Day 30: Wednesday 31st August 2011: Inningen to Vaterstetten

I've woken early and for some reason I find the laptop next to me in bed. I decide to catch up on a few things and see if go back to sleep, but no. That's me awake.

When I go downstairs Gabriele has laid on a spread of cheese and bread and meats and fresh coffee for breakfast. Again I'm taken aback by their kindness and tuck in. Dad encourages me to pile my bread high with meat and cheese. Then a boiled egg comes out too. We haven't cleared the table of food so Gabi insists I have a few take aways as well. Then Erwin insists I fill both my water bottles with super Rapp grapefruit tonic. He says I will be able to cycle hundreds of kms if I drink this. Not wanting to cause offence I of course accept, I also accept the pens that keep coming my way. They seem very keen I have enough pens. Michail had gone to work early so I say goodbye to my hosts feeling very full of the milk of human kindness.

I head back into Augsberg and explore the town. I believe my beer drinking was done last night with the family.

Augsberg is an old town, big but nice. Friedburg is the next town. I take in the view of the old town and get well and truly lost on the way to Munich. By 11:00 I've done 40km and I'm not actually any nearer Munich. I had done my calculations in the morning and I now have to do at least 100km a day to have any hope of making Istanbul on time. I really don't know if it's possible but I know I must get the miles done if I am to have any hope. Munich is another beer tasting spot and I decide to try and get there tonight, do all that needs doing and then get out. It's a tall order but I go for it. I roll up outside the HofBrauHaus around 7pm. Because I want to keep an eye on the bike and they wont let me bring it inside I take a seat outside instead of inside with the festivities. The waiter asks three American guys if they mind if I join them. I find if you're travelling alone, going to a busy restaurant or bar is often a good way to meet people without trying as you get sat with others with space on the table. I tell the guys about the trip and they think I have got a bit of a screw loose. That said they insist on paying for my 1 litre jug of HofBrauHaus Dunkel and for that I thank them very much. Cheers guys. I'll be in touch when I reach Chicago. One Litre is more than enough considering what still needs to be achieved tonight, so with darkness starting to descend I go in search of the black clock hands. After much conflabbing with a man who works in the TI but isn't to do with TI we come to the conclusion that the clock outside the office is the one but when I explain the hands are painted gold he points out that only half are gold and the other half black. This satisfies me and unfortunately I have to confess I did not have time to visit the Royal Academy of Art. Lose a point. Mini Fail! Instead I head East out of the city in pitch blackness and try to get to the big forest to camp. I'm exhausted, it's been the longest day I've done so far. 140Km/80 miles and I'm constantly on the look out for a spot as the forest is way out of town. I find a farmer's field on the outskirts with a few tall pine trees growing on the edge of the field and decide this will do. It's pitch black and although I do have a light I can't see what's beyond the scope of the light. I push a bit of the way into the forest and find a spot big and flat enough. Not knowing what lurks just a few feet away, I prepare for a quick get away. I sleep in all my cycling clothes and just put some others on top. This morning my clothes smelt of washing powder. Tomorrow it will be man sniff again.

Day 29: Tuesday 30th August 2011: Nr Gerzingen, Danube Lake to Augsberg

I prepared for the cold and basically wore most of my clothes to bed. This kept out most of the chill.The beautiful view soon warmed me up and I decided to not leave here until every loose end that needed sorting out was done. Namely tighten the chain and sort out the camera battery charger. So to work in my little nature reserve, pot of coffee on the go and scrambled eggs and the rest of the bacon for breakfast. Oh yeah, this is what it's all about.

Record scratch noise as reality hits. Can't fix the charger and both batteries now dead. Go to fix chain and need a special tool that I don't have, probably could have got it done in five minutes back at the shop in Ulm. Epical Failures!! Down but not out I start to pack up and realise I've managed to lose one of the camera batteries. I search everywhere in vain but nothing. I'm really starting to get down now. For some reason I keep losing things, which I don't usually do. First it was the drybag that Maddy gave me when I left Paris, then the cable lock, after that the silk sleeping bag liner that would have kept me a bit warmer and now the bloody battery. Dark cloud comes in over my head and the beautiful view turns sour. I just put the last pannier on the bike and the battery plops on the floor. Probably slug juice had stuck it to the bottom of the bag. Epic Nonsense.

I don't leave my gorgeous spot till nearly 12 and by 6pm I have made the next spot; Augsberg.

Whilst shopping in Lidl for my new favourite sweets: Yoghurt Gums, I buy a crash helmet. It has a built in flashing light and costs 10 euros. I can't resist. I don't have a cycling helmet and although feel no need at all to wear one in Germany, further down the road the roads may not be so welcoming. I have also recently seen a video of James Cracknell who got clouted in the back of the head by a lorry's wing mirror. The video obviously worked on me.
Great Cycle paths and signage for a change make the journey a treat and when I see a McD I decide to take advantage of the wifi.

I had been meaning to go on the WarmShowers website but not got round to it. Www.WarmShowers.org is couch surfing for bicycle tourers.

If you have not heard of either what happens is this: Like minded people go into the site. They say you can sleep at their house, just get in touch to see if the day you want to stay is convenient. If both parties agree you have a room and if you're lucky a warm shower for the night. It brings cyclists together from all over the world who have a common interest. Whilst I'm on the site I check the map of available hosts and notice that there is a couch available in town. I hit up the address and ask if tonight is too short notice. I'm not expecting a reply so quick and with limited time left on my one free hour of wifi but I get a reply back straight away. I haven't read his profile properly and he is infact cycling the Pan American highway as we speak. Hello Jurgen. He does however give me his brother's phone number and tells me to give him a call and he will sort me out. I phone him from my UK mobile and there is a bit of a delay and fuzzy line. We find it hard to understand each other. I pounce on a poor couple having a quiet cappuccino and ask if they would translate on the phone. They willingly agree and before long I have the address. As Augsberg is another place for me to taste the beer I go in search of a local brew to take along for me and my host. About 7km out of town I come to Inningen and ask a pizza place for the street. I'm nearly on it. As I drive down the street a guy is waiting at the end of the drive. Its Michail; Jurgens brother. We say our hellos and he introduces me to his mother Gabriele, Dad Erwin is out at the mo but will be back soon. I thank them for their generosity considering the circumstances. It turns out it's both of our first warmshowers experience and we enjoy each other's company. Dad comes home and we have a beer or three and he gets out the 45% schnapps. It's made from roots. It's very natural tasting, I kind of like it. A Bit of a digestive I think they would call it in France. They show me Jurgen's blog and I do likewise. The hospitality and warmth from this family are truly marvellous. Of course a bed and a shower are appreciated, and mum insists on making me a pizza too. I think it's for the whole family and agree, but its just for me. Michail makes me feel a bit better by having a few pieces. Not only this but then Gabriel asks if I have any washing that needs doing. As much as I want to be polite I can't pass this up and give her pretty much everything I have with me. It's not hard to see why I'm being treated so nicely. Their son has had over 60 warmshowers hosts and they are just giving back some of what he has received . I'm signed up to host when I'm home so will hopefully be able to give a bit back too.

I fall asleep under the softest duvet I've ever experienced. zzzz

lovely Erwin, Gabriele, Michail Jurgen

Day 28: Monday 29th August 2011: Argen to Gerzingen, Danube Lake.

I'm awoken from my slumber by my cobbled together bike alarm. This consists of leaving the washing up out at night in the hope that it either rains or an animal licks the stuff clean. I place the pots, pans, lids and cutlery under a tyre of the bike and prop them up. This way if the nocturnal bike thief tries to make off with my pride and joy the alarm will sound and I can thwart my adversary with a laptop to the head. This however is not quite what happens when the alarm is set off for the first time. I'm sound asleep and the pots clink and clank and I jump awake. Unfortunately If you have ever tried to do anything quickly whilst waking up in a tight fitting mummy shape sleeping bag you will know that not a lot happens. It is as if I'm already in a straight jacket and my sleepy wriggling is making it tighter. My arms are by my side but in my comatosed state I try to wave them about thinking they have room. This leads to me falling off my mattress and nearly bringing the tent down. After what seems like an age of wriggling and contorting I find the resources to shout out (mid-dream style). By what is probably the next day by now I finally get loose from my bag and get out the tent to find nothing and the bike still there, pots and pans in place. This happens again later in the night but because of the infernal cold I'm more awake but refuse to leave the comfort of my bag and just shout a lot. Later when going for a pee I notice the bike is still there. I chose my super light, super small, super old sleeping bag over the bigger, newer, warmer one. Epic Fail!

I seem to have put the tent behind the only tree creating a shadow and have to wait an age to dry everything out. Up and at em, and a Netto appears before my eyes asking me to buy bread. I pick a sort of olive baguette thing that seems unnaturally expensive, but like most german breads its heavy and delicious.

Aim of today is to go into Ulm proper and taste some lager. I arrive at a bike shop in the centre, after some bits to fix my side stand. A cool guy called Max who speaks great English sorts me out with some bits for free but doesnt think it's the right stand for the bike with the amount of luggage I'm carrying. Epic Fail! Whilst there I pick up a new security cable so last night's fiasco can hopefully be avoided. I also purchase some new handlebar grips with built in bar-ends. These have turned out to be an absolute god send. No wrist ache or numb fingers and lots of positions to lounge in whilst clocking up the miles or to pull you up the hills. Epic! I get chatting to Max and he kindly looks up the addess of the oldest brewery in town and also offers to bring in some German bicycle maps for my GPS if I can hang around 'til after lunch. I can't pass a kind offer like this up. I decide to stay in Ulm for a few hours, what with the beer and also the fact that everyone who I've told that I'm going to Ulm has said that I need to go up the minster: the highest Church tower in the world apparently. So that's a few hours nicely filled and the sun is shining. Max also points out that my chain is a bit loose but thinkig it's an easy job to fix I decide to leave it until it really needs doing. Epic Fail!

