Isle of Axholme

Nina, Sarah, Deborah, Graham, Laurence and David joined the tour there having spent the afternoon exploring this historic town, city walls  and museums. First a pot of tea, followed by an evening meal by the river. Most meals seemed to come with Yorkshire Pudding -  but not as my mum used to make it. The tour started promptly next morning along the riverside cycle route NCN65 to Easingwold for coffee, and then lunch at Kilburn; home of the “mouse man” Robert Thompson.

York

After inspecting his trade mark carved wooden mice it was time to tackle White Horse Hill on a 25% gradient – a hard climb. Sarah got to the top ahead of the rest of us despite carrying her luggage as a backpack: Graham came third, and some walked. On the top of Sutton Bank it was soon back down and past ruins of Rievaulx Abbey deep in the wooded valley, then a stiff climb out before the roller coaster road across open moorland to Osmotherley. Arriving in evening sunshine, we dined in the Queen Catherine Inn that night, where the Black Sheep bitter brewed locally at Masham was an excellent pint.

Osmotherley Moor

After breakfast all we had to do was climb over the moor and follow the Esk valley down to Whitby. Unfortunately whilst the river and railway go steadily downhill, the road and cycle route don’t, and there were also a few challenging bits of off road cycling. Although this year was a late Easter, there were plenty of young lambs in the fields to bleat at us as we rode past, and this far north there were still Daffodils and early spring flowers adding colour to the roadside.

Esk Commondale

We arrived in Whitby with time to explore this historic sailing port, visiting the Sutcliffe gallery to admire his fine sepia photographs of  the harbour and people taken in the 1880′s. On the top of West Cliff there is a statue to James Cook explorer, and a Whale bone arch that record Whitby’s seamen and Whaling past. We made a timely arrival at the hostel just before a torrential thunderstorm. Fortunately the rain had stopped before we descended the 199 steps from the Abbey to the town for a traditional fish supper; mushy peas optional. Meeting the Dracula tour with suitably costumed guide was a surprise, so we took refuge from the forces of darkness in a comfortable tavern in the old town over a few beers.

Whitby

The date of Easter Sunday had been settled here at the Synod of Whitby in 664AD. Rain the previous evening had cleared and freshened the air as we headed south on NCN1 along the old railway. At Robin Hood’s Bay there was morning coffee and Yorkshire Curd Cake above this picturesque fishing and smuggling village. Made famous by generations of artists for its attractive tiered cottages, we explored the narrow alleys and paths which zigzagged up the hillside between the houses. As the trail wound along the coast to Scarborough there were fine views with shipping visible far out to sea, and yellow Gorse in bloom along the old embankments and cuttings.

Robin Hood's Bay

Our lunch stop had “Willie Wonka” look-alikes with green hair and orange faces, also riding bicycles, who entertained us as they competed around an assault course there. On through Dalby forrest with a steep climb and fast sweeping descent, then we found tea at the mountain bike centre: our heavily loaded tourers standing out amongst all the full suspension bikes. Deborah and Sarah organised an excellent table for eight  in the Feathers that evening, and we shared the hostel with Mersyside CTC. The bike shed was full to overflowing for once.

Hayburn Wyke

Easter Monday was mostly flat apart from a few hills. After a long straight avenue to Castle Howard there was traditional Easter Simnel cake, served of course with Yorkshire tea, then on to Kirkham gorge where curiously the river Derwent flows away from the sea! Lunch was at Stamford Bridge, where the English won the first round in 1066, but lost in the replay at Hastings. The group then separated, with six heading west on NCN66 to York, whilst Paul and John went east of Beverley.

Helmsley

There were three more days cycling; south over the Humber Bridge and through Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire for a trip total of 926km. We had enjoyed fine and varied scenery from the pastoral vale of York to deep wooded valleys and open moors, and along the rugged Yorkshire coast. The only mishaps were Sarah and Paul falling off due to SPD pedals, and Deborah who broke a nail, and lost her sunglasses. Warm, dry and with plenty of sunshine it had been the best Easter Weather for years.

Humber Bridge

There’s an album with more photos of the trip in our photo gallery.

It was a week of cloudless blue skies and temperatures that soared to 25 degrees, making us all the more grateful for the shady picnic spots we found along the Seine, the Somme and smaller waterways. We would see some of the largest Gothic cathedrals ever built, one of the most famously painted gardens in the world and the fields where thousands of British and French soldiers lost their lives.

