It's September 2024 and almost 12 months to the day since I set off on my first solo trip across France. After a turbulent year, in which I lost my Mum far too early, I haven't been away on the bike as much as I normally would have liked. I'm not complaining, hobbies are what we do in our spare time and, this year, I've had other priorities.
I haven't had a year completely off the bike, I did a weekend trip to Castle Combe and another to a friends birthday in Wales, both on my Honda. I also attended a few rallies on my 1951 Norton ES2 - I'll write a bit more about that bike and the trips I have done on it another time.
I thoroughly enjoyed all of these trips, but they aren't quite the same as setting off on my own for a couple of weeks without a plan. Last year was fantastic, I learnt a lot about how I like to travel on a bike and gained so much confidence in myself, travelling on my own without plans, and simply finding my way as I go. The result of this experience is that, this year, I am setting off with nothing booked beyond the tunnel crossing. I have my tent strapped on the back and just a vague idea of where I want to go. Here we go again!
Day 1 - Friday
232 miles + Eurotunnel crossing
Hailsham (UK) to Lalobbe (France)
The Eurotunnel is booked for 11:30 which means I want to leave home by 8:30. The excitement of my pending trip has me up early though so I'm on the road just after half seven. I had planned to go out and fill up with petrol yesterday but I didn't get round to it, so the first leg of my journey is all of about two miles before I stop at the local BP.
It's a beautiful morning and the roads are relatively quiet by South East England's usual standards. I enjoy the 60 mile ride through the Sussex and Kent countryside to Folkestone, where I arrive so early they offer me a 9:38 crossing. If this is a sign of things to come I'll be a happy man!
After saying yes please to the earlier crossing I join the queue for passport control. It's not moving very quickly, 9:38 comes and goes and when I finally go through passports I get pulled to one side for an extra security check along with a large group of Harley riders. They might dress like the Hells Angels but the most dangerous thing any of them are carrying is probably a walking stick!
Once through all the checks I join another queue for a 10:30 crossing, it's still an hour earlier than I had booked so I'm happy. The Harley riders are a chatty bunch and we pass the time talking about our plans - I don't really have any plans and I get the impression they think I'm slightly mad for setting off on my own and not even knowing where I'm staying tonight, I'm also not sure I can disagree with them. They're going to Mons in Belgium for an annual event commemorating the liberation of Mons at the end of WW2 with re-enactments going on all weekend, including a parade of tanks in the streets. It sounds like something I'd be interested in and I toy with the idea of following them. But I don't have anything booked and from what they are saying it will be heaving - finding somewhere to stay in that area could be a problem so I make a mental note to look into it next year.
Once on the train I chat to a fellow solo traveller on a GS, he's heading to Spain for a couple of weeks to meet some friends there but has no firm plans on how to get there or where he will be staying. His travels sound more like mine and we pass the 35min crossing easily. Before I know it we’re in Calais.
Although I don't have any firm plans I want to head towards the Alps this week so I get on the motorway for a couple of hours. I don't use motorways very much at all but I've ridden the area around Calais quite a bit so decide to skip it and get somewhere new. With very little traffic and a 130kph (81mph) speed limit the French motorways are brilliant, the only downside is you have to pay for them. 90mins, and €9.50 later I leave the motorway just over 100 miles south of Calais. My only stop is to fill up with petrol again, one of the downsides of my Honda NC750 as a touring bike is the size of the tank - I do have to stop and fill it up more often than I would some other bikes, but I'm in no rush so it's a minor inconvenience.
Upon arrival in St Quentin I visit the Village des Métiers d'Antan (Village of Yesteryear and Crafts). It's also the Motobecane Museum, a French company who mostly made small capacity bikes and mopeds. I'd seen it advertised and thought 'why not?'
I spend a couple of hours walking around, I have a play on some of the old toys they have before translating the French sign. 'Nous vous remercions de ne pas toucher aux jeux exposés qui peuvent se révéler dangereux en cas de mauvaise utilisation! Merci de votre compréhension.' translates to 'We thank you for not touching the games on display which can be dangerous if misused! Thank you for your understanding.' Oops, it was fun while it lasted.