I leave the bike and luggage at the shop: “Bike Line Ulm”, great staff, sweet products. The new Santos Rohloff Beltdrive in there particularly took my eye...drooly... only 4000 euro I think the rep said.

I wander about a bit asking directions for the brewery and an Iraqi couple out walking their toddler point me the right way. We walk together for about ten minutes and the kind insists on me joining in his game. He gets a bit upset when I leave. I find the brewery but the shop only sells souvenirs not beer. When I tell Herr Hemmilreich, who is in charge of this area, about my story he is most interested and disappears for a minute. When he returns he brings three different beers and a water that the brewery produce. I stop and try one of the hefe weissbeirs and have a chat and get a photo or two. He tells me he used to be a lorry driver and we chat roads and countries. I may well be back Mr Hemmilreich. In the general jolity I forget my small brass Penny Farthing I have had in my purse to show people. Keep it safe Mr H.

Jolly from the beer I step outside into the lunchtime sun and head for the minster. The sign at the bottom says 768 steps to the top. Wow! My walking and climbing muscles have not been used much and after about five minutes I'm really panting. Luckily there are different levels and I have a little rest and look round to get my breath back. Needless to say the view is spectac, You can just see the Alps. I drink in the view in the direction I'm going and think about how far I have come and what lies ahead.

On the way down the spiral stairs are so tight and I can safely say I've never been so intimate with so many men and woman in my life. Squeezing is definitely the order of the day:)

Back to the bike shop and Max has bought his laptop in so I can sort out the maps. I offer Max the beer of his choice and I have the other one whilst sitting at the bike shop's bar. Yes, it has a bar.

I've spent a long time off the bike but it's been well worth it for what I've achieved. Top Man Max, the GPS is working a treat, you're a star.

I follow the Danube bike path North East and although fairly early I find a little path that takes me to a nature reserve/ lake. It's empty.  The lake stretches for about 2km and as the sun sets I've got it all to myself. I find a great little spot out the way and get the dinner on and do all sorts of little chores I've been meaning to do. I crack open another beer and for the second time today drink in the view. Huge dragonflies dance about, fish leap out of the lake and a beavery looking creature swims from one bank to the other. Beautiful. I chop up some hearty chunks of bacon and have a good helping of pasta and go to bed very very happy.

Day 27: Sunday 28th August 2011 Nr Mezingen to Argen.

Although I have no water I'm very happy in my little field surrounded by forest and trees on all sides. A leisurely pack away whilst drying out the tent in the sun, then off to find some H2o.

It being a Sunday, everywhere is closed but eventually I come across a petrol station. When I ask for wasser the girl seems unsure as to whether she can do it or not. I think she means can she fill my bottles with coke or coffee or something???. Eventually we get there and a my bottles are full. Outside the petrol station I am instantly lost and wait for a couple on bikes to approach to ask the way to Bad Ulrach.

Luckily they are going there and say to follow them. Its about 15km of twisty turny cycle paths without signs so there is no way could I have taken this route myself. On the way we talk about the trip and I get a little history lesson about the surrounding area and how the Allemagnes??? fought the celts over a certain hill. And how Napoleon came this way and burnt every town to the ground so he would have a clear passage back. On arriving in Bad Ulrach Bridget and Bernard invite me to have a beer with them, and with locals as my host and a beautiful Sunday afternoon ahead of us how could I refuse. I ask them to choose me a local beer and I am presented with a Hefe-weiser. Wheat Beer. This happens to be my favourite beer at the moment anyway so I am most impressed. Cloudy orange-brown in colour and served in a tall glass. Superb. They both order similar beers and have a bottle of coke to go with it. They pour the coke into the beer. I am horrified. Apparently i'ts a kind of shandy, sometimes coke, sometimes lemonade. I've never heard of it before and it seemed the perfect way to ruin both drinks. I try a bit when my glass is almost empty but its not for me. Lemonade, ocacasionally yes but not coke. We sit outside watching the world go by as a flea market happens in the the square. It's a quaint old town and the perfect setting for sittting back and having a beer.Thanks so much you two for my little tour and my beer.

They show me out of the town onto the road to Blau Beuren and I'm away. Unfortunately a beer in the afternoon and no lunch is not the best preperation for what's in store. It turns out to be my second biggest climb of the tour and I'm ruined by the time I make it to the top. Now in the high lands all the way to Baubeuren it should be easy going. I'm shattered. I stop for lunch under a tree and then have a nap. I'm totally spun out when I wake up not knowing what's going on, trying to recover from my midday beer/nap combo. I get it together and drag myself off to Blaubeuren. The scenery changes slightly as I approach and I am in the valley as I come into town. After descending via a 12km bike path past caves and nature parks I arrive. Blaubeuren is renowned for the blauhopf, a good place for pot holing apparently. Blaubeuren seems older than Bad Ulrach and has many timber framed old buildings, looking like they were here many years before Thomas came this way. I decide an ice cream by the fountain is the perfect antidote to my somewhat fuggy head and I toddle around the town taking in the lovely old place. Time waits for no man and I'm still very worried about making the miles to Istanbul in time for my plane. So I trot off on to Ulm. Stevens only stopped here long enough to take a mug of lager so who am I to disagree with that.

Whilst changing my sunglasses to my normal specs whilst sitting on a bench, an oldish man arrives on his bike and sits down next to me chatting away to me about the fahrrad (bicycle), he is admiring all the gadgets and the luggage and clearly realises I'm not from round these parts. I explain Liverpool, Germany, Istanbul. This usualy tells enough of the story when the language is a problem. We ride together to Ulm and he points to a good place to camp as we go our separate ways. I thank him and head off to Ulm all the same as I have a lager date that needs keeping. On the way I keep an eye out along the small tributary of the Danube for a camping spot to come back to if nothing better appears, but nothing is doing. I peel off the main road and try and go along the dirt track along the river. Here I meet a couple with a dog. I say “Hallo” as most Germans do and have a little chat and then off I go towards Ulm. It's about 8pm and I don't really fancy going into the city and having a few beers and then having to find somewhere to camp afterwards. This turns out to be a most excellent decision. I make a big loop and head back towards the good place to camp suggested by the old man. On the way I bump into the couple with dog again and they suggest the same place. I should have gone there straight away. Ho Hum. The recommended spot is where two rivers meet and there is a small waterfall that makes quite a noise. This makes me feel safe as my rustling around and rocket stove won't alert anybody. I've just got my stuff out of my panniers but no tent up yet when I hear voices. I can't understand where they are coming from. Then 30 seconds later two dingy loads of family come floating down the river. They get out at the waterfall and carry the boats to the next part of the river. “Hallos” are exchanged and off they go. Ten minutes later and I've just got the stove fired up when two boys who are about 12 years old arrive on bikes. It's almost dark but they are up for playing in the river. I have dinner whilst they play their games of dancing across the rocks. Another new beer is had and Ulm's lager will have to wait 'til early tomorrow.

ladies and gentleman

this is the voice of Thomas Stevens coming to you from my underground
bunker in Finchley cemetry. I have been overseeing this gentleman's
endeavours and can asure you he is in fine spirits. A technical
difficulty with an Apple of all things is delaying his correspondance
to you but rest assured further updates will resume shortly.

Day 26: Saturday 27th August 2011: Tumlingen to Mezingen

It has rained hard all night, the edge of the lake is a quagmire in places but I've escaped. It's the coldest day so far and I have to don my waterproof jacket and my waterproof socks to keep the chill out. The road out of Tumlingen to Horb is not as bad as I had feared and before long I pick up the cycle path into town. This is excellent news as long as the signposts don't mysteriously disappear and I have a new spring in my step or should it be panache in my pedalling? No water has meant nothing to drink this morning and power is low so I stop at McD to see if the wifi is free here too. For the first time on my trip I pay for a coffee instead of making it. But this enables me to talk the staff into showing me how to get online. Unfortunately you need a german mobile phone because the hotspot provider texts you a code to type in for 1 free hour. Unlike France or England where it is 24hrs. The nice lady lends me her phone so I can get online, however no one can work out how to do it. Ten minutes later of tippity tapping and we are on. I catch up on all things www and have a charge up, a warm up and a coffee. They way to Rothenburg takes me through some very quiet villages and the way is strewn with apple and pear trees. I manage to pick an apple from a tree whilst cycling. I try this later on in the day too but end up getting stuck in a fence. Reaching Rothenburg is like a film set. It has everthing you could want from an old German town but everything is shut and no one is around. It's very eerie... Next stop Turbingen which is much busier and lots of people go about the usual Saturday type of things. The Town Hall is very impressive with it's decorated exterior and wooden beams. I pop into a Photography shop to enquire about a charger and amazingly they have not one, but three for me to choose from. Unfortunately ranging from 40 to 55 euros. Mine was £3 from ebay. I show it to the man and he is very impressed (even if it is broken) and starts to take photos of it. When I say his chargers are too dear he asks how long I'm in town and offers to charge my battery for me. He also comes up with an idea on how to bodge myself a working charger. Thank you Steven at Foto Platz, super helpful guy. Go there and buy stuff. Whilst waiting for the battery to charge I find a shop selling maps. I have a look round to see what ones I might need next but there are too many. I have never seen so many maps in all my life. With no one to ask and not knowing the regions it is too big a task so I leave empty handed.

