Arch to Arc day four: Beauvais to Paris

Really blurry photo of breakfast. But, look – cakes!

Now, here’s an indication of how much my cycling’s improved: I woke on Sunday morning thinking “Only 48 miles today”.

Hang on – what was that? “Only” 48 miles? Just a few months ago 48 miles would have been an unthinkable distance, and now I’m thinking it’s an “only”. Quite chuffed about that. Four months ago I really was only riding a mile and a half to work and back.  Just occasionally – once in a blue moon – I’d go for a ‘long’ ride, but by that I meant perhaps six to ten miles. And, yes, I did once do the London to Brighton ride (about 56 miles). But that was nigh on twenty years ago.

(Click on the map for a scrollable, zoomable version)

We had a target time of arriving at the Arc de Triomphe for 2pm, so to be sure of getting there we had a fairly quick start. Relaxed enough to enjoy a breakfast (which bizarrely and delightfully included cakes) before setting off onto lovely smooth roads and a really great feeling of riding as a team. Day three had felt a bit of a slog to a few of us, so today we bunched up tight and worked well to protect each other from the wind. And it felt fantastic. We set much better pace than day three, which had been slow going, and the quality of the roads meant that it felt we were flying along. Well, it did to me; I expect for a couple of the more experienced riders it still felt fairly pedestrian. We made such great progress that we covered 26 miles before we even stopped for a proper break, and there was some debate as to whether we’d need to stop (in a bar)  just before the Arc so we didn’t get there before people were expecting us. Our smooth flow was interrupted at one point by a street market that took over the whole of the main road through Amblainville and closed it to traffic. We walked through, but had to phone the support crew to tell them they’d need to make a detour.

An enforced walk through Amblainville

We lunched in Auvers-Sur-Oise (in yet another car park) and then it didn’t seem too long before we were winding our way through the outer suburbs of Paris. Which, it has to be said, are a darn sight prettier than the outer suburbs of London. Eventually we met up with Paul, a friend of Andy’s who lives in Paris, who guided us in for the last couple of miles. Cobbled streets were a bit of a shaky surprise (at least I had a mountain bike!) but it didn’t matter because the excitement at being so close to our target was building. We agreed to stay together and make out approach as a singly unit, and then we rounded a corner and there it was.

Glorious first view of the Arc

That final approach was a touch surreal, to me. After four days in the saddle, and getting to know a bunch of people who I’d never have crossed paths with otherwise, it was all coming to an end. And we were about to reach the Arc about twenty minutes before two o’clock, so I also had the slight worry that Rachael and Ainsworth might not be there. I’d discovered the night before that she’d booked tickets to come out, but had no way of knowing whether they’d arrived or exactly where they were if they had. All this was on my mind, and suddenly there we were. Not just at the Arc, but actually riding around it. I’d not expected that. Last time I was in Paris, fifteen years ago, I’d sat atop the Arc a couple of evenings watching the traffic in amazement. I certainly wouldn’t want to drive round it, yet here I was on a bicycle. It was delightful. And, amazingly, didn’t feel all that dangerous. Throughout the ride we’d found that French drivers were generally much more tolerant of cyclist than English drivers, and even here it was no exception. They were letting us through.

Yes, we really did ride around it.

We pulled up on the little paved area at the top of the Champs-Elysées where our support crew were assembled with flags and banners cheering and waving along with a few family members of the riders – including, to my delight, Rachael and Ainsworth. Photos were taken, medals presented, and Champagne drunk.

And that, my friends, is that*. According to my Garmin thingummy, we rode 266 miles. And the really great news is that we’ve raised over £28,000 for the James Whale Fund. It’s not too late to donate, either: all you need to do is click here or thrust some cash in my hand next time you see me.

(PS: If you’d like to see more of my photos, there’s a load over on Flickr here.)

(*I could go on to detail the logistics of getting to a Paris hotel, where some of the team were staying, of sneaking a shower and change in someone’s room, of finding a grotty bar so some could watch th eEngland world cup match, of making our way to Eurostar, of getting home for a bath. But let’s face it that really would be boring. So I won’t. Suffice to say I got home fine, and cycled to work the next morning.)

Arch to Arc day three: Abbeville to Beauvais

(Click on the map for a zoomable, scrollable version.)