Eleven of us began the journey Saturday, April 16, on the Eurostar to Paris, proceeding by train to Rouen, where we turned around to admire the 1930s Art Deco railway station. (We would be joined a day later by our twelfth cyclist, talented drummer George, who bicycled every kilometre despite having just spent 36 sleepless hours at a junior military camp.)

The following morning we strolled around the famous Rouen Cathedral photographing it from every angle until we were satisfied we had found the famous West Front painted by Monet in shimmering shades at every possible time of day.

The winding route along the Seine that followed was one of the most memorable for this cyclist, with its dramatic white chalk cliffs soaring to our left and shady gardens sloping down to the water on our right. (That ride was greatly enlightened by conversation en route with geologist Gail Riekie about the properties of chalk, a seam of which runs from Beachy Head all the way to Champagne.) We stopped in the picturesque town of Les Andelys, picnicking by the Seine next to a tourist boat from Basel.

Then followed a climb up a steep chalk cliff (yes, dear reader, I walked) to the strategically sited Chateau-Gaillard, now a ruin, built by Richard the Lionheart. Once at the top, we had a magnificent view of the Seine and the valley below, which made us realise we could have spotted an opposing army making its way up that major waterway. Unfortunately, that strategic advantage did not prevent a victory by the French over the Normans, following a 7-month siege, just a few years after Richard I died.

Resuming the Monet theme, we cycled to Giverny, Monet’s house and garden, where a dazzling variety of tulips and azaleas were at their peak in yellows, oranges and reds, bordered by the blues that Monet so lovingly applied in his kitchen. When our fluent French speaker and brilliant hotel organizer Sabina Carchesio stopped to question a gardener about the operation, he answered her in flawless English. He turned out to be an American volunteer who spends a month every spring living on the grounds, leading some of us to fantasise about an escape to this paradise.

Our day ended in front of the Flamboyant Gothic Beauvais Cathedral, gleaming brilliant white from a recent cleaning. At the time of its construction, it vied to be the largest cathedral in France and this megalomaniacal effort its 450-foot steeple fell off. But it is still the highest cathedral in France—so impressively high that this photographer had trouble confining it within the frame of her camera. Our day ended at a shady café on the main square, where hot and thirsty cyclists revelled in the first of many Coca Lights and Leffes, depending on their age and inclination.

On Tuesday we head for Compiègne, staying in the aptly named Hotel de Flandres (for our trip’s theme) overlooking the Oise River. Across the river we enjoyed the first of several delicious steak-frites dinners. From Compiègne the next morning, we visited our first serious war memorial, the Wagon de l’Armistice, a replica of the railway carriage where the World War I armistice was signed in 1918. The carriage is particularly famous because of Hitler’s vengeful act in 1940, when the Nazis turned the tables and made the French sign their own surrender in the same place. We were particularly struck by the elegant wood panelling of the carriage’s interior and by the vivid black and white photos of war in the trenches, showing soldiers covered in the dust of the white chalk we had recently pedalled by.

The cycling day that followed, Wednesday, was long and hot through the shadeless expanses of France’s most fertile agricultural grain fields. A shady cemetery with a view of the brilliant yellow rape fields provided a welcome picnic spot. But a search for an open café in this deeply rural area was defeated in two villages where everything was shut down tight for the midday siesta. It was a relief to reach the shaded canal portion of our trip.

Malheureusement, just as this writer was revelling in the coolness by the water, she tumbled over a deep hole in the unpaved canal path. Fearing further injury to life and limb, she waited a bit in the next village, which seemed to be devoid of any commercial establishment, for a non-existent taxi, then took courage and knocked at the door of the local mayor’s château.

There she was greeted with great sympathy by the mayor’s wife. This kind woman offered, beer, food and finally a ride to our next hotel in Peronne, driven by the mayor himself, reinforcing this writer’s belief in the warmth and generosity of the rural French.

On Thursday, we arrived at our most charming hotel of the stay, Hotel de la Basillique in Albert, a family-run operation where the young wife, her husband and children were dining on a delicious-looking lunch when this injured cyclist arrived. Tempted by the shady outdoor patio overlooking the Basilica and main square, she was lured into a perfect lunch of salad and frites, then taxi’d to a highlight of the trip: the famous monument to the missing soldiers killed at the Battle of Somme at Thiepval, designed by British architect Edwin Lutyens.

