenue open to me was to remain with the train and alight at Newport and stay with my parents for the night. The lifts at Newport are nowhere near as large as at Bristol, so getting out of the station would be problematic, but preferable to trying to find my way from Swindon to Bristol in the dark.
I would leave the train some 2 hours late, and 40 miles displaced from my destination. Add to that with some proper Welsh hills to get over before I could find a bed at my parent's house.

This journey hasn't exactly gone "to plan" from day one, but this is ridiculous.

Day 15: Reunion

Today I'm bound for Britain after 2 weeks on foreign shores. I got a good continental breakfast, because somehow bread just isn't as good outside of France, and headed out into Paris again. I headed to the Moulin Rouge, which I had hoped to see lit at night, but my getting lost in Paris the previous evening had ruled that out.


Me outside the Moulin Rouge

On my way from the Moulin Rouge to Gare du Nord (the station from which Eurostar departs for London) I was stopped by a French cyclist whom I chatted to for a while. He spoke mostly in English, and I mostly in French. We had a good discussion about the value of hammocks to the touring cyclist (mine, sadly, having gone unused the entire trip due to the weather). He also asked why I was so fast, which amused me greatly. I explained that after the Tormalet Paris is easy.

I arrived at Gare du Nord a full three hours before my train was to depart. I knew from my last trip that the luggage depot (where I had to check my bike in) is on the opposite side of the station from passenger check in. Not easy to make my way with all the gear and no bike to put it on. Fortunately I had learned some lessons from the TGV experience, and was able to re-pack the gear more effectively (not having to deal with the bike it's self was also a major help. I took my time making my way across the station, but was still at the passenger departure area well before check-in for my train opened. The queuing system caused a few frustrations, but things went fairly smoothly. My cleats set off the metal detector, but the French security person seemed to appreciate the issues of cycling and the frisking was cursory.


Gare du Nord; 180 degrees, viewed from the Eurostar passenger check-in queue.

In the departure lounge I got talking with a lady from Calafornia who has lived in London for the last twenty-somthing years. We catted about our travels, and my friend from Illinois who is just over a year into living in Britain.
The rail travel did throw up another anomaly in that all my travel documentation showed two passengers (because the journey was booked for both Chris and me). I had to explain that "Mousiour Vyse will not be joining us", which made me sound like a Bond villain.


On the Eurostar home


Mmmmmmm, train food; the Eurostar light lunch.

The train was non-stop to London, so completed the journey in just over two and a half hours. Chris met me at St. Pancras station in London so we could ride down to Epsom together. I got stopped by a London cycle courier with whom I chatted about touring gear. After we got across the bridge at Waterloo to the south bank of the Thames, we just had to follow the A-roads to Epsom. We took great delight in overtaking many, many other cyclists, quite a few of whom were on road-race style bikes. At one point we saw a large bunch of cyclists a way ahead. Chris and I were stopped at traffic lights, so I turned to him and said "La peliton a' 20 seconds" and we exchanged evil grins. Chris, on his unladen bike, pulled ahead to create a slipstream, setting an aggressive attack pace. I followed along with the epic 6-panniered touring bike. We swooped by the group at considerable speed; much to our amusement, and eliciting many a google-eyed look from the defeated bunch.


Reunited; Chris is in race leader yellow, because he most certainly got back to Epsom first, and I'm in "king of the mountain" polka-dots, because I got to the top of all the mountains (first).

So ends the trip back to Epsom; now to figure out how I'm going to reach Bristol.

Day 14: Jour Rapose

The interesting thing about my day in Paris, is that I didn't really have anything particularly in mind for it. Consequently after breakfast, when I stepped out of the hotel, I was faced with a fairly simple choice; "left or right?". I took a meandering route down towards the sene' by foot.
This is in keeping with the idea that you miss things by traveling around in cars, buses and the like.

My first find of the day was one of my favorites; a covered market "Les Enfants Rouges". I wandered in and found a couple of curio vendors, but most of the stalls were restaurants and food stalls. I noted Italian, Mexican, Cajun, Japanese, French, Fast-food and a Fromagerie amongst the stalls. The olfactory impact of this was quite something, and definitely would have been missed had I taken the Metro or Bus. I settled on getting lunch from the little Japanese restaurant. It was a long kiosk, with a few wooden tables with benches in a light, bamboo-like wood. The Chef was a slightly wizened gentleman, who stood before his steaming pots in a manner which seemed to proclaim, "I am the kitchen sense". The scene could just as well have been in Tokeo, except that the menu was chalked up on the board in French, as well as in Japanese characters.


The food was beautifully presented on a segmented crockery, I was sharing a table with some Japaneese restaurant go-ers, so was pleased that my chop-stick skills did not betray me.
I was actually quite surprised at the ammount of Japanese eateries I found in Paris, as dishes like susi struck me as some how "un-French". (Later in the evening I saw a restaurant named "Susi-planet", which had a fleet of delivery bikes lined up outside; so not only can you get sushi, you can get it speedily delivered).

