I guess turning 40 does funny things to people, for my mate Rick, it made him want to cycle from London to Paris. Four of us got together in the pub one night and discussed how we might do it. Some research had been done, getting there seemed straightforward. Getting back on the other hand, appeared somewhat more difficult, due to Eurostar not being very bike friendly.
After a bit more research and a few phone calls, we had a plan, adding to our number James, the only person we knew who would drive a thousand miles to have a free night out. The only other question was when we would go, with Andy seemingly working in the Far East for much of the summer and early autumn, we would go on the last weekend in October.
Myself, Rick, Bob and Andy met a Manchester’s Piccadilly Station a little after 8am and sat ourselves down for some breakfast. We just had our bikes and the kit we required for a days riding. Overnight gear had been dropped off with James, who was driving a van down to the South Coast to meet us in Newhaven. Rick admitted to the first accident of the trip, falling off whilst riding the fifty yards from where he had been dropped off to the station entrance.
We got ourselves and our bikes stowed on the first of the mornings cheaper trains to London and settle down for the journey. It was Friday morning. We hoped to away from Euston by 1pm and in Newhaven before dark. Take the overnight ferry to Dieppe and be at our hotel in Paris, via the Arc de Triomphe, again before dark. Have a night out in Paris and then all pile in the van and be home by Sunday night.
We arrived at Euston on time and after a bit of faffing with the bikes and taking trips to the toilet we were ready to go. As the only one of us who had lived in London, even if it was twenty years previously, it was my job to navigate us out of the city. Traffic was awful until we got over Lambeth Bridge, we made good progress on cycle routes for a couple of miles then we hit heavy traffic again in Streatham. I lived in Streatham for a while, so it was interesting to see how it had changed in twenty odd years, but I was concerned that it had taken us an hour to travel seven miles.
We made slow, but steady progress along the A23 to Croydon and Purley, where we turned on to the A22. Another nine miles eating up another hour. At Whyteleafe we spotted a pub with a beer garden, so we stopped for a quick break buying cokes in the pub. A climb out of Whyteleafe and a dual carriageway descent took us past the M25.
We were starting to make better progress, quieter road meant we could ride at a steady pace. A puncture somewhere near East Grinstead was another short delay. However, it would be dark by 5pm and with the first fifteen miles taking nearly two hours, we would never get there in daylight. The last hour of our ride was in darkness, which combined with local Friday teatime traffic, didn’t make for pleasant riding.
Reaching Newhaven, we stopped and gave James a call, then went and found him parked up in a retail park. Taking turns to get changed in the back of the van, we loaded up the bikes and ourselves and went to find somewhere to eat. Newhaven didn’t strike us as the most cosmopolitan of places; we found one of two Italian restaurants listed. It was quiet, which I wouldn’t consider to be a particularly good thing on a Friday night, but it meant that we could get a table and the food tasted good and beer went down fine.
It is probably worth saying at this point, that none of us really consider ourselves regular cyclists. We were all climbers, who for one reason or another, didn’t really climb much anymore. Andy had done a couple of Ironman events and trained for that, but cycling was his weakest of the three disciplines. Whilst I had done a few 100 mile plus rides, I was only an occasional rider, with cycling very much playing second fiddle to running. Bob was starting to get in to cycling and had done some of the Ironman training with Andy, but was still fairly inexperienced. Rick had also started to get in to cycling, but at that time didn’t own a road bike and was riding one that he had borrowed from me.
It had been a long day, but was only really the warm up. We boarded the 10pm ferry and found our cabin. After a drink in the lounge, we headed off to bed. It was a cabin for four; James drew the short straw and went off to make himself comfortable on reclining chair.
We were woken at an ungodly hour, by the notification that we would be disembarking in three quarters of an hour. As it was still pitch black outside, once off the ferry, we decided that we would park the van up and get a bit more rest. Struggling to get comfortable on the shared back bench seat of a cab van, I opted to bed down in the back of the van with the bikes and our luggage. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I was quite tired and managed to get an hours sleep.
