Winding my way west

        Caught the ferry out of Helier to St Malo and somehow found my way out of the city.  I really do need a compass.  For a guy who rides a bike all over the world, I have a terrible sense of direction.  The sun helps but when it is cloudy, I rely on poor signage and a GPS app that does more harm than good.  Nevertheless, the ride was through miles of back country with roads no wider than twelve feet. A few secondary roads but the drivers gave me plenty of room. Once again I arrived at my destination, Pleneul-Val-Andre, just as the rain started.  No hostels or Warmshowers.com and camping in the rain was a no go.  So I found a modestly priced hotel and checked in.  Tomorrow, once again, rain is predicted so it may be a marginal ride. I will play it as it goes.
         I am realizing that doing the whole coast of France will require more time than I have.  So my strategy is changing to take in more sites and do less riding. The islands intrigue me and I can always come back another time.

As an untypical tourist

   Up early, had breakfast and suited up for a rainy ride (I am growing gills) to the sites.  Smelling the roses is overrated when riding a bicycle in the rain.  Via the bike paths I found my way to the German tunnels. Though never finish by the Eastern Europe slave labor, it was an amazing feat of engineering,  one hundred feet below the surface.  Hospital, living quarters, armaments, extensive ventilation system to filter out gas yet bringing in breathable air and everything necessary to live in siege conditions. In fact, the Germans held out until August 9, while the population was slowly starving. I bicycle back into town a bit chilled but sucked it up and visited Elizabeth Castle. This castle was a replacement for the castle at Gorry.  Charles I took sanctuary here during the civil war. Eventually, Parliament executive him and replaced him with Cromwell.  Neat place and the hybrid "duck" which ferried us both ways was the highlight of the attraction..  It wheels drove us into the water whereupon the propeller kicked in.  An occasional bump on the bottom kept the ride interesting.  Around five I arrived back at the Mornington Hotel.  The warm shower defrosted me followed by a nap, a beer and dinner at an Italian restaurant.  Now I am on the ferry back to St Malo when I will bicycle west to Brest, two days at least. Please pray to the rain gods to hold off for awhile.

Hanging out on the Isle of Jersey

    Woke at 5:15, almost three hours before sunrise.  The cafeteria was up and running at six and with the help of my translation app I was able to retrieve my bike for the lock shed.   Never, never, never trusting my google GPS,  I mapped out the route the night before, a straight shot down the road to the ferry terminal.  It was exciting boarding the big catamaran and riding over to a Jersey.  One passport check after another and I was aboard.  Boarding with me, I talked with a coupule and saw another who were riding power assisted bikes. They are the rage for the older folk.  The man's wife was even reticent about riding an electric bike.  I guess it is that or ride alone, I prefer being alone, less complaining.  Once the ferry navigated out of St Malo harbor, it took off for Jersey.  It appeared the ship wasn't moving that fast until I ventured out side onto the deck.  It had to be doing twenty-five  knots or so.  Disembarked, had my passport checked twice again and hit the road for my hotel, The Mornington.  Left side driving and the place was hopping;100,000 population.  Right off I was delighted  to happened upon a bike shop (English spoken) where I was able to get a new tire and put away my spare. They are looking for the right derailleur also. I found the Mornington, settled in and  headed on foot to see the town.  Delicious fish and chips with a beer, cookies and brownies down the road and a good look-see sound.  Where to? With a day bus pass, I boarded the #1 and took the shore road to Gorey Harbor where  I explored
Mont Orgueil castle,.  Originally earthen works well over a thousand years ago and finally
L under King John took shape as a castle.  Countless modification haw been made over the centuries making the castle into a interesting conglomeration of walls, towers
and countless rooms of all shapes and uses. Once on top, I couldy easily see France eighteen miles away.  The seaside village down below was laid back with all the boats grounded at low tide. Took the bus back to town, had a nap and consumed a delicious  diner at a Sri Lankan restaurant. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I will check out the German tunnels and the Elizabeth castle.

