French Trip

Following last year's successful ride along the Kennet and Avon Canal we arrange a jaunt to Simon's place in France which has an inauspicious start as Chris can't make the date we've booked. Regardless Simon, myself and Pete book a cosy cabin on the ferry and agree to not play football on the Wednesday in case of foot injuries. I instead go along to a leaving drinks at work and whilst popping into Rough Trade to pick up a Field Day ticket catch a few songs by Gallon Drunk. A successful avoidance of 5-a-side injuries. Unfortunately Pete is persuaded to go along and manages to damage his hand which by Friday late afternoon is in a plaster so he can't drive down to Portsmouth let alone cycle for 3 days. He's gutted and it's a real shame for Simon and me. Cue last minute train bookings to and from the south coast. Weird as the last time I went to France cycling with Simon we met Tony Benn on the late night Portsmouth London train and he's passed away today. RIP Tony you were a delight to listen to both when we met and on various rally and festival stages. I leave the house in my ferry gear rather than full on cycling gear which is black (lightweight) trousers and red socks. Debbie thinks I look like a nutter as she waves me off but when I reach Simon's and see his pedal pushers and stripey socks I don't feel so bad. Jules captures le grand depart with a photo and after a quick ride to Waterloo we catch the train and kick back with a couple of decent Wolfie Smith Tooting brewed beers ingredients water barley Marxism which is appropriate and in celebration of Mr Benn. The politician not the TV character.

We arrive Portsmouth and cycle the mile or so to the ferry port through the desolate town centre and find a lone cyclist waiting to board. After a thorough security check with our panniers going through an x-ray machine, although oddly only the ones we could easily remove so only the ones we wanted to be scanned, we board the boat and check into the cabin which isn't quite so cosy with only the 2 of us. After a couple of beers in the disco bar full of kids doing synchronised dancing we make our way back to the cabin and settle down for a short night's sleep. I sleep well and am awakened at an unearthly hour by a loud french version of greensleeves which is a horrible way to wake. Simon complains of a broken night due to vibrations, nothing to do with me, and we make our way to the complimentary breakfast bar to stock up on carbs and protein. After docking we disembark in the cold overcast early morning and start cycling up the coast.

Streatham startline

Cosy Cabin

We travel north past the Normandy WWII landing beaches which still have pill boxes and off shore concrete structures. Odd as last year when cycling along the canal we passed lots of pill boxes as it was a potential line of defence in the event of invasion. There are some massive gothic piles along this stretch which are deserted and obviously holiday homes. After 10 miles we turn inland to Bayeux and just past there we stop at a small town for a cafe alonge (that's cafe noir in francs from what I can make out) at the Cafe de Paris which extends a welcome to the British* people and our queen and is full of camo gear flick knives knuckle dusters and mobile phone stun guns. Maybe the welcome they extend is not as benevolent as first supposed. (*On re-reading the photo I realise that it's the English that are welcome, wonder what they have against Scots, Welsh and Irish). After a further few miles we pass an uninviting looking river with a picturesque bridge and Simon can't resist a swim seeing as I refused to stop on the beaches and he chills himself right down. Off again and up a long stretch of road leading to a lovely bar at a cross roads at Les Champs-de-Losque. Simon's starting to struggle a little and spends more than his fair share of time in my slipstream. The wind is pretty strong in our faces and it's hard going especially as still pretty chilly out so muscles not as warm as could be. We're wondering why Simon's suffering. He gave me a vintage Campagnolo shirt on the ferry as an early birthday present and he thinks it has some magical properties and possibly once belonged to a cycling great like Mercx. I think it'd due to muscle contraction during his cold water swimming, until I learn that he gave a pint of blood on Thursday evening which in retrospect he begrudgingly admits wasn't the wisest timing. We've done 50 miles in 4 hours which isn't bad going and after a beer and cheery wave off from the couple who run the bar we're back on the road. The scenery is very similar to southern England and we could be in Dorset with it's rolling hills. It's lovely. Ten miles on we stop for lunch, frites from a market stall, in Periers and I wander round the church. Around, not in, as can't get in unlike most English churches. Back in the saddle we get onto a disused railway that is a cycle way so fairly good surface but we steadily climb and it's the worst part of the day for me. Maybe post chip lethargy. After a steep descent we then tackle the short ascent into Coutances where I visit the cathedral which I love especially when they're practicing the organ which unfortunately they're not today. I light a votive candle thinking of a few who've left us. We stock up on fresh fruit and veg before leaving the city to climb towards Simon's gaff. It's pretty damn steep around Coutances and after a weary climb we race downhill clocking over 30mph before meandering lanes to our destination. We fall off our bikes tired but happy and whilst still nippy the sun comes out and enjoy a well deserved beer in the back garden. Simon cooks a hearty meal whilst I lounge around in Jules' chair stoking the fire and we stay up far too late sampling French red wine and Scottish whiskey.