I leave St Quentin about 4pm having not eaten since breakfast, I try a couple of
pâtisseries but I have left it too late and they are all closed. I have some supplies from home with me so I decide it's time to look for a campsite. Google Maps deliver and this time turn up a real gem!
Moto La Grange is a motorcycle only campsite, it's a bit further on than I planned but worth carrying on for. I arrive about 5:30 and when I ask if they have a space Anita, the owner, replies ‘Of course, but do you want a beer first’. I think I'll be just fine here.
After a quick beer I get my tent up and join the owners and other guests for a 3 course evening meal of pâté, Italian chicken with chips and a chocolate pudding. A couple more beers follow in the fantastic bar/restaurant which is an old barn crammed with memorabilia. I walk round it several times and spot something new every time. I meet a group of Dutch riders who are here for the weekend and one Polish rider (Jonas) who is doing a section of the Trans Euro Trail (TET).
The Dutch group take a little while to warm to me and start including me in the conversation, us English are not always very popular in Europe. It's only later that I find out that the one guy who was happy to chat to me from the off had overheard me asking Anita about camping in French. If I'm willing to make the effort so is he. I apologise for my non existent Dutch but, after all, we are in France. I promise him I would learn some Dutch if I was planning to go there and fortunately we are able to laugh about it and have a pleasant evening.
Jonas explains that although he lives in England and speaks fluent English he always makes a point of introducing himself as 'Jonas from Poland' rather than from England as people are so much more accommodating. I'm not really surprised that all our years of speaking loud and slow, then expecting everyone to understand us, is catching up. I cringe whenever I see fellow Brits attempting it. This group are OK though, once we've broken the ice I find they have all travelled extensively so there are many stories to be shared.
I call it a night and finally get into bed about 11pm. I've no idea what tonight is going to cost when I pay up in the morning, but I'm very glad I found this place and joined in. I'll worry about it in the morning.
Day 2 - Saturday
162 miles
Lalobbe to Charmes
I don't have a particularly good nights sleep and when I wake up at about 8am, I'm feeling tired. I'm not surprised, it normally takes me a couple of days to adjust to the tent so I'm sure I'll catch up on sleep as I go.
I have food and coffee with me for breakfast but, seeing as I didn't get any of my 'kitchen' out last night, I decide to leave it where it is and have breakfast with my new friends. What's one more extravagance before I find out how much I've spent on this place? Although I don't plan to watch the pennies quite as much on this trip as I have done in the past, I do still need to be a little careful and I have a nasty feeling I might have blown several nights budget on my very first night.
I have a huge breakfast of croissants, bread, cheese, cold meet and coffee before going to settle up. Three courses and 3 beers last night, camping and the big breakfast all together comes to €44.50. That's about £39. In the UK you can pay that for a bumpy field with one portaloo in the corner. This is why I love camping in France!
Anita asks if she can have a picture of me and the bike for their social media. It's been a life long dream of hers to open a biker only campsite in France and seven years ago she took the plunge. She has obviously put a lot of work into this place so although I'm not exactly poster boy material, I'm happy to do my bit. I ask her to take one with my phone as well before setting off for the day.
With a huge grin on my face I am immediately in the beautiful French Ardennes. I promise myself I'll come back next year for a long weekend and use La Grange as a base for a couple of days exploring this area.
After a couple of hours I stop for petrol and a cold drink by the river in Dun-ser-Meuse. I distinctly remember feeling slightly nervous last year and it taking several days for me to really settle into the trip and slower pace of things once I was away. There is none of that this year and as I sit watching the world go by I'm already feeling like I'm into the trip and there is no rush to be anywhere.
Eventually I get back on the bike and ride the next few miles to Ossuaire de Douaumont. I'm not sure whether I could fill an entire blog post about this place, or whether I don't know what to say about it at all...
During the 300 day long Battle of Verdun in 1916 approximately 300'000 men died out of a total of around 700'000 who were injured, that's right - an average of 1000 men died every day for almost a year. The Ossuary at Douaumont is a memorial which houses the skeletal remains of roughly 130'000 of these, as yet unidentified, French and German soldiers, all of whom lost their lives on the battlefield.
It's a beautiful monument and a fitting tribute, but also a very sad and sombre place to be. You can look in through some of the windows and see the bones. I decide not to take any pictures of that particular view.
