Top Gear Special

Thought I'd give an update about the 'Top Gear Special' happening this Saturday, because I'm sure you've all been dying to know about it... or something.

Joel and Chewstep are coming out to visit in Caen this Friday, and the concept is that I shall race them to Deauville in true Top Gear fashion, myself playing Clarkson, Joel as Hammond and John appropriately as James May.

THe course is approx. 50k on the bike, which I think I can do in about 1h45 if all goes well. In the mean time they shall have to get to the station at Caen, take the 49 minute train to Deauville, and then make it to the rendezvous.

In theory it should be pretty close, though it will probably all hinge on a few factors...

How hung over I am, Whether they miss their change, whether I puncture, and if biscuits are indeed sufficient fuel for such a feat, they haven't failed me yet. There will of course be a sufficient forfeit for the loser(s), possibly some form of Karaoke at my birthday party, or some sort of head shaving...

ANd I forgot to mention that a bee stung me by my right eye a couple of days ago, meaning I'm down to one. WHich isn't great for cycling. Hopefully the swelling will go down soon and make me look a little less ridiculous. x

And now, the shipping forecast.

Whenever you're watching football and you want something to happen, get your mum to stand in front of the telly. It works a treat. Similarly, if you get sick of Blofelt talking about the latest cake they've received at TMS, pray for the shipping forecast. It guarantees a wicket.

This isn't completely unrelated to my adventure, as the last few days have been spent in and around the department of Finnistere, known by me til now only for it's regular TMS interuptions.

The last few days have been a bit of a mixed bag really. Britanny, I thought, was flat. TUrns out it's not. Especially the Black Mountains. Where I took a 'shortcut'. And got horribly lost and ended up in the bottom of a valley it took nearly an hour to climb out of. I spent a night at Birgnagon Plage on the North coast of Brittany, which was a lovely place, and my tent practically had a sea view. However awakening Sunday morning I was in the middle of nowhere, and had to cycle, whatever the weather.

THe weather as it turns out was storms which claimed three lives, and had winds of up to 134km/h. I wisely called it a day after 30k when I hit civilisation, and gave in to the Level 3 alert. THat wind has persisted today rendering cycling far from wise, and as such I disappointingly trained to St Brieuc. Was pretty gutted as I'd got all the way from Carcassone to here without interruption, but if there's one thing I've learnt on this trip it's that you can't beat the weather.

A few random points... I set fire to a pair of Y fronts attempting to dry them on a halogen light and swiftly fled my room before it filled the hotel with smoke. I met a group of guys who thought my project was so great they bought me a Pirates of the Caribbean 'fun cone', which though not aerodynamic, did contain fun games though sadly no naughty pictures of Keira Knightley. And my daily routine has a couple of exciting changes. For breakfast I now have two baguettes rather than one, and take an afternoon break in a cafe betting on French horse racing about which I know nothing at all.

A bientot... Less than two weeks in fact. x

Red is the colour

Everyone has as some stage in their life 'caught the sun'. However few do so with the skill of the amateur 'cyclist'. Not only did I catch the sun today, rather I poached it with the panache of Strauss at second slip in the Trent Bridge 2005 test.

I'm currently camping in Carnac on the South coast of Brittany, which is delightful, and unsurprisingly rather like Cornwall. I've clocked up over 300km in the last 3 days, and feel 'sur le fil du rasoir' - approximate translation, 'on it'. 1250km to go, and 16 days left to do them. And a time trial from Caen to Deauville - news of that to follow.

Anyway, I have some Moules Frites and a demi to order. And the small matter of a football match to watch. I feel rather partisan dressed in my Liverpool Red skin...

"But this isn't the motorway, 'Dis ist die Autobahn'"

Never, ever, cycle on a motorway.

If you do decide to however, please heed this advice.

Do NOT, under any circumstances, do it after 6 hours and 130km of cycling.

Or when it's raining.

Or in rush hour.

That is all. x

Photos

For those who understandably have little interest in what I have to say.