It was still dark and pretty cold when we set off from near the port at around 7am. Andy navigated us through the quite streets of Dieppe and after a couple of minor corrections we found the “Avenue Vert”, the cycle route which would take us for thirty miles along a disused railway line to Forges-les-Eaux.
Oddly, after less than a mile the Avenue Vert was blocked by a cement works. We managed to skirt around the cement works and regain the cycle path and make good progress. The route was flat and at that time of day very quiet. After a couple of hours of trouble free cycling we reached Forges-les-Eaux. The very picture of a small French market town, we decided to stop for some breakfast and relaxed at a café eating croissants and pain au chocolat, drinking coffee and orange juice.
Suitably refreshed, we took the main road out of Forges-les-Eaux towards Gournay-en-Bray and Beauvais, climbing out of the town, then turning on to quieter roads. We had a few hours on these roads, they were great fun, virtually no traffic and rolling terrain; with the occasional busier arterial route, which despite considerate French driving, were somewhat less fun.
We passed through a number of villages; but saw little sign of life. A shop or a café would have been nice. We met James at the side of the road, we agreed that he would scout out the route and see if there were any shops or cafes, failing that he would go off route and pick up some supplies for us. It seemed French villages no longer all contained a café and a shop. We saw James again in Neuilly-en-Vexin, where he furnished us with ham baguettes and crisps.
Suitably fed, we pressed on with the last 40 or so miles of our ride, James would take the main roads from here and meet us at the hotel. All was well until we got on the road to Pontoise, were much confusion about the correct route ensued, then again once we had crossed the Oise River. After this we had a fantastic section of fast riding following the Seine towards Sartrouville and then across towards Bezons. The roads were now busy and we were losing daylight, our second crossing of the Seine involved carrying our bikes up the steps of a pedestrian bridge.
Mainly following cycle lane we finally had sight of the Arc de Triomphe, although it was still some distance away. Waiting to cross a busy road, we had a fortuitous encounter. Another cyclist, asked us where we were headed, he was English and working in Paris, he said that he would guide us the last section of our journey to the Arc, as it wasn’t far out of the way.
We followed him through the Paris rush hour traffic, via a couple of large junctions, following his lead we were much braver with the traffic than we would have been without him. Within ten minutes or so we had travelled the two or so miles to our destination. We thanked our guide and he went on his way. We had made it.
Our hotel was about four miles away on the Avenue de Flandre, once we found the right road leading from the Arc de Triomphe, this was straightforward and uneventful, until we stopped outside of the hotel and Rick bookended his journey by crashing in to the curb and falling off. After having some fun trying to get in to the underground garage where the van was parked and then out of the garage and in to the hotel, we checked in and went up to our rooms to shower and change. I was feeling pretty good, although I had made the mistake of wearing my bib shorts under my winter bibs, rather than over, which had caused them to dig in and break the skin, stinging a little in the shower.
Changed we met in the hotel bar and had a quick couple of drinks, James who had been waiting for a while was a few drinks ahead of us. With a choice of Heineken or Affligem, the stronger, tastier Belgian offering was always going to win and went down exceedingly well. Avenue de Flandre is full of hotels and towards the budget end of the Paris tourist market, most of the local food offerings reflected that, but we had been tipped off that a short walk would take us to Le Bastringue, a bristo favoured by a younger French crowd. We had a great meal of steak with wine and beer and returned to our hotel happily full.
Piling in to the van in the morning, we realised that James had quite a nervous time parking it the day before, the clearance to the roof was minimal and also required driving a specific route out of the garage to avoid even lower sections of pipework. The drive out of Paris was fairly uneventful and we were soon motoring towards the coast. We stopped at hypermarket and ensured that the remaining space in the van was filled with beer and wine, then headed for the Eurotunnel terminal.
Thoughts and Memories 