"Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm." ~ Winston Churchill
My alarm clock went off at 6.30am. Of course in UK time it was 5.30am. And it felt like it. I dragged myself out of bed, with every atom of my aching body wanting to go back to sleep for several hours (or in fact, days). Instead, I had to get up, get back on my bike, and cycle for another 70-odd miles!
WAS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?!
My alarm clock went off at 6.30am. Of course in UK time it was 5.30am. And it felt like it. I dragged myself out of bed, with every atom of my aching body wanting to go back to sleep for several hours (or in fact, days). Instead, I had to get up, get back on my bike, and cycle for another 70-odd miles!
WAS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?!
Padded shorts and lycra gear on, then down to breakfast. Ahhhhh breakfast! Fortunately, the perk of feeling so shit was being allowed to eat as much as I wanted. So I did. I had cereal, crepes with jam, a pain au chocolate, a slice of buttered toast, fruit juice, and cup of tea.
(And I would be hungry again within an hour and a half.)
Getting back on the bike saddle wasn’t quite as painful as I’d anticipated; however, my legs were having a tantrum about having to do any more pedalling! They were stiff and sore and I had to really force them to move me forward. Nevertheless, Dorota and I followed other early risers and made our way the couple of miles down the road to the other hotel, where everyone congregated in the chilly morning air for our briefing. And soon enough we were cycling en masse out of Calais, heading to Abbeville.
The undulations (HILLS) began straight away, making the legs whine and beg for mercy. There were some lovely downhills, but always followed by an incline. (What goes up must come down... and er, then up again.) But it was a beautiful morning to be out cycling and once the legs warmed up, I was actually enjoying myself. I sincerely LOVE being on a bicycle.
Some of the longer climbs were gruelling though. I had decided that I'd walk up the big hills if I had to. Not that pushing a bicycle up a steep hill was a walk in the park either. Either way, hills were bastards.
However, we did have some absolutely glorious downhills.
DOWNHILLS MAKE ME HAPPY:
DOWNHILLS MAKE ME HAPPY:
The towns we cycled through were very pretty. Locals would wave and I’d often pass people and share a nod or a wave and a “bonjour”. Sometimes people would clap, which was nice. I noticed the French are far more chilled out about cyclists; in fact, they seem to hold a special place in their hearts for le velo. Drivers were courteous, and pedestrians loved to show support. Generally too, I was feeling good.
On an amusing note, the crew in charge of signs had been busy at work, posting little messages and amusing phrases on the orange markers. Methinks they were quite bored.
The water stop meant a quick bite to eat and having my tires pumped up, then it was back on the road. For a while there was a group of us cycling together, and eventually we passed a café, where the crew were having a tea break. Dorota and I decided, with little hesitation, to stop and do the same. C'EST LA VIE! Sweet, strong coffee with cream was the order of the day, although not being a coffee drinker I had a cup of tea. (This is where I fail on the Continent. Asking for “thé avec lait” immediately gets me filed under philistine.) It was nice to chill for a bit. Life is too short not to stop and smell the coffee.
By the afternoon, after about 45 miles, I could feel my knee starting to grate. NOT COOL. I’d raised my seat to help it; this was the knee I’d had physio for so I tried to slow down and take it easy. I found myself cycling alone for a little while, up and down hills, through wheat fields and villages. Yet strangely, it was while cycling on a flat road that suddenly an INTENSE PAIN shot through my knee - as if someone had turned up a flame beneath my kneecap! I howled in pain and had to pull over to rub in some Deep Heat. (Basically, now my knee was painful but also smelled like menthol.)
I pushed on, grimacing for several miles before finally pulling up beside a small lake in a forest for the lunch stop. Kez sorted me out with a VERY stylish knee brace which made a huge improvement. And after that I was distracted from the pain by the buffet table.
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Lunch was carbs, on top of carbs, on top of carbs. Our lunch buffets were GLORIOUS. Buttered bread, three kinds of pasta, chunks of cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, coleslaw, cheese salad, French pate, black pudding, sausage rolls… and that was just what I piled onto my plate. I was freakin’ giddy with hunger. There was a gang of ducks hanging around looking for scraps but they’d come to the wrong place. I actually had to threaten to eat them before they backed off. |
I sat and ate with some of the other gals, and we all set off together. I think we all overdid it at the buffet, and my feelings were confirmed when one of the women had to stop and sick up her lunch in a ditch. Whoops.
