Before we knew it, the Alps had been and gone. Though we still sat in their shadow, in one of the more sketchy suburbs of Grenoble, we knew what lay ahead of us was not to be quite as exciting or difficult as the last week we’d just had. Rest was a rare luxury in the Alps, with our only rest days since Milan being spent either climbing up Pierre Avoi in Verbier, Mount Veyrier in Annecy, and cycling the Alpe d’Huez from Grenoble. Our next rest day was Paris, which lay 600km north.
It’s no wonder that our legs were heavy. Seeing as we were headed away from the Alps, we’d forecast little climbing, though the hills continued to roll, with the undulations taking their toll on our weary bodies. The July heat turned up a notch, and we found ourselves 130km deep without water. Mouths bone dry and morale being sapped as quick as our energy. We ducked for cover under the canopy of the nearest supermarket, and chose there and then to call it a day. We then cycled around the corner to the nearest campsite with supplies well and truly replenished. The afternoon and evening was wonderfully pleasant, with the campsite pool revitalising the team before another camp stove meal. It was almost too good to be true… and it was. As we called it a night, with the sky still lit at 11pm, I could pick out the makings of some rather ominous clouds. The clock struck 12am, in sync with the first crack of thunder, deafeningly loud, followed by a defeated murmur from Timmy’s tent, “for fucks sake”. The rain came thick and fast, so loud that we were unable to talk between us. I looked at the roof of my tent, just centimetres above my head, and thanked our beloved sponsor, Macpac, for making their tents waterproof. Timmy’s Ferino tent on the other hand was not.
Timmy was all smiles, with blue skies overhead. Little did he know what the night had in store for him
He woke, with his sleeping mat floating atop a rather large pool of water that he’d tried to prevent accumulating throughout the night. His routine was to wake up at regular intervals during the night, fastidiously patting down the inner lining of his tent with his not-so-absorbent towel. It was not uncommon for Timmy to wake up a little frustrated as a result of his gear, his tent also not regulating the heat as well as ours, with his wafer thin sleeping bag offering as much heat retention as a lidless spa pool.
The road north continued to undulate, and the weather remained temperamental. Our only speedo was destroyed by water damage, demanding an immediate replacement, and on we trooped towards the French capital, in the hope of making it in time for the World Cup semifinal between France and Uruguay. We were putting in big days, and the next day we chose to stop just shy of the town we were aiming for. I spotted a farmer, so Timmy and I approached, using Timmy’s extensive bank of French to get us over the line. Turns out the farmer spoke better English than we did French, and before long we were showered and had our tents pitched on his lawn, with his gorgeous German shepherd, Luki, keeping guard for the night. I kindly invited Timmy into my one-man tent for the night, to try prevent a repeat case of the night before, keeping him dry and oh so warm. Funnily enough, the ominous clouds did not shed a drop that night. Typical.
View from the farmer's lawn. Quite a moody sunset
It was a tough one to call. The clouds looked rather ominous
Things got cozy in my tent. We stupidly tried to squeeze into the inner shell of the tent, with my legs out the front door. Not the best sleep
The next day we were hosted by a lovely couple on their land in Vincelles, and were once again met with a storm that night. We ducked for cover just as dinner was served, and retreated to our tents to bid farewell to Fred’s 26th year on this Earth. He woke to slugs on his plate (frisbee) and cutlery, and some more miserable weather. Although I didn’t hear the alarm, upon awakening, I immediately slung out the guitar to play ‘Happy Birthday’, with Timmy, Sean and I breaking into three part harmony . It was as though the Earth stood still for that beautiful moment: the birds stopped chirping, the wind receded to a light zephyr, and a single tear graced the cheek of our dear leader. Truth be told, it didn’t sound that great, as the guitar had taken a serious beating over the last 13 months, and our voices were a wee bit groggy from a rough sleep, but hey, the thought was there! He loved it… I think.
We shared a few cold ones in the garden before heading to the river for a swim
Our wonderful Warmshowers hosts, David & Julia, who let us camp in their garden. It was in this garden that Fred would turn 26
David & Julia
Had the pleasure of cycling through some rather pretty towns
Cycling into Paris was something Fred and I got very excited about, with Le Tour de France using the ride into Paris as the ceremonial conclusion of each years race. For years we’d eagerly anticipated this ride, charging up the Champs Elysees and round the Arc de Triomphe, before getting our first sighting of the Eiffel Tower. The beauty of Le Tour de France however, is that all the roads they ride are closed, meaning their ride in is seamless and quick. Our ride in was about as far from that as you get. Timmy nicknamed the outskirts of Paris, the “red light district”, as without fail, we would be stopped at every single set of lights from Fontainebleau. It was a good thing we’d only set ourselves 70kms or so to do for the day, as we rode the mileage in about as much time as it would take us to do 120kms in the countryside.