Day three – a much better start as we had a quieter, cooler hotel room. A sensible start time, too, so we could enjoy a breakfast at our leisure. Of course it was a continental breakfast, but there was chocolate involved, so that’s okay.

While we were milling around waiting for the day’s set-off, Laurence (from Jumperman films) was wandering menacingly with his camera trying to get us all to say a few words about why we were doing the ride, how we were finding it. He was with us the whole time filming for a video to promote next year’s ride, and wanted some soundbites. Well, he caught up with me and I splurged a little waffle, but as I don’t really have any particular connection to the charity I didn’t have a lot to say, so I expect I’ll end up on the cutting room floor (or whatever the digital equivalent is), but I’m looking forward to seeing the finished result.

But I digress… Day three’s route I would summarise as “pretty but hilly”. Indeed, at one point, Hugh asked Andy in exasperation, “Where do we go next? Don’t tell me; straight up the nearest fucking big hill.” Andy’s almost inevitable reply: “It’s up the nearest fucking big hill.” But as I say despite the hills it was pretty indeed. At one point we were cycling through fields of poppies which were beautiful and peaceful. Not nearly so peaceful a hundred years ago, I guess: we were in the Somme region.

In the poppy fields of the Somme.

It was with delight that someone called out “two hundred miles since Marble Arch!” What an achievement. Especially as were were riding in consistently hot weather. 30°C in the shade at times. Up to 34°C and I think beyond out in the sunshine. No wonder we were getting through so much water – which was still being constantly topped up by our brilliant support crew.

Lunch today was on a grassy roadside verge adjoining a field of bullocks, one of which tried to steal the cigarettes out of Sam’s saddle bag. No loo this time, so it wasn’t only the blokes who had to make do with bushes for a change. I can only assume that I didn’t really eat enough this time, as by mid afternoon I was flagging somewhat for the first time. I sat at the back of the group for a while, just concentrating on keeping on going, and before too long were were reaching our destination: Beauvais. It was a beautiful city to ride through, full of ancient and grand architecture, but I was keen to get to the hotel for a shower and food. The meal not so good as the previous night, but I didn’t mind. It was energy. The room, like the first night, was hot and noisy.  But this time I slept.

Beauvais Cathedral. A huge gothic extravaganza.

Arch to Arc day two: Dover to Abbeville

Not my favourite way to start the day: a 4:30 alarm!  Vic, my room-mate, saved the day by making us a cup of tea, and we got ourselves sorted as quickly as we could. To catch the first ferry to Boulogne, we had to leave the hotel at 5:15, which was long before the restaurant opened for breakfast. But soon enough we found ourselves back on the road for a lovely smooth sweeping route down to the docks in quite a heavy early morning mist – the only time in the entire ride I put my lights on. In fact, it was a heavy enough mist that the group managed to get split up and someone had to go back to check that the others were on the right road.

Down down down to the ferry

It took a while to get us all checked in, and there was a bit of a frustrating waiting around, but we were the first on board the ferry, and delighted to find that there was a proper restaurant on board that hadn’t been there when Andy checked out the route a couple of months ago. Most of us treated ourselves to a big cooked breakfast.

First on board!

Several riders took the chance to catch up on a bit of sleep as we made out way to Boulogne, and soon enough we were having to get to grips with riding on the wrong side of the road. Those crazy Continentals! Boulogne itself provided us with our first stop, as a local bike shop sorted out Jen’s back wheel for us, and then we were on our way. Quite a climb up through the town, followed by a fabulous sweeping downhill the other side, where I reached what I think is my personal top speed ever of 43 miles an hour. And that was freewheeling. (The one advantage of having such a heavy bike is the speed it builds up down hill.)

Bike shop in Boulogne

After this we were into a long, long, mostly straight, undulating road, alternating climbs and freewheels, with regular short stops to allow the group to reassemble when we’d managed to spread out a bit. Riding in France was a new experience for me (heck, merely being in France isn’t all that familiar) but I soon got used to expecting traffic on my left, and enjoyed the countryside. We had fantastic weather and everything looked beautiful. But here’s what surprised me the most: after 87 miles on day one, I fully expected to find day two hard work from the very beginning. But slowly it dawned on me: it didn’t feel any different. This realisation was very encouraging, and I had little doubt by now that I shouldn’t find it too difficult to reach Paris.