A very pleasant day

     Peter and I headed out of Avranches for Mont Saint Michel, twelve miles on flat coastal roads with distant views of Mt St Michel.  Since my last visit in 1970, a bridge has been built across the flood plain between the mainland and the Mont.  shuttles taking you to and from the parking lots on the mainland.  Before it was a matter of dodging the ebb and flow of the tide. We walked about a mile over a very civilized sidewalk designed for the masses.  Nice place but totally overrun by hoards of tourists and countless shops selling the same old tacky tourist stuff. Only thirty people actually live on the Mont; god bless them.  With that "been there, done that", we bicycled westward.  Peter and I came to the fork in the road where we bid farewell. He headed south and me west to St Malo.  The week we rode together went by in a blink. His pace was a bit faster and longer than I really wanted to go.  Basically, he was hauling about forty pounds less than me, my body weight in particular.  Nevertheless, we hung together, Peter backing off a little and me pushing harder.  I like rides between forty and forty-five miles, he liked them around sixty. Riding over here in France is much different than crossing the USA.  More hills, narrow roads and very little in the way of long flat straight terrain. Thus, ride is tougher and racking up fifty miles a day can be tough.  Hugging the ocean and passing through one town after another was charming.  The French have a more laid back style of living; the market everyday, more local cyclists and tasteful old villages.
     With Forty-two miles behind me, I coasted into St Malo where I navigated over to an auberge Jeunesses.  Less than an hour later the skies opened up.  Good decision not to camp out.  After leaving Peter, my pace slowed down and my thinking shifted to how I could change the scenery a bit.  Why not, let's head for Jersey?  So off I go.  Two nights are booked at a hotel in  St Helier, right near where the ferry docks.  An adventure within an adventure; I have always wanted to visit the Island.

One brutal climb after another

   9:25, Peter and I left our B&B in Tessy-sur-view and hooked onto the Euro bike trail #4, following the canal like yesterday, easy and picturesque.  Then came the hills, it was if we were repenting for idyllic rides we had over past several days. One murderous climb after another, all day; more climbing in one day than the whole trip combined.  Some climbs last for up to thirty five minutes.  I even had to dismount and push my bike where the incline of the hill was too steep.  Some riders will stay on their bikes at all cost but I try to take the least strenuous approach so I can conserve my energy  These are the times when I wish I had shed the ten pounds I put on during the spring and summer.  Items I brought with me which have yet to be used, I felt like discarding them by the roadside.  Did I need to carrying three apples and an orange? I should switch out my twenty-two granny gear and go to something even smaller.  Compounding the strenuous climbs were the poorly marked bike patches. At one point we made a loop of about three miles over hills and ended up in the same ten we had gone through earlier. Had someone told me I would be riding fifty-four miles today, I would have asked  the person what hallucinagen they were using. My legs and lungs held up fine but I must have sweat out at least a liter.  My arms (pulling on the bars) are soar.  Bike drunk, we rolled into Avranche.  Peter found the Patton Hotel (next to General Patton's monument, tank and bust) as I inquired at a bike shop about getting another tire, to no avail.  So we checked in, cleaned up, had a good dinner out on the town and settled in for a much needed night's sleep.
     Tomorrow we will make it to Mont Saint Michel.  I have seen the place twice and the tourism has ruined it. After this stop, Peter will be heading  south and I west to Brest.  One week with Peter
Shultz has been lots fun.  Perhaps, I will run into another rider going my way.
 

Dodged the rain once again

   Stayed in bed for an extra eleven minutes knowing that it was once again raining. With Peter on board, we have split the hotel bills making our lodging affordable in such places which allow for such luxury. We left Carentan at 10:25 with the skies threatening.  Fifty-one miles later we arrived in Tessey-sur-vire just as the skies opened up. This is the fourth time this has happened. You tell me what is going on!
    The ride along the euro trail 4 was like no other. Pastoral country following an old canal. Our path was no wider than six feet.  I could have photographed something every mile but I thought how I simply wanted to enjoy the ride.  Cows, pastures, beautiful old French house, an ancient canal all making for a ride hard to describe unless you were here. By the way, you can't get  to these back country bicycle trails by car.
      Along the way, my rear tire started to break away from the rim.  Rather than risk blursting the heavy duty inner tube, I stopped and replaced the tire. It is an ordeal, the bags must be taken off, the repair equipment hauled out from the bottom  of a large pannier, the bike turned upside down, the wheel removed and the new tire carefully replaced. Then for the reassembly.  Only through experience was I able to complete the job in thirty minutes.  Being on the road for six hours a day, there are always mechanical issues cropping up. Always my ears are tuned to my bikes operation.  Whether it be a squeaking chain starved for oil due to the rain or a replacement derailleur which is the wrong size or a click with every rotation of the pedals, there is something going on all the time.  I have on going conversations with my bike, the weather, the condition of the roads or a passing cars. Long distances bicycling is not for the weak at heart.  With adventure comes problems which need to be overcome, constantly.
   Alas, Peter and I found  a B&B just as the skies are opened up. Hot bath, a short walk to the market for wine and provisions brought our day to a mellow end. Another two days and we will be in Le Mont Saint Michel, the tourist trap that it is.

