le Tour 16

Thursday morning sees me cycling into work for the first time since trudging around for miles every day in the Glastonbury mud. Legs seem to be fine which is comforting. Feels good to be back on the bike after about a week off it. After seeing Pele on the Park (another story) I cycle to Pete's and we have a smooth drive down to Portsmouth where we are royally entertained by Simon's parents.

Early Friday morning we cycle through drizzle to the ferry port where we're given the full airport security checks, just cos we're on bikes, no cars have to go through this, and part with Pete who has to get the Caen ferry whereas Simon, Jules and myself get the fast boat to Cherbourg. A quick bumpy crossing with a little light snoozing and soon enough we're cycling out of Cherbourg along the scenic route. Weather is the same as we've left across the channel and throughout the day's riding ranges from light mist and drizzle to persistent rain. By the end we're pretty damn wet including my shoes which are meant to be under protection by overshoes. Think it's getting through the cleats and standing in wet fields for comfort breaks don't help. Lovely rolling countryside, well, the rolling down is lovely not so much the going up, along fairly busy roads with lorries which ain't fun in the wet but we're following le Tour route along the D900. A few stops including lunch stood outside a supermarket cos Team Leader Simon won't let his domestiques (Jules and me) have a proper lunch stop as he needs to push ahead for his maillot jaune. Refreshed the second half of the ride flies by as we're counting down the klicks to Coutances. Lovely descent through town and after Simon adding more weight to his domestiques panniers and a garlic bulb to his small bag we're tackling the L'Alpe de Viaduct out of Coutance. I'm setting the pace and imagining the red polka dotted jersey on my shoulder when 50 metres from the top (we're in France so it's not yards) Simon who's I've dragged all the way up in my slipstream passes me. I was expecting him to sit in front to drag me the last yards up the climb but no, he accelerates away leaving me determined not to be so naive next time we hit a hill. Jules arrives in true sprinter fashion i.e. a few minutes after we've got to the top and then it's a few rolling hills along the straight road before turning off to Contrieres. We've barely taken off our wet overshoes (sorry Jules!) when Pete arrives. We're impressed by his speed but I think some of that may have been train. We settle down to watch Wales thrash Belgium and tuck into a fantastic curry courtesy of the team chef aka Jules. Evening ends with a whiskey tasting session - cheap blended vs single malt - before me and Pete stumble upstairs and into our beds and Simon stumbles into the garden. Don't ask.

Simon with the mandatory mechanical...

... whilst Jules looks on sheltering from the rain

Hay bales as cyclists

Saturday sees us waken to an overcast sky and drizzle which persists for the morning. We cycle to Monmartin-sur-Mer (not actually on the mer) in time for the tacky and dangerous looking Caravan where jules fights off small children to gather an impressive bounty of free toot and I get a fridge magnet. Advertising chicken stock cubes. Perfect for a vegan. Quick beer and a bite to eat and we're in place strategically just after a corner to watch the race itself. There's a five man break away and a few minutes later the peloton flies by in a flash. The rain has stopped by now and we tootle down to Hauteville-sur-Mer Plage (this time on the mer) where we remember my brother Matt as he wanted to retire to this stretch of coast. RIP. After writing in the sand we sit on the esplanade and toast Matt with cidre watching the sea roll in and wash over our words. I never did meet up with him on this beach. The ride home in the scorching sun clears the sentimental cob webs away and after another delicious meal (I don't think Jules trusts me or Pete not to contaminate food with gluten) we watch the highlights of the days racing (le Tour on TV, not us on a head cam) which is fantastic seeing The Manx Missile Cav back to his winning ways then watch the weirdest penalty shoot out between Germany and Italy and after a robust EU debate it's off to bed with a red face. Not embarrassment but cos I snoozed outside the supermarket. Simon says it serves me right.