After a lunch I continued my stroll in a generally southerly direction and met the sene around Charenton-Le-Pont. From there I headed down stream in the direction of Muse' de louvre. On my way I crossed the river to Notre Dame cathedral, the very first way-point on my 2010 France tour.


Even the infants are getting in on the Tourd de France action


Sand Art


A really cool Egyptian themed fountain I happened upon during my wanderings


Toy sail boats float in a fountain, near the Louvre


The goal for today stated on my plan was to by crepes; so I got started with a crepe (avec sucre et citron) in the "Jardin des Tuileries", which lie between the Louve and l'obilisque. The cafe was a gorgeous open air affair, surrounded by antique statues and flower beds.


...A little bird joined me at my table






I headed up the Champs eleese, where preparations for the conclusion of Le Tour on Sunday were already underway. Tiered seating had been set up along the street for the final sprint, and crowd barriers were being put up.

Further along, towards the Arch de Triomph, I walked by many of the fashion houses of Paris. The air carried a distinct and pleasant waft of designer of perfumes.


A Paris icon


This was possibly the coolest ricksaw I've ever seen; It has disk breaks, a decent suspension fork and an aerodynamically shaped "hull" which makes it resemble the lightcycles from Tron. I want one :-).


At Nike Paris the 4 winner's maiuous (jerseys) of Le Tour were displayed proudly in the window. I was really tempted to get one, but unsurprisingly they were extremely expensive.


When I stopped for my second crepe (Jambon et Fromage; because it was specifically crepes plural in the plan) I met a very charming young lady from Switzerland. We chatted away in a gazebo near the Eiffel tower for about an hour, and exchanged stories of travel and and a few points of culture. It was very pleasant indeed.

I decided to limit my self to entering just one attraction with an entry fee. I considered Muse' de Louvre, but decided that the restrictions on photography would be too frustrating. At the eiffel tower and Arch de Triomph, I was put off by queues. I opted instead for the River cruise; it seemed fitting to use another slightly off-beat mode of transport on the trip. I departed from the base of the eiffel tower at 20:00, the cruise lasted just under an hour, and I had a great chuckle at the extremely cliched' commentary. I picked a fairly good time, as at the point where we had finished traveling up-river, and turned about to come back the lights of Paris were just beginning to come on.


A most piratical vessel


Notre Dame cathedral, viwed from the river


I wish I got on this boat; paddle wheels are definitely retro-cool.

After the cruise I wandered the area to the north West of the eiffel tower. (If I'm honest I got a little bit lost around this point, but eventually got back to the eiffel tower).


A particularly groovy sort of motor-tricycle that I had seen around in southern france.

I stopped for a snack, and when I emerged from the restaurant (which I'm sorry to say was a McDonalds, but I was trying to keep things a bit austere) night had properly fallen and I began making my way back along the Sene. Paris is, of course, full of beautiful renascence architecture and by night the grand buildings look more striking if anything. Each structure is enhanced with lighting designed to accentuate it very best aspects. I was quite annoyed with my self for not having brought my tripod (as when I set out I had it in mind to return to the hotel before nightfall), I ended up balancing my camera on my knee, bollards or fencing in an attempt to stabilize it for longer exposures but, I'm sorry to say, with limited success.


The inevitable photo of the eiffel Tower.


Street art, not as good as the sort you find in Bristol... but its only Paris after all.


Even the residential buildings are wonderfully detailed


The dome of the Grand Palais; my favorite Paris building


Triple-header; The Grand Palais, L'Obelisque and Le Tour Eiffel, in one picture.


Another inevitable photo, the pyramid of the Louvre (apparently rebuild since it was eaten by the duck on my last visit to Paris).

In my revere at the sights, I quite lost track of time and, having walked back down the sene beyond the Louvre missed the last Metro train back to my hotel. It was all the more irritating for the fact that I was stood beside the last train as it waited on the platform, but found the signage quite confusing and only realized that was the train I needed as the doors were closing (had I twigged a couple of seconds sooner, I would have been on it). After that train rolled out the board changed to "Service termine'". I wandered around looking for another train but eventually found that there were no more. So my journey on the metro ended up being just an expensive walk along the escalators and travelators of a particularly extensive Metro station.

Having wandered Paris all day, I now had to make my way back to the hotel. I had forgotten to turn my phone to "airplane mode", so it had used all its power by the early evening in a futile attempt to find my home (as opposed to a roaming) mobile network. Consequently I had to navigate my way through Paris, a city with which I have no familiarity, by night using just land-marks and periodically referring to the metro maps which are positioned at the entrances to most of the metro stations. I managed to find a fairly direct route, but was quite weary by the time I finished. My feet certainly felt that they had had their fill of Paris. I got back to my room and was just about to retire to bed, when the fire alarm went off. This resulted in much wandering around in night clothes trying to figure out what was going on, but it was eventually explained that "Its good to sleep; alarm not good, but its good to sleep.". So ended my "Jour rapose" in Paris.