Omaha beach

     8:25 we departed from Courseulles-sur-mer (Juno Beach) and  headed west along the coast. Peter and I arrived at Omaha beach and the national cemetery around noon. Forty-seven years ago I slept on the beach after hiking 8 miles in total darkness.  I woke up to a water drenched sleeping bag, packed up and the with my heavy pack climbed through? the brush up to the top where I saw endless rows of graves.  My eyes welled up. This time I bicycled in to see the same cemetery.  Again the same emotion.  Everyone should be given a history lesson about this Normandy invasion on June 6, 1944, the battle which began the liberation of Europe from Nazi Germany.  7,000 ships landed 135,000 troops; by the time it was over in three weeks, 35,000 allied troops had died, 55,000 Germans.   The cemetery was serene, beautifully manicured with birds chirping everywhere.  Many tourists but no sounds but nature.
   I hiked down to the beach where I filled a small container of sand for a friend back home. Once on the road again, we covered another twenty miles before finding a modest hotel to shelter us from a rain which began just as we rolled into Carentan, France. Nice town square but completely closed up due to it being Sunday and the rain.  Forty-four miles covered,  more distance covered according to Peter's odometer. Great ride, light traffic, a few small memorials and a light roadside lunch  After we arrived, we cleaned up, stayed in and eat our rations along with a good bottle and a half of vin rouge.  Tomorrow rain is a 50% chance, but the ride goes on.

A day off to explore Bayeux

   Up and running early so Peter and I could catch the bus to Bayeux.  It lies about thirty kilometers inland and we did not want to bike away from the coast.  We spent the day exploring Bayeux, particularly seeing the famous ancient tapestry depicting the Norman conquest.  It is about one meter wide and seventy meters long; made as a pictorial history for the masses who were illiterate.  It dates back to just after the Norman conquest in 1066.  It is not quite clear who exactly made it.  Some say the ladies in waiting in English court others say the church/monastery in Bayeux, theories abound. The viewing of the tapestry was facilitated by a hand held recording device which gave a very detailed account of what each of the scenes represented. A must see if you are over this way.
     After lunch and a beer, we hoofed out to the edge of town where the Normandy invasion museum
is located.  Tanks are displayed outside and inside is a very extensive layout of every facet of the invasion. With so much to take in, our minds were pretty much on overload mode after two hours. We went back to town, had another brew and took the bus back to our camp site.  After food shopping for tomorrow and pizza at a nearby restaurant, we packed it up for the day. Tomorrow our goal is to bike to Omaha beach, sixty miles. The weather will be perfect and the land reasonably flat.

Two guys having a good time

     Off at 8:55, beat yesterday's departure by fifty-two minutes.  We somehow navigated our way out of La Havre.  We couldn't find the bypass to this enormous bridge with bearly three feet of shoulder.  The trucks and cars gave us room but it was nerve racking.  This bridge was huge, spanning the inlet leading into La Havre, a suspension bridge with little room to spare for two crazy bicyclists.  I kept my eyes on the road immediately in front of me and concentrated on keeping the bars straight and cranking away in my lowest gear. I was glad as hell when we made it to the other side. Immediately following was another bridge, two center piers with cables splaying to each sides of the bridge, you know, the Spanish designer.  This bridge had a small protected lane but was still no picnic to climb over.  Two scary bridges back to back was about as much excitement as needed for the day.  After riding for another hour we stopped at Deauville and feasted on coffee and succulent fruit pastries at a harbor side cafe.  The both of us having suffered through day's of rain, we position are sidewalk cafe chairs to face the sun. We are still mentally drying out. Leaving town, we climbed one monstrous hill, a thousand revolutions in gear one. The terrain flatten out as we road closer to the Normandy beaches.  After fifty-eight miles.  Peter thinks my odometer is under estimating the miles because he registered one hundred kilometers and I should have read sixty-two miles. Either way, we did well for the day.  At 'Juno Beach' we pulled off and found a campsite right by the water.  Set up our tents, showered and headed for town for a delicious dinner: beer and wine, and a four course meal of seafood.  Another good day on the road. Tomorrow we park the bikes and take a bus to Bayeux to check out the famous tapestries depicting the battle of Hastings. Tomorrow night we spend another night at the campsite.