Montmartin sur Mer on the first day

Sunday morning. Raining - check. Overshoes - check (bar Jules... Simon!). Off into Coutances through the rain where we are cheered on by Caravan botherers which makes the ascent through town that much easier. Lovely meal of salad and frites at the Tavern restaurant in the main square (the others had moules and horse). We position ourselves on a hill to watch the race and are rewarded by a great view of Cav sporting his yellow jersey. We hang around the main square alternately watching the le Tour screen which is next to a stage with some weird euro disco keep fit trainer thing going on. Ah the French and their music hey! We used to come to the 747 club here to dance with the locals to The Clash, French chanteuse and north African beats. The domestiques laden down with provisions we cycle back home via the scenic route avoiding Viaduct Hill, Simon obviously knows I've sussed his tactics out, and I take off on my own not leaving my summit glory in any doubt. We see the end of today's race on ITV4 then tuck into a lovely north african inspired meal before watching France vs Iceland. At 2-0 we know it's a formality and as it's a lovely evening we go for a circuit of the cows (Jules and Simon, they are actually bullocks) and the horses (which are actually horses). When we get back it's 5-1 to France showing up England's appallingly naive tactics.

Coutances with the big yellow jersey

Waiting in Coutances in the rain

Cav in the maillot jaune

Party in Coutances

Monday morning. Rain - check. Overshoes - check. Hold on. It's not raining! Jules has a personal rest day whilst the three boys cycle off to Granville to catch the start only stopping to look at the upside down boat church where I pay a euro for a candle and damp matches I can't light and we get a great view of the starting line. After waiting ages for the town dignitarie and jerseys to be photographed a thousand times the race is off! We have coffee in the bar by the beach then cycle up the coast stopped for lunch (left overs from last night and frites for me, moules caught a 100 metres away for the others) then it's back to Contrieres in the sunshine. Our first dry day! Yay!! We watch Cav's 2nd win of the tour - he's in 2nd place for overall stage wins and now looks within sight of Eddy Merckx's record. Extraordinary! No football so another leisurely stroll around the country circuit this time doing a bit of yappy dog baiting then to bed for an early start.

En route to Granville

Start of day three in Granville

Lining up for photo opps

Typical le Tour shop window painting - all done in the same style by the same person?

Simon and Pete swimming

Sunset over Contrieres

Tuesday awake to a murky morning and it's trying to rain on our parade but stays off. After cleaning the house we say farewell to Pete and oui 3 head off on our lumpy ride to Cherbourg arriving just as the sun comes out and we have a well deserved drink at a harbour cafe. Uneventful trip back and I pick up Pete's van from Simon's folks, say goodbye to everyone and hang around the harbour before meeting Pete off his late ferry and chauffeuring back to London. A great trip all round. Thanks for the loan of the house Simon.

Best thing from le Caravan

Bye bye Cherbourg

Mallorca 2015

Saturday sees us up bright and early trudging through the murky London autumnal streets to Balham railway station suitcase wheels clattering annoyingly over the paving slabs. An easy journey to Gatwick and before we know it we're driving in sunshine to Villa Beach our home for the week. Home is a beautiful spacious villa overlooking Capa Pi beach and fjord like inlet. To the left is the inlet running out to the Med and to the right the rocky gorge with trees on either side. A relaxing meal and a bottle of wine and we've forgotten all about the damp big smoke.

View from Villa Beach up the gorge

View of the beach from the villa

Villa overlooking the cove

Maya studying studiously with newfound friend

Sunset from the villa

Front of the villa

A beautifully sunny day Sunday and we trip down the flight of steps to the beach for a quick swim. Brother Duncan and family arrive and we meet up for a big pasta meal at ours before they leave for an early night having been up from the early hours. Mozzies eat well too. Next day we drive into Palma where we lunch inappropriately on pizza at a very Italian cafe before the girls go shop and me and Duncan mooch about chatting about this and that. We meet back at the imposing cathedral before driving home, the narrow way but not so straight way. We were meant to go to my brother's for paella but as it starts teeming with rain we cry off and instead stay indoors snugly.

Maya catching dates in Palma. I think.

Palma cathedral.

Everyone in Palma.

Maya, with new ring, and Lily-Rose in Palma.

The girls are amazed by the cathedral.

Duncan and Maria obviously enjoying Palma.

The brothers gone all tipsy.

The girls embarrassing us adults in Palma.

Ah, that's better...

Tuesday and all signs of rain have disappeared revealing a cloudless sky, just about, and we spend all day on the local beach. If it's this hot in October I don't think any of us would cope with the height of summer. I think that this was the day that a few drops of rain sprinkled on us. Awful. Tonight we are treated to Maria's paella which was well worth the 24 hour wait. Delicious. Next day it's beach again although the wind's picked up but we're making the most of the sun given it's going to be the last week we can bask outside in swimming gear for about 9 months. We swim and dive off rocks and the adults beat the kids at volley ball. Twice. Mainly due to sneaky shots whilst the kids are distracted. They all count. After the beach we wander over to the Shrewton Wood's place early as it's barbeque night and Duncan has the coals catching fire as we arrive. It's pretty breezy now which is good for the barbeque but after eating it drives the kids indoors to watch and unreasonable number of Shrek films whilst us adults sit around the barbeque with logs on keeping toasty. A few rumbles of thunder and some dark clouds threaten us but it's all huff and puff and we walk home under another full moon in the balmy evening air.