Not the French Riviera

Gothic Pile

English queens welcome but not those from Scotland. How times have changed.

Simon cooling off in the sweltering heat

Where the hell are we

Jimmy Mercx

Why do people take unflattering selfies...

The picturesque long haul railroad

Day One - bang on 80 miles counting hills

Sunday morning we're fighting fit and after a breakfast of coffee and leftovers we cycle to the beach at Hauteville sur Mer la Plage where Simon goes for a dip. Although tempted it's too far to wade out and too shallow and too damn cold and windy. It's a lovely sunny day though and we cycle though beautiful scenery marvelling at how much mistletoe is on the trees. Reminds me of Asterix the Gaul. Back home Simon makes me earn my keep by helping paint a bedroom then my turn to cook and we spend the evening playing backgammon (I regain some credibility after last night's massacre) and reminiscing about our 35 years of friendship over his collection of fast depleting fine whiskey.

Yew tree and church

The last hill

Monday it's back home and last night we decided to get the train to Bayeux and cycle more along the coast. It's another chilly day with a hint of moisture in the air but don't get wet on the way into Coutances. Turns out the train is in fact a bus for half the journey and we have to put the bikes into the luggage space on a special bike holding and sliding contraption which turns out to be useless as various components and accessories get caught in the mechanism. After loosening bits to get the bikes to fit we board the bus to face the other passengers who are now running late. Drizzle on the way then we change to a proper train which has luxurious seating on into Bayeux. A few miles to the coast at Arromanches where Simon has his daily dip and as I'm getting bored watching him swim every day I jump in for a dip before him. When I say go for a dip it's literally that. After a few strokes swimming I am chilled literally to the bone and pretty much seize up. Making it back to shore I get out freezing but to be fair it seems a lot warmer in the air than when I jumped in the water. Simon goes for a lengthy swim and as we stand around changing we get very surprised looks from the few folk who are promenading wrapped up in hats and scarves like anyone sensible would. Opposite to mad dogs and Englishmen and the midday sun. Wonder if mad dogs also swim in near frozen water. After a steep ascent out of Arromanches it's fairly easy cycling along the coast path mainly along the sea front and we're at the ferry port with lots of time so have a spot of lunch. My vegan fare is an expensive salad but as it has at least a tin of asparagus on it is pretty good value. Boat trip back is uneventful and restful then the last train back to Clapham Junction and the ride back home is comfortable too. As the twitteratti would say, falls into bed and sleeps.

Panoramic view of an icy sea scene. Struggling to get limbs to work properly.

Post swimming peanut guzzling

Twinned with Simon's birthplace, Emsworth. Note the Bath reference too.

French menu, can't see a green leaf denoting vegetarian let alone vegan. Beer's tasty though.

Super Salad

  

Why can't you ever find what you want in a pannier

We meet up with Pete after football on the Wednesday to regale him with our tales and to see him going green with envy. He's gutted he's missed the trip and won't be playing footie for at least a month or so.