Good times while racking up the miles

       Setting up camp and settling into my tent was like old home week.  Peter, my bicycling buddy, was twenty feet away snoring up a storm.  He keeps telling his wife he doesn't snore....  Once again no toilet seats but the shower was hot and the sun was shining.  After drying off the gear from all the condensation and loading up, we pushed off from La Valary de Caux at 9:47. Down the road at a 10:25 we cruised into near deserted seaside town, Fecamp.  Sitting by the sea wall taking in the rays, we were served a plate of five cheeses on a large plate with pate, du pain, expresso and a small glass of apple brandy. The chalk cliffs loomed nearby while the shoreline and surrounding hills made for an idyllic setting.  Fueled up, Peter and I began the serious peddling. Hill and dale, winding through small roads surrounded by harvested fields, small hamlets and cows with every mile that passed.  Peter showed me the tiny bike signs to follow.  We barely got near any heavily traveled roads.  After several hours of making our way along the coast, we arrived at another seaside town, a little more hip than the first one.  Bought some ice cream and sat on the wall looking out to sea, charming!
      As the miles mounted up, our destination of La Havre appeared in the distance.  Before making the plunge into this huge port city, we found a quaint town where we split a local wine size bottle of local beer and feasted on peaches, nectarines and plums.  After adjusting my new derailleur (which works well enough after learning its quirks), we descended into La Havre.  It took us a good hour and a half to find a place.  Hold up in a classy McDonalds (is that a contradiction in terms) with free wifi, Peter found a hostel of sorts.  A bit pricey but nicely laid out and are own room.  Cleaned up and walked to a local middle eastern mom and pop restaurant where we feasted on a mountain of food and a few beers. Not a bad day, fifty-five miles, not a bad day at all!

Back in the running

    Hopped out of bed at 7:20, apprehensive about my ability to ride today given my throat cold, I packed up, had breakfast and clicked onto the pedals. A long steep hill out of Eu confronted me just as I cleared the town center. Rather than start off hard, I dismounted and walkered. From the top of the hill, off I pedaled gaining confidence with each mile. My throat and chest felt fine and the bike was working well.  A bit hilly on my way to Dieppe but I felt great.  Rolled into town and the sun was shining. Dieppe is a thriving seaside city.  The harbor square was bustling with fish mongers and a few artisan tents were set up. Met three English speaking French men and one told me about a cafe where I could have a nice lunch.  Right in the town square a block back from the harbor, I had a goat cheese and bruschetta sandwich on a baguette.  A delicious sandwich sitting outside of the cafe with the sun at my back, I was loving it.  Local people were gathered doing the same thing. I could have hung out all afternoon.
       After over a hour of chill time, I climbed on the saddle and headed for Saint Valery-en-caux.  Nice ride, a few hills, the ocean off in the distance to my right, huge modern windmills turning, farmland surrounding me and I felt great.  Upon arriving in town, I stopped at the tourist informatio office. A bike loaded up was parked outside. Inside, I met a fellow biker going my way.  It was a breath of fresh air.  Petre Schultz, a Dane from southern Jutland, 65, just retired is doing exactly what I am doing. How cool is that! We found a cafe by the harbor and had lunch together with a celebratory beer.  We rode to a nearby campsite, checked in and set up our tents.  An apple tree was at our site where I was able pick several ripe apples.  We hit it off and will ride together tomorrow.  Forty miles ridden, feeling great and now a riding buddy to hang with.

Good day, sunshine

   Rained all night but the sun shined all day,  I took the bike in for repairs in the rented the van. Helping matters, I feel much better to extent of treating myself to some fine French dining: half a carafe of vin rouge, goat cheese salad, Salmon with yellow rice, chocolate mousse avec passion fruit ice cream  and ending with some local apricot brandy.  Let me not forget the French bread.
       Apart from fixing the bike, I schlepped to the laundramatique and took in some city sites.  A lot of speciality food shops and great looking brick building. I could hang out for a week at this place, no problem. I noticed the realestate prices are up there.
    My bags are packed and let's hope, the machine and me are one tomorrow. No destination in mind, just heading west along the coast.

