The Diary
Days 1-10 Days 11-20 Days 21-39 Days 40-48 Days 52-59 Days 60-69
Day 70 - 20 June - (La Rochelle to Orleans) - Miles Covered – 245
Today marks the end of our tenth week on the road, and we are starting to get “the Blues” as we keep poring over our maps, reminiscing over where we have been. Indeed, we are positively reluctant to load the bikes, as if the mere act will bring us closer to the end of our “epic” journey. But, we have one more country to visit, and people to see en route, so we start our journey, “heavy footed” toward the Loire valley, following the delightful C- and D-roads through textbook-quaint French villages.
Memories of a wonderful time spent in Saumur were enough to make it our destination for lunch, and the lazy, French-paced route through the countryside to our destination fuelled our appetites. We arrived in the central square in Saumur, to find it block by………….. THE DUTCH!! Some distant relative of Lars’ had parked his enormous camper van right in the turning circle in the square, blocking the entire place off and causing a huge tailback that, effectively, tied itself up in the series of bends and off-shoots that led into, and out of, the place.
Again, the advantage of bikes came to the fore, as we squeezed past the mayhem, parking the bikes directly outside our chosen restaurant, and enjoying a cool beer while we watched the second half of France vs. Holland.
The route that meanders its way alongside the Loire river is truly delightful, passing the most exquisite Chateaux on the way, that stand testimony to the incredible wealth that existed before the Revolution, and justify the sobriquet “most expensive valley in France” that accompanied it at the time.
Orleans, like many of the large towns that surround Paris, is typically contradictory. Parts of the town are achingly beautiful, suspended in time from better days, when the incessant march of technology and manufacturing seeks to destroy all that is special, and delicate. Other parts are awkwardly repulsive, with confused warehouses and industrial estates vying for the limited space available. You can look at a part of the town from one angle, and see that Orleans of fantasy and romance, but a short move to another angle exposes its “warty” side. We found ourselves right in the middle of the two!
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Isolated somewhat, with our own thoughts and reflections upon our almost-completed journey, we spent a subdued evening in Orleans, restricting our exploration to the banks of the Loire, and watching the last rays of the evening sun disappear over the modern roofs of the town. We took this opportunity to enjoy a quiet chat, acknowledging how lucky we are, to have the partners, friends and relatives who have been so supportive in our mammoth “quest”.
Strangely, in spite of the effects of the journey, weather and emotions that were “bubbling under” as the darkness surrounded us, neither was keen to let the day go, and we continued to sit there, staring across the valley, into the distance from whence we had come.
Day 71 - 21 June - (Orleans to Verdun) - Miles Covered – 211
Don’t you just love the “ French Way” of doing things? They are the first to sign up to a regulation-length sausage, the first to agree to straight bananas, and the first to ignore ANYTHING they’ve signed up to. I used to think that they were the worst “parkers” on the planet, but the Italians are in a league of their own (see previous photos!)
What I love about the French road system is that it is the only country where you can not only choose a route, but ALSO choose the type of journey that you wish to take.
Choose a letter from E,A,N,C&D, and that will determine the type of riding/driving experience that you will have.
E and A largely refer to the same roads, namely the dreaded “Peage”, or Autoroute, where you will be subjected to some of the best-laid and maintained roads in Europe, with some of the fastest, well-cambered bends I have ever experienced, but completely prevented from seeing any of the country through which you rush! Indeed, so concerned are the French authorities, that you may miss some of the culture, beauty and history of the regions surrounding these enormous, almost deserted “hyperways”, that they put up regular signs, painted by what seems to be “disenfranchised youth”, displayed a parody of what you are missing! If you don’t believe me, someone try and explain the “ Crecy” picture on the A29!
N refers to the French “Rue Nationale”, which gives regular delights, such as three-mile long avenues of mature trees, either side of beautifully undulating blacktop, but this choice has to take into account that you will pass directly through the centre of every town, village, hamlet and “commune” on the way. I love these roads, but they can double the time you take.
The C & D roads, as you may imagine, take you further and further into the “Bundu”, but, occasionally, they can provide some of the most breathtaking riding experiences possible. In places, it seems as though these smooth roads are actually floating above the gently undulating fields and “forets Domainiales”, stretching as far as the eye can see, with little or no turn-offs, so that the “energetic” biker can fantasise that Rossi is on his tail, Stoner just round the corner, and the chance of a podium in his sights! The downside is that, if you need to be travelling west, these roads will usually be going South, East, and North!
