The Rolling Hills of Normandy

A last minute decision to visit Simon's gaff in France too late to get a cabin for the overnight crossing. I set off from work along the canal towpath stopping just before Angel to watch an apt act of a couple of guys on the Books on the Water barge playing French sounding jazz on a big cornet and clarinet. Lovely to listen to sat in the sun but I have to leave them to rendevous with Simon in Blackfriars before getting the 7pm to Portsmouth and then the ferry to Caen. There are a lot of cyclists on the ferry mostly looking more professional than Simon and I. After a couple of drinks and taking in the sea air we sleep fitfully on the floor before being rudely awoken by the siren and stagger bleary eyed down to breakfast. Simon has a full English, served by Frenchmen in France, and I have beans and tomato which is all they have for me. We need the energy cos it's damn windy cycling from the port of Ouistreham the ten miles to Caen itself. Simon gets a puncture after 5 miles and it starts spitting. The weather that is. After taking the scenic route through Caen we travel along the fairly direct D9 which isn't a bad road to follow as not too much traffic but the hills! My magic cycling shirt given to me by Simon on our last trip here isn't really working and I'm really struggling up the hills. They aren't steep but seem relentless and the energy drink I prepared doesn't seem to be working. Or perhaps that's the problem. It's also trying to rain off and on which doesn't help my mood. A café allongé with calva chaser (that's expresso with a bit of water and a shot of calvados to you anglophiles) gives me some temporary relief in a roadside cafe. I resist buying a pack of filterless Galloises for old times sake as I don't think it will help me on the hills. The locals wave us off looking up at the grey skies and sniggering. We stop again at Caumont l'Evente where we have a quick look in the church and I light a candle for those not with us. The priest and a few others practicing their songs adds to the atmosphere. By lunchtime the weather is better and after a biere pression we picnic next to another church where we're joined by a slightly dotty woman who we have an animated conversation with in poor French. She takes my offered banana and pops it in her bag saying that she'll make a banana tarte that afternoon. Refreshed we set off again after the bag lady picks up my dropped slice of tomato saying that someone could slip up on it. We go the long way round to Contrieres and by the time we're within striking distance I'm just about pooped and Simon gets his second puncture and decides to walk. There a loads of cars parked going into the hamlet and yep, there's a funeral at the church. With the simple sounding two bell call to church and seeing the coffin being carried in I shed an emotional tear. What the mourners must have thought of a sweaty haired bloke standing on the edge of the graveyard in tight fitting cycling top and shorts looking more morose than anyone else doesn't bear thinking about. Turns out the deceased had lived a pretty long life. By this time the sun had come out full blast so we sit in the sun trap of the back yard rather than cycle further to the beach. I read and doze and drink beer whilst Simon patches his tubes. I also realise why I struggled compared to him as my panniers weigh a ton and I have all the tools whilst his weigh about a pound. Also the slipstream behind me and my panniers must drag Simon up the hills whereas I get no protection from him. Ah well, we're relaxing now and after watching the end of today's stage of the Tour of Britain we cook dinner accompanied by a lovely red wine and then catch the decisive penultimate stage of the Vuelta. Now those hills look steep!

We're up early and start off in a grey wet chilly morning cycling directly to Saint-Lo via the less hilly route. We can't get a train from Saint-Lo which is just as well as the weather has picked up and we follow a lovely riverside path to Lison station where we await the train over a beer in the sun drying our socks on our bench. A quick train to Caen and we ride directly to the port with the wind behind us. It's another sunny afternoon so we cycle along beach and both go for a dip in the surprisingly warm sea. I say warm I mean about north Cornwall summer temperature - i.e. bloody cold but bearable. Once the on ferry we sunbathe on the sundeck deck with a couple of beers and then have a very civilised dinner over a bottle of wine. At Portsmouth we just make the train which has quite a few Bestivalites on it who seem a little grumpy as I guess they're missing the Sunday night finale. Offloading at Clapham Junction we hit the shit London traffic with lorries giving us inches to spare which just reminds us of how considerate French drivers are to cyclists. It's been a good trip and well needed. Thanks Simon!

Canal side continental jazz

Stop to take a pic of where we've come from. Mainly to gain my breath back.

The end of the Sunday's riverside path

War time allies bridge between Caen and the port

Well deserved sorbet and ice cream