Overview of the Trip

1. Background

I set off full of anticipation and so looking forward to doing this trip. I am a person who likes to be doing things, and there has not been enough of that in my life lately. Too many summers have gone by without going anywhere or achieving anything. True, there have been setbacks, setbacks from which it might have taken a lesser person longer to recover. Seven years ago my mother came to live near me, this was stress enough considering the long history of mismatch between us - neither of us was what the other wanted in a mother/daughter - one of us was willing to compromise, but the other wasn’t. A year later my husband Wolf walked out and went where he felt he was more appreciated. Considering we had grown together over the years, like two trees whose branches, once touched, grow and graft into each other, each sharing the other’s life essence, it felt like being torn in half. He must have felt the same, the new woman couldn’t fill the gap, and he left for Ireland to start a new life.

I visited him in December 2005, nothing that time had done had ever succeeded in separating us, but I was not yet ready to set up home with him again. I planned to return in February, when the magnificient camellias in the Killarney Arboretum would be in flower, and then go over for the summer and look for a house myself. But we were not granted that time, and on February 3 2006 he died, suddenly and unexpectedly, keeling over, hitting his head on a bedside table as he went down, dead before he hit the floor. But, as Stephen Holbrook said, "He soon got up again!" Amazing to think you can hit the floor dead, and rise up immediately in a new body.

The many friends I made at his funeral encouraged me in my wish to live in their wonderfully welcoming country, and in March 2008, after a long search, I moved - physically packing all my belongings and making the long journey by truck and ferry with the van driver and my dog Benji. Three weeks later I had to pack it all up again and move back, when my new country rejected me - the rules had changed and I was not able to get the pension and funding I needed to live there.

So I had it all - all the major life events considered stressful - taking on an elderly relative; desertion; divorce; death; removal; removal again. And now I was once more ready for adventure.

2. Preparations

2. Preparations

The trip was a repeat of one done in 1995, when Wolf and I cycled from Ringsheim in the Black Forest to Chimay in Belgium. It took us ten days and I piloted us by maps, along a route designed by Ron Sant of Nantwich, an old cycling buddy. I would now be doing it in reverse direction.

I still had the old maps, and new ones cobbled together from autoroute. These proved to be a mistake, although able to print in greater detail, in fact there is no detail on an autoroute map, and they were the cause of my going wrong several times in the first two days. I would have done better to photocopy my original maps, section them and blow them up, as autoroute proved unequal to the task.

I took a tent, as I estimated it was going to take between eight and ten days (I expected to be faster than with Wolf, who was blind, and could not speed down the hills) and I would not be able to afford to stay in hotels. The disadvantage of continental hotels is that you pay per room, so one person is in effect paying for two. It is much the same in this country.

I already have two tents, one a canvas three-person which Wolf had insisted on buying, saying he needed the comfort, everything could go under cover including bikes if necessary, and he did not mind carrying the weight; and a small single skin dome tent which we must have bought in Lidl, on the "too good to miss" principle, and never used.

I rejected both these, one too heavy, the other not weatherproof enough - though I could not imagine under any circumstances camping in heavy rain, and knew I would head for a hotel if that happened. I bought a new tent, the Lichfield Treklite 200 - described as a two-person - though you wouldn’t get two people in it unless blissfully married - it weighs just under 2kg and cost around £97 - well worth it, I thought, in terms of savings on hotels.

 When I pitched it on a friend’s lawn I was dismayed at the lack of headroom - even in the highest part my head touched the top. I didn’t know how I was going to manage to get dressed and undressed in it. In fact, I didn’t. I kept all my clothes in a bag which I hauled off to the ablutions each morning. Anyway, there was no question of being undressed in that tent, it was far too draughty. I put on different clothes for sleeping - warm track pants and my one sweat top. I then squashed into my (lightweight) sleeping bag and didn’t budge till morning, unless answering a call of nature, for which reason I always pitched near the toilets. I must say I found this tent amazingly quick to pitch and dismantle, though it had many drawbacks. The lightweight pegs provided with it buckled, even though I only pressed them in with a sunlotion bottle wrapped in a cloth, later taking to using gentle heel pressure.

I also took a self-inflating sleeping mat which I bought for the Inca Trail (I never raised enough money to go so it was never tested) and I think that was my salvation. I would urge anyone suffering from aches and pains or not used to sleeping on bare floors to get one. I got up in a morning without any stiffness and without a single ache or pain. I think it cost £18 on ebay. Well worth it.

I wanted to take, and agonised over, but left behind, a sort of fleece blanket which zips up into a bag (another Lidl’s ‘find’). I thought that I would be able to insert both mat and sleeping bag inside this and be all warm and tucked in. In fact it was just what was needed, and on warm nights would have been ideal on its own. Every morning I woke up shivering, and on windy nights had to pack the pannier bags alongside me (both sides) to keep out the draught.