Onwards down the Neker Valley towards ??? and I meet a German couple out on a little cycle tour. They have a guide book for this particular cycle path and each page has a very detailed map and a little piece of info of each place you visit. Oh if only. They are lovely and give me some tips on not getting lost. I mention the annoying signposting and they say that other people have said this to them before, so I dont feel so bad. Carry along Neker river and then things get a bit blurry??? Think I got lost ended up in a forest and went to bed?

Day 25: 26th August 2011: Oppenau to Tumlingen. Biggest Mountain So Far.

I wake behind my pile of gravel to the sound of the bell continuously tolling at 7am. The nice Austrians next door offer me a coffee and Roman the husband tells me of his own exploits. Last year he drove from Innsbruck to Santiago De Compostela in Spain on the Pilgrim trail. 2700Km in 21 days. Whilst I'm mulling this over I realise he means cycled not drove and the feat becomes impressive. This year in April he walked it! He looks of retirement age so well done Roman. The biggest climb so far is on the cards so I go to the post office and dispose of as much unneeded stuff as possible. The kind but uptight woman in the post office stresses as I take her display carton outside to see if all the stuff will fit inside it or if I need the next size box. She keeps explaining that it is the display box, and please don't cut it. Eventually I decide this box is a good size and buy an actual box and post the 3kg of unneeded gear back home. So the weight issue is seen to. Next, power. I go and find some tortellini and heat the whole lot up on my stove near the public toilets, the uber modern toilets are spotlessly clean and have a power socket so I have a charge up whilst cooking an early lunch. Whilst hanging around the toilets a man walks by and inspects the bike. I pass him my translation when realising no English will be talked and he tells me in no uncertain terms about what lies ahead and how big the hill is out of town. He then asks me if I'd like a drink. A fresh bottle of fizzy water is produced and I join him on his bench for a drink and a ridiculous chat. Ja Ja. I say most of the time. Now with a whole pack of pasta and half a pack of fruit and nuts devoured I tighten up my sandals and immediately go the wrong way. Direction sorted I head for Bad Peterstal, not an up and coming DJ but the next place in the search for a dead Hi Bic rider. I fill up one of my water bottles here, not wanting to add too much weight by filling up both. Mineral water flows from the taps here. Superb. The church bells ring out 1 o'clock and the next two hours are probably the hottest part of the day. What a classic bit of timing for my biggest hill climb ever. Approximately 500m up in about 6km distance. I've never attempted anything like this before. I get stuck in and get a regular pace going, before long I'm in bottom gear and technique and groove is what it's all about. This is fine until an articulated lorry, of which there are many, wants to overtake on a hairpin. Both cyclist and driver compromise and neither has to stop dead. The tall pine trees give shade on a hot day until a hairpin bend is reached and a small clearing appears and the sun shines through, and boy is hot. Sweat on! 970 metres above sea level is the supposed summit and I'm only at 600m. Sunshine appears and it looks like it might get a bit easier. It does for about 0.5km then back on it, steeper than ever, touching 12% sometimes. My bottom gear is quite low but with the luggage and my scrawny legs it's absolutely killing me; every time I look up I just see the barrier and cars above meaning still more to go. I weave across the road to take the sting out of the incline but have to get back when traffic comes my way. Fortunately it's not too bad and it allows for quite a bit of weaving. I finally see a change of scenery and know the summit is near. Adrenaline and determination not to fail at this stage keep me going to the top at virtually sprinting pace. I must be doing at least 3.5kmph now! As I reach the top I see a place to pull over and take some pics. I'm deliriously happy. A couple are at the best spot and I think I've interrupted their romantic moment. They know nothing of my super human feat to haul my bike, my luggage and myself up this proposterous road without getting run over or falling off, let alone some sort of massive medical condition bringing itself to my attention. I've made it and the view is incredible all for having got here under my own steam. Well chuffed. It all gets a bit shit after this. No road signs, roads turn into motorways without warning, go down steep hills the wrong way, have to come back up them, and bicycle paths....agrggghh!! I eventually collapse in a heap at the bottom of a valley with nothing but steep gravel paths as an exit. The only saving grace is that about a dozen eagles are swooping down into the valley and back out again. I wind up in a small shopless village and notice people swimming in a lake. It looks like a good spot. So in full view of everyone I set up camp. In all this hilarity I've forgotten to get water. Another first is called for. I scoop up a panful from the lake and boil it up. The pasta and sardines taste great.

Day 24: Strasbourg to Oppenau.

Do a few small things to the bike and have a good sort out and make a list of things to send back home that I don't really need. Hopefully it will save me quite a bit of weight. A final charge of all the gadgets and a shower and the campsite has served its purpose. Back into Strasbourg and then over the Rhine into Germany. I romanticise at the strength of the Rhine and all the wealth it brings but don't think much of Germany when I get over the fabled water. It all seems a bit run down, and I don't even see a sign to welcome me to another country. Then I go over this really big river and into Deutschland proper. The first one was just a lil un. Doh! My first stop in Germany is Oberkirch and I can see the Black Forest Mountains off in the direction I need to go. I'm actually getting a bit scared of what is to come hill wise. I really don't know what to expect. Germany too has a good system of cycle paths and before long I'm whizzing through the middle of sweetcorn fields on my way to Oppenau. Along the sides of rivers and through more fields I reach my destination, but hang on a minute. I want Oberkirch, what am I doing here??? It was in the right direction but I forgot to peel off. I make the most of being in my first German town and buy some German bread and go about making lunch whilst watching kids play in the fountains in the town square. Then I go in hunt of some maps. I have unbeleivably good luck on this front as a bargain book store has a complete set of maps at the scale I want for 9.99E. I don't need most of them but I can't pass an offer like this by. I add this to list of things to send back. Armed with map, I now set off in the direction of Oberkirch. En route I stop in at the Bergeb Buro (town hall kind of place) where a kind lady translates my quest into German, so I can tell anyone who doesn't speak English. I'm told to help myself to the fresh water and I do. It's fizzy, but makes a nice change. Off to Oberkirch and the mountains are becoming ever closer. I really am getting scared now. They aren't the Himalayas but I've got to get over them some how. In Oberkirch I replenish the emergency beer fund and have a good old chat to a man selling meatloaf and offering free samples. I try some and to be honest it tastes of air the slices are so thin. He explains its low fat, and I explain that's no good for me,  I need all the calories I can get. We have a good old chat about the trip and he gives me some advice on which way to go. Oppeneau next and just a few km up the road. It's just getting ready for a summer festival and all the preparations are being done, lots of wooden stalls selling crepes and sausages and beer are being erected. Just as I leave Oppenau I notice the parking area for camper vans and decide to have a squizz. I ask an Austrian couple if they mind if I camp next to their van behind a pile of gravel. They are friendly and have a chat and no problems with a tent (dont think tents are ment to be there). A bizarre dinner of avacado, noodles in curry sauce and sardines in tomato sauce. Not one of the classics. I have a grapefruit beer that turns out to be 2.5% and laugh at the whole situation. Bed.

Day 23: Nr Savern to Strasbourg. We are Detectives.

A bad nights kip is soon forgotten with the beautiful view from the tent. I try to do a timelapsed photo session of packing away the tent but the bike keeps falling over, it may be slighty flawed:)