I should taken my French classes more seriously

      Today in Eu, France just a kilometer out side of Le Treport, I started with a pre-dawn visit to the ER room two blocks away.  Loaded up with meds, I eventually found my way to INTERSPORT, no help from my GPS.  The bike mechanic said I would have to schlepp to Abbeville for a new derailleur and chained at their other store. No wheels and little French left me in a bind as to how I could get the repair done.  Thank the almighty, I found an English speaking person who rents space at the hostel. Charlotte arrange for the hostel manage to drive me to a car rental place where I picked up a Mimi van.  By 9:00 I will be at the bike store to get the job done.  All part of the adventure of living on the edge: wind, rain, cold, mechanical failure and health all in less than a week has toughened the kid up.  I will just carry on, enjoy the ride and duck and cover when necessary.  I like the challenge and it keeps me from softening up and being amongst the American masses who have lost their adventuresome spirit. Another day at Louis XIV chateau before
I push onward. If it does not rain, I will be disappointed.  Like steep hills, I have learned to love the pain.

The gods are paying attention

  Cycled out of Boulogre-sur-mer around 11:00. Late start but a beautiful day, no wind, no rain, sun shining, and the temperature is moderately. Leaving Boulogre-sur-mer, I thought I would try for
Le Tréport.  Suspect of relying on my GPS, I was able to stay on a good road with not too many hairbrain turns.  These system needs to supervised and overridden by one's basic sense of direction.
I should have had a map of Belgium and northeast France. An oversite that has cost me.
      Mile after mile, enjoying the landscaped with only a few steep hills (walkers).  I stopped after thirty-three miles and luncheoned while sitting on the stone base of good size, roadside stone crucifix.  I asked politely before talking a seat.  So after seventy miles with miles of bike path along the way , I arrived at the Le Tréport tourist information, 6:18.  (By the way, France is years ahead of the USA when it comes to bike pathway.) Here is where the day went from idyllic to real bad.  The GPS screwed me once more. Across town for nothing. I called the auberge/hostel for directions to no avail. The manager's English was non existent, worse than my French! As I was taking another route to find the hostel, suddenly my chain and derailleur snapped off.  This can't be happening!  At least it didn't happen out the pokey. I guess someone was looking out for me. So the big push began and I didn't trust my GPS.   It appeared I was walking out of town. Just great, the sun is setting and I haven't a clue if I am heading in the right direction.  Pushing eighty-five pounds of bike and gea, it gets old real fast.  A man at the front desk of a small casino drew a map which final brought me to the auberge, tired and frustrated.  The building was part of Louis XV former residences.  Quite the brick structure which was converted into a hostel, an amazing place. As for the manager, this is the first auberge where no one spoke English.  With people coming from all over the world and English being the international language, it was the wrong person for the job.
    Then came the soar throat.  For a day, it had been coming on.  Suddenly, I could barely swallow withou severe pain. Around 5:30 I got up and managed to find the nearby hospital.  No one there, including the doctor, could speak a word of English. This town is quaint but very providential. The doc and I communicated via our translation apps. He checked me for strep throat. The test came out negative so he wrote out a prescription for several meds.  So off to the pharmacy and the bike shop. I will be here today and probably tomorrow.  Are we having fun yet?
   

Dodging the rain through beautiful countryside

      Yesterday was a Long circuitous ride, trying to bypass Calais.  I woke up to pouring rain and considered holding off another day, however, the show must do on.  The rain stopped, at least for a while, and found my way out of town. Seven miles down the road, the skies opened up.  Fortunately, I found a plexiglass covered bus stop right across the street.  Waited an hour and continue.  My GPS on the bicycle setting took me through the countryside on the most tranquil tiny roads.  The only hassle here is the route was hard to follow and added on several miles more of riding.  The cow manure was omnipotent and the people friendly. The word 'Provincial' was derived out here!  No one spoke a word of English and they looked at me, with all my gear,  like I was ET.  With thirty miles behind me and in need of sustenance, I found another covered bus stop just as the skies opened up again.  Someone was watching out for me.  On the road again, my last twenty-seven miles seemed to get more circuitous.  The damn app led me onto a dirt road which was virtually impassable.  The bike got buried in mud and I ended up pushing for 900 meters.  Ok enough, I just wanted to get to Boulogre-sue-mer.  I should have stayed on a major R road but I stayed with the GPS.  This app leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to getting in an out of cities. Exhausted, at long last, I found a  hostel. In the city it was a well kept secret and my poor French speaking abilities mad it worse. The receptionist found a bucket and brush whereupon I scrubbed mounds of dried mud off my bike.  Lesson learned: know when to follow the sun and rely less on the GPS. The maps I have come into play just down the road.   Today, I have my sites set on Le Treport.   Let's hope for a direct route with nice scenery and fewer wrong turns.  Alas, the sun is shining!