As Gavin Stamp describes in his excellent book ‘The Memorial to the Missing of the Somme’ (2007), Lutyens believed very strongly that the memorial should not have a cross or any other religious imagery. He wanted it to represent all the faiths of soldiers who had died at the Somme, including Jewish and Muslim combatants, and all ranks equally. For the same reason, he insisted on plain identical tombstones for the graves in this and the other memorial cemeteries he designed rather than the crosses typical of the French cemeteries (though they may have crosses or Jewish stars inscribed). Entering the cool giant archways of the memorial, surrounded by the inscribed names of the missing, Lutyens has framed views of the fields beyond, a moving contrast between the peacefulness of this quiet farm country and the blood that was shed here.

That evening, we were all charmed by the town of Albert with its town square surrounded by excellent charcuteries and patisseries, just steps from our hotel, where the dinner proved just as excellent as lunch and was served with the same solicitude.

Friday was our last full day of cycling, and this injured cyclist opted to accompany the very congenial group led by Michael Belcher and later by his grandson Albert, who proved to have excellent map-reading skills in his first solo leadership role. In the morning we meandered along shady roads by the Somme, dotted with small vacation homes and cafes that were actually open for business. To my mind, our best lunch of the trip took place in the town square of Corbie, where we had a view of the 19th century Sleeping Beauty castle that was actually the town Mairie. From the local market we had purchased a foie gras paté de campagne which we ate with quiche lorraine and some local baguettes, together constituting some of France’s finest inventions.

Led by trusty Albert, we arrived in Daours directly to the Lutyens-designed war cemetery that this writer had particularly yearned to see. Here Lutyens scaled down his giant arches from Thiepval to a human, Venetian size and collaborated with the great Arts and Crafts garden designer Gertrude Jekyll on the landscape. Jekyll’s great innovation was to design a perennial border of English flowering plants running along the front of each row of tombstones, to remind one of a domestic English garden. The cemetery did not disappoint. Surrounded by flowering pink cherry trees, each border was carefully tended and different from one another in pattern and plants, rendering a feeling of random order among the flox, tulips, pansies and iris. The contrast to the adjacent French town cemetery, with its gravel surface devoid of plants and dotted with hulking black granite monuments, could not have been more stark.

As we headed across the vast shadeless agricultural fields, we experienced a veterinary emergency. At a junction stop, a young black cat, emaciated but affectionate, appeared wearing a yellow collar. Being from that famously animal-loving nation, England, it was verboten to ride on heedlessly. After providing this poor animal with some water and food, we stopped several local French cyclists to ask if they knew of its owner or cared to adopt it. Meeting no success, (they were from France, after all) we carefully rode the kitty to the local village, suspending it in a canvas bag from Michael’s handlebars, while it peered out at the scenery. We deposited Kitty in a shady garden surrounded by a church and houses, where it proceeded to explore the thicket for edible rodents. We left confident that we had saved its life.

Our last evening was spent in the town of Amiens, where the Gothic cathedral, the largest in France, greeted us with a welcome blast of cold temperature after our hot afternoon. Our final dinner took place at an idyllic spot, chosen by trusty Richard and Sabine.  A long table awaited us next to the canal, where we sat outside happily in our shirtsleeves toasting our successful trip.

Our final day in Paris turned out to be yet another congenial farewell event, thanks to gracious Selwyn Hardy, who invited us to store our bikes in the courtyard of his Paris apartment, a beautiful flat reconstructed in a former workshop building dating back to the 1500s. At his suggestion, we dined on the shady patio of the café in front of his building, where the owner, a long-time acquaintance of Selwyn’s, made sure we had the best of everything, including the most delicious salade nordique this writer has yet experienced.

No blog would be complete without a catalogue of our various mishaps: 2 wallets lost (one returned by a Rouen inhabitant), one buckled wheel, two falls (but no broken bones) and the support of the whole group for the luckless individuals involved.