On the slopes in front of the Ossuary is the largest military cemetery in France. It has the graves of, wait for it, 16’142 soldiers. The scale of the place is hard to comprehend and the pictures I am sharing here hardly do it justice. I spend some time walking between the rows of headstones and am struck by how immaculately the whole site is kept and maintained. I stop to read just a few of the headstones. I know from history lessons at school how young a lot of the men in WW1 were, but there is something about reading names and dates on a headstone that really brings it home.
After about an hour of this I'm ready to leave. I'm glad I visited, but I'm definitely happy to be riding away from the place. For the next few miles I continue to see memorials, signs for munitions bunkers, museums and trenches. But I'm back on the bike and keen to keep going now.
As I head south west the scenery and roads continue to deliver. I find it interesting how the type of farming changes along with the landscape as I travel south, it is one of the things I love about travelling like this instead of on a plane, where you just get off at your destination. That being said I'm no expert on farming, I have to stop and use an app on my phone to identify some of the crops. The main crop here seems to be Maize but I occasionally see apple and pear trees intermingled with cattle and sheep (I'm pleased to report that I don't need an app to identify the animals)
I’m still full from my breakfast but stop in Colombey-les-Belles for a cold drink in the afternoon and find a picnic area to drink it while I decide what's next. It's hot now and I'm about ready to call it a day. I use Google Maps to find another campsite and put it into the satnav. I'm about to leave when a French couple pull up in a campervan. They open the awning, get their chairs out and settle in. They then ask if I would like to join them for a coffee, it's not the first time this has happened and another reason I like riding in France so much. It also seems that the further you are from the channel or the tourist hotspots the more friendly they are towards us Brits. I'm just about to leave though so I thank them for the offer, explain I have somewhere to be and carry on.
After the delights of last night I pull up onto what can only be described as a generic French campsite a little after 5:30. Calling it that isn't really a criticism though, they're all pretty good over here. This one is right on the Moselle river and accompanying cycle route so there are a lot of bikepackers about. I set up in amongst them, have a shower and cook myself some dinner on the camping stove before calling home.
It's a nice warm evening so I sit outside reading my kindle until 10pm before climbing into my tent and falling asleep on top of my sleeping bag. It's still very, very warm!
I'm not sure what tomorrow holds yet, but I have spotted something on the map which looks promising. All being well it'll be less educational, more fun.
Day 3 - Sunday
162 miles
Charmes (France) to Waldshut (Germany)
After a better night's sleep I'm awake soon after 6. I can hear other campers moving about but don't surface until nearer 6:45. A couple of the bikepackers have already packed up and left. The weather isn't looking as good later, I do a lot of cycling at home and have done enough in the rain to be able to say I don't blame them for wanting to get going early if it means they can get their days riding in before getting wet.
I'm not that keen though and my lack of a plan means I can work around the weather. I take my time over breakfast and coffee, giving the early morning mist a chance to clear and my tent time to dry out a bit before packing up again. I don't find setting up and packing up camp a chore as long as I'm not in rush. Some of the clothes I washed yesterday are still damp as well so I hang them back on the fence for a bit longer in the early morning sun.
I chat with the German bikepacker camping next to me. She's cycling La Voie Bleue. It's a 700 km cycle route from Luxembourg to Lyon. It's all fairly flat and she's doing it over 10 days. I like the sound of doing something like that so make a note to look it up later.
Although I'm in no rush I'm still on the road by 8:45 where I follow the D10 and D420 towards Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines. This decision is based on how ‘squiggly’ they both look on the map. From there I plan to head south along the Route des Crêtes (Route of the Ridges).
I stop for fuel and pay at the pump without issue, but it's not until my 4th closed pâtisserie that it dawns on me - it's Sunday today. At least my total lack of awareness to things like what day of the week it is confirms I am well into the holiday spirit! This is a bit tricky though as France really does shut down on a Sunday, eventually I find a small street market in Grandvilliers where I buy a sausage roll and a drink, that'll keep me going.
Whilst eating I notice that the chain on my bike it looking rather dry. On closer inspection it appears my Scottoiler has packed up. A Scottoiler is an automatic system that drips oil on the chain little and often while the bike is running - the reservoir is completely full so it appears there has been no oil on the chain since I left home... Ah shit! I try priming it again with no luck so I get the spare chain lube out of the pannier and put some on manually. I might have another look at the oiler later once I'm comfortable on a campsite - the middle of a car park in 30°C heat with no shade isn't really the place.