I had no intention of cooking, perish the thought! As an ex head chef, I only cook in well-equipped kitchens, and have been known to refuse to barbecue for the same reasons. Besides, today there is so much cooked food available, why bother pratting around with grisly aluminium saucepans on your knees in a high wind? No thank you! But I knew it to be a necessity to be able to brew coffee - a lifesaver in the mornings and saving a considerable fortune. I am mainly fuelled by coffee. So I bought the smallest, lightest stove from a camp shop - two small gas canisters costing 4.99 each instead of one larger one, on the grounds that when one was finished I could throw it away - and a foldaway burner attachment which can be attached and reattached with safety - the older ones had to be just about welded on in a dangerous operation which if not done properly resulted in a punctured can and the release of all the gas. I was assured by a smiling assistant that this could no longer happen. The burner cost around £12 and I saw a one litre kettle - half the size of the one I had, and bought it. I used our old method of making coffee - boil the water, funnel the coffee through the spout, using a folded paper, bring it back to the boil and leave it to brew. A few good shakes of the kettle helps. It tasted like shite. Funny, it was always wonderful with Wolf. But then, so were most things.

I bought a new camera - Sony Cybershot - not because I needed one, but because I fell in love with it when I saw it in a shop window. I justified the purchase by telling myself a) I had had my present one a long time; b) the shutter thing you have to pull out to expose the lens had started sticking and that could be a problem; c) recently, the flash had sometimes not gone off.

I set the thing up and familiarised myself with it before setting off. It did occur to me to take both, and leave the rechargers at home, but that seemed silly, like buying a dog and barking yourself. I should have listened to that note of caution, as the new camera took five photos and then packed up, putting an incomprehensible message on its screen. I texted this to a friend, along with the name of the shop, type and price of camera and asked her to find out what if anything I could do. I thought if I could get to a camera shop, maybe there was some essential thing I should have bought and didn’t. The friend did not seem equal to this task, and I reflected that there had been no photos on the original trip, due to our being robbed on the second day out, so it was fitting that there should be none this time. Besides, the pictures in your head are always better, and photos would mean nothing to people who weren’t there, and, finally, there are plenty of photos on the internet of any region you want to search for, and I intend to see if I can find some.

Here I am forgetting to mention the main thing, the bike, though that was of course not bought for the trip, being my everyday means of getting about. However, I did spruce it up a little before leaving, courtesy of Ossie’s Bike Shop, Nelson, and the Third Ossie of that name, Trevor. It is a Claud Butler and you can see it in the pictures. I got it a new saddle, new handlegrips, new back light and got Trevor to check all the brake and gear cables to make sure nothing would go wrong. I can no longer manage puncture repairs, and fortunately these are not always necessary with the more robust tyres, but bought as a precaution a canister of something that squirts foam into a puncture and supports it while you get to the next available bike shop. Six pounds worth of insurance! My pannier bags were four in number, as I have a front carrier as well as a back. At a sample pack, I got everything in the two back ones (Carradice, new version, lightweight black and grey) but thought it would be handy to have the front ones to carry stuff I needed during the day, such as coffee kit, spare clothing, sandals (my new shoes were hurting my bunion and needed breaking in) and notebooks. I made the right decision in taking the front bags, they saved a lot of tedious packing and unpacking, especially as the inflatable mat was strapped on top of the rear panniers.

As to clothing, I resolved to take the minimum. I anticipated to be mainly in shorts, and this was so. I took two pairs in case one got soaked. One pair jeans I agonised over but could not bear to leave behind. I wore them very little. One pair track pants. I absolutely refused to take anything to be worn when I arrived at my destination, telling myself I could go and buy something in a charity shop if I had to. I took two vest type tops and one tee shirt and one light fleece top (craghopper). This was not enough, as I had to sleep in it every night and also wore it every day. I dare not wash it as it sometimes took days to dry things, and I needed it constantly. I took one bra, three pairs of light knickers and three pairs of short white socks which I wore all the time with trainers. Trainers give better transmission (more power per pedal  pushed) than sandals, but the latter were essential for when my feet hurt, and for easy entry and access to the tent. I had a voluminous, lightweight rain jacket made for a large man, on the grounds it would cover everything, and an old pair of lightweight waterproof pants bought for the 95 trip and which still fitted - these proved not to be waterproof, but nevertheless were good as extra cover when cold and windy. And being purple, they were cheery.

I took two hats - a peaked one that makes me look like a demented Lesbian, and the other like Farmer Giles. The Lesbian cost £3 at Matalan - white cotton, washes a treat and has a kind of squeeze in the brim, so that even a strong downhill rush does not dislodge it - pull it a little further over the eyes and it stays. The Farmer Giles at £10 from Boundary Mill was a total washout - supposedly an Explorer hat, it came equipped with a black mosquito veil (for going up the Amazon I presume) which reduced all my neighbours and friends to helpless laughter, and which I eventually cut off as you had to wear it packed on top of your head, adding to the heat. Its one good point was that it was waterproof, but the brim not being stiffened, it blew up in any kind of light breeze and was hopeless as a sun shade. The brim had a wire in its outer extremity, resulting in all kinds of strange shapes and angles after being squashed into a small space. I was tempted to throw it away. Ten quid down the drain really.