We pushed on up some very steep hills before coasting down brilliantly long downhills as well. The scenery was stunning; quaint streams, fields of poppies and lush forest. Travelling by bicycle is surely the best way to see the beauty of rural France!
We worked out how to return to the trail without having to backtrack the whole way, although it did mean we were running well behind. Which is when Kez phoned me up:
“We hear you’re lost?”
“Naaaah. Just took a detour.”
“Shall we come and get you?”
“No need! We’re on our way back.”
“Alright….”
Eight extra miles later, and having passed the turn-off we’d originally missed, we rolled into the water stop. We found Tom from the crew sitting on his own with the water and jelly babies, looking bored and forlorn.
“The van has gone to drop off a couple of people with mechanical issues, but then they’re coming back for you two.”
“WHY? We’re only 8 miles from Abbeville!”
“Afraid you’re cutting it too fine for dinner and briefing.”
“Noooo! But we can MAKE IT!"
We begged Tom to let us try and complete the route, while he begged us to stay and wait for the van.
I looked at Tom and then looked at Pat.
“You know, Pat, there’s only one of him, and two of us. He can’t exactly stop us.”
“Please don’t….” sighed Tom, wearily realising I was right.
“We can make it!” agreed Pat.
“Yeah, look, we’ve already stood here 15 minutes!”
“PLEEEEASE!”
“Oh… gw’an”, said Tom, defeated.
Pat and I shot off like a rocket, howling with laughter. After a mile we saw the van coming towards us. QUICK! Should we hide? Leap in the bushes? They can’t take us now! We were so close! WHAT SHOULD WE DO?? I'll tell you what we did - we covered our faces and kept on cycling, clearly knowing they’d spotted us. But the van didn’t stop, and Pat and I sped on, reaching an extra three miles before the van, having gone back to collect Tom, eventually caught us up. I tried to out-run them, in mock-getaway-style, Pat howling with laughter behind me, before Kez slowed up alongside me.
“Nice try.”
And so, Pat and I climbed into the van, and were driven the last 5 miles. But even with the lift we’d still done six more miles on top of the completed route that day. And had a brilliant laugh while we were at it. Not bad going.
Pat was staying at the Ibis while I was at the Mercure, and I strolled in, showered and tried to make myself feel human again. Not an easy task after two days sweating on a bike.
At dinner I sat with a group of cyclists I'd not yet met - mostly because they were FAST cyclists and I was, er, not so much. I felt a little sheepish when they spoke about the time gap between the fastest and slowest cyclist. (Actually, I willed my dinner plate to open up and swallow me whole.) Eventually though, we all got chatting, and I realised the woman next to me had a NZ tattoo - she'd actually lived there for a while. And so, the ice was quickly broken.
Speaking of ice, I had to get some for my burning knee. I waited downstairs in the foyer for Dorota, who was making a phonecall in her room then meeting me for a drink. I asked the receptionist for a bag of ice for my knee, and was literally given a HUGE shopping bag filled up with ice cubes. To be fair, it was EXACTLY what I’d asked for... but I had to stash some of the ice cubes in the foyer plant pots before I could even pack it onto my leg.
So I sat and iced my knee and daydreamed of Parisian macaroons, and after a while I realised that Dorota had probably fallen asleep while on the phone (she had). To be fair, sleep sounded AMAZING. I was glad my roommate Raquel was also ready for lights out. And so, at 10.30pm, with my head on the pillow, it took me about 30 seconds to nod off.
So I sat and iced my knee and daydreamed of Parisian macaroons, and after a while I realised that Dorota had probably fallen asleep while on the phone (she had). To be fair, sleep sounded AMAZING. I was glad my roommate Raquel was also ready for lights out. And so, at 10.30pm, with my head on the pillow, it took me about 30 seconds to nod off.
Extra miles cycled: 6 miles (9.5km)
Total distance: 76 miles (121.5km)
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