Days 7-9 Across the Channel to Normandy
I woke up at 4:20 on Thursday morning feeling as bright as a button, in good time to make it back to the Dhamma Hall for 5am chanting and meditation. This was a great start to the day, and followed by a monastic breakfast of porridge, fruit and coffee. Some last farewells and it was time to take down the tent and set my course for Portsmouth. I'm using a satnav from Czech Republic recommended by another long distance cyclist and so far it has been pretty reliable, at least it gives me a lot more information than Google maps, and is particularly clear at highlighting dedicated cycle routes, but it let me down this morning by taking me into a bridle way that was entirely composed of soft sand that was impossible to pedal through. At least it didn't last too long and I was soon back on some excellent quiet tarmac across the south downs to the coast.
My plan was to meet up with my son Joe who wanted to join me for the last leg into Portsmouth. As luck would have it we met each other at the longest and steepest uphill section of the journey, which was great for me as it gave me some added motivation, but I'm not sure if it was what Joe was expecting in his first half hour in the saddle. Anyway he took it like a champion and we enjoyed the rest of the journey which was much more sedate, and passed through some idyllic villages.
Portsmouth itself was quite fun to cycle through as the infrastructure seems to be well developed. Hardly any need to cycle on the road. We made pretty good time and decided to spend the afternoon on the beach at Eastney. So glad we did, the water was not the least bit cold and the sun was shining so it was a great way to spend my last afternoon in the UK, and in the best company.
We planned to meet Joes brother Bill in the evening who was arriving by car to give him a lift back home. Joe had looked up an interesting Portuguese restaurant quite close by, called Algarve, so we headed off for a feast together. And what a great meal it proved to be with mountainous portions of various kinds of fish all exquisitely cooked.
Bill warned me not to wear the yellow jersey while cycling in France!
It was kinda hard to say goodbye to these two, but after the meal I had to head off to catch the overnight ferry to Cherbourg while they went in the other direction to get their car. Suddenly I started wondering why on earth I had decided to make this outlandish journey and leave behind all the people I love and cherish to be on my own for three or even six months. It was completely dark by now both on the inside and on the outside. At the port there were a lot of other cyclists and I was embarrassed to note that none of them had nearly as much luggage as I did, in fact none of them had panniers at all, and I had four with a rucksack! Turns out that most of them were just doing a weekend jaunt of a few hundred kilometres and then going back home. One of the French cyclists in the queue asked me if I had lost my motor.
On the boat I thought I would have no trouble sleeping as I'd just had a huge meal and was feeling quite exhausted; I don't know why sleep wouldn't come but I spent the whole trip anticipating it's arrival. Sometimes it's hard to tell, but I don't think she visited me at all. Anyway by morning I did not want to move, I felt as if I had been cheated of something I deserved, and my mood continued to gently edge downwards. At last as we entered Cherbourg, the prospect of seeing the port in daylight grew too much to resist and I found myself gazing out at the quayside.
It didn't take long to cross the town, most of the other cyclists sped off ahead of me, and I was surprised to find them all again behind me as I was leaving the suburbs. Maybe my Czech satnav wasn't so bad after all. Normandie is a lot like Cornwall, very up and down, lots of granite gateposts everywhere, very agricultural and the sea never far away. Although it's very pleasant it's not easy cycling country and with having missed a nights sleep and being up at 4:20am the previous day I was tiring very quickly. No amount of lunch could revitalise me and I eventually collapsed on a beach near a place called Le Rozel. On the beach the sun was shining and I took the precaution of covering myself before falling asleep to avoid sunburn. I slept for about two hours woken by a loud booming noise. I guessed it was some machinery in the distance but the noises got louder and more frequent so that I had to get up and take a look to satisfy my curiosity. Incredibly the entire inland had been covered in dark menacing thunderclouds and it was clearly pouring with rain, but the persistent breeze blowing off the sea meant that only a few hundred yards away I remained in brilliant sunshine. I felt blessed to have been spared a soaking and amazed by such a curious weather phenomenon. Seeds of gratitude continued to germinate as I absorbed the beauty of the coastal scene around me. To explore this Normandy coast was something I had wanted to do for a long time.
I hauled myself off the beach and found that, very conveniently, there was a campsite a little further along the shore. It turned out to be way over my budget, €26 per night, but I figured I owed it to myself to take a rest in a secure place with facilities for getting some laundry done, and the most beautiful beach you can imagine.
I had an evening dip in the ocean, communing with my beautiful mother, La Mer. This was beyond money. And after knocking up some pesto pasta, I slept so well in my little tent, better than I ever do at home. Finally I had shaken off all my doubts about the trip and I was looking forward again to what the day would bring.
My strategy for the trip is to spend two days cycling then take a day off to rest and re organise, thus spending two nights in one location. In this case it would be a little expensive but I didn't feel that I had much choice. The sun was not shining today but I was still happy to see my clean clothes hung out on the line to dry. The campsite professed to provide WiFi at €2 per hour, so I thought I would make use of it as my own provider was out of range, but it turned out to be completely useless. I decided to head into the nearest town, Les Pieux, to update the blog and do a little shopping. Even the smallest French towns seem to be provided with public libraries, now called médiateques. As I arrived I met a Frenchman who was just leaving and took a great interest in my journey. He too was a keen cyclist and and we exchanged phone numbers. Inside I was welcomed to charge up my phone and work on the blog in an environment with a reliable internet signal. What a relief. I also made contact with a potential warm showers host for tomorrow night. By the time I got back to the campsite, life was appearing to be a whole lot more manageable, and I could enjoy a worry free stroll along the coast. Just before turning in I received a WhatsApp message from Vincent, the guy I had met outside the library, asking if he could join me in the morning on the next leg of my journey. As I went off to sleep I was not feeling quite so alone.