Sicily 2013

The four of us start off at midday Saturday getting a taxi to Balham station where it starts drizzling and with the forecast of much worse to come so much so that Simon has his barge holiday cancelled. Only the 4 of us as Maya elects to stay in miserable London as a more likely place for revising for Maths GCSEs than in sunny Sicily. We constantly miss her and I'm always looking for 5 tables around the table when there's only 4 of us. The journey goes very smoothly although we've near misses at both ends as we're 48 hours before a hurricane in south England and Etna erupts Saturday morning closing Sicilian airspace for a few hours before we arrive. We're navigated to the villa by our effusive Sicilian landlady who compensates for a lack of English with arm waving and shouting. Which is the usual British way of getting foreigners to understand us. Mistakenly. The villa is lovely and can sleep 12 so we have plenty of space both inside and out. Sunday I wake early and see the sunrise setting the mountains red before going back to bed. When I reappear we see just how gorgeous the setting is with mountains around us and the beautifully blue med out front with yachts skidding past. The only sound is the pooting of fishing boats out beyond the bay.

Cactus Trees

Back view with prickly pears

Home

Breakfast

We're in Scopello to the west of Palermo in Trapani province and it's a short hop in our sporty Alfa Romeo Giulietta into Castellammare del Golfo to the supermarket to pick up supplies then into the local greengrocers for our goodness foods including Romanesco broccoli bigger than footballs and serious looking fan-like fungi. Weekly chores out the way we wake Jack and take the 5 minute cliff walk down to the sea and our own secluded pebbly and rocky cove. A perfect place to swim and relax taking turns floating in the salty sea and diving in off the rocks into the crystal clear water. And it's warm so much so than our usual bracing Atlantic swims off Devon and Cornwall.

Jack relaxing and posing

Jack working hard. Honest.

After lunch we wander towards Scopello the local town along the coast but are thwarted by the lack of public paths ending up at the bottom of an olive grove we can't get out of. It's a pleasant enough stroll though with some great views back towards our villa.

Our local boy and local bay

Our local beach coves - the nearest to camera

Supper is barbecued fat sausages for Jack and Lily-Rose and veggies for me and Debbie. A lazy evening in the warm air only needing shirt sleeves although it does get dark early.

Monday is hot hot hot and we sample the local beach before the heat gets too much and head off into Scopello which is a pretty village with not a lot there. We go into Castellammare del Golfo properly exploring this time. After a lovely spaghetti lunch served by a waiter who dons his floppy hat especially for us we wander the narrow streets down to the harbour and back up again.

Floats like a butterfly...

The difficult second album cover following personnel changes

Castellammare harbour

A lazy late afternoon reading, playing games and eating and after so much excitement it's early nights for all.

Tuesday is scorching too and we drive to Segesta along the main road which degenerates into a broken track. First up the imposing temple then Debbie and Lily-Rose take the mini bus up the hill to the theatre whilst Jack and I trek up in the searing heat. The view is amazing towards the sea and the theatre must have been so impressive back in the day.

Segesta temple

Temple

Highway snaking towards Palermo

Lily-Rose takes the stage

Beautiful views, and scenery

As it's so hot and no shade we get back home for a late lunch of our picnic. Cooling off down at our local beach again for a swim and read before being chased back home by the mozzies. Another relaxing evening chilling out at home and fully deserved after the day's exertions.

Dad taking the strain as usual

Next day we head to Palermo and it's hot though a dry heat in the city. After negotiating the crazy traffic we put the car in a guarded car park and wander the streets past the Teatro through narrow alleyways before stumbling out at the cathedral with it's Islamic influences and the usual 12 stations inside adorning the walls. The streets are pretty run down and dirty even the main shopping streets. Seems that the middle classes live  a little out of the centre leaving downtown for the grimier side of Palermo and at least it's not rammed with branded stores, at least not that many. Lovely to walk through though and another great restaurant at which we sample the massive pizzas then go for unreasonably large and tasty ice creams. Eventually we drive out of Palermo and I decide just to drive in one direction away from the sea. Feels like we're back late as it's pitch black but it's only about 7pm.

Palermo Cathedral

Palermo downtown

Doors within doors opposite graffiti

Scooters are GO!