Saw the movie 'Dunkirk' in Dunkirk, France

    The agenda of day was to recharge and checking out the rebuilt city of Dunkirk. My hostel/auberge is a wonder, large modern building apart from the congestion of the city, next to the beach; a room to myself, basic but a beautiful view.  Rode around city doing various errands, one of which was to buy a skull cap to fit under my helmet for warmth.  Next, I stripped down my bike and rode out onto the harbor quays to get a feel for what happened in 1940.  This evening I took in the movie 'Dunkirk'.  A few hours before, I stood on the spot where the admiral stood during the movie.  It was a powerful movie.
    Considered the city was destroyed during the war, it is remarkable how nice the city is now.   Modern architecture side by side with the traditional structures.  Plenty of culture and a stunning view of the beaches and the English Channel.  Squinting, I could just barely see the English coast. So close but so far during the war.
      Check out time is early and rain is expected. Perhaps, the wind gods will spare me. Wind and rain are a bad combination on a bicycle.  The show must go on.

Continuation of my last post

     As is usually the case, the Post mysteriously published.....----ing computers.  The geeks who build the programs are somewhere in cyberspace were common sense doesn't exist.  Common sense isn't so common.  If the computers go down, a lot people will be flapping the breeze, useless as teats on a bull.

   Anyways, Bailleul rebuilt itself and did an outstanding job.  So off I pedal, the narrow country roads and quaint villages separated by rolling farm land was idyllic.  For thirty miles I geared down to cut my way through the head wind.  Three days straight mixed with light rain and unseasonably cool weather.  I am actually settling into the grind of bucking the wind but an alternate plan is brewing.  Now that I am settled into a nice hostel in Dunkirk for two nights, I am weighing my options. Prevailing winds appear to be from the north west.  I will check it out further but, perhaps, I will take a train to Brest and then cycle east.  Then, a train back to Brest and from there, south to Spain

   The Germans laid waste to Dunkirk so essentially the city is completely new. Beautiful architecture, very pedestrian and bicycle friendly, excellent museums and restaurants and plenty of things to see. First, I took in the 1940 Dunkirk battle museum built within the remains of a old coastal fortification. Then the shoreline which has a modern pedestrian bridge, pathways and brick boardwalk all focused on the beach.  The old harbor lighthouses are still in tact and add an interesting juxtaposition to the surrounding architecture.  

     Tomorrow, I will check out the lighthouses, see the movie 'Dunkirk' and do whatever.  The forecast is for 90% rain the next day. This may be the time to make some travel adjustments.

Dunkirk was worth the effort

         After evening beer, wine, delicious dinner and great male bonding with a fellow cyclist, I slept like the dead. Got up to an empty house with the standard continental breakfast prepared for me.  Locked onto the pedals at 8:35 and headed for Dunkirk.  One footnote, Bailleul, the town I stayed in last night was 95% destroyed by the end of WWI.  You won't know it was a completely new town.  They copied another French city

More wind and rain, another adventure

      More wind and spitting rain, thirty nine miles of slow going. The scenery was exceptional but after five hours of driving into the wind, I had to wrap it up.  Arrived in Bailleul, tried to find shelter  on the portico of the city hall, had lunch (du pain, fromage, pate and chocolate), and searched on Warmshowers.com for a place to crash for the night.  Through the tourist information center, I found a nearby member. Charlottes and Alain..  Charlotte biked down from her house to greet me.  No room at her place so she went to work locating other members who could put me up. She brought me home, gave me coffee and sustenance. Absolutely wonder people who opened their house to me and more!
Score, Charlotte found a Warmshowers contact who gave the go ahead.  Alain rode with me through the countryside to Patrice and Caroline's  house. They took me in like I was royalty: new fr room, hot ehower, did my laundry, gave me a sumptuous dinner with wine, fish, rice, fruit, cheese and local reserve beer.  I love this organization; I  take in countless cyclists knowing how wonderful it is to be taken in when exhausted and in need of shelter from the elements. Practiced my French all night and Patrice and Caroline will out of the house before I wake.  Total trust as I do with cyclists who stay with me. Tomorrow, Patrice has lined up a friend in Dunkirk for me. How cool is that at? Three days of tough riding, nevertheless, I would not trade it for anything. Cycling in a foreign land, alone, is an adventure hard to match.