Nor would it be complete without thanks to the remaining members of our group: unfailingly cheerful and funny Christine Johnson, Richard Philpott and Tom James for their superlative navigation skills, and Roy for his encyclopaedic gastronomic knowledge and general philosophies of life. Finally all our thanks go to Sabine Carchesio for all her work in finding and booking the hotels, and to Paul Krebs and Michael Belcher for their original vision of the trip, their passion for history, their generosity in sharing their knowledge and their knack for making every moment of this adventure a pleasure.

We also have an album of photos of the tour and a map of our route.

Our group of 11, ranging in age from 11 to 70, started out with memorable coq au vin in the medieval town centre of Orleans, an auspicious start for a believer in the motto “Ride to eat; eat to ride.”

Chateau de Chambord

Our first full day of cycling took us to the magnificent Chateau of Chambord, the largest castle in the Loire, which we approached, as bicycles are wont to do, from a quiet back entrance like conquering heroes. There at a café in the sun I had my first tarte tatin of the trip, apples caramelised just perfectly. (Tarte tatin, was born in the Loire region after a lady inn-keeper left apples, butter and sugar cooking in a pan too long, then rescued the dish by covering it with a layer of pastry dough and sticking it in the oven.)

I spent the week testing tarte tatin at every possible stop and made several converts. Brian may have  grumped that all chateaux were simply an unpleasant reminder of  the ruling classes’ oppression of the masses. But he admitted to the assembled company that tarte tatin was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted—the first of several positive comments that won me points off this hardened Irish radical in a complicated tally totted up by Selwyn, counterbalance by deductions for chatter- cycling. (The technical term for wandering into the center of the road while chatting to your cycling companion.) What led to this violation? My seminar in  texting lexicon by sophisticated teenager George, tales of rioters from ex-policeman Roy, a history of mental asylums’ de-institutionalization from Michael and discussions of viola playing with Sue.

At one point our route navigated by the intrepid Richard Philpott took us for about 25km along a bike path which soon trickled (to our surprise) into a narrow dirt trail that made us feel as we had the Loire all to ourselves but required a certain amount of cyclo-cross to traverse before reaching Blois. In our traverse from path to village boulangerie, we somehow managed to lose one of our company, Derek, who enterprisingly found his way on his own to our next hotel.

Dinner in the gite farmhouse

Hard cycling against headwinds the next day (including a gorgeous view of Vendome from across the river) ended with my favourite overnight stay — on a farm (Les Pignons) near the village of St. Martin des Bois, where the farmer had turned an 1850 farm building into a charming gite with exposed beams and skylights. The highlight was a family-style dinner cooked by the farmer’s hospitable wife that we ate together with the farmer in their home — tabbouleh, lentils, homemade wine, local cheeses and plum clafoutis.

I showed our hosts photos of the bizarre giant-sized plaster Easter eggs and chickens that had invaded the front gardens of a near-by village on a scale that dwarfed the homes they adorned. The farmer’s wife knew the family that had initiated this folly and told me they installed similar life-sized decorations for what sounded like an unfamiliar French holiday “alla winne” (Halloween).

Bidding goodbye the next morning to the cattle enjoying their last meal before being turned into steak, we continued on to Tours, where we happily lodged around the corner from an excellent Lebanese restaurant. Our one cold morning was devoted to touring on foot the magnificent Tours cathedral with its 13th century stained glass, strolling past the half-timbered house where Joan of Arc’s armour was made in 1429 and wandering  the gardens of the former archbishops’ palace, where hedges are still trimmed with a plumb line for sheer exactitude.

The walled city of Loches

Reaching the perfect walled city of Loches, some of us opted for motorised transport to sightsee while the Rambos continued cycling up the hill to it.

The female contingent, all two of us, was by now lobbying for more chateau time.  We were rewarded with our visit to Chenonceau, which straddles the river Cher. Once inside, we were so charmed by the fresh flower arrangements incorporating everything from ostrich eggs to peacock feathers, that we took more photos of these than of the famous tapestries. Unfortunately by this time, two of our company had fallen ill, and had to spend the last day travelling by train. Our night at a chateau-turned-gite turned out to be less aristocratic and more youth hostelly than we had anticipated, with the men graciously doubling up so the ladies could have their own rooms.