Thursday we take our picnic lunch to a nearby nature reserve and after a gentle stroll along the coast we get to what must be the most crowded beach in all of Sicily. There must be at least 20 people on the 100 yard stretch of shingle. It's in a beautiful cove with the usual clear water which is irresistible. We leave when the sun drops behind the mountain behind which is fairly early in the afternoon really. After a barbecue with chicken for the kids and stuffed mushrooms for the adults (Jack a kid here) we have some traditional Halloween games organised by Lily-Rose including feeling horrible bits of witches and apple bobbing.

Portent of tomorrow's weather

Posing

Bobbing

It's our last full day so Lily-Rose and I go for an earlyish swim. Jack opts to work so the girls and I drive into Trapani province to the hilltop town of Erice. It's a very steep drive up with amazing views at the top back towards the national park between here and our place and out the other way over the lagoons of Trapani. Smooth as marble cobbled streets we wander through before taking lunch in the piazza. Pasta for me and rice balls for the girls. We take in the cake shops and stunning views.

Erice

On the way back we drive through a biblical deluge for an hour. Our last evening we wander around Castellammare one last time before pizza overlooking the Golfo. We finish off with what seems to be the northern Sicily take on the ubiquitous cannoli - instead of hard fried pastry filled with ricotta they are a softer pasty shape. Not quite as full as the last meal of the last Sicilian holiday (I couldn't reach my shoelaces) but very satisfied none the less.

Saturday is hot again and after leaving our home for the last time we stop at a beautiful sandy beach just past Castellammare in the middle of the Golfo where I go for a last swim.

Golfo

Geroff you orrible wet man

All this holidaying wears me out

Lunch is possibly the best pasta meal we've had, they love their aubergine here, with a starter of a fried potato dish reminiscent of indian potato dishes. Such good value too. We go to a scuzzi beach at Terrasini for last bit of sun before hitting the airport for another uneventful journey back to drizzly London.

 

Devon & Dorset Summer 2013

Saturday sees Jack and I packing the car with the crazy amount of camping equipment just about fitting it all in with the duvet taking up the last available space in the boot. An easy drive down the M4 / M5 then a pleasant drive down the Somerset coast road past Minehead and across Exmoor to Morte Hoe and the best campsite in the world. Most likely. We fire up the BBQ quickly converting into a raging fire and settle back to watch the sun set directly over the Bristol Channel. Perfect start to the holiday. From where we’re camped we can see across to Lundy Island and the Welsh coast taking in the lights of what must be Tenby and east to the Gower and Swansea. Sunday is local Rockham beach day and the usual night time fire to keep us warm. Monday family peace is broken by our fellow campers as mate Bruce and brother Duncan and his clan arrive and we hit the local beach again for what turns out to be a hot day. The rest of the week has days on Rockham or Woolacombe beach and nights with barbeque fire and chats. Exercise regime is steep walks to and from the beach and shower block, body boarding, beach volleyball, cricket and football. The weather is pretty good with some really hot days and mainly dry except at night which doesn’t really matter when camping and is enjoyable hearing the rain hit the canvas, or nylon. Wednesday is pretty murky and we spend all day trying to see the horizon through the mist and light rain. It’s a surprisingly relaxing way to spend the day tracking visibility in the mist, I can see the blue tent that disappeared, whilst sampling the local scrumpy until sundown and our warming fire. Thursday we splash out and treat ourselves to a meal out to celebrate Maria’s birthday. Friday is our last day together and after a cycle ride to the Bull Point lighthouse then down to Woolacombe I manage the steep hill back to Morte Hoe without getting out of the saddle. And in flip flops. I did hit my lowest gear though. Then firing up the suitcase BBQ for the last time this holiday with a few songs courtesy of Bruce on guitar and the girls before reluctantly turning in as the last embers burn themselves out for our last night camping.

Off to local Rockham Beach

Rockham Beach

Lundy from Rockham

Cool Campers

View from the terrace

Braving the atlantic

Rockham

Sun sinking

Doritos or tabs - which is the cooler accessory to sunnies?

Looks like rain but the girls don't care

The legendary and world famous Scott May Daredevil Stunt Show!

