Greetings from Saumur

We had a leisurely breakfast and left the Hotel Relais Du Gue de Selle at about 08:30 and headed South. For the first few miles we experienced a symphony of magnificent V12 engines as a procession of Ferraris, Aston’s and Jaguars headed off to catch the final morning of the iconic Le Mans race.

 Hotel Relais Du Gue de Selle

As the silence of the French countryside returned, we found ourselves peddling along tree lined, straight roads through sleepy French villages. There’s something about these sleepy French villages on a Sunday, they are seriously, I mean seriously, sleepy. You really don’t see a soul. Shuttered shops, deserted streets, tumbleweed and the occasional barking dog. Because this was planned to be our shortest day at 82 miles and only day 2 of the trip, we were in high spirits and therefore couldn’t even keep ourselves amused with my constant moaning about age, my various ailments, BREXIT, and the fact that the see-through nature of Graham’s shorts were bordering on the obscene.

Pretty Quiet

Harley settled on the idea of calculating how many times the grand father clock that graces his hall at home, had ticked since it came into the family in 1840 (the year the postage stamp was invented). An hour’s quite contemplation produced a number of 560,000,000. Chris on the other hand, not to be out done, thought he might calculate the number of times he had turned his pedals since he’d taken up cycling seriously, 12 year’s ago. By calculating the average number of miles he cycles in a year, his average cadence of about 90 and some complicated algorithms involving the size of his wheels and the position of the moon came up with a number of about 15 and a half million.

You can take the man out of the finance dept...

Things were getting desperate but a wonderful lunch on the Loire at St.Remy-La-Varenne brought a sense of sanity and balance back to proceedings.

Lunch and a little sanity

After lunch only about 15 miles to the hotel and for the first time in the history of these rides, we managed to get there in time for tea. A charming old hotel in the centre of Saumur, the Hotel Saint-Pierre. 122 miles planned for tomorrow. Better get some sleep.

Greetings from Le Mans

So here we are in France after an excellent day in the saddle. It all started well enough, the ferry docked at 06:46 and we set off down the canal path from Ouistreham to Caen via Pegasus bridge, famously captured by British paratroopers the night before the D-Day landings in 1944.

Pegasus Bridge Cafe

We got to the bike shop about 45 minutes before it opened and thankfully there was a cafe next door so we settled in with cafe-au-lait and enormous croissants. Soon enough the bike shop was open for business and a small, rather earnest French mechanic examined my banana shaped rear wheel and with an enigmatic smile muttered something about 20 minutes and took my bike off to the back of the shop. One more coffee and the wheel had been rebuilt – beautiful and only 16 Euros; rather less expensive than having to buy a new wheel which is what I’d been expecting.

Now having made a detour to the bike shop, we were of course off our planned route, a route meticulously negotiated and planned by Chris and subsequently loaded into the Garmin ‘sat-nav’ to avoid any confusion. Graham, being a man of a certain age, has an inherent distrust of technology and has a tendency to take any and every opportunity to prove the superiority of his God given homing pigeon instincts. “We are in the wrong place, that bloody computer thing will be confused and will have mislaid it’s satellites” he declared, “I’d better take over” and set off at a breath-taking pace in almost exactly the wrong direction. Chris, Harley and I gave each other a knowing, rather resigned sort of look and mostly out of a sense of idle curiosity, decided to see where the homing pigeon would take us. “you just have to follow the sun” Graham declared, “make a U-turn when possible” replied the sat-nav. An hour and a half, 3 dead-ends, a cabbage field, a derelict cement works and a gaggle of irritated French motorists later, we found ourselves back on the planned route with only a modest 12 miles added to our journey. Better than that “pick your bikes up, I think we should hack our way through that forest” moment that had traumatized us in Italy last year and for which Harley is still receiving therapy, I understand.

Just waiting for the sun...

We headed south along pencil straight, tree-lined roads through sleepy French villages until we arrived at Argentan for lunch. Rather excellent cheese and ham baguettes and tarte-du-fraise to die for set us up for the final 50 miles to the Hotel Au Relais Du Gue De Selle, just outside Le Mans.

