Central London CTC blog

Over the rude winter months, a few of us had been plotting: What about a quick flit over the Channel for a change of scenery? So, come the Friday after Easter, five of us (John, Camille, Paul, Inez and myself) assembled at Charing X. A peaceful train to Dover, a short twitch to the port, and soon we were on board, ready for lunch. The International Food Court beckoned. Well what should we have expected? Very soon, time to disembark and off to Escalles, following the coast road via Sangatte and trying to go the correct way round roundabouts. Most of us were carrying rucsacs, and I could definitely feel the effect on handling - a rather unpleasant skitterish feeling. along with the noticeable added weight on my rear suspension. The sudden steep & curving drop to the village would have been more fun if I had not been worried my wardrobe would arrive before me.Great hotel - friendly greeting from Madame, garage for the bikes, everything sorted speedily. I’m sure it helped that all of us made the effort to always talk to the locals in their language - they may have sniggered afterwards at our attempts, but we got constant smiles and welcomes everywhere.

There were no shops or bars in the village, so we decided to nip over to Wissant for a pre-prandial something. Note the over, forget the nip. Someone (possibly called Cliff) had put a big lump in the middle. But Wissant is charming, a little ‘touristique’ hot-spot for the locals. We found the Tabac, locked up at the rather elegant cycle racks, and wandered into the main bar. No sarcastic comments about ageing lycra-louts, no stares, just wonderful coffee - rich , full, smooth coffee.

Revived, we hauled ourselves back to L’Escalles, to catch the last of the Tour of the Basque country before dinner. We must have done almost 30k on this first day, and were in need of carb-loading. A very pleasant dinner followed: prawns, oysters, a decent main course followed by cheese or ice-cream, all washed down with a couple of bottles of well-chosen wine. As ever the standard of food was far beyond the equivalent in this country, and the euro price would have been at least as many pounds.

Saturday brought a distinctly cold mist. We had perhaps been too reliant on weather forecasts, and had packed for a heatwave. So, after a full breakfast of cheese, bread, jam and much coffee, all layers on for the day. John had plotted a fine route, rolling through deserted country roads, down through Ferques, Retry, leaving le Wast behind and on past Cremarest to Desvres. The sun had burnt off the mist - and we were now well inland, so gilets and arm-warmers were packed away.

Lunch in Desvres - after a little thought, the Sport Bar. I doubt Monsieur le Patron had ever welcomed English customers before, or perhaps any tourists, and grinned merrily. Superb oeufs en plat, deep orange yolks dusted with herbs, accompanied by tasty chips, or wonderful cheese baguettes. Beer, Orangina , more coffee and on our way. Past more fields, actually under cultivation rather than set-aside, silent villages, a fine chateau, and time for another Orangina break, and a little bar on the knee of the road between Wierre-Effroy and Retry. On back with one hard but rewarding climb. A quick shower, time for a beer in the hotel bar and another good meal.

Come Sunday morning, we were all dreading the laden climb back to Calais. After an early breakfast, we returned to Wissant, pottered along the coast, and then back to the bar, busy with locals and visitors. A last lunch at the hotel - good honest omelette and chips, then trudged off to the ferry. The inland route was much flatter, and we were soon riding past the dismal outposts of the booze cruise (Oddbins, Majestic, Sainsbury). Sunday trading has yet to reach this region, and traffic was sparse. Calais itself was in promenade session, the air cracked by the sound of scooters. We looked vainly for a bar showing Paris-Roubaix, but I feel road racing has all but lost it’s following in the cities.

Once more the ferry, once more the International Food Court, once more the fume-filled wait to disembark. Back to Dover Priory , our wait lightened by a pair of seagulls mating opposite the platform. It was clearly a young male, as John, Paul & I were somewhat pensive as the proceedings continued. The train back was in no hurry, despite constants announcements of ‘fast’ to the next stop, but we rolled into London almost exactly 60hrs after leaving, parting into the dark for the grind home.

A great success. Maybe not the most adventurous, definitely not the most audacious, but just as we hoped, an extended Sunday ride with good company, good food and good going.

Saturday’s route on GMap Pedometer is here.