After the “reflective” and subdued evening before, we were keen to get back on the road this morning and, as the first warm rays of the day shone into the car park, we loaded up our steeds in readiness for a day’s meandering through the French countryside. Today was going to be a C&D day!
Opting out of another Hotel breakfast, we elected to head for the town of Montargis, first following the banks of the lazy brown Loire, then heading across the valley into what is known as the “ Venice of the Gậtinais”. This is the second largest town in the Loire, and gets its nickname from the number of canals and rivers that run through it.
Stopping near the central square, we took a short wander, to find a suitable place for breakfast, and found one of the typical, ubiquitous bars, nestled by one of the many bridges and overlooking one of the canals. On enquiry, we were informed that, whilst our host would be delighted to serve us fresh coffee, he was, sadly, not able to offer anything else at such an hour. However, if we would like to visit the local Boulangerie, he would be quite happy for us to “picnic” at his establishment!
It could only be in France………!
In the UK, if you saw a chap, sitting at the bar of your local pub, at about 0830 in the morning, with a glass of whisky in his hand, you would be forgiven to think that he was either frozen in position from a previous night’s excesses, or that someone had a serious problem. In France, the sight of several locals, at the bar, “Pastis” or “Calva” in hand, at the same hour, doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. Vive La France!!
Leaving Montargis, we threaded our way towards Verdun, passing through the picturesque town of Nogent-sur-Seine. With family waiting for us at our destination, we were keen to make it in time for a late lunch, although the route, through Sezanne and Vitry-le-Francois, very nearly tempted us to make several detours, to savour the delights of the region’s timeless beauty. With steely resolve, we soon arrived in the historical town, to find that a festival was being prepared for that very night! Sadly, no-one knew about OUR arrival, though we like to think that the co-incidence was “heaven sent”.
Meeting up with one’s family, after such an intense journey, causes a distinct conflict of emotions, almost to the degree that we would advise NOT to combine the two. In the first place, it serves to remind you exactly how small and insignificant we all are in this world, as ABSOLUTELY NOTHING seems to change while you are away. It bursts the bubble of “fantasy” that builds on a long journey, as if our existence has been slightly “out of the loop”. We ALL like to think that, in some small way, we contribute to the world’s continued spinning, but the truth is that, “Sorry Mate”, we don’t really count. At the same time, the delight that we see in our loved ones’ eyes reminds us how blessed we are, and that it is PEOPLE, not “Stuff”, that really count in life.
With these somber, but warm, sentiments in our hearts, we were emotionally and physically ready for an afternoon’s exploration of the WW1 memorials and Battle sites at Verdun.
No words, in this diary, can truly do justice to the hardships, terror and unnecessary loss of life that still echoes around this place. The monuments to the Fallen, the preserved battlements, trenches and even barbed wire, stand hauntingly, begging us to learn from such folly. The biggest impression, however, is when you take a stroll through the forest (no tree is older than 90years!), being careful NOT to stray from the beaten path (UXB’s!!!). Initially, the severely undulating ground seems to have been the work of a team of time-driven, drug-induced JCB drivers, looking for buried treasure. But, as you sit on the edge of one of these hollows, it slowly dawns on you that this is the result of 100’s of thousands of artillery rounds, that completely obliterated whole towns that stood here, and the trees that stand now are the result of Nature’s attempt to heal her deepest wounds.
Verdun – we owe it to THEM ALL, to try and learn from such lunacy – go there!
That night, still deeply moved from what we had seen, we enjoyed a pleasant family supper, and soon our spirits lifted, not only from the alcoholic “crutch” that is “Le Vin Rouge”, but also from the confusion of Rock Bands that were competing on several different stages in the Town. At one point, Santana, Springsteen and the “Straits” all seemed to be “at it” together, though with different songs, keys and platforms! It was BRILLIANT! Only in France! The joint was really jumping, although we never actually found out what the occasion was!
More to avoid the dense crowds, we decided to walk away from the cacophony of dueling bands, and followed the Quai de Londres, by the banks of the Meuse river, where, gradually we were able to hear ourselves think and were able to talk about the trip and the next day, where we would be entering our 37th, and LAST, country! We had almost done it but, strangely, were both reluctant to admit that it was coming to an end. Had we really been all that way? It was starting to resemble more of a dream than reality, and we didn’t want to let it go.
Day 72 - 22 June - (Verdun to Reims) - Miles Covered – 219
We awoke to a grey, threatening sky, which seemed to be warning us that it had something in store for us today. Over breakfast, we sensed a “frisson” of nervousness and anticipation that, some 90-odd years ago, in exactly the same place, our ancestors would be feeling 100 times more, but with a large dollop of terror thrown in, as we watched the first spots of rain hit the cobbles outside.