As I'm packing away an energetic pensioner marches past with hiking poles in each hand, he doesnt seem bothered by me being here. No one ever does. Watch out for him in the background of one of the photos. I check out the deer and it's still as scary as last night, I shout out a scooby doo esque "yikes!!" Off to Saverne along the canal for my visit to the barbers. The path is again excellent and the views enchanting. As I reach habitation things are getting decidedly more German in appearance. The people, the houses, the smell of sausage and the pubs. When I reach Savern I'm pleasantly surprised by its delightfullness. Old timber framed buildings line the streets with the canal going through its very centre. I purchase a side stand for the bike here as a nod to Stevens buying a wrench. I then have a lovely dealing with the woman in the T.I. She agrees that my request for the oldest barbers in town is indeed the strangest question she has been asked all week. When I tell her of my quest and the fact I started in Liverpool she gets very excited. She says its the place she would most like to go in the world!!! She is an LFC fan and proclaims that Steven Gerrard is the best player in the world. Unfortunately I say that may have been true one day but perhaps it's time to concede that others may be heir to that crown now. When I show her my LFC lunchbox she is beside herself and goes out the back and comes back with her handbag that has an LFC pennant on it. Not to be outdone I get out my membership card and she tells me to put it away because she is jealous, then asks me to get it out again because she wants to see it. As if this isn't enough she speaks perfect English and goes to great efforts to find the best coiffures for me. Unfortunately quite a few are on vacances and there is no actual barbers, only hairdressers. I go to the one looking most cheap and cheerful. And order a cut. The young ladies have no idea what I'm on about but we work out between us I will have to wait 20 mins. As I'm waiting another guy comes in and he speaks English. When the hairdresser realises this she insists on asking every instruction from him on what sort of style I want. I keep apologising to the guy and explain that I'll show her in front of the mirror. A lovely hair wash and mini massage later I'm in front of the mirror demonstaring what I want with a comb. When she asks me what number clippers I want she says trois and I say oui. She is worried and goes to ask the the English speaking man. It transpires that the clipper numbers are mm and not grades as in England. Perhaps its the same but she says 3 is the lowest the clippers go and is worried it might be too short. Although I might go for the buzz cut on the sides at home, I decide that with the sunshine I'll leave it a bit longer. I had originally wanted the top to stay quite long and direct the required length, but by the end I'm looking like a twelve year old German boy with a beard. At home I'm very particular about my hair but as I've got a hat on most of time and its gonna be full of twigs, milk powder and slugs I'm not that bothered. From Savern more canal path to my next book destination: Melenhiem. I check out the old buildings and wine houses and enquire about the best way to Strasbourg. I'm given a good hint that although a bit longer, the cycle path is much easier and nicer route to go. As I leave the T.I. the storms start and before long I'm drenched. Earlier in the day I had taken shelter in a bush for shade. Now it's raining so hard its stinging my arms through my waterproof jacket. A lightning strike and thunder clap crash directly above my head and I nearly cycle off the path into a fence in fright, absoloutely the loudest thing I have ever experienced! Although not struck by lightening I'm very much in shock, a woman is standing on her patio looking up at the sky and I scream/cackle at her hystericlly, she gives a look that says I know what you mean and I continue in the rain trying to compose myself. I stop under a road bridge to make sure everything is water tight and a family are sheltering under the bridge too. I explain after 10 minutes of the hammering rain that it's ok as I have plenty of food and a stove. The rain does stop and off I go again on the fantastic cycle paths. They are basically roads for cyclists with directional lanes and give way signs that sometimes you have to obey at a road, sometimes the traffic has to stop for you. Come on England lets have some of this and people cycling for transport and not just for leisure! The journey from Savern to Strasbourg is 40km and the perfect way to commute. I enter Strasbourg late at about 6pm and want to hurry through to Germany and find a spot for the night. Strasbourg has other ideas and its people and architecture are so welcoming I slow the pace. After a bit of detective work at the T.I. (again super helpful) we manage to work out what the stone archway is that Stevens talks about. I leave the office in search of said arch and admire the Cathederal on the square. It really is something to behold, Gothic I think but don't quote me. After being helped by a few locals I find my arch and I'm so chuffed. To find an exact item that is mentioned in the book especially after the hairdressing experience is a real buzz. Exhilerated and feeling I've seen a good deal of the old city I head for the border. I have a backup campsite in Kuhl in Germany if things don't go according to plan. I'm nearly there when I stop to check the map and relaise I've forgotten to visit the railway station. Stevens remarks that it's possibly the best in all the world and I have to look it up on the map. It's totally the opposite direction and back were I have come from earlier. A Gonzo Historian's work is never easy, so back I go. Le Gare now has an impressive glass structure built out from the front of the original building and both are indeed magnificient. I stand under the glass admiring the station and try to imagine what Stevens must have thought. It's about 8pm now and sunset is in half an hour. I look round for a place to camp but cities being what they are, all the best places have been taken by people of a more homeless variety. I see a campsite sign and decide it has to be the way tonight. 9 Euros 50 for 1 person, bike and tent but best of all free wifi and it works from my tent. It's a great chance to catch up on a load of stuff, and my decision feels so much easier than the forced campsite rendezvous in Luneville.  

Day 22: Luneville to Disused Canal, Nr Saverne. Scariest Night of My Life!

Wake early and slowly get it together. Bump into the camp manager whilst doing my washing up.

No getting out without paying then. She comes over to me in the tent and says something. I think she says I have to be out by 10:30. I get a move on to get packed just in case she wants to charge me double. When I go to pay it's only half nine and I've mis-read the time. Kicking out time is 12 o'oclock. Oh well I'm on the move. I pay my 8 euro 50 and depart.

At the first supermarche I see I stop and get some food. I haven't had eggs for ages so add some of those to some sardines and fruit. My diet has been a bit ubalanced and I need to restore it. The first 20km of the day are really hard work, even though the hills are not that steep and I've got less weight than when I started. I stop for lunch at a canal with lakes either side, fry up some eggs and have marmalade on toast to go with it. After I've washed up I go up one of the lake paths and dump my bike on the bank and go for a swim. Not as beautiful as a few days a go but welcome all the same. Then I dry off in the sun eating windfall apples and pears. Whilst I am half asleep on my back a bell rings a few times. I look up and a guy cycling past has lost his bell and its landed near me. As luck would have it he has a Lumix camera like mine. I had seen him earlier on a boat on the canal and ask if he has his charger. He kindly offers to charge my battery for me whilst I have another swim. Cheers Roland from Germany and family. Much appreciated.

When I depart the lakes I can see mountains off in the far distance. I will be going through these on my way to Germany and I am a bit fearful of what to expect. I'm so lacking strength today that when I reach an Aldi on the outskirts of Sarrebourg I decide to put things right and gather some proper food for a feast. A whole roast chicken, 6 chocolate milkshakes, a gigantic brioche, veg, fruit and vanilla pudding desserts, not to mention a few beers for the emergency fund. I down four of the milkshakes in quick succession and feel like a new man. Sarrebourg is pleasing to the eye with lots of modern art and sculptures dotted around the place. After quite a while in the country it's nice to see some art. Delightful as Sarrebourg is I need to find a good place in time for my feast. I've seen a good route to Saverne along the river and stick to this plan. The milkshakes are working; I'm sure the hills don't seem quite so bad anymore. It's either that or the thought of all that lovely food. I find myself in Niderviller and out of water. I see an old lady watering her front lawn and ask her to fill my bottles and she kindly agrees. I now have the full supplies for a night in the woods and a feast. I follow the road along the river and find what I've been looking for: The canal bike path. This is the best yet. It follows 14 locks down a few kms of disused canal. The lock keeper's house at each lock is still there. Some are colourfully decorated and still lived in, others are abandoned. At some points the canal bed is visible drying up in the sun. At others the water that remains is home for all sorts of wild life and beautiful tall reeds grow from the watery channel. I see hardly any people on my descent. This is perfect camping country if you don't mind being seen by the odd person. I go all the way to the bottom and then come back ½ a km to a wide basin in the canal that is now a huge reed bed. A walking trail takes you over a tiny wooden bridge and up into the forest. I push the bike over the bridge and have a great view of the valley and the reed bed. Although the only flat place to pitch is across the path you can still get around me so that's where I pitch up. Before long I've done all the setting up and I've devoured the rest of the milkshakes, a whole roast chicken and some vegetanbles fried up to go with it. A few vanilla crème desserts leave me almost dead. I go to lock up the bike before I go to sleep and notice the locks are missing. I take a guess that I've left them at the place up the path where I stopped at earlier. Although only a ten minute walk, it's in pitch blackness up to a derelict house. The valley and path now seem somewhat creepier. I don my head torch and swig down another beer to give me courage. I'm a complete wimp and have toughened up quite a bit since doing this cycle touring lark. The thought of camping in the woods doesn't bother me any more, but the thought of walking up the path does send a bit of a shiver down my spine . Off I go finding my way by torch light looking behind me every five seconds. I get to the place and find one of the locks but not the cable. I guess someone has seen it and picked it up. The heavy u lock would be no good because its locked. The good lock is better than nothing and off I go back to base, feeling a bit braver with a heavy lock in my hand to defend myself. Where I have camped has a strange odour about it and I thought it was just the plants. When I get close to the tent I find the reason why. My torch light shines on the bank and I see a rib cage of a person with arms held out, I absolutely shit myself, it looks like a child. Within seconds my head has moved and I've managed to realise with the torch movement that its a dead deer. Jesus, that was one of the scariest moments of my life. Now hysterical with relief I start singing to myself to calm myself down. A combination of this and the massive amount of food and the constant storms and lightning happening off in the distance do not make for a good nights sleep.