Back on the bike I'm soon in Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines where I pick up the Route des Crêtes. This is a 55 mile route to Cernay in the southern reaches of the Vosges Mountains. The route was originally built by the French during WW1. It mostly runs just to the west of ridgeline in order to protect it from German gunfire whilst allowing easy access to the valleys on both sides for faster movement of French troops.
After yesterdays visit I can't help but think about the reasons this route was built. I try not to dwell on the horrors this area has seen but focus on what we have been left with instead, a spectacular route through the mountains. It's all tarmac now and takes in a number of beautiful passes and cols. There are a lot of bikes about, at times I enjoy myself pushing on to keep up with them, other times I slow down and take in the scenery. I'm in my element here!
The Vosges don't have the same altitude as some of the Alps so are forested and green. Just look at the pictures! I stop at various viewpoints and even try to book a ride on a 'luge on rails' which runs down the side of the mountain. Unfortunately I arrive just as they are closing for lunch. When I ask they say they'll be ‘about an hour' but don't sound very sure, deciding not to wait, I carry on.
I stop for lunch in the La Vue des Alpes at the top of Col du Grand Ballon, the highest point on the route. Unfortunately I can't see anything, the cloud is too low now so after a quick bite I descend into Cernay, the southern end of the RdC. A quick check of the map ensues before I turn east towards the German border.
I cross the Rhein, which acts as the border here, and into the southern reaches of the Black Forest where I'm soon climbing again. The roads are great, but the weather ahead looks ominous. When I stop to decide what to do tonight I realise I'm not far from a campsite I've stayed on before. I know it has a decent restaurant and a communal area with seats and tables inside. We're due thunderstorms tonight and it will be nice to be somewhere I don't get stuck in my tent.
I plug my destination into the satnav and get cracking, I make good progress on more lovely roads until, just 20 miles from the campsite, I get caught in a thunderstorm. The rain is bouncing off the road and the sky is alight. It's impressive but I'd rather not by out in it on a bike! I descend the wet switchbacks very carefully. I've never liked this bike in the wet but I had some different tyres fitted before I came away and they have transformed it. I feel confident now in a way I haven't done before so there is at least that silver lining.
I chuckle to myself as I ride past an open sided farm building, I sheltered in there last year to put my waterproofs on just after leaving the campsite I am now heading to. By the time I arrive at my destination the sun is back out and it's 30°C again. After booking in and getting the tent up I go for a dip in the Rhein before having a shower and going to dinner. The rain starts while I'm eating and continues into the night.
In the communal room after dinner I meet Ingo. He's 2 months into a 3 month cycle tour around Germany. He rides all week and then has a weekend in whichever town or city he has made it to, where his wife usually drives out from home to spend the weekend with him. On Monday she goes home and he carries on. He tells me about his first foray into cycle touring when, in 1990, having grown up in West Germany, he decided to quit his job and ride to East Germany, 'just to see what it was like'. He ended up spending six months cycling through East Germany and up into Poland. I can't quite get my head round this - he was in his early twenties at the time, I can only imagine what an experience that would have been so soon after the wall coming down. He tells me he made friends who he is still in touch with today, several of whom he has stayed with on his current trip. From his various stories I'm not sure he's got off the bike since the first trip, he's been all over the place!
We pass the evening talking about everything from cycling and travelling to politics, Brexit, and German history whilst being treated to an incredible light display courtesy of mother nature. Evenings like this remind me why I love solo travel so much - it can be very sociable. We finally call it a night at about 11pm. It's still tipping it down but my tent is warm and dry so, once again, I fall asleep on top of my sleeping bag.
I didn't get quite as far as I might have liked today because the weather changed my plans. Nevertheless, I'll cross the border into Switzerland tomorrow and start climbing into the Alps.
The Route
This is only an approximation of my actual route which shows where the main stops were. I'll upload the GPX track of the complete route at the end.
I hope you have enjoyed what you have read so far. In the next part of my journey I head further into the mountains whilst trying to dodge the worst of the weather. You can read what happened next here.
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