Our lunchbreak was by a little lawned area in Mont Cavrel, where we were treated to another great picnic and where a local school kindly allowed us to use the loos.

As the afternoon progressed, it was great to notice that we seemed to be riding as a group more. We’d got to know one another a bit by now, and one of my memories of the ride will undoubtedly be the way a group of strangers became friends over the course of four days cycling. We did have another “wrong turn” incident, but this time it turned out great, as the wrong turn added only a short distance, but cut out a nasty hill. And at 50 miles or thereabouts we had a beer break at a roadside bar (and the use of another proper loo!) before heading back off towards Abbeville. Oh, but just before reaching Abbeville we had another beer break in a beautiful place called Saint-Riquier.

In beautiful Saint-Riquier

The IBIS hotel in Abbeville had great food, and we all ate well. And free wi-fi, too, so I managed to catch up with a few bits and pieces before sloping off to bed a wee bit too late. Day three report coming soon!

 
Boulogne to Abbeville. 72 Miles.
(Click on the map to access a detailed, zoomable, scrollable version.)

Arch to Arc day one: London to Dover

Right, now let’s see if I can make sense of my notes and try to piece together some details about my cycling adventure.

(Click on the map to access a detailed, zoomable, scrollable version.)

After a night of hardly any sleep,  we made an early start, popped my bike on the back of the car and headed towards London. Marble Arch eventually came into view, and sure enough there were a few flags and banners – and, more importantly,  a few cyclists – to show we were in the right place at the right time.

I had a look around. Much as I expected, all I could see were fancy looking lightweight road bikes. My 18-year-old steel framed mountain bike did look a bit out of place. But the riders seemed to be a mixed bunch. I was surprised to find that there were only eleven of us setting off (a couple had needed to pull out for health or family reasons) but in fact eleven turned out to be a lovely number to ride with; over the next few days we became friends.

James Whale came to Marble Arch to do a piece to camera with the Mayor of London’s Transport advisor. We were being filmed on and off for the whole journey to make a promotional film to publicise next year’s ride. And we all posed for publicity shots at the Arch before we set off. The Mayor’s guy rode with us for the start of the ride. About a mile of it.

And what a start. Just look at this bit of the route:

From Marble Arch, right along beside Hyde Park, round the Wellington Memorial, Past Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye. What a lot to see in the first three miles! Now, I know I’ve seen all these places many times before, but there was something special about cycling past them, as part of an organisied event. And the other thing I loved about this London city centre part of the route was seeing just how many other cyclists there were. I had no idea! Admittedly I could see why London cyclists get a bad name – I saw some appalling road behaviour – but most seemed to be fine and I loved this part of the ride. I’d certainly be very happy to cycle in London any time.

After a few miles, though, we were getting out into the london suburbs which were, quite frankly, a bit dull, but soon enough we reached countryside and then it started getting lovely again. We had a couple of stops for water top-ups, but I was looking forward to the first main stop at 28 miles, where we’d pre-ordered bacon and egg butties and were served fantastic mugs of tea to keep us fueled up for the rest of the day’s ride. Now, I’d been telling everyone that I was expecting to ride about 75 miles on day one, but by now I’d begun to hear people talk about longer than that. Sure enough, I’d been misinformed. It was due to be 86, which meant it was going to be my longest ever ride by some considerable stretch. I was very glad of that bacon and egg fuel.

Fantastic Bacon and Egg Butties served here.

The next adventure of the morning was briefly loosing two riders. They’d got ahead of the ride leader and shot straight past a turning and down a big hill. the rest of us gathered while phone calls were made and we tracked them down. Poor Andy set off down the hill find them knowing he’d have to climb back up it to get them back on course. And then, no sooner than we had got back together again, Ptol shot ahead down another hill and sent himself straight into abush at the bottom. Well, at least this one was in the right direction. No injury or damage, thank goodness.

For our lunch stop at the 48 mile mark we were aiming at a pub, so I’d naively assumed we’d be actually having a pub meal. But no – we trundled up to the opposite end of the car park and I experienced my first back-of-van lunch picnic. It was delicious, and set the tone for the on-route catering for the rest of the trip. Others who’d done organised rides before tell me that the usual fare is just a couple of dried up sandwiches if you’re lucky, so all credit goes to out excellent support crew who produced these lunches day after day.