Day 21: Maron to Luneville. Being Invited to Stay with a French Man

6am Just getting light, not too bad sleep had. Get up, strip off, go for skinny dip before anybody wakes up. Wow this is the life, this is what I had imagined the adventure would be like. The mist slowly rises from the river and the trees and I truly am in heaven. Needless to say I don't get away very quickly. I make a few videos just in case this is my best camp site and head back to Maron. I deliberately go past the old ladies house but nobody is about. The love-in with nature ends there. A steep long hill out of Maron towards Nancy has me sweating bucket loads before I'm even a quarter of the way up. Other cyclists pass me going the other way doing about 50mph. Although hard work, it's not the hardest so I thank my stars for that. As I enter Nancy the streets are wide and hot as the sun beats down. I'm not really in the mood for a big place after my beautiful river rendezvous and head into the old town and stop at the T.I. Here I meet a retired Glaswegian who is cycling down to Leon from Luxembourg. He warns me to take care in the heat and for once the warning goes in. Today is the first day I've put lotion on without feeling the burn first. A quick whizz round the fancy Nancy square and a bit of a sit in the shade whilst checking the map. Then off to Luneville. On the way out of town I take a wrong turn and whilst trying to get back on track I come across the Maison de Velo. An exhibition is on and I go and take a look. It's kind of a bicycle information centre with a few old bikes and a repair station. A friendly man greets me and takes me to see the exhibition of three times Tour de France Yellow Jersey winner Bernard Hinault. It's fascinating looking at the photos of the tour in the 50's. Spare tyres over their shoulders and swapping bottles of wine on the way round. When I tell the guy about my adventure he is very interested and disappears into an office. When he returns he gives me a green cap, keyring, ankle strap thing and best of all a Maison de Velo puncture outfit. The glue in mine has leaked so that is perfect. I had to buy a hat a few days ago because of the sun but I don't know if it will stay on at 50mph. He tells me the guy in the exhibition lives in Luneville. Off I go most excited by my stroke of good luck but as I reach the town of St Nicholas only 5km or so out of town the sun begins to hurt. Just before entering the town I see a Pharmacy display that says 42 degrees. It must be broken. I stop and take a photo. Two council workers watering flowers see me and I ask if its correct. They say yes its very hot. It's in the sun. The next sign I see is in the shade and says 33 degrees. Either way,  it's hot. I find shade on the steps of the impressive cathedral that is crammed in between the houses of St Nic. A quick sandwich and half a tub of Nutella later and my load is now a bit lighter. Still hot though. I take it easy to Luneville. I don't see the Tour De France winner but I do have a very small strawberry beer in recognition of the lovely lady at the bar. If you ask for water and you get a yes and a smile that's really nice. If you get cold water that's a bonus. But when she asks if you would like some ice in it, well. That deserves a "formidable!". I sit in view of the chateau and sample the Grimbergen Rouge. Perfect in this weather. Then I head off in search of wifi so I can speak to Maddy on her birthday. I ask someone directions to a Mcdonalds and they point the way. They wish me good luck with my journey. Five minutes later I find the McDs. Six minutes later the man giving directions arrives. He says he is very interested in my journey (I hadn't even got onto the Thomas Stevens bit) and asks where I am staying tonight. I point to my tent and he offers me a bed and a shower at his house. Absolutely I say, but first he has to check with the wife. After much conflabbing on the phone he apologizes and explains it's not possible. I would have loved the experience but I'm not worried about the bed or shower. I think he is genuinely more disappointed than I am. I appreciate the offer and off he goes long faced. I tried to upload a video for Maddy's birthday and after all my planning it went wrong. Then Maddy's internet stopped working and I couldn't get hold of her on her birthday. This sent me off into one of my downwards spirals. Off I went cursing the hot day and went looking for somewhere to camp, but the fences were everywhere and nothing was happening. I ended up on a service road next to a motorway about 10km in the wrong direction. Back to town I trudged feeling really down and miserable. This is the first time I've had the blues since the trip began. If I'm lucky some other event will happen and snap me out of it, if not I'll end up lingering and thinking rubbish over and over. I can't really put into words the dark cloud that follows me round when I'm like this. I can never write it down at the time and the miserableness gets lost after that. I know it needs getting out of my system but how?? As I search without a clue for the road out of town a sign pointing to a campsite appears. I don't know if I want to but I'm knackered and can't face getting lost again. It's about 9:30pm now and virtually dark. I follow the sign and it goes through a side gate. It's a tiny well kept site and only one tent. The rest are camper vans, and only about 6 of those. I admit defeat. Deflated, tired and depressed I go about putting up my tent, pumping up my mattress and sorting out my stuff. Only when I've done all this do I have a nice warm shower and the blues slowly start to float away. I was quite happy to go in the woods tonight but the legs had worn out. I think it was at this stage that I realised that I just cant do 50 miles a day with full luggage on £1 a day, not the food part. I eat my noodles and drink my (now obligatory) emergency beer and lay back on my mattress in the open air. I enjoyed the challenge and could probably do it where I could speak the language and bat my eye lashes but it's too hard for my out of shape body to do the miles when it's really real. Hitchhiking yes, I now reckon I could do it. But not cycling. As I sit contemplating this I hear some classical music in the background, quite loud. The campsite backs on to a chateau that is visible from the town square. They seem to have some sort of performance on. The usual classical hits dance in the air as I sip on my beer and the status quo is once again realised. Music in the air, beer in hand and all gadgets on charge in the toilet. Sorted.

Day 20: Sunday 21/08/11 Bar-Le -Duc to Moron then back a bit. Old French Ladies have Panache

Up at 6am and it's still dark. An unbelievably good sleep considering the jaunty angle I was at. Probably the babbling water behind me soothing my inner workings. I did however wake up and reach for my water bottle and grab hold of a four inch slug instead. Incredibly I just shrugged and threw it away and went back to sleep. I couldn't touch one a few years ago. I had spied a concrete table that I passed last night and had breakfast there instead of at the waters edge. It tried to rain and the storm clouds were gathering but held off long enough for me to add one of my windfall apples to my usual start to the day. Hilariously I then find the real canal. Exactly as I imagined it and with loads of fantastic camping spots. Where I had stayed was more like a puddle. I head along the canal towards Tronville. Stevens doesn't think much of it. Not much to say either really. The storms are right behind me all morning. I start getting drizzled on and stop for a coffee under a bridge in the vain hope that it goes away. One of my luxuries that doesn't cost much is proper espresso coffee. Maddy's bro and girlfriend kindly donated me their mini mocha pot and armed with a fresh pack of Lavazza when leaving Blighty I can knock up a proper coffee in no time. Extra sugar helps with the powdered milk. I don't normally have sugar on anything at home but tea, coffee and breakfast all now receive a poured amount of white cycling powder. As I finish my coffee the rain stops and a pair of herons swoop down onto the canal. I've never seen two together before. :). I say bien peche as I pass. This usually results in a wave back. Next stop Void. Off the canal and back on the road. This time the heavens open and I decide to embrace the free wash whilst cycling. I take off my glasses and give my face a good rub whilst cycling. Everything gets a wash: me, the bike, my clothes and my sandals. It really hammers down for about 15 minutes then the sun comes out and all is well. I stop in a bus shelter for an early lunch and explore Void. Now off to Toul. En route I become a bit exhausted and decide to stop by the side of the road under a shady tree. I get my slightly damp kit off and lay it on the grass to dry, break open a baguette and have another feast. Nutella is the order of the day. Bloody glass jar, all that weight. I still cant manage to finish it though so back it goes for another day. I'm trying to eat everything I've got and then buy on a more frequent basis. I've been far too loaded up with spare food. Whilst I relax I see an eagle or something similar swoop around the valley and I get a few hoots from passing people at my clothes strewn everywhere in my rather unusual choice of picnic area. All refreshed and Toul delights as I arrive. Totally deserted old streets allow me to imagine what it was like back in the day. A huge cathedral and a fort must make this the biggest town Thomas would have visited since Paris. I get lost on the way out before finding the signs to the river path to Maron. Unlike the canal it's mainly quiet roads above the river Moselle with fantastic views down on to it. A quick pit stop for the ever vanishing water and I get all 3 bottles filled up. Normally I just have the two bike water bottles in the day but when it gets near camp time I get a 1.5l old water bottle filled up too for a bit of cooking and cleaning. Over the river I go and the path turns into a path, and what a path. Super smooth tarmac that winds its way along the river with a lake on the other side. A few families and holiday makers are out for a cycle or a roller blade or a buggy push. The path goes on for about 15km to Maron. Along the path I see some perfect camping opportunities so I make a note of how far I've gone so I can find it later. I have food, I have water, I have power in the laptop. One thing's missing on this beautiful evening on the river...beer! Although its a 15km round trip I head into Maron in search of a tipple. It's just too nice a place to not have one. Maron is small and nowhere is open. I ask a couple of old ladies sat outside their house if they know where I can get a beer. They laugh at my accent and point at closed establishments up and down the street. Ferme Ferme Ferme, vacances, vacances. One of the ladies asks me something and I say "oui" for lack of anything better to reply. She toddles off into her house and comes back with two beers. Pomme Bierre she keeps saying, I can't believe my luck and ask her how much but she waves me away. Then the other one asks where I am staying and I say in the woods, pointing to my tent. She gets my map out of its holder and points to a good spot along the river. I blow them both a kiss and offer as many merci beaucoups as I can. I cycle back to the spot I had seen and take up residence on my patch for the night. The first thing I do is change into my swimmers and jump in the river. This is truly the best place I've swum and camped so far. The river is wider than a football pitch is long and I even have a pre-made table. The water is cool but not cold, absolutely perfect. I have a swim around and look up to the bank and there is a big distance marker board. I can swim as far away as I want and not get lost. The rest of the evening is spent catching up on the blog and enjoying my two cold beers with dinner. They are Panache (Shandy) 1% alcohol and nothing ever tasted better. No wonder the old girls seemed concerned as to whether I would like them or not. I sit drying in the warm air on my mattress-come seat and take in the beautiful view.

Day 19: Nearly Vitry Le Francois to Bar-Le-Duc. Wild Boars Ahoy!

Day 19: Nearly Vitry Le Francois to Bar-Le-Duc

Up early today to avoid being detected although it's a Saturday it's harvest time so could well be rumbled. Halfway through packing up I car comes down the track but luckily doesn't stop and carries on into another field. As I get ready to go a find the owners of the squeaking from last night. It's a fox, no two foxes, no again it's a family of wild pigs/hogs/boar dark grey brown in colour and stripey and very hairy. I stay for ages to try and get a good shot of them and I'm eventually rewarded. I wont win the under 5's wildlife pic of the year but I'm very excited in having seen them. I also see another creature, if you know what it's called leave a comment below. It's the colour of a red squirrel about 30cm/12” long and very thin. About the size of half a large chorizo sausage.??

I leave well chuffed and have another wildlife encounter just up the road. A bird has been hit by a car but is still flapping a bit. Not having Maddys Mum and her legendary shovel about, I have to deal with things myself. I circle round in the road and try to run over it. I wobble a bit and miss and have to go round again. The heavy bike makes a crunch as I put it out of its misery and its head gently floats to the ground. Yin and Yang dear people Yin and Yang. By 9'clock I've covered 20km and I pass a very inviting river. A remember where it is and go into Vitry Le Francois for supplies.

I come back and manage to find the track down to the spot I'd seen earlier just as an old boy is pulling in to do some fishing. There is a tiny pebble beach the size of three towels that slopes in to the lovely water. A few days of hot weather has left me a bit sticky and I change into my swimmers and get straight in. Oh my god, it's bliss, it;s about 25 degrees all ready and this is perfect. The current is so strong I manage about 6 strokes before getting swept downstream. Old boy standing hip high in his waders laughs. I go get my stinky clothes and give them a wash (no wash powder just water) and lay them on the bank to dry in the sun. I whip up a snackrell and an espresso and kick back and chill in the sunshine. Within about 15 mins I'm dry and burning and have to don tshirt to avoid any repeat of the heatstroke fiasco. I stay here for about 2 or 3hours waiting for my clothes to dry. Anything thats still damp I tie to various bits of my bike. I get some right laughs off the old girls as I'm cycling along, pyjama bottoms blowing in the breeze. The lady in the T.I. Tells me of a canal path I can take to my next destination. It's just perfect. The local pharmicie displays 30degrees on its sign and I float along the path in pure delight. The tarmac is flat and smooth and big enough for a car. Clothes drying in the breeze, passing bonjours from boats and other cyclists and plenty of fish, herons and birds to engage with as I pedal my merry way. Afew hours of the heat later I find the shade of a tree and have some more food and put away the now crisply dry and clean washing.