The chateau at Chenonceau

Our last night we arrived in our final destination, the small town of Lamotte-Beauvron, to discover that the hotel where we’d made our reservations was closed. Thanks to the persuasive charm of Selwyn, the calm direction of Paul and the help of the local tourist office, our group found accommodation but was divided between those staying at motel out on the main road, and a hotel in the town centre. Name of the hotel? Tatin. You guessed it — the very one where that divine dessert was invented, before being discovered there by the owner of Maxim’s , brought back to Paris and introduced to the world. The tarte tatin was pretty good, too.

We also have a photo album of the tour, and a map of the route we took.

Paul and John rode out meeting at Jordans YH on Monday night. Paul’s new SPD shoes squeaked making any surprise attack from behind impossible. We crossed the Chilterns to Oxford with its dreaming spires and Inspector Morse’s pubs, then over the Cotswolds to Stratford on Avon. The weather was cold with head winds and occasional hail showers, so that we had to thaw out at Chipping Norton before ordering lunch. Then into the Midlands, passing through the centre of England at Meriden. We stopped at the cyclists war memorial there.

As we moved north we went back in the seasons, with only lambs, Daffodils and Primroses as evidence of Spring, but two meal deals were down to £7. It was raining as we arrived at National Forest YH. David and Angela, Nina, Lawrence, and Frank joined us in the Cricketers that evening and the start of the tour next day.  David was given a handicap by carring both panniers: one for him and one for her.

Good Friday and we made progress following NCN54 to Ashbourne. Then it rained hiding some of the spectacular scenery of the southern White Peak, although the old railway trail along the Manifold valley was still impressive, and the tunnel dryer than outside for once. By Hartington the weather cleared with limestone cliffs and flooded roads on the climb over to Youlgreave. There were still snow patches in the fields left over from earlier that week.

The temporary warden at the youth hostel told us that there was no bike shed and to store ours in the boot room.  Seven bikes filled the room and caused consternation amongst  walkers who had an early bus to catch next morning, so we had to be up early ourselves.  David’s front mudguard was mysteriously damaged whilst his bike was parked in the corridor. Angela had evicted the moths from her road jersey, but holes were evidence of their taste for fine Merino wool.

Saturday was a day for low gears and good brakes:  first over the hills to Bakewell to sample a traditional pudding divided into five.  During lunch at Monsal Head Paul’s map and case were pinched, but it was only a cheap map case.  Down past the viaduct into Millers Dale and a steep climb back up to Tideswell, Cathedral of the Peak, then through Peak Forest to the top of Winnats. David, Angela and Lawrence descended the 1 in 5 gorge to Castleton, whilst the rest climbed higher over Mam Tor and down into the Edale valley. Paul was first down the steep descent and even overtook a car and the more cautious cyclist slowing it down;  Frank and Nina took it a bit slower.

Hathersage YH bike shed was filled with hostel junk leaving four bikes outside, but the size of portions in the Little John Inn that night were more than cyclist friendly. The Cumberland sausage even defeated Paul, but not John.

Easter Sunday and an early climb into the Dark Peak and up to Stanage Edge caught the view of Hope valley below in sun, before rain squalls passed over. It was wild weather with rainbows and dramatic scenery as far as the Kinder plateau still fringed with snow. Coffee was at Yorkshire Bridge before following the track alongside Ladybower reservoir past the site of the drowned village of Derwent.

Water overflowed the massive stone Derwent Dam which had been used by the Dambusters for practice in 1943. A snack lunch there, then back down the road to Hope for tea, and up the steep climb behind Castleton with great views of the valley,  Mam Tor and Win Hill. David was then despatched to retrieve Angela’s hat left at Youlgreave, whilst Angela carried the His and Hers panniers three miles to Eyam. David meanwhile did a fine 2 hour time trial enjoying late evening sun to get back for a very acceptable hostel meal. What a pity the bike shed was again filled with junk.

Monday and after breakfast David and Angela left for their train home, whilst we rode through Chatsworth Park for coffee in the garden centre, then through Matlock past the Heights of Abraham before lunch at Wirksworth, where Lawrence and Frank left us. It was a surprisingly attractive ride until we hit the outskirts of Derby where Nina caught the train. Leaving Derby NCN54 passed through Pride Park just as Derby County crowds were leaving the match,  so we took the A road instead to our B&B.