You can't get there from here

Another day, another story to tell. Leaving Mons following the canals was unquestionably on of the most convoluted experiences I have had while cycling.  I could see where I had to be but because of the canals,  I could not get there. Goggle GPS made it worse. Eventually by asking around I was able to weave myself out of the labyrinth.  Again too many miles wasted going around in circles, not as bad as yesterday but still maddening. My original intend was to get to Dunkirk straight off but Belgium is beautiful and worth a lock see. Today only forty-two miles and tomorrow maybe Dunkirk but I am not that obsessed.  The ride along the canals was very pleasant so why rush a good thing?  I stopped for lunch, having brought along Fromage, du pain, pate, an orange and chocolate. Laid back for thirty minutes and had a delicious lunch. Stopping for too long will cause my muscles to tighten up. Finally I arrived in Tournia and found a nice auberge. The place was empty as last night was.  Today I have one roommate, Maxine, a student of art.  Good guy, we had diner together.  His English was marginal, my French not much better. Hanging out with the younger guys is refreshing.  The youth view me as a grandfather, much to my chagrin. I only look in the mirror morning and night so I forget about the balding and gray hair.  Old guys on the rode are very few; Americans non existent. Peut-etre, I will make it to Dunkirk tomorrow. Smelling the roses is foremost.

Rough first day

Mielle Nichols put me up for two night and cooked the most delicious meals I have had in a long time. As though she was my personal gourmet chef.  The bike took 2.5 hours to assembly and tune; the bike is without question a woman.  After a sumptuous breakfast Mielle dropped me off at the Ravel rails-to-trails bike path. Several miles down the road I segwayed onto the canal path.  After three hours of riding, I was in desperate need of a WC, saw a horse stable, parked my bike in the paddock, called around to no avail and finally found a house next door whee the owner kindly let me use his facilities.  I came back to the stable and found my bike missing!On the verge of freaking out, an a white haired man came to the stable door and pretended he knew nothing.  I came through the gate and questioned further, looking as I talked I found my bike in one the stalls. The man became verbally abusing claiming (in French) that I had trespassed.  Explaining my desperate need for a bathroom had no effect. He threaten to call the police, blowing the whole thing out of proportion. I bid him auvoir as politely as I could, realizing he was a class A -------.  In the future, regardless of the plight of my lower extremities, I will lock my bike and put on the motion alarm.
     After gaining my composure with several miles of riding, I was asking directions and realized to my dismay that I had followed the wrong branch of the canal.  Bernard, a local bicyclist amazingly rode back with me ten miles and put me back on track. A twenty mile mistake isn't the first time for me. With the new course came a strong headwind and a light sprinkle of rain. A cool and cloudy mushroomed into a nasty day.  Twenty knot winds slowed me down to a crawl.  Slogging along, buffeted side to side and rain in the face was compounded by several detours to get around various construction projects.  What I hoped would be a day around forty miles ended up being fifty-eight.  The scenery was nice along with these massive machines housed in huge buildings, designed to raise and lower canal barges, avoiding the need for multiple locks.  These elevators were in stark contrast to the scenic pastoral canals. Kind of errie.
    After hours of bucking the headwinds and spitting rain, I rolled into Mons, Belgium, found an auberge (hostel )and settled in.....my aching body!  Fortunately, my room designed for three was all mine. A hot shower, a good snooze and a delicious dinner in a restaurant off the main square brought me back to life. My rear is soar but it will toughen up with the days to come. Tomorrow, Fifty-five miles to Dunkirk might be a stretch but let's see I how I feel at sunrise.  Dunkirk is the official starting point for my ride along the coast of France.

bicycling the coast of France

After Months of preparation and planning I am on way to France to bicycle the coast.  Brother Robert was kind to deliver me at Logan airport, Boston.  Dragged my two monster pieces of luggage to check-in,  over one hundred pounds of gear.  As expected I had to juggle parts between the two in order to meet the weight requirement.  After a $100 overweight charge, $190 for the bike (round trip) and some heavy lifting of my luggage, I am ready to board an A380.  This plane is absolutely huge,  a double decker and fully booked.  And I hear that airbus is trying to squeeze in 60 additional seats and adding giant winglets. onto the wings.  The planes have 't been selling because they are not economic enough.  Anyways, let's just get there. Brussels or bust.