Not the best night sleep, my mind whirring away thinking about rain, had I calculated my timings to make it to Reims in time for to avoid the deluge? Then moving onto my sleeping bag, was it too thick and bulky (yes, btw), should I find a post office, send it home, find an Intersport to buy another lighter, more modern one and if so, what would be the right thickness. How to find the Intersport, what was the most efficient way of timing, post office first or Intersport. An express train of overthinking that gathered speed as the night wore on.
As usual, morning brings clarity – no rush so best just leave it for the moment. Why can’t I ever just do that at 3.00am in the morning instead of wearing myself out all night, FFS!
The road to Reims was ramrod straight. On and on and on it went, fading away into the distance; 50KM with barely a kink for the entire way. On the one hand monotonous, but on the other, cooler conditions made it perfect cycling weather. Endless flat fields, the odd tank monument and Reims Cathedral in the distance.
To keep myself occupied I fixed my eye on clumps of trees, buildings, anything in the distance and guessed how far away it was and how long it would take to reach it, including the Cathedral itself until I realised it was a only massive grain silo by the time I pulled up next to it. I was feeling good and I knew I had a real bed waiting for me at the other end. I also say my first field of sunflowers which always make me feel amazing.
Given the perfect cycling conditions, I arrived easily within a couple of hours. The neighbourhood had a rather odd feel to it. Friendly enough, the owner of the local bar was effusive and welcoming when I explained that I was staying nearby. But as I sat outside cradling my shandy, I noted that most of the people in the streets appeared dishevelled but not quite homeless. A couple of arty types, but mainly a feeling of down-at-heel.
The apartment was OK-ish. Located up three flights of a dingy staircase on the far side of a bare internal courtyard in which every sound was amplified as I negotiated my various bags, sacks and ultimately bike across and upstairs. The owner had said it would be OK to leave the bike in the courtyard, but there was nothing to lock it too and given that it was open to the elements and a deluge was fast approaching, I wanted to keep the bike as safe and dry as possible. When the most important thing in the world to you right now is your bike, you want to keep it as well looked after as possible.
The place was small but the washing machine worked fine and it was so great to load it up and set it off. The living area was up an internal staircase which didn’t look like it would pass any Health & Safety standards. The sleeping area was nice enough and would do for the night, but for one night only. I am far too big to live in such cramped conditions for anytime longer than that. I popped out to the corner shop to get some bread and cheese whilst I waited for the washing to finish, planning to go out into Reims for a look later on.
And then the rain came. The noise was deafening as it thundered down into the open courtyard and it felt fantastic to know that I was warm and dry inside. I had timed everything perfectly and loving every second, leaving all my windows open to make the most of the sound. This rain continued on and off for several hours as I listened to the Liza Tarbuck show on my wireless speaker, calling home to speak to family and friends from the comfort of my immovable home.
I did think about cycling into the centre later that evening but decided to continue making the most of my abode and also planning my exit route for tomorrow, which looked rather complicated if I wanted to avoid the major N44 and unpaved tracks.
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