Wash day has never been so much fun. I now know what the sign for a canal path is and work out where I will stay the night. There are so many camping opportunities on the canal path, what with little hiiden patches of grass and other people camping and fishing, no one will care.

After a feed and a rest I'm off again among the fishing lakes and files of sweetcorn and sunflowers. My aim is to get just past Bar De Luc and on to a different canal there and hopefully find more of the same to set up camp for the night. Although I've spent quite a lot of time laying about in the sun today I reckon I should be good for my destination. The miles on the canal path just fly by, but when I leave and head North at St. Dizier it's back to natures rolling hills and this late in the day after a beating from the sun they seem a bit harder than usual. I perserve and keep going listening to a bit of music to gee me on. I stop in a layby and pick up some windfall apples to have with breakfast. Sunset is at 20:50 today. Time however is passing by quicker than anticipated at this slow pace and as I eventually wheel into Bar Le Duc I take a wrong turn and head for the Haute Ville rather than the Centre Ville. This turns out to be a blessing indsiguise as I get to descend through the older part of town and with the sun starting to go down the light on the bluff pastel buildings zig zagging down into the valley is quite beautiful. This is great but where am I going to get a beer from it's Saturday you know. Luckily a tiny shop is open and I purchase one tin of Amsterdams finest Navigator and go in search of the canal a happy man. Ive got water, beer and food. There is nothing else , surely? I find the bridge crossing the canal only the canal is a bit different here. More like a river. I look for the path but have to make do with riding alongside on the road, I'm so interseted in looking for a spot I forget I'm driving on the wrong side as a Police car comes towrds me. As they beckon to me to drive on the other side I shout Peche Peche as if telling them I have seen a fish will make it all ok. They drive on. The road ends and I follow a tiny trail to the waters edge. Another pebble beach and it looks like a regular hang out point by the remains of the fires that have been here. Undeterred and with darkness on my side I crack open the navigator, fire up the super noodles and get to work on the tent. The tent is at such a jaunty angle sloping towards the water that I have to put all the luggage on that side to stop me sliding off my matress. As It goes the jauntiness makes for one of the best sleeps yet.

Day 18: Not Quite Sezanne to Not Quite Vitry Le Francois. Bubbles

Oh the beautiful woods le grande bois. So grande is the bois that I cant find my way out and get lost for about an hour and a half. I have to leave the bike and proceed on foot to scope an exit, counting my footsteps so as not to lose the bike as well. I'm so close to the road but a hedge of ferns and small trees blocks my way. Wearing shorts and sandals my legs and feet are torn to ribbons trying to penetrate the brambles and if that is not enough for a gonzo historian to bear/bare ??? I have champignons wedged between my toes. I find an exit to the road that would be a lot easier if had a machete and break through, pushing the ferns to one side as if I was a startled deer determined to get on the road from the safety of the forest and try to headbut a car headlight in the still of night. But it is day and I can see and I am not a deer. I heave the bike with all my might onto the road bleeding from leg and mushrooming from toe and startle a lorry driver coming towards me. 10km later I am in Sezanne where Thomas stayed at the Hotel de France. I seek out the venue not knowing if it still exists and come across the le sandy car de niche e a tive. Here a friendly young Frenchman by the name of Ryan gives me all kinds of interesting facts and helps me with some translation as well as fetching out some back copies of previous maps that might have had some old photos of Sezanne when Stevens would have arrived. Unfortunately my experience at the Hotel de France is not as good and after explaining my quest the receptionist just smiles and tries to book me a room. According to my friend in the T.I. The Hotel de France was the only reason people had heard of Sezanne and was famous across all France. Not surprisingly this is no longer true today. (sips Champagne from a plastic cup). Ryan advises me of where I can purchase some champagne and off I go. This may seem like an extravagance but there is only one Champagne region in the world and if Thomas mentions the vineyards then it would be rude not try the harvest from their fruit. After visiting the Champagne House Dugnay I hand over my 8 euros and one half bottle of Dugnay is handed over. I find a shady tree lined walkway with a lovely view and tuck into the regional speciality poured into a plastic cup. I accompany this with some stale bread, runny Camembert and five day old chorizo. From the sweet trolley I order broken biscuits and the natural yin and yang of things is restored. The perfect opportunity to get get out Le Portable and do a bit of tippy tapping and drink the coolish champagne before it gets warm and let the sun cool down before Je suis sur les traces de l'historie de la premiere personne qui a fait le tour du monde en velo. As the bubble buzz kicks in I head on towards the next spot. I end up on an N road and have to use the small hard shoulder. As lorries pass close by at speed I wobble then get sucked along in their slipstream for a bit. Quite exhilirating I must say. This continues for about 15km before I pull into a Total Petrol Station and ask to fill my water bottles up. The woman behind the counter refuses. I double check and still no. I search for a tap in the toilets and they are warm only. I slink off thirsty and pissed off. Another 10k of N road delights and I stop at a roadside cafe and ask for water again. Not only does the woman here have a smile for me but instead of using the tap she gets three caraffes of cold water from the fridge, what a darling. I peel off here and take the back roads and after drifting and undulating between the horizonless crop fields I spot some woods down a farm track. Off I sneak with an hour to go before sunset and find a little place in the trees. People have been before and they have cleared a spot for me. A Dilemma. 3/4s of a jar of pesto and a tiny bit of pasta left. Jar is glass, heavy and going off. Rather than waste it I take the calories, lighten my load and have the heaviest pesto pasta ratio ever.
As I recover in the tent the sun has gone down and I can here squealing outside. I put it down to some sort of owl and put my sweaty body into my sweaty sleeping bag. It's getting hotter I'm sure.
Any typo's and grammatical errors will probably be altered by my proof reader as I'm far too hot to care. If it makes no sense come back in a few days:)

Cycling Activity 53.50 mi | RunKeeper

Cycling Activity 53.50 mi | RunKeeper

Day 17: Robert St Comte – Sezanne. The Sun Has Got His Hat On

A fairly decent kip allows me to wake at 6am refreshed and ready to go. As Ive had no dinner and not unpacked much I decide to just go without breakfast and have some further up the road. Thomas Stevens liked to do this and it's the first time I've had a chance to copy him. I say goodbye to my comfy bush and continue down the bike path. It brings me back out on my road to Provins. 20Km later I spy the 3 of 4 of the holy quadrangle. A Seat, A Supermarket and Entertainment. The other being free WiFi. I make up my breakfast and get the tea on whilst small children at some sort of playgroup poke their noses through the fence and say bonjour to me. I reply and I think they can already tell that I'm not of these parts. Brecky done and off to InterMarche for some pain. I slide the baguette through the straps on my panniers but the end snaps off so I eat this whilst riding along on the way to Provins. A storm rages off in the distance and lightning lights up the sky. It looks to far South for Provins and I whizz on thinking I'm safe. I reach Provins or lunch and the thunder is quite loud now. Spits of rain come down and I dive into a bus shelter. I have to get dry before it rains as I have been drying washing on the back of the bike, not to mention my baguette. The place is dead as are most places I have been to outside Paris. Everyone is on holiday. Perhaps I'll see them there.

The storm starts up but its over before long and I enjoy lunch in the safety of my glass bus stop, the sun shining on my back. Next stop Vaudaxe which I missed when plotting my map. Thomas went a bit off course here and remarks on the hilly terrain. I come down a very fast hill into the town, again dead and I take shade under a tree lined walkway on a bench. This is the first time I have really noticed the heat and I apply sun lotion for the first time. It's a bit late though and my shoulders are burnt to a crisp, not having had any exposure at all except for the last few days.Whilst I take cover in the shade somebody is playing guitar in a garden. The notes drift towards me and put me in a stooper. I'm feeling a bit perculiar and head out of town in search of the vinyards stevens mentions.

As I start to ascend a steepish hill I see signs for the champagne trail and the vinyards come into sight. The hill takes a lot out of me and the shoulders are burning. I'm now on the detailed map and notice there is a large wooded area up ahead. I leave the road and head into the woods. I've covered 55miles and beat my target so I'm happy. The bridleway has seen no wheeled traffic and is too lumpy to ride on so I push for a good few hundre metres until deep into the woods. I find a spot right next to the path, too hot to go any further. Im dripping in sweat and the flys are all over me. Today is the day to try out my 55p ebay mosquito net that I cycled 70 miles to get. It takes a while to get it the right shape and I attach the strings to various trees. With the net surrounding me and my matress on my big plastic bag on the floor I have created a netting tent. I move all my stuff inside the net and pass out. I think I have got mild heatstroke. Fear not I have survived and a cheese baguette and a lie down you will find can cure most things. Im tapping away writing this from inside my net. Ive been here 3 hours and not seen a soul. Not sure if I will bother with the tent or not tonight as this is perfect letting the breeze in and keeping the nastys out.

Day 16: Paris to Brie-Comte-Robert

Today is the day. I'm finally off on my own in a different country with no nipping into home on the way , no girlfriend for support and no being able to speak the language. A very slow pack up today. I'm leaving things of no use with Maddy and taking things off her that might be more use to me. Eventually ship out of the campsite about 1:30 and wobble off to Gare du Nord via a map shop and a battery charger shop as the camera battery charger has packed up. Find the maps but not the charger. Will have to get busy with the broken one and see what I can do.