Bull Point with Megan helpfully pointing out where the sea is to Maya...
...who's doing her best to slide into it from a great height

Woolacombe Beach

Jack in full flight with the veterans team quaking in their flip flops

The Woods of Croi on the last night with trusty suitcase bbq raging illegal firepit

Saturday we pack up all three tents in the dry which is a real bonus and say our farewells to Bruce, Duncan, Maria, Rebekah, Sinead and Megan. We then have a wet drive over Exmoor to the south Dorset coast and our home for the week which is a beautiful white thatched cottage in Chideock a few miles from Lyme Regis. And having left Exmoor the sky has brightened up too. Sunday we walk the twenty minutes to our local beach at Seatown which is shingle and pebbles along this coast rather than the sand in north Devon. Evening we head to West Bay for the culmination of Bridport Carnival where we’re treated to a local band named Freak Circus with leather trousered singer doing mainly covers punk & rock ending with Blitzgrieg Bop & Ace of Spades. During which the torchlight procession of a couple of thousand arrives to add to the already impressive bonfire as a prelude to some pretty impressive fireworks whilst sat on the beach. Monday is spent looking around Lyme Regis and The Cob before another swim at Seatown and an evening BBQ.Next day we drive east to Durdle Door with it’s beautiful blue waters reminiscent of the med or Caribbean and we go swimming Jack, Maya and me through the door and back. Then we hit Weymouth childhood home of my mother's mother as a which seems even more commercialised than I remember it but a lovely harbour and then out to Portland to catch gorgeous views along Chesil Beach. On the way back home I detour to Hardy’s Monument which I expect to be in honour of the writer of Wessex novels and after banging on about him to the kids am a bit embarrassed when it turns out to be in honour of Nelson’s right hand man who he spoke his last famous words to Kiss me Hardy.

Seatown Beach near the cottage at Chideock

The English Channel

Lyme Regis Cobb

What a lovely scene...

West Bay carnival bonfire and torch procession wickerman style

Durdle Door

Weymouth Harbour

Chesil Beach from Portland - English Channel to the right Weymouth to the left

Wednesday sees the girls head back into Lyme Regis and Jack and I venture off for what turns out to be an extremely hilly cycle ride designated the Hill Forts Ride which is 20 miles taking in Whitchurch Canonicorum which is unique in England in having it’s patron saint, St Wite, medieval remains intact in the church. The to the ancient hill forts that helped to Dorset folk fend off the Devon tribes until the Romans walked straight through the land. Will climb to Lambert’s Castle Hill then further up through Marshwood & Birdsmoorgate to the highest point of Dorset Pilsdon Pen and it’s 2,000 year old hill fort where we stop for lunch. Then mainly downhill but with a couple of steep climbs to keep us on our toes through Shaves Cross disappointingly with the pub shut for lunch harking back to old school licencing hours then back home for a quick dip in the sea at Seatown and a well deserved pint in the pub overlooking the beach. For the route see here...

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/363840613

http://www.dorsetforyou.com/media.jsp?mediaid=149604&filetype=pdf

With the girls back we have our last BBQ perhaps of the summer before Jack and I struggle up the stairs to bed. Well I struggled anyway. Our last full day away sees us wake to another wonderful day that turns out to be a scorcher and we take it easy wandering down to the local beach in the afternoon where the girls and I swim in the surprisingly choppy sea and get tossed around on the shingle banks whilst trying to get out of the water. The heat of the beach is too much for me and I trek home for the sanctuary of grass instead of shingle and read whilst sipping a bottle of local bitter. We eat our last holiday supper on the decking outside soaking up the last of the sun’s rays. The journey back to London is uneventful if long timewise due to congestion in the Bournemouth area which never made the traffic news. Looks like we got back just in time before the weather breaks in the west and reports of rain from my parents when I call to let them know the great exam results of Jack and Maya. All in all a very relaxing time and feel thoroughly chilled out.

Pilsdon Pen iron age fort

Traffic jam Dorset style

Single track roads

Where we've been

Enjoying the view from the cottage

The thatched cottage