In our MPV on Cala Pi beach - well done Duncan!

The last of the sunloungers and sun shades - at least they were free

Sinead's Driving Lesson - with Megan hitching a ride (directed by Lily-Rose)

Debbie passes Cala Pi fort

Beautiful Cala Pi tree

Thursday we intrepidly trip eastwards through gorgeous countryside and villages that could come straight out a spaghetti western. I guess those were set in Mexico, or as it was before the good old US of A paid a pittance for much of it, and with the Spanish influence unsurprising that Mallorca reminds us of those towns. We stop at Santanyi and have coffee in the square next to the massive church whilst the kids wander about trying to find trinket shops. Successfully mostly. Then it's down to Cala Santanyi beach for swimming, sunbathing and a trip out on a pedalo complete with slide into the water. Most of the party walk up to see the Durdle Door like arched rock in the sea next to the German's sculpture. The beach is lovely and popular as surrounded by apartments and set in a lovely cove. Not very big though and must get rammed in the summer when all the apartments are full. Given the amount of Germans in Mallorca (our villa is German owned) you'd have to be up with the lark to get some space for your beach towel I'd imagine. After a half hearted game of volley ball shortened by fear of mozzies we drive back home where an early evening drink to watch the amazing sunset, as it has been every evening, preceding preparation of the evening meal as it's our turn to entertain. A mammoth meal catering to all tastes is concocted the spaghetti with tomato sauce and mushroom risotto going down best with the kids. They weren't so keen on the chick pea and lentil stew although to be fair to us cooks most kids didn't try it. An old school evening ensued of eating at the table and then the kids playing cards (to be honest after they couldn't find anything on TV) and the adults chatting. A mammoth bout of washing up ensued thereafter.

Santanyi main square.

Leaping for joy in Santanyi 

Regulation holiday album cover

Santanyi 

Santanyi cattle trough, presumably

Cala Santanyi - note girls in boat on left and cliff leaper on right

One of the Wood Family

Friday is our last day bar travelling back and the beautifully sunny morning sees myself and Duncan scrambling up rocks to walk along the coast. The views are incredible with the brilliantly blue sky meeting an equally beautiful blue green sea with only a couple of fluffy clouds on the horizon to separate the two. The walking next to the cliffs are across jagged volcanic flat rock formations that are not bad for walking but you need to keep your wits about you. One part involves the path virtually petering out above a sharp drop in all senses of the word into the sea below but we both make it there and back. After an hour and a half we rest looking out over the next headland's ancient light house stack and return along the paths which takes a lot less time. Then it's beach day in the scorching sun, well hot enough for us tender skinned families, with the adults yet again dominating the kids at volleyball, during which I crash to the ground injuring myself which what I think later is a cracked rib. I swim out to the rocky promintory with Maya and Megan although I curtail the diving to get back where we are in our depths as I am stung by a jellyfish on elbow and side and don't want to let them know in case they freak out. They do when we're back nearer the shore and Rebecca, Sinead and Lily-Rose tell us about seeing jellyfish themselves. We depart the beach for the last time trudging begrudgingly up the steps and then do some packing before tomorrow (well, me and Debbie have) and get ready for our last supper, which is a visit to the local pizzeria and we have literally the last pizzas of this holiday season before they close. And no wonder as it's outside and we're all pretty cold by the time we leave having had an assortment of pizzas and the last of the peculiarly Spanish cheesecakes. Saturday morning is another blue sky as we get ready to leave our lovely temporary home. Apart from Avis trying to rip us off at the airport and Duncan not getting his bag at Gatwick the journey home is uneventful...

Our villa is the left right hand yellow one

The bay at the start of our walk

Duncan poses in front of the local Cala Pi fort / lighthouse

Tree growing flat across the rocks

Duncan and I looking west towards Cap Blanc

They loved their stone piles here - looking out toward the Archipiélago de Cabrera

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