Lunch...

It’s the Le Mans 24 hour race this weekend and the hotel carpark was full of exotic motors; Lamborghinis, a selection of Aston Martins and a particularly fine E-Type Jaguar. Whilst the cars were pretty to look at their petrol-head owners were somewhat less so and meant we had to fight through the bar for our well-deserved, ritual gin and tonic.

Supper of excellent steaks and a very pleasant bottle of Croze Hermitage.  

  

     

Greetings from the English Channel

We are currently somewhere in the English Channel on board the Brittany Ferry bound for France. A wonderful gentle pedal through the rolling hills and fields of the British summer countryside. As a man who has spent the last six months in North Africa, everything is wonderfully green.

Ready for off...

We set off at about 13:00 from Chris' house and had only managed about five miles before Chris realised he'd left his phone at home. Off he went back home while the rest of us went to sample the hospitality afforded by the Boot Inn at Stanford Dingley. A couple of beers later and still no sign of Chris and by the time he did turn up we were all feeling distinctly mellow.

Man with phone

We set off south towards Basingstoke, picking our way through small country lanes. The miles flew by, lots of chatting as we caught up with all the news from the past few months. Big hills near Winchester and long green valleys as we headed for the coast. Just after a tea and pork pie stop at West Meon and everything seemed to be going to plan when there was a loud crack from my back wheel - a snapped spoke and a wheel that almost instantly changed shape into something resembling a banana. After some emergency surgery, we got the wheel to go round but riding the bike felt like being on a slightly disappointing fair ground ride.

A cautious 15 miles to Portsmouth hoping the wheel would hold together. We got to the Old Customs House in Gunwharf Quays in time for the second half of the Spain Portugal match and some frantic replanning for tomorrow which would involve visits to bike shpos in Caen to find new wheels.

We made it to the ferry for nine, and met up with lots of other bikers in the queue for boading. booze and bed. will the wheel get us to the bike shop tomorrow?

Waiting to board

"The best time to start thinking about your retirement is just before your boss does."

It’s that time of year once again when an old man’s mind turns to cycling or more specifically to this year’s cycle tour. As I sit here looking out across the Blue Nile from my home in Khartoum, I feel somewhat thankful that several thousand miles of desert and sea separate me from the heated discussions that have been taking place in the UK between Chris, Harley and Graham, as they hammer out the details of this year’s route.

This year something significant has changed; Graham and Harley have recently retired. Those of us still in gainful employment are beginning to appreciate, retirement seems to bring with it an altered state of consciousness.

Cheers to a healthy retirement, Harley

How to describe this? It seems that before retirement we take satisfaction from meeting challenges and solving problems. After retirement, satisfaction appears to come mostly from cheese. The quest for a new cheese that is, or perhaps the discovery of an unusual wine or if our WhatsApp group is anything to go by, Wednesday afternoons spent foraging for exotic mushrooms in the Berkshire countryside.

Clearly retirement changes you. Gone are the days of wanting to cycle across a country or over an Alpine pass, now it’s all about “Discovering the best local, gastronomic specialities of the Périgord” or finding a small ferry across the Gironde that will take us to “an area renowned for sea food and clean, fresh, highly acceptable white wines”.

And there’s the rub. The retirees want cheese, the workers want mountains. Remarkably Chris, our master route planner, through a delicate blend of SHOUTY EMAILS IN RED INK and polished diplomatic skills that would put even Ban Ki-Moon to shame, seems to have produced our very own Tour-de-France in a way that satisfies everyone. Thank you Chris, I feel it’s probably safe to return to the UK now!