Saying our farewells to family was another “tick in the box” of our almost-over trip – the next time we saw any of our loved ones would be once it was all over, and we would be “back to normal”. Somehow, though, NOTHING gets back to normal when you’ve been through such a major, life-affirming and changing experience!
The road toward the border with Luxembourg was the perfect way to mend the “Blues” – delightful twist and drops through open fields and cooling forests, the only downside being the occasional squall that splattered through our route, although it never really caused a problem. Indeed, once we hit he border, as if to celebrate our “final frontier”, the sun came out, drying the roads and welcoming us into the tiny country. As soon as possible after passing the EU sign, we pulled over and spent a poignantly emotional moment, the number “37” permanently etched in our minds!
Our destination for lunch was Echternach, to the east of the country, on the advice of our “old friend” Lars, and it proved to be the perfect spot. The sun shone warmly on our arrival, and throughout our lunch on the central square, and the place really was a biker’s paradise. During our stay, there must have been over 100 bikers that passed, stopped and re-fuelled in the square, with our heavily-laden beasts forming the centre of attention!
Fully satisfied, and mindful of the darkening skies (clouds, not a long lunch!), we headed off, out of Luxembourg and in the direction of the Champagne capital of Reims, where we would be spending our last “public night”, before moving on to my house in Normandy the following day.
The roads out of Luxembourg were fantastic, although the “weight” above our heads was becoming ominous, and the route into the Champagne region made us wish we had been on lean, mean sportsbikes, if only to outrun the imminent downpour. However, in spite of the weather, we found ourselves looking for any opportunity to “drag our feet” and prolong the end of our trip, deciding to pull over at the side of the road , so that Andy could “christen” his “Jetboiler”. As luck would have it, as we supped from our mess tins (NEVER use evaporated milk with instant chocolate!), the heavens opened, and we huddled together under a large oak tree, avoiding the worst of the deluge. Just as quickly as it had arrived, the squall passed, and the sun burst forth, drying the road in minutes, and we set out again, no worse for the experience, if a little “elated” by the incredible sugar rush.
Judging that the worst of the weather had passed us by, we headed out once more, on the last push to Reims. No sooner had we set off, however, that, from nowhere, the squall seemed to re-think its course, and came charging back after us, grinding its teeth with thunder and flashing its eyes with lightning that actually bounced off the road in front of us! For the first time in the entire trip, we were forced to pull into the shelter of a roadside copse, as the rain found its way to our very cores!
One look at the photo taken by Andy, of my bedraggled state shows you what we went through. Murphy’s Law! The weather Gods finally caught us!
Once the downpour had reduced to a mere waterfall, and the sparks no longer bounced off the blacktop, we resolved to push as hard as possible for Reims, where the prospect of a warm shower, dry clothes and a dram gave us the courage to ignore the threatening skies above us.
Miraculously, that was the last of the seriously bad weather and, once again, the sun returned, drying the roads almost instantly. The problem was, however, with our saturated states, that this turned us into human steam cookers, and our vision was reduced to squinting through almost-closed eyes, with open visors, giving the best impressions of a pair of Vampires caught out in the open!
On the route, we approached a cemetery that seemed very different to the “gentle” ordered and impeccable monuments to Allied losses that are so familiar in France. This turned out to be a German cemetery, and the atmosphere was altogether more sad and cloying, as the rusting iron crosses tried in vain to retain the coarsely painted names of the ignorant and “innocent” boys that never really knew why they were there. Remnants of insulting graffiti stubbornly clung to the entrance walls, and, in spite of Germany’s constant tending of the sites, you could not help but feel sorry that, even in death, ALL are tarred with the brush of the few.
With relief, we spotted the impressive spire of Reims Cathedral on the horizon, and the sun shone brightly as it started to lower in the sky, casting longer and longer shadows behind us, as if they themselves desired to prolong the end of our journey and stretch back to where we had come from.
Pulling up outside the hotel, DIRECTLY outside the front doors, we squelched our way inside, and soon felt revived, both inside and out. Strangely, we didn’t really want to “chat” with anyone that night. Like seasoned veterans, we seemed to have “that look” in our eyes, indicating “bigger things”, and this made fellow bikers that were staying in the same hotel give us our space, as if they knew that something special was drawing to a close.
Sleep came slowly that night, as we both considered the “life” that we had led for the last ten weeks, and we both wondered if things would ever seem the same again…….