The next day on passing through Melton Mowbray we sampled their pie before stopping at Thurlby. This youth hostel had been rescued from the YHA by the local council and volunteers, and for once had an excellent bike shed. A tail wind across the fens meant excellent progress to Cambridge, and the next day we made Tewin for lunch, leaving |John to ride home to London.

Trip total 800 km

Ten cyclists met at St Pancras to load cycles for 11.00 departure. Too many bikes to get off at Lille, so extra train journey via Brussels to Ypres.

Five were nearly mislaid when train split. They alighted early and took evening ride past war cemeteries. The only rain of the week soon cleared.  The group reformed for the Last Post ceremony at the Menin Gate and supper. 30km or 2km

First dame blanche of the trip (to avoid any doubt, this is a Belgian ice cream).

A dame blanche

Thursday 9th – Ypres to Bruges

Full day’s canalside cycling. We lunched in the far west of Belgium, in town square at Veurne. Optional diversion (“wegomlegging”) via Diksmuide for picnickers. 80km

Evening arrival in Bruges – canal side hotel at end of cobbles. Beers and orange squash in main square and Portuguese–Roman (or possibly Romanian) dinner.

Landscape with cycle

Good Friday 10th – Around Bruges

Day in Bruges for some – high art or the Chip Museum.

For others riding by numbers (Flanders network point system – making cycling too easy for purists) to Sluis (Netherlands), Knokke (seaside resort), through Zeebrugge Docks, then dames blanches all round on the prom at Blankenberge. 70km

Canalside by hotel

Saturday 11th – Bruges to Ghent

Half day canalside riding with café and picnic stops. Early pm arrival in Ghent for dames blanches and/or sightseeing. 45km

Our hotel was near the main art galleries and shared with two English (male and female) rugby groups.

Picnic lunch

Easter Sunday 12th – Around Ghent

Creme eggs for breakfast.  A day for everyone to do their own thing – stay in Ghent for the Mystic Lamb (a painting, not a roast) or cycling by numbers to Weteren,  Poperinge or route of choice. From 0km (anon) to 120km (Roy Watson).

We regrouped for a Greek dinner served in French.

Paradise for cyclists

Easter Monday 13th – Ghent to Brussels

Paul Krebs’s birthday. To celebrate, a chocolate egg and a full day of riding by the River Scheldt and the Willebroek canal. It was Flemish cycle heaven (just as it says in the brochures) – flat, clear paths, little cafés, drivers giving way without fail, everyone else on cycles too, all by the river in the sunshine. Pavés into centre of Brussels. 120km

In the evening, some of the group had frog’s legs. It must have been all the cycling.

Elevenses stop

Tuesday 14th – Brussels or Waterloo

Art galleries for some, others caught the train to Waterloo. Cycle out to battlefield, climb the Lion Mound, then final dames blanches and beers in the sun. 20km

Evening train home to face London rush hour.

The original Waterloo Station

Summary

A week of pedalling without pain, in a country that loves cyclists.  Flemish cycling is suitable for ages 10 to 70 (as tested on our trip).

Thanks are due to Jo Wright and Jan Underwood for organising and leading the tour.

Blog photos supplied by Gail Riekie and Michael Belcher.

]]> http://www.centrallondonctc.org.uk/blog/2009/05/05/easter-in-flanders/feed/ 0 http://www.centrallondonctc.org.uk/blog/2009/04/25/easter-in-devon/ http://www.centrallondonctc.org.uk/blog/2009/04/25/easter-in-devon/#comments Sat, 25 Apr 2009 20:50:55 +0000 John Aizlewood http://www.centrallondonctc.org.uk/blog/?p=788 Monday 6th April
John and Paul rode out separately, meeting at Wallingford for tea, and then on to a B&B in Goring. Paul had already broken a toe strap. 82km

Tuesday 7th

Over the hills to coffee at Kingsclear. Then a climb over the Hampshire downs and along the Test valley against a persistent head wind to Salisbury Youth Hostel. 94km

Wednesday 8th

NCN24 was a good route out of town. Further on BT had closed the lane and dug a trench down the middle giving a traffic free few miles on the way to Shaftesbury. We walked down the cobbles of Gold Hill (used in the Hovis advert) and through a bridge closure before the Piddle valley. Then contested rush hour in Weymouth and across the causeway before we reached Portland YH. Paul had also broken a mudguard by this point. 102km

