Tim Gunn: up at 6.00 am seen crouching: fettling our demanding cycles ready for a long day's fright.
Back in the early 1990s on his return from holiday, a boss told me to visit Vietnam as soon as possible ‘before the tourists ruin it’. I wondered what I would be if not a tourist ruining it, and therein lies the great deception that, when in the company of foreign friends we are anything but tourists. France is a foreign country, I’d argue that Germany isn’t. When in Germany I feel as if I’m in a cleaned up ordered version of parts of America, France seems a different culture, hence; a different time.
I was bought up to admire the British OS (Ordnance Survey) maps, but, when in France we settled for the Michelin ES (Expandable Survey) versions, where distances seem to stretch and bend depending on the mood of the cartographer. How come that last 4 kilometers can seem to last for miles and miles? Yet the first whisk past at the slightest turn-of-pedal? I loved their flimsy yellow covers, I love their ‘collect-the-set’ map of France on the back to show one the tiny area your particular copy covered, and I liked their lush colour, their obliteration of detail, far less mechanical and spacious than our OS maps, in a country that appears to boast so much more room. (and far-reaching-views)
Todays’ ride was the best so far, we battled out of the Etap after a Spartan breakfast that would have been considered being put on a ‘special diet’ in Colditz, the drizzle lubricated our bearings and we were off up the N1 trying to get to Montreuil for lunch and… what a road. A surface that would bless Herne hill velodrome, the massive wheels of our Pennies glided (glode?) over the road, traffic was light and the road was straight, as straight as the Romans made ‘em in those days, destroying anything in their path, a bit like the M1 but without the traffic. Thinking of ‘the traffic’ reminded me of that great poster I once saw in London, it said ‘you are not stuck in traffic; you ARE traffic’ like a Banksy koan of great importance, though lost on most drivers I suspect.
Montreuil included omlettes and frites and we were back on the road, off the N1 up a deserted beautiful valley to Devres (past many a Desres) for a swift fortifier. Why on earth do cheating cyclists bother with EPO chemicals? One cup of hot ‘Choky’ and you’re good for another 50 with no trouble at all, it even numbs the pain that rides up through the 25 inch spokes, up the forks, up the spine, over the springs and into the regions of Nether.
Our blessed relief, Saint Tim of Gunn organises the annual Vintage Sports Car Club bicycle ride in Boulogne, has done for years. Whole families have been conceived and have grown up cycling round the ancient Boulogne Grand Prix circuit, now gradually eroded by the A16. The 15 Tabac stops are now down to 4. One is so good I built a replica in our basement at home, kitchen zinc and all. On his ride; after a monstrous picnic on the green at Alincthun one stumbles off into part two only to jettison ones lunch backwards as you experience the sobering MASSIVE hill down to a tight right turn. The hill goes on and on, my penny used to run away with itself, relief all round on reaching the bottom. So here it was again, I welcomed it as one does an old friend only…. This time it was in reverse. I am pleased to say that my tiny 50” wheel out-cheated the hill, I strode over the summit, king of the mountains, demanded the polka dot jersey, feeling right chuffed and grateful for that cup of Choky. Mr. Wiggins take note.
And so to a lovely, lovely B&B in Landrethun De Nord, Juliette is cooking for us and I’m getting hungry, none of us want to leave for that boat that sales tomorrow….
A medley of wheels at lunchtime, Bob Taylor's 1886 Rudge to the fore