So the plan is after a 62 mile warm up from home in Berkshire to Portsmouth, we catch the overnight ferry to Caen and then pedal the 670 miles (1,040 Km) from there to Bilbao in Spain. Day 1 is a crisp 95-mile ride to an hotel near Le Mans which we understand, has an acceptable cheese board. Day 2 - a mellow 85 miles to Saumur with a plan to arrive in time for a visit to the renowned Musée du Champignon. Day 3 - a robust 123 miles, south west to Mansel where the "Chef de Cuisine" at the hotel Beau Rivage, promises to create “fine, flavoursome dishes prepared with the best seasonal produces”. Day 4, a rich and fruity 90 miles to St. Emilion, Day 5, an effervescent 100 miler to Mont-de-Marsan where The Auberge du Grand Mégnos awaits, apparently they cater for pilgrims making their way to Santiago de Compostela with Foie Gras and regional products, made in a traditional way. Day 6, a full-bodied 92 miles, over the Pyrenees to Hondarribia in the Basque country and finally Day 7, a smooth 85 miles to Bilbao, the home of “Bacalao pil-pil” an iconic Basque dish of cod fried with garlic and olive oil until the fish oils and the olive oil form an emulsion-like sauce and the skin is crispy and begins to pop – can’t wait…

Streatley to Bilbao

So the question becomes are both workers and retirees ready for the challenge? Well the retirees actually seem to be taking it all pretty seriously. Chris and I (the workers) are rather ungraciously bombarded with images of Graham and Harley’s mid-week rides, although returning to our theme, most seem rather more focused on the calories consumed than on the calories burned, so there is some hope of keeping up.

Carefully balanced training diet

Actually to ensure their sedentary existence doesn't get the better of them, Harley has only decided to cycle from Land’s End to John O’Groats to ensure he gets the training miles in! As you'll see from his blog, it looks like a fabulous trip (apart from when his bike almost got nicked in Edinburgh!). Graham on the other hand feels that the only way he's going to perform properly is to balance his pork pie training diet with a shiny new bike. At time of writing, it's a toss up between a Wilier or a Trek Madone; either way, he's decided not to tell his wife how much it's going to cost. Still, look on the bright side Sue, at least it gets him out of the house...

The Gentlemen of the Sudanese Amateur Cycling Club

When it comes to training, for my part I must extend my thanks and appreciation to the excellent gentlemen of the Sudanese Amateur Cyclists Club. These dedicated roadies are to be found weaving through the streets of Khartoum and off into the desert every weekend, often in 40+ degrees of heat. Some of these guys aspire to the Sudanese national team, others turn out for fun and fitness as many do, around the world. These lycra-clad warriors of the road have made this old Kawaja feel welcome, as only the Sudanese can.

Chris, Harley and Graham have patiently listened to me banging on about the high-points and the low-points of cycling in Sudan for some years; being forcibly detained at gun point by National Intelligence and State Security for example, was an interesting moment. Anyway, eventually their curiosity gave way to action and in February they came out to Khartoum on a visit, complete with wives and bikes. Such fun! It really was the best thing looking after these great friends in this broken yet wonderful city.

Bicycles exchanged for camels (briefly)

We took some days venturing out into the Nubian desert on camels and spent our nights experiencing the hush of this empty, forgotten landscape under the crystal canopy of stars.  The whirling Dervishes at a Sufi dancing ritual and the frenetic trading of the Omdurman souk are experiences I suspect might stay with them for some time.

A couple of hours in a 'Haboob'
cheaper than exfoliant

Foul - the perfect cyclists
breakfast

Of course, for us no trip would be complete without the bike ride and on the last Friday of their visit we set off for the 70-mile round trip through the desert to the dam at Jebel Aulia. On this clear, North African morning with a gentle wind at our backs, we were soon caught by my friends from the Sudanese Amateur Cyclists who seemed mildly amused by this bunch of Brits struggling through the desert heat. Mind you, as it turned out the heat was to be the last of our problems. After a good rest by the water’s edge at Jebel Aulia and an excellent breakfast of traditional Sudanese foul, we were heading back towards the city when an unexpected Haboob (dust storm) struck. The guys got the full Sudanese cycling experience that day and discovered that if you want to remove a layer of skin, an Haboob is more effective and very much cheaper than any amount of their wives’ Exfoliant.

So, there it is, Streatley to Bilbao in seven (and a bit) days. I wonder what adventures this year’s ride will have in store.