Thursday 9th
Low cloud and mist hid Chesil beach and the hills to Bridport. After lunch in Axminster the clouds turned into steady rain on the big climb of the day from Southleigh, but we had largely dried out by Exeter. Nina, Chris and Richard joined here for an evening spent in the Tally Ho Inn. 105km

Friday 10th
A good cycle route NCN2 along the Exeter canal followed by shopping for cycling essentials in Exeter. Then a hilly route to Dunsford for coffee and lunch at Fingle Bridge. The narrow lanes and hedge banks were lined with early spring flowers, and Chris proved that Bromptons can be made to climb hills. Sticklepath and the National Trust industrial forge there also provided tea before arriving at old Okehampton station, now a Youth Hostel. 46km

Saturday 11th
Paul had to glue his venerable cycling shoes back together, luckily none of the bets on how long they would last were accepted as he would have made a killing. Richard’s front mudguard also required immediate surgery. NCN27 passed a memorial to Balaclava, before coffee in Hatherleigh. Then NCN3 led to the Tarka Trail on a former rail line towards Bideford. We reached the old Torrington station, now Puffing Billy pub, for lunch and returned on a more hilly road route. There were superb views of Tors on Dartmoor in the distance. Tea was replaced by Scrumpy and then a ride back to Okehampton down quiet lanes in the early evening sun. 77km

Sunday 12th
Careful map reading minimised hills, with good beer and lunch at Witheridge. A steady climb up the Exe valley was surprisingly quiet for Easter Sunday. We paused at the Rest and be Thankful Inn for refreshments before a descent to Dunster that seemed to last for ever. Minehead YH had an enthusiastic cycling warden, with a commitment to real food : the best hostel on the tour. 83km

Monday 13th
Down to the harbour and sea, then along the coast road to Watchet following the steam train which took a flatter route. After lunch at Crowcombe the tour broke up with Nina, Chris and Richard returning from Taunton, whilst John and Paul climbed over the Quantocks to Bridgwater and across the Somerset levels to Cheddar YH. 75km

Tuesday 14th
First left after breakfast and up the Gorge, but it was not as steep as Winnats! At the top we were waved through a road closure by the crew just before their machines took out the tarmac. Lunch was at the Marquis of Bath’s hotel Longleat where Paul’s joke about tourists and hungry lions was not appreciated. The quiet of the Wylye valley on NCN24 to Salisbury was disrupted as we were buzzed repeatedly by a jet which seemed to track us down the valley. 89km

Wednesday 15th
NCN45 to Amesbury for coffee, then across Burford army training ranges; no tanks but no shelter either from the headwind. Just after lunch at Shalbourne we were passed by Google cam, perhaps we will appear on their web site. NCN4 near Newbury used part of the Kennet and Avon towpath which we shared with a horse drawn barge. Streatley YH warden made us welcome mugs of tea as we booked in to end the tour. 98km

Thursday 16th
Back through Sonning and Windsor in light rain to Chiswick for lunch. Total distance 922km

A connoisseurs tour, with excellent sunny weather and the English countryside at its early spring best. Paul promises to spend some money on new kit, and maps before next year.

DK rode out to Jordans YH from London to join the four (PL,JA,BoR,PK) who had stayed there overnight. We made it as far as Beaconsfield before the first coffee stop, then up and down the Chilterns for lunch at Bledlow at the foot of the escarpment. An afternoon ride along the old railway track to Thame, and cycle route 57 into Oxford. The hostel was filled with foreign school parties, so we retreated to one of Inspector Morse’s favourite pubs. 67km

Wednesday 19th

The Cotswolds became increasingly lumpy. RP joined at Chipping Norton over lunch, having chased us from Oxford, bringing our total of GPS receivers to three. All these electronic widgets, plus mobile phones, meant a scramble for power sockets to recharge batteries overnight. Tea at Chipping Campden, then over the edge of the hills to a comfortable B&B at Broadway. 69km

Thursday 20th

One of the longer days, so BoR took the train from Evesham. RP’s “new” bike was christened by a flooded road at Upton on/in Severn. A flat morning but the climb into Great Malvern set the standard for the afternoon, with plenty of hills. PK frightened a herd of cows on their way to be milked, leaving us to placate a very angry farmer. We made it to Leominster just before sunset to meet up with AB who joined us for the Easter weekend, giving DK her panniers to carry. 93km