Foolish

Only the most foolish/hardcore 'cyclist'/cyclist would have set off on Wednesday. It was one of those days where if you'd shown a blind man the sky he could have told you it was going to rain.

By a miracle however it held off, postponed for the evening. Dead certainty said the lady at the tourist information office. Now only the foolhardy would consider camping on an evening like this. And even they would look on with pity at the village idiot who sets off the next day on a bike into a 50km/h headwind, driving rain, and on a public holiday.

I however had no such sense of perspective or judgement. I was that village idiot. Such things are 'character-building' however, that's the phrase they use when they make you do something you don't want to do isn't it? Either way, it either built character, resilience, or thigh muscle.

The tour's going well now, and I've done 6 days on the bounce. Tipped 2000k today, so have around 1550 to meet my Duckworth-Lewis target (adjusted due to the 2 weeks lost to illness). The weather brightened today as I pulled into La Rochelle which was a bonus, and there's a jolly to the Ile de Ré on the cards for demain.

Ed

Inspector Clouseau, Doping and Ian Thorpe...amongst others

Well, I 'turned the corner' of this belle pays in Biarritz, where I spent a lovely weekend, and am now positively tearing up the West Coast, and currently in Bordeaux.

I can't really be bothered to structure this entry too much...so it'll just be a few completely unrelated ramblings.

Firstly, the Aussies seem like a nice enough bunch, though I was horrified by the attitudes of a few Aussies I met towards Ian Thorpe and gay men in general. They seem to feel that they and their nation 'owns' Thorpe and his gold medals, and he only retired because he's a 'f#cking poof'. And this was all said without any hint of sarcasm and rather with genuine anger.

The Saturday night, after a foray to San Sebastian and the error of Tapas and Rosé for lunch (which though delicious do not fulfil a 'cyclist's' hunger and get one a horrible afternoon headache), I had to change room at the Biarritz hostel, and found myself sharing with an Inspector Clouseau lookalike. There's simply no way that tache could be genuine...

I then ripped up to Mimizan plage, buoyed by the fantastic news of the pigs' relegation to the Championship. Yesterday saw me visit La Dune du Pyla which, being serious for a minute, was seriously incredible. It's a 117m sand dune and the biggest in Europe. From the summit you have the Atlantic to one side, and France's largest forest to the other. Yesterday it was blowing a gale and raining so there was hardly anyone their, and both the conditions and the solitude made it all the more special.

Back to talking about ridiculous stuff, there was naturally no bus to get from the hostel (in a forest in the middle of sodding nowhere) to La Dune, so I took the 'executive' decision to hitch. In the rain. And in shorts. Needless to say it was pretty grimy, though I was very lucky with my first ride, and the second, with a learner driver (sorry mum, they didn't tell me til she'd dropped me off) passed without incident.

Finally, last night was spent in the cabin in the woods with a chap, allegedly 63, who turned out to be a cyclist who cycles 30,000km a year. Which makes him either a liar - realistically probably the most likely option - or a mentalist. Or he's dopé, which judging by his anti-Armstrong attitude he could never be...though he wouldn't be the first French hypocrite now would he...

Thanks, Ed

And what does pride come before...?

Yep, a fall. No sooner was I feeling at one with the bike, or as at one as one can ever feel with something that probes such private parts of one´s anatomy in such a painful way, than I´ve come a cropper.

Not a puncture, I ´own´ punctures now, or this Spanish keyboard (Im currently day tripping in San Sebastian) which I can just about work out...but the infamous French administration system. I´ve lost my passport. Now a day waiting around in Plymouth is bad enough, so God only knows what they have in store for me here.

This ´setback´ aside, I´m feeling good. Did 5 days back to back on the bike for the 1st time last week, and I´m looking forward to my journey through my homeland* along the Cotes de Gascoigne towards Bordeaux. Sand dunes to the left of me, pichets of Red to the right, here I am, stuck on the road to Bordeaux (mispronunciation necessary for my jingle to work).


* I can by no means guarantee that this is in fact the origin of my ancestry. However for the purpose of this blog, and making me seem sunkissed, exotic and glamorous it is. Ok?