I have to say I definitely did not have enough clothes, but then I never have enough clothes. It’s the story of my life.

3. The trip

3. The trip

The message here I think is, team up with other cyclists when you can. They probably know more than you, and are good at passing information on. It was a saving grace to meet the British Legion charity riders when getting off the boat. They took me to Blankenberge station, saving me a change of trains. I met another lone cyclist at Sedan, who expressed his intention of riding along the "Muse" but decided against suggesting we ride together. He looked considerably younger and fitter, had been on the road six weeks already, and my speed wouldn’t have suited him.

The second message is, don’t panic Mister Mannering, and consult the map. Panicked by the traffic outside Couvin, I set off in entirely the wrong direction and missed the beautiful roads I found on the way back.

You can read the full trip diary to find out the detail, but in summing up I would say that this jaunt did not live up to expectations. I expected to be relaxed, meditative and in full inspirational flow. I found the going extremely challenging, but that was not the main problem. I was far too stressed, pressured and driven, and never relaxed at all. Additionally, nothing looked any different from England, it was just the long, long road and me, a sore bum and the bike. There was far more walking than I would have liked, but the hills were too steep to be practicable, perhaps the load I was carrying had something to do with that. There were no human beings except in the towns, and no conversation.

The facilities at the campsites were disgusting to say the least. There was only one half-decent one and that was the first night at Bourg-Fidèle. That was a private site, but even then nothing to shout about. Good job I did not know that worse was to come! The rest of the time I stayed in the ‘municipals’ in which even the showers were not places you would want to enter. As for the toilets, better left unsaid. The smell and condition were abominable, and when you leant sideways to wipe your bum (as the elderly need to do) the pot moved with you. There were no seats, and the French in general appeared to climb aboard to do what they had to, messing all over the rim. So not many were usable.

I found the traffic worse than I had encountered with Wolf, the extreme courtesy we found in the French drivers has largely disappeared, the cars came far too close, and I was subject to parallel shouting syndrome at least three times (when a driver draws level, then shouts in your ear through the open window) - common in England, but never encountered on the continent before. There was also one worrying afternoon when two farm lads roared up and down a country road on a quad bike, shouting and harassing me. I worried in case they went further. On tour you are an obvious target, it’s clear you have all your possessions with you - cards, money, camera. For this reason I carried a good cook’s knife, extremely sharp, which I intended to stick in anyone who tried to take anything off me.

On the plus side, all the minor aches and pains that had worried me at home disappeared on the road, my legs held up well, my breathing was fine, the bike ran like a dream and even pushing it up hills was not a problem. Everything I took was lightweight, and I am sure weighed considerably less than what I had to push in 1995. I slept extremely well and was not stiff jointed in the mornings. The food was marvellous - I stocked up in the mornings at the boulangerie, so many delightful cakes and pastries - I bought sweet ones for breakfast and savoury ones to stow away for later in the day. I found a pint of milk to be essential, as well as the water.

Three days into the trip I decided I could not cope with any more. I was on the road 7-8 hours and only covering I would estimate 30 miles which did not seem in any way enough. I was walking a lot of the time, and one day most of the time. I thought it was only going to get worse, and the further I got into it the harder it was going to be to get out. Although actually I always reached my target, and when people in cafés or shops asked me how far I had come,  they seemed to find the answer jaw-dropping. So perhaps I did not do as badly as I thought.

From getting the train to Couvin I rode from 3pm to 6pm to arrive at Bourg-Fidèle the first night. The second night I made Sedan, the third Dun-sur-Meuse. That was Saturday. I then turned round and headed back to Sedan, as I knew there were trains there and I planned to return to Zeebrugge, and possibly cycle a little in Belgium which I believed to be flat.

 It proved impossible to get back to Belgium by train (by any reasonable means) so I was faced with the whole return journey. I decided only to aim for Charleville-Mezières that night as I was completely done in. I booked in a hotel as it took me the whole day and I could not face another night in the tent. I then cycled from Charleville to Chimay and stayed the night in a village called Lompret, cycling next morning to Couvin to get the train. I got on the ferry that night (Wednesday) arriving back in Hull Thursday morning. 

I did not complete the task, but I proved I had the courage, imagination and stamina to attempt it. Although I turned round on the third day, had I known the French do not send trains to Belgium, I think I would have carried on, as in another three days I would have been well on my way, and I could expect to pick up speed - though it did not seem like it when I turned back.

My friend, at the Homecoming Dinner she provided, asked me had I learned anything about myself? Read Ten Things I Learned on this Trip for the answer. Her next question was, Would I do it again?

I replied that I would, but not on my own. Whereupon she offered to go with me next year. Good lass, Sara, I won’t give up next time!