When we arrive at the Station the unhelpful assistant tells us we will have to pack the bike up, not only that but its miles away from the check in desk. Fortunately Maddy is prepared for this sort of thing and has got us to the station nearly two hours before lift off. We eventually find the bike bit and are told that the luggage cant go with the bike. All of this info would be nice to know before you travel, are you listening Eurostar. We pack all Mads stuff on to my bike and her arms. And trot back to check in. I kiss my darling goodbye. I'm so proud she made it, its the most miles she has ever done and the most wild camping. So big up to Mountain Goat. Happy Birthday, see you in October.

Paris like a lot of cities but not really any in the UK has a habit of having all the hoover shops or hairdressers or pc shops or fancy dress shops all on the same road or in the same area. Finding the battery charger road proves more than difficult but of course it lies on my route out of Paris. Unfortunately they want 22 euro for it and I have two sat at home doing nothing so I resist. Off out of Paris I go but me being me I refused to buy a detailed large map of Paris as I only had a few kms to go before I started on my next map. The tourist map has served us well but has now run out and the photocopy of the europe road atlas has nearly all of France on two pages, not exactly detailed.

I head out on Avenue Damusenil and through the Vincennes Bois and through to Fontenay. All my Paris boxes are now ticked. The boulevards are wide the sun is shining and I'm feeling up for it. People are exercising and taking in the evening air and before long I'm leaving Paris Behind and heading South East towards Provins. Unfortunately there are no sign posts to town Richie is going to and the map is not much help so I just follow the compass in a vein hope I find a road I can see on the map.

Fuelled with fresh figs and broken biscuits that somebody at the campsite didn't have room for I march on regardless until I come across Bossy-St Leger, I recognise the name and the road is on the map. As I pass out of the town I see the race course and realise why I have heard of it. This makes two French race course I have seen, Longchamps being the other which was just behind the campsite. I'm now going in the right direction and stop for water at a petrol station. My gps is able to tell me what time sunset is and I decide to see how far I can get before dark. I eventually wind down a farmers track which intersects a bike path running along an old railway line between two towns. I find a decent bush and make camp behind / in it and wait for darkness to descend.I'm hot and sticky and don't bother with dinner. I have a face wipe wash and retire.

Day 15: Paris, Maddys Birthday Feast & the 20 euro Ice Cream

Oh dear Oh dear. Naughty Navigator. Add a few more Terminators and a sore head it makes. A telling off from the neighbours at 2am to keep the noise down as we chatted away to some fellow novice bicycle tourists from Aus. Rik and Paula and some German guys all in our little enclave of the camp. The Liptons bottle plan did not need to come into action and the morning quickly turns to afternoon. A bit of tinkering with the bike so I can mount the head cam on the handlebars to do some filming whilst cycling around Paris. Looking rather touristy on the edge of the Bois de Bologne a kind Frenchman on a bicycle offers to guide us in the right direction. We ride and chat with him all the way down to the Seine as he tells us nuggets of information as we go. Today we view the Arc de Triomphe from the other side from the middle of the Place de Concorde. It really is quite a sight watching the traffic coming down from the mighty arch. Then to the Orangerie we go but it's closed and a rather long hunt for a crepe starts. Eventually we find our food of choice and accompany it with a pitcher of Brut Cidre. The pitcher is made of china and so are the cups. We drink the apply loveliness with little fingers pointing out. One pitcher turns to two as the hotel next door has wifi we can use for free and the view from our little balconette is so delightful. It's an early birthday for Maddy so we enjoy the day. Two litre pitchers of cidre later we wobble off outside into the blazing sunshine and cycling becomes a tad more difficult. Fortunately Paris seems to be designed with this in mind and little bicycles on the road mark not only your path but your direction. It's perfect. We follow a velo trail and head off in search of a bar we had been recommended. About an hour of walking and cycling later we find the hip Chez Prune in the art district and enjoy a plate de charcuterie with our abbey beers. Sitting back shooting the breeze and surveying the st martin canal scene. Stuffed as a pike the night time Paris beckons and hilarity ensues as we take on the Place de Concorde and the Champs Elysées in our fat semi inebriated state. As Stevens did back in 85 we take in the high society on the Champs late at night and stop for a Hagen Daaz to tip us over the edge. When we find out its 5 euro a scoop(!) we vacate our seats and go for a takeaway instead. The Champs Elysées still commands the wealthy wallets it did back in 1885. Back off into the night air we ride, bursting at the seams from a most enjoyable day of leisure and wheel on through the Bois de Bologne and take in the spectacle that is the ladies and the lady men of the night plying their trade by the side of the road with an oh so handy wood behind them to conduct their business. I film them unaware on the bike cam and offer my sincerest good wishes to one or two of them on a prosperous evening.

Day 14: Paris. The Thomas Stevens Sights

Ah! Waking up and not having to go anywhere or pack up. What luxury. This however is balanced out by having to walk at least 100 metres to go for a “natural break” in the middle of the night. My tried and tested method will be coming into play tonight though, the use of a small Liptons Iced Tea bottle will make that light work of that moonlit stroll. (This bottle is bigger than the capacity of my bladder and has a wide neck, I'll leave the rest for you to work out).

Today has been deemed a rest/Thomas/sort out day. My clothes although not walking on their own yet are in need of a wash and the 18 euros a night cost of the camp site means we at least have running hot water, so whilst showering I wash my clothes at the same time. I don't know why I have decided to do this as it's both easier and more economical on the clothes wash liquid to do it in the purpose built sinks. The sky is blue and the sun comes out, add a slight breeze and looks like perfect weather for drying clothes. By the time we eat breakfast, faff about, have a coffee and I sort out what stuff Maddy is to take back with her to England it's lunch time. We lunch al fresco and head back over the Seine to give Thomas' route a proper seeing to. We head back over the Pont Nuilly and towards La Defense. A behemoth modern square arch of an office building appropriately named Le Grande Arch towers above everything as we head in to the financial district, incredibly Mountain Goat must have been looking for grass to chew on as she missed it completely. We wind our way to its entrance and look back from this arch to the Arc de Triomphe in a dead straight line probably a kilometre or so away towards Paris Central. I have not had time to investigate the maps of Paris in 1885 so do not know what Thomas would have seen. Whether this view would have been possible or what buildings where standing then, but today everything is shiny and new and glass towers of various pleasing curves sparkle in the sunshine. On various windows of the offices within people have made post-it note homages to the graffiti artist Space Invader. Here there and everywhere if you look close enough you will see a pixelated window bearing a love heart, an alien or a smurf.

Virtually the entire straight line back to the Arc de Triomphe is accessible by bicycle. As we head that way we pass a plethora of modern buildings that take artwork as an inspiration as much as they do function. Today is a public holiday and most of Paris is devoid of workers. This makes for calm traffic and a beautiful day for cruising the streets and taking in the details. We speed up to the biggest round-about in the world as we are now cycling without any luggage and it's as if the bikes have engines fitted. Not quite knowing the rules for navigating the Arc on a velo we hug the outer perimeter and gesticulate wildly at any cars about to cross our path. This gets us around 180 degrees and we decide to head to the middle and have a look at the Arc close up. On arrival at the Island we are greeted by two Gendarmerie who in no uncertain terms explain that bikes are forbidden and you have to leave them on the outskirts and use the subway. Oops. Off we go. Follow the nice policeman's advice, explore said Island and arch and return back to the bikes. Down the Champs Elysees we cruise and wind our way through the empty (ish) streets looking for a shop that might sell a universal camera battery charger as my £2.99 ebay chinese 5th year GCSE homework project has now died. At this point we are oblivious to the fact that it is a public holiday and no shops are open. As we shimmy along the “Hotel de Louvre” comes in to focus. Stevens first tried to book into this hotel on his arrival in Paris but was told there was no facility to store bicycles and he ended up at the Hotel L'oriet instead. I tried to book us into to the L'oriet but they no longer have room for bicycles, the Manger explained that a lot has changed since 1885. For a sense of completion I go into the Hotel De Louvre and see what's happening now. I prime Maddy that if I manage to get us a room we might have to up sticks and leave our camp site. The Louvre is a majestic place, 5 star I'm sure and in the heart of Paris. Its gold letters shine down the couture street of Rue de L'Honure like a beacon to well heeled travellers. Hilariously the Louvre now has a facility where I could put my bicycle and although the receptionist is interested in my story and does everything in her powers to help me, when I mention my budget is £1 per day she gives a false look to her computer screen and lets me work out the rest. I decide on this occasion that if the presidential suite is unused we would be happy to sleep on the floor on our own mattresses so as not to have to use the maid.

The rest of the day is spent scooting around empty Paris in the sunshine and generally enjoying life. On the way back to camp we pick up supplies for dinner and find two more beers to go with the “Navigator” we had yesterday. The same brewery makes the “Explorator” at a pultry 6.2% volume and then the daddy the”Maximator” at 11.6%. I' ll let you know how it turns out. Amsterdam Brewery we salute you.

Day 13: Mousseaux-sur-Seine to Paris. Wet Wet Wet

For various reasons I am feeling rather emotional whilst writing this. It could be the fact that Maddy & I have finally made it to Paris and although the only camp site in Paris had the “Complet” sign up they managed to find space for us. It could be the fact that I've just completed probably the best adventure I've yet had the pleasure to be able to complete along side my gorgeous girlfriend. Having cycled all the way to Paris from our home in Apsley under our own steam and half the time surviving in the woods and other slightly dodgy places. It could be the 8.2% Navigator Dutch beer I've been drinking. It could be the fact that one adventure has just finished and a much bigger one is about to begin and I am now aware much more of the task in hand. Or it could be the response to a present from an anonymous benefactor that I wasn't expecting. Either way it's all sorts of stuff all mixed up and I'm writing this in the only camp site in Paris having cycled ??? miles from Liverpool having set off 13 days ago to be here.