Smug

Today was a good day.

I repaired my puncture before setting off. It punctured again, on a hill, after just 20km. Not to worry, I was a picture of serenity. Then on the day's biggest climb my chain slipped off. Not a problem, I fixed it. Then, suddenly, a blissful downhill that unleashed all the height I'd climbed, and at 60km/h (sorry mum), I was facing the Pyrenees and the Southern sun.

Leaving a delicious lunch, I bumped into a bloke who it turns out was a journalist. He's now running a feature on me. Getting into Tarbes, today's destination, I found the Youth Hostel without a problem. Ive got a room to myself. And they let me bring my bike into it. And it overlooks the Pyrenees.

I told you it was a good day. I am happier than Larry.

Painful wind

Yesterday's ride saw me leave Carcassonne following my mum's visit (aaahhh, and "Hello mum") direction and destination Toulouse. The journey was 100k, in a completely straight line and never deviating from the D6113, however this does not tell the story of the pain at all.

I've talked about punctures, rain and hills, though yesterday the wind played a major part in ly comedy of errors for the first time. Heading West-North-West, the wind was blowing East-South-East, in layman's terms, straight into my face. I've not looked up yesterday's windspeed (mostly in fear that it will turn out to have been nothing more than a breeze), but I can tell you it felt like a gale. Effort that normally powers me along at over 20k/hr was yielding only 12, and it took me over 6hrs to cycle the 100k...

Aside from this little moan, I'm afraid there's not much to tell you about of the route, it was fairly uneventful, bar the moment when I looked over to my left and could see Andorra and mountains of over 3000m. That was nice. The plan is now to mission across to Bayonne, a little over 300k, before taking a well earned day off in glamorous Biarritz and possible nipping to San Sebastien just on the other side of the France-Spain border.

I hope you are well, Ed

Orange Alert

This is more of an amendment than an entry... I would like to include 'Rain' in the list of things 'cyclists' like myself despise.

Attempting to set off this morning I was practically physically prevented from doing so by the reception staff who went on to explain the area is on 'Orange alert' level 3 apparently...which transpires to mean a high risk of storms and dangerous flooding. Roads closed, traffic diverted, trains delayed and cycling certainly not a possibility. Apparently it's still sunny in Paris...

A 'cyclist's' worst nightmares

In this entry, I thought I'd refer to a few of the things that give 'cyclists' like myself cause to wake up in a cold sweat. (Incidentally the inverted commas shall remain around the word cyclist until I can change me rear tyre without wanting to kick lumps out of it and anything around.)

I'll begin with getting a puncture. It's horrible. I did the first 900k clean as a whistle, and have punctured twice in the last three days, both on the rear tyre. This means hoisting off the paniers, and pretty much everything else, before beco,ing entangled in the chain trying to get the wheel off. Then you've got to get the tyre off the rim, replace the inner tube, replace the tyre on the rim, and slot the wheel back into the frame. I'd imagine a pro can probably do this blindfolded in a couple of minutes. I have no idea what my PB is, though I shudder to think. Today's flat in fact saw me taking shelter out of the rain in the entrance to a cemetery before enacting this awful ritual - nice.

Another cause for concern is any road that requires a sign saying whether the road is currently open or not, rather like you have on ski runs. Such a sign is never a god omen, as you're in between a rock and a hard place. If it's shut, you're buggered and can't get anywhere. If it's open you're buggered anywhere because anywhere that may have to be shut due to snow is seriously steep.

And last night I discovered a new worst nightmare. A plane takes off from Heathrow every 7 seconds, or something like that, and the sound is over 100 decibels. There was a guy in my dorm at the youth hostel last night who did his level best to recreate this effect all night. At 2am I moved to the next door room, only to discover it had in fact been replaced seemingly by a sauna.

But, at the end of the day, these hardships really aren't bad compared to what many people face. So if you're reading this and you're student loan cheque's just come in and burning a hole in your pocket, get sponsoring me and help Save the Children!