Picnic lunch in a pub car-park

As we got further into Kent, the lanes got narrower, windier, steeper, and more gravelly. And unfortunately the next item on my scribbled notes involved just such a steep gravelly lane. I was near the back of the group at this point and we’d spread out as we descended. I heard a vehicle pull up sharply ahead and thought something must be up, and sure enough seconds later I could see what: poor Jen was in a bit of a crumpled head on the side of the road, her bike vertically wedged against the hedgerow.  In trying to stop herself from going too fast down the hill, her wheels had slid out from under her on the gravelly edge and she’d gone straight over the top. The lady in the van had seen it and pulled up immediately to help. Thankfully, although Jen was bleeding in several places, and badly grazed on several limbs and even her face, there didn’t appear to be any serious injury. We gave the wounds a cursory wash from our water bottles and slowly helped her up to her feet. It looked like she was going to be quite sore for a while. The rest of the group waited at the next corner, where a delightful lady offered everyone cups of tea on her lawn (we declined) and the use of here bathroom for Jen to get herself cleaned up a bit (she accepted).

Jen’s bike survived the incident intact apart from a slightly misaligned back wheel. It was ridable, and Jen was game to carry on, so that’s what she jolly well did. And  good for her. She rode with us for another few miles until we next met up with the support car, where she decided to sit out the rest of the day and see how she felt in the morning. Probably a wise choice; the shock was probably beginning to kick in by then.

Winding through leafy Kent lanes

Those Kentish hills got worse and worse, and most of us were defeated at some point and had to resort to a bit of walking. Only Ptol made it up every single one, including the final climb up the aptly named Castle Hill Road to the Dover Hotel. A big meal at the adjoining Brewer’s Fayre (after a stupid argument with the staff about whether or not we had a table booked) and then to bed.  In a room that was far too hot and too noisy to get much sleep. And with an alarm set stupidly early so we could set off to catch the first ferry of the morning.

The Premier Inn at the top of the hill

And that, my friends, was day one. 87 miles in all. Except for Ptol who didn’t think he’d done enough for one day so shot off on his own to notch up a hundred.

London to Paris completed! A (brief) initial report.

Well, we did it. Eleven cyclists. 266 miles. Four days. And only one puncture. 

Marble Arch, Thursday 8am.
Eleven riders raring to go.

What an amazing experience it was. Apart from a few hills that were damned hard work, I loved every minute. Heck, even the hills weren’t that bad, as a long climb was almost always rewarded by a fantastic sweep back down the other side.

In f act, I was amazed at how I got on. The first day alone was the longest I’d ever ridden, so I thought that the next day would be hard work right from the start, but I was delighted to discover that I felt just the same on day two as I had on day one. And so it continued. My thighs are aching, and I’m a bit saddle sore, but apart from that I feel absolutely fantastic.

I’m quite sure that there’s no way I could have undertaken such a ride alone. The random bunch of cyclists who came together to do this ride turned out to be a lovely group, and it was a pleasure to ride with them. And an ideal number, too: enough to group and ride as a bunch, to help one another along, to encourage, support, cajole, and mock one another. And few enough that over four days we could actually get to know one another and it soon felt like riding with friends. I suspect that would be less likely to happen riding with a much bigger group. It was great to have the benefit of a couple of  experienced club riders who could advise us on all sorts of technical, physiological, psychological and practical issues, and also others who, like me, had never done anything remotely like this before. At least a couple had hardly ridden since childhood until signing up for this ride. But we stuck together, and all made it in one piece. We’ve all swapped contact details; I hope some of us manage to stay in touch.

And we also couldn’t have done it without the support of an amazing crew. At every stop – or whenever we needed – we had an endless supply of water, energy bars, snacks, sweets available. And picnic lunches of fresh french bread, cheeses and meats, cakes, crisps – as much as we needed. All served up from the back of a big white van.

Arc de Triomphe, Sunday 2pm.
A well-earned glass of champagne or three.

Overall, I’m so utterly glad I’ve done it. People have asked if I’ll do it again next year. Initially, I said not. But it occurs to me that if I could persuade a few friends to do it with me, I might consider it. Anyone fancy a challenge?

This is just a short report until I can get myself sorted to write up each day in detail. I’m back at work today (!) so not sure when I’ll get started on it.