After gawking over the one of the very few Concords on display throughout the world, we made it into central Paris, and the all too familiar shape of the Eiffel Tower emerged. It’s a strange moment, standing in front of something you’ve known your whole life, for the first time. It’s fair to say that it certainly isn't the most awe-inspiring pieces of architecture we’ve seen, but the symbolic significance and its celebrated status in history afford it our respect. After lunch in the park, we made our way to the Arc de Triomphe, which we’d been warned would be woefully dangerous and avoided at all costs. We approached it at pace, GoPros in hand, and tackled it like a Vietnamese roundabout. The more assured you are with your line and the more trust you have for other drivers, the safer it seems to be. Vietnam was colonised by the French after all, so maybe the French are responsible for the driving style adopted there? The five loops we did around the Arc had to be up there with some of the most enjoyable moments I’ve had on a bike, taking the inside channel, thus avoiding the chaos ensuing in the outer lanes. Exiting the Arc was about as exhilarating as entering it, approaching with reckless abandon as we often do.
All you need is love
The antithesis of health
Riding the Champs Elysees
This is how we approached the Arc de Triomphe. Cycle Touring Tip #242: always put your body on the line for quality footage
We cruised on down the Champs Elysees before making our way across town to our friends place, where we were being housed for the three nights. Timmy and I shared a mattress on the floor, while Fred and Sean slept in Ibtissem’s room. We made it down to a local bar in time to see the French beat Uruguay, with beers thrown about the room like water. We chose not to partake in the beer throwing celebrations, choosing to drink ours instead.
I wouldn't be surprised if the majority of people reading this have been to Paris, so I won’t indulge myself too much. We walked many miles, ate croissants, drank red wine by the canals, explored the Louvre, took photos of people taking photos of Mona Lisa, returned to the Eiffel Tower at dusk, checked out the techno nightclubs, only managed two levels of the extensive collection at the Pompidou, among other things during our short stay. You can see why so many people fall in love with this city, or fall in love in this city, but boy it sure does stink of piss.
Louvre
One of my favs. Check out Sean Wakely's Instagram account for more gems
Just a cheeky photo or people taking photos of a painting
How many smartphones can you see?
Notre Dame de Paris
Damon Albarn was a bit lost
Good work Sean
We didn't buy anything
Three pretty cool guys that just happened to be wandering the streets of Paris (this may feature on the official, Big Bike Trip Calender 2k19
Just some old dude drinking a Coca Cola and looking at something. I really wish I knew what he was looking at
Leaving Paris wasn’t an easy one to process. Though we did have a gale forced headwind that persisted throughout the day, the difficulty lay in our psychological state, with the progression of the trip beyond the French capital. The thought that Paris is just a few hours train ride from London, made it feel as though we were very much on the home straight. And in many ways we were. No major difficulties lay ahead of us. The only thing in our way now was the wind, and the unlikely event of a trip-ending crash (Timmy did crash beyond this point, but not in a trip ending kind of way). While we were excited for what awaited at the end, we joked about cycling beyond London and catching a flight to New York, where we’d make our way across and down through Latin America. Food for thought.
Things weren’t made any better that day as we were charged 14 Euro per tent at the campsite after 170kms into a raging headwind. As many of you know, our tents are very small for one person, and the fact that they were being charged the same as a caravan, or an 8-man tent seemed rather unfair. We hadn't the energy to go beyond this town, and chose to pay for two tents, with Timmy and I sharing for the second time in France, while Sean and Freddie spooned in the other dwelling. As we’d discovered last time, there wasn’t enough space for the two of us in the inner shell, so I slept in the vestibule, with my wee toes poking out into open air. Good thing it didn't rain. As you can imagine, we weren’t overly pleased with the camp staff that night, but in those moments of proximity with your comrade, you really begin to appreciate the small things. As the sun set on our final night in France Timmy’s light breathing slowly grew heavier, morphing into a deep, thunderous snore, with the distinct aroma of his farts engulfing my tent. What had I signed up for?
