I have been on the road for only a few days, but already I can sense there will probably be good and bad days. And then there will be just average days, like today.
Cycling on generally poor quality roads through endless fields of potatoes and assorted cereals does lose its charm pretty quickly although it does give me plenty of time to think about items that I can offload as I am increasingly concerned about the weight of everything in my back panniers. And at 98K, I am not exactly a petite slip of a thing either. In fact I think a lot about mechanical issues at the moment and it won’t be long until some of my spokes start giving way.
Punctures I am more familiar with, although not too much as I have Schwalbe Marathon Plus tyres which are indestructible. But still, finding smooth roads was key to an enjoyable trip and so far, every day brought with it sections of unpaved torture.
Can’t say the villages were up to much either; charmless, functional and largely uninhabited. At least I could count on a boulangerie, even if the croissants were unexceptional and nothing compared to the well cooked Pret a Manger versions back home.
One good thing about taking D roads were the supermarkets and out of town stores dotted along them. The main ones were Auchan, Leclerc and Intermarché but I was always at my happiest in a Super U, or even better an Hyper U. At the beginning I was wary of leaving my fully laden bike unattended and always locked the frame. But as time went by, I didn’t even bother doing that and just did my best to park out of sight of the main road.
Sure, an opportunistic thief could just ride off, but not at speed. There was an outside possibility of someone with an empty van quickly loading it up but then there is also the chance that absolutely anything bad could happen to me at some point, so best just suck it up and deal with that unlikely event when it happens. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about some of the Eastern European countries mind you; they were an unknown to me and a lack of knowledge or understanding is the principal reason for fear and suspicion in everything, right?
Heatwave was still in full force and today was the hottest so far. I limped into my campsite after only a measly 75KM, at 2.00PM when the sun was at its hottest. Two things immediately struck me once I had negotiated the the longest ever shitty driveway; the swimming pool and Celine, the manager.
The swimming pool, albeit very small had its obvious charm given the sweltering conditions.
Celine, due to the most incredible set of maloccluded teeth I have ever seen. They were hypnotic, chaotic and I did wonder if God had perhaps provided her with an extra set but then decided to push them all together up front in the manner of the Hardy Tree at St Pancras Old Church. She was animated and lovely though and was the first person thus far to request my Covid Pass before registration. She explained that without it, she would be fined, go out of business as well as any other number of disastrous events. It was hard to keep up with her and not keep being drawn back to stare at her gnashers.
One of the worst things about cycle touring in the boiling heat is that when you do finally arrive at your campsite, that is just the beginning and not the end. You still have to put the damn thing up and then you have to cook your own food.
I chose my spot, as always with shade in mind and where the sun would move throughout the afternoon to ensure the maximum amount of it. I didn't notice any other tents at all, just loads of mobile homes, caravans, glamping style cabins and permanent bungalows all situated around what looked like a suspiciously stagnant looking pond which of course meant mosquitos. Great.
The facilities were mediocre at best and although the residents seemed polite enough, there was a lot of curtain twitching as I unpacked and set up my tented home. Word had got around that I was cycling to Istanbul and I was an object of curiosity and amusement.
No worries, there was still the pool so I took my swimming trunks and decided to lay out, bring my laptop, wait for the bar to open and treat myself to a chilled beer. Within seconds I was flat out under the umbrella and awoke a short time later to find myself surrounded by small kids and their mothers whilst behind them, in the bar area, a load of unsmiling and unhealthy men were just staring at me. It just didn’t feel right, in any way. It hadn’t helped that I had misunderstood the bar manager when he asked what I wanted and I loftily instructed him to bring over the delicious beverage poolside. He stared blankly at me and shouted at me to 'get over here' in no uncertain terms when he returned with my beer in plastic glasses. I think I even heard the word 'connard' in there somewhere. I drank my beer and left.
I have decided that I need front panniers. I had decided against them on the advice of Barry and blogs that I had read never mentioned them, but now I figured they would be better for weight distribution and give me some much-needed space. When fully laden, there was little additional room for groceries along the way and it was a constant struggle to squeeze in supplies as I went. I asked the guys in the bar if they knew of a bike shop in the area, and they suggested Decathalon which was only a short ride away. Was that a 'tête de con' I heard being muttered as I walked away?
Turns out to be a 10-mile round trip through the town of Saint Quentin, a soulless place that formed an integral part of the Hindenburg Line during World War I, and had not fared well as a result. At first I had considered stopping off for a cheeky beer, unaccustomed as I was to seeing large towns en route but given my day and that I just wanted to get my panniers and then home again, I decided against it.
Once I made it to Decathalon, I realised that its not the panniers that are the problem, it’s the front supports that are the issue. They didn't hold any in stock and were not sure that my bike could accommodate them anyway. I was exasperated and even give Balfes a call to check that I am not being fobbed off by some sales guy who can’t be bothered.
Turns out it was a great call, Balfe’s couldn’t really assist but after talking me through the various options including me sending a picture to them at the store to see if my bike was able to even support them, the sales guy started asking me about my trip. It was the first English person I had spoken to since Ed on the ferry over here and of course I said I was having a good time. Which of course, I had been and talking about it to this stranger on the end of the 'phone really perked me up. On the way home, I stopped off at a Burger King and had 2 whopper with cheese. Love how there is no limit to what you can eat when cycle touring.
That night I slept really well, amused to listen to my neighbours who clearly knew each other, getting absolutely hammered and joking about me before I nodded off. Either they didn't think I understood or were too smashed to care, but it was then I realised that I was not so much in a campsite as a trailer park. There's a first for everything.
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