However lets go back a few hours to about 2am last night when we realised it was pissing down and the tarp extension had fallen down and we had left everything out to get soaked in the rain. Leather saddle – soaked, teabags – soaked, dry towel – soaked, clean shorts – soaked, food – soaked, waterproof socks, inside out – soaked. You name it, it got wet. So no surprise it was a slow start to the day. Beating all records so far we left the camp site after 12. The sun started to pop it's head out though and the rain stayed away for the rest of the day. Off we slopped to Mantes to tick a box in the Stevens itinerary and are rewarded with a beautifully ornate cathedral, that gets even better when you view it from the grass amphitheatre on the opposite bank of the Seine. The sun is still out so we both get out our wettest items and strap them to the back of our bikes whilst cycling along. We take the quiet roads to Nanterre just outside Paris however these are quite hilly in places and the average speed is not too hot. We wheel into Nanterre about 6ish and fall about laughing when we find it is twinned with Watford. Onwards we trot to Paris, Port Maillot, and the Bois de Boulogne; Home of the only camp site in Paris and also rather a hub of sexual activity for ladies and men of the night, although any time of day seems to be a good time for a little business as we see some bodies disappear into the woods. Just in case the camp site does not have a supermarket we stop at a shop and pick up supplies. Here I find 4 new beers. Although one is Kronenbourg its called “Jamiroquai, Rock Dust, Light Star”, that is the name I promise you. Our sack magique is full with beer and we find a spot in camp next to two his and hers German Rohloff equipped bikes. Now where did I put my can of navigator.

Day 12: Elbeuf to Mousseaux-sur-Seine, France. Mon Pneu et es Plat

Not a sound in the night in our Pine Tree clearing and we wake to the sound of the odd pitter patter of rain but nothing serious. Packed and ready to go we negotiate the semi track we crossed last night and as expected it comes out 100 metres up the road from where we dipped into the deer track. The drizzle starts and we descend back towards the Seine. Just as we are negotiating our way into the town my back tyre goes flat. Probably due to riding in the woods fully loaded two days in a row. The puncture should be no big deal. We take cover under some trees opposite a petrol station and get to work. Rule No 1 of any bicycling, be it 1000 or 1 mile away from home is be equipped to mend a puncture. I have a pump, I have a puncture kit, I have a spare tube but but but I never got round to checking how to take off the back wheel before I left. It has been at the top of my to do list for two months but aerospace cutlery and inflatable lounge bed/mattresses/chairs seem to have taken over in the priority stakes. The front wheel I have already changed so no probs there but because of my Rohloff Hub gears the rear cable connectors are not like anything I've seen or used before. I did look at a video before I left and I know some twisting is involved but cant seem to twist anything to help me. I start undoing a few nuts, a few wires go ping and the wheel is removed. I replace the tube whilst Maddy mends the old one and fit the wheel back to the bike. Only thing is, the gears are not working properly, by properly I mean at all. Both Maddy and I get our engineering heads on and try to work out what has happened. I must point out that since I've owned this bike I've done 1500 miles on it and never had a puncture. This is why I'm now in this predicament. Maddy makes a coffee in the espresso pot and I let the magic of caffeine work its wonders. Within half an hour It's all worked out and I think it actually feels better than before. Next stop Gaillion. Where we arrive down a seriously fun hill with promise of a Mcdonalds. Say what you want about the kiddy fattening corporate behemoth. It always has a toilet, water and free wifi. Cycle touring heaven. Now that I've used quite a few on this trip I don't even pretend to be a customer. I go in, buy nothing, find a power socket and log on. Updates done we head for Vernon via Châteaux Madeleine. The Châteaux is now a private residence that lets out rooms, Chambre D'hotes style. Probably catering to people on the way to Claude Monet's House and the famous garden there where he painted the water lilies and so many other works. Coincidentally we had come here earlier this year in the old Fiesta and had a little chuckle that we actually knew where we where. Even funnier was that just up the road we had camped whilst driving down to Spain in the old Fiesta the year before. We stop to smell the beautiful perfume of the garden as we pass and head off into some little used roads in search of said camp site. Mountain Goat having done two days in the wood decides that a shower is now needed. I of course oblige willingly. We aim at a site on the map not knowing if its the one or not and come to a dead end at the end of a dirt track that just leads to somebodies house. Just as we arrive in the drive way a car pulls out and we ask directions. No problem I reply and off we go following the car, who it seems is taking his dog for a walk, bouncing along in front of the car. After a few kms along the side of a farmers field we depart and find le camping. This is the biggest shock to my system so far on the trip. Not only is it 16 euros for the night but there are people, tourists and many many pitches all next to each other. As camp sites go it's not that bad but after woods, tow paths and the solitude that comes with it, it really is a shock. Tent up, mattress turned to seat and beer in hand and its not too bad being able to do everything in public after all rather than hiding in the darkness but I can't wait to get back in the hedges and ditches and sneaking away with the owls and deer.

Day 11: Cleres to Elbeuf: The Legs Start to Complain.

It turns out we were camped not far from a zoo which would explain the crazy noises at night. The woods makes good cover and we are not disturbed at all. We pack in the rain that makes it through the trees and the tent gets a proper soaking. Black bags are the order of the day. Today I rock the waterproof hot adventurer look of cycling shorts, cycling top, cycling sandals and waterproof socks. Watch out Paris here I come a la mode. We escape our woody retreat and hit the D3 again towards Rouen. A cathedral awaits. We hit some hard hills very quick and the legs get a punishing, they are the hardest we've encountered so far, but walking up is not an option. The drizzle hangs in the air all the way to Rouen and as we descend into the City the spires of the various cathedrals are visible. Rouen pleases the eye with its twisty turny timber framed buildings leaning haphazardly one way or another ready to fall down and take the whole street with them. The Cathedral is impressive but fairly sparse as cathedrals go inside. I get a few strange looks from other tourists as we have not only wandered around in the opposite direction to everyone else but I also have my head cam still attached to my head. We take a bread and cheese lunch outside in the square and the drizzle eases for a while. We then make the short jaunt South towards Elbeuf. Stevens ended up here by mistake and we have similar problems taking the a straight road out of town instead of hugging the River Seine. At some point we end up on a road that I can only guess is off limits to cyclists as quite a few automobilists give us a toot and wave their arms. It's quite a faff to find out where to go next as we come off at the next junction. After bombing down a dirt track we arrive at the bank of the Seine and take the path along the river out towards Elbeuf, although this turns into a dirt track and then we end up underneath the motorway we were on earlier. If it was dark we would probably end up being mugged or used as firewood, its a nice place. Finally we wheel in to the centre ville. It's a wash with many different styles, races, cultures and clothing. More than a few different African languages can be heard chatting away outside bars and cafes. Lidl invites us in to peruse the bargains and supplies are purchased and we hit the road. Mountain Goat seems to be oblivious to leg pain but mine are burning at the slightest gradient. We climb a hill out of the town and spy a deer track into the woods. MG makes a recky and we disappear into the greenery. The path fizzles out but we push hard through the undergrowth and pop out on a semi tarmacked track. We cross this and delve deeper before finding a lovely clearing in the pine trees. We create a nice log free pitch and dine on pasta and Normandy beer. A fine place to spend the night. The tarp extension goes up for the first time and we have plenty of room to move about in the dry if it rains.

A solitary owl hoots away in the darkness and soon we are away with the owls too.

Day 10: Seaford to Cleres, Goodbye Island Hello Mainland

English Leg Facts

10 Days, 346 miles, 546km, 58 ½ hrs of cycling, 5.61mph ave speed including walking and stopping, 21901 calories burnt, 14969 feet climbed, £1.07 spent on average everyday including Maddy :) 4 new beers tried. Riots places visited 5. Interrupted trowlies 2. Incidents 1. Best animal seen so far, a dead deer.

Awoke with a full belly from the night before and had a cooked breakfast on top of that. Our Amazing hosts R&C fed us well and then insisted we take half the contents of their larder and freezer with us. Loaded up like mules we can just about get the bikes upright, We wave goodbye to Seaford and head for Newhaven to make the 09:30 ferry to Dieppe. No catastrophes en route and all goes well. 4 hours to catch up on stuff and have a nice rest, perhaps even a nap...No chance.

The wind is even worse than yesterday and the sea is whipping up in the harbour. Once the ferry is on the move the full extent is felt and it rocks like nothing I've experienced before. I try doing some work on the laptop and within five minutes feel sick. I keep having to go outside even though the captain has announced its too dangerous. Every time I open the door I'm hit with some one's smoke who has gone outside for a ciggy, this makes it worse. After a few hours of this the sea calms a bit and normal service is resumed. We dock in Dieppe and wave goodbye to our fellow cyclists and some vintage car owners who are off on a rally and head into town. Mapped up and eager we head for Cleres our first destination after Dieppe. We climb a long hill out of the port and the legs have to start working straight away. We pick up the cider route and stay in the bottom of a valley running along side a river. Drizzle is the order of the day interspersed with sunshine. We reach Cleres about seven and purchase some local cheese and cider just like in the book. We then cycle out of town still following the D3 road and find a good spot to camp in the woods. The cider and the cheese make an excellent appetizer to the main course. The rain is on and off so we hide inside the tiny tent to the sound of peacocks and other strange woodland creatures that would not sound out of place in the jungle .