Friday 21st

Surprisingly everyone opted for the hilly but scenic route to Ludlow, and lunch there avoided a heavy rain shower. Quiet back roads to Craven Arms and a strange museum/cafe stop. One group took the hilly route, whilst another preferred a flatter A-road alternative. The ride along the edge of the Long Mynd in the glow of the setting sun was most memorable. At Bridges hostel PL organised a mountainous meal, which he left the rest of us to cook. 64km

Saturday 22nd

A cold night, but we warmed up on the climb of Long Mynd by the ‘easy’ route. The 1-in-5 descent to Church Stretton proved a challenging ride with gusting cross winds, and ice patches across the road, and some opted to walk down. PL had a hat blown off, which was last seen disappearing towards Wales. Fortunately the shop at the foot of the hill had a sale of half price winter hats. Lunch at Much Wenlock found PK with a broken rear wheel spoke necessitating repairs, and we set off in snow flurries to Wilderhope Manor; a historic Elizabethan mansion but without a matching Elizabethan bike shed: we had to store them in the entrance porch. 45km

Sunday 23rd

Along and over Wenlock Edge to a bikers cafe in Craven Arms, and a good sausage sandwich. A valley route was less successful in finding lunch on Easter Sunday, and we struggled to get tea in Presteigne, invading Wales for the first time. The evening meal in the Oxford Hotel in Kington rescued the day. 62km

Monday 24th

Just one hill over to Hay on Wye, but it seemed to go on for ever. Book shop browsers had mixed success, and AB left us for the train back to London and work. The afternoon toured the half timbered villages of Herefordshire back to Leominster. 72km

Tuesday 25th

A long day as planned, so BoR and PK opted for the train to London, the latter’s rear wheel having shed more spokes. Crossing six rivers, meant climbing six hills in between, but most of the work was done by lunchtime at the Severn, and we rolled into Stratford on Avon on schedule at 18.00. The hostel was filled with a French school party who were appreciating English culture with a play about Jack the Ripper, and English cuisine with a full English Breakfast. The French President had to organise a state visit the next day to repair the damage. 107km

Wednesday 26th

RP left for Oxford to complete his loop, leaving three. Having reprogrammed DK’s widget to avoid Edge Hill as much as possible, lunch at the Star in Sulgrave was the best meal of the tour, and we also enjoyed the worst rain storm from the inside. Milton Keynes hostel proved less than welcoming, and no food in the two local pubs, but heavy rain precluded further exploration. The emergency catering committee created oeufs brouille avec fromage au pain grille, with a drizzle of baked haricots, followed by banane au naturelle. 85km

Thursday 27th

A brief visit to the concrete cows, now a 20th century icon for Milton Keynes, then DK’s widget proved invaluable in extricating us from the redways and along cycle route 51. We made lunch at Ivinghoe before DK’ s business commitments led him back to London, and the two organisers headed back to Jordans to complete the loop. 72km

Friday 28th

Return to London, with a total distance of just over 800km and a load of dirty washing.

Bugundy Vendage

Day 2 – the fear
A sunny Saturday’s excursion round (over?) the scenery, through the woods, and past (sometimes) the cafes. Back along the coast sounds nice. Stop for coffee at Wissant? Mmnn coffee. Trade looks. The Wissant Climb. As the last 5km of the day. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Next suggestion?

Day 3 – the knowledge
A nice day to potter by the sea. So the short haul up toward Wissant. Then five sets of shifters click into the big ring, heads down – make the most of it while you can. Whoosh into town, eyes streaming. Don’t deserve coffee yet, so potter a bit further, one eye on the clock. Must leave time to take it easy back. Wissant once more. The coffee. A deep breath. Hit the granny ring by the 2nd farm, then hunker down for the long haul, grinding a rhythm. Almost suddenly the hamlet appears. Click up through the gears, slalom the last bend, and slide to a halt with a flourish. Home.

Post script – the power
All good coffee comes to an end. Land weary at Dover docks. Which way was it from the station to get here? Uhh, down. So that’ll be UP to get back then? 5 minutes and a paltry gear later we’re there. Pah, was that it? Hardly Wissant, was it?

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.