B


eing thankful, and knack- ered, to make it to Dover


with about one minute to spare for checking in (doesn‘t sound like me does it!), I deduced from the vast numbers of coaches on the quayside that I would be spending the entire voyage standing in a queue if


I chose to eat in


the cafeteria. This made up my mind, which, if truth be known, was probably made up already, to head for Langans Brasserie. Three courses later I arrived in Calais.


T


o my mind there is only one way out of Calais if


you have the choice and that is to follow the Canal de Calais which is a very attractive water- way being a cul-de-sac ending some 10 miles inland at Guines. However, bugger the scenery, from a cyclist‘s point of view it is also dead flat! The remaining 20 miles to St.Omer were a differ- ent kettle of poisson – we are in France now - and gave me a taste of things to come.


D T


ay Two – St. Omer to Avesnelles (170k – we


are now talking kilometres)


he night was spent in what was, from what I could see


from wandering around town, one of the better hotels in St. Omer. Being well fed and rested, I was set up for the sec- ond day of riding along the straight red lines which appear all over the Michelin maps of northern France. Well I have to tell you that straight does not mean flat. Anyone who says much of northern France is flat


has not done it on a bike laden down with two panniers stuffed full of heavy luggage. Boring in parts – maybe, but flat – no.


O


ne feature of a tour, as opposed to a round trip


ride, is that you are likely to be going in the same direction all day. This is all very well when the wind and the sun are behind you but, on this trip – and this day in particular – the low au- tumn sun was in my eyes for most of the day and the stiff but steady southeast wind was con- stantly in my face and crippling my rate of progress. This, cou- pled with the fact that the long straight roads consisted of end- less climbs and descents, made for what was undoubtedly the most mentally testing part of the trip. The fact that this gruelling ride took me past countless English and Canadian war cemeteries did not do much to lift the spirit either.


H


owever, I never give up on France and warming up in


a crowded bistro for lunch in Arras followed that evening by a full-on meal with live jazz at my hotel made up for everything – well nearly. It is a fact that all European countries are losing their national identity, the pound is going down against the euro and fast food is getting everywhere. Despite this, the un- surpassed combination of value, quality and individuality that is a French provincial restaurant can still be found – you just have to look a little harder these days.


D A


ay Three – Avesnelles (F) to Bertrix (B) (145k)


vesnelles and its neighbour Avesnes sur Helpe are in


the centre of the eponymous region (and Park Naturelle) of Avensois – no I hadn‘t heard of it either. The countryside is roll- ing and luscious with splendid views. However, with the excep- tion of the ―rolling‖ bit, I have to take the word of the tourist board web-site for this as I ar- rived in the dark and left in thick morning autumn mist!


A


pleasant enough journey in and out of Belgium took


me to the edge of the Ardennes region where I had deliberately planned my route to take me through some interesting coun- tryside. At the Napoleonic forti- fied town of Rocroi the mist had turned into thick fog but, unusu- ally, the exhilarating 5 mile de- scent into the Meuse valley found me basking in warm sun- shine. What a transformation; following the banks of the Meuse and then the Semoy riv- ers was a sheer delight with flat roads, sun shining on golden autumn shades and, as wel- come as anything, constant changes in direction of travel along the meandering river.


A


fter lunch taken along the river – food is a


major aspect of this trip as you will have gathered by now – I stopped to take a photo when a young lady on a bike pulled up and offered to take a picture of me with the bike. She seemed fluent in most lan- guages and told me, from looking at my map – and


correcting my pronunciation, that I was heading that night for ―Bear-treece‖. After further dis- cussion, from which it was ap- parent from her angled hand movements that I was heading into more hilly country, I set off for ―Burr-tricks‖.


19


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