Setting off

July 20, 2018 to July 21, 2018

Bedfordshire - Dijon

A few days before, my nervousness about the screwed-up East Coast mainline trains meant I booked myself off another half day on Friday, giving me loads of time to cross London and get to Portsmouth during the day time. With only a little last-minute scrambling (primarily to borrow a travel towel, which I belated realised I really would need at campsites) I set off for the station at Sandy 4 miles away with my lunch packed in my panniers.

Despite not being able to follow my usual route because, ironically, they were resurfacing it as a proper cycle path, I got to the station with ages to spare. The plus side of the new operators and timetables is you can now take Thameslink trains right across London without having to change. The train was running, I reached Croydon without mishap, and despite the Portsmouth train being quite busy managed to board it without trouble (and get on the right portion and avoid going to Bognor, as it's a splitting train). Obviously, this being the UK there was no actual designated place to put the bikes, so I was content to just lean it in the vestibule (I did have to get someone who was standing in the vestibule - when there were plenty of seats - to move. These pointless vestibule-standers continue to mystify me...).

Part of my family originally hail from Portsmouth, but I haven't been there in a while. The centre of town is looking pretty good these days. It was graduation day at the university, and there were quite a few students wondering around in gowns. I had a coffee, then as my excess caution meant I now had several hours to kill, moseyed up around the enormous navel dockyards to the ferry port. I wasn't allowed in the terminal with a bike, so I lazily rode up estuary until I found a mysterious little sandy path that lead to a surprisingly pleasant little beach. This was a good spot to munch, read and make last-minute phone calls.

The devil is out of Portsmouth these days

Part of the huge dockyards that still operate in Portsmouth

Someone had chalked similar messages over about a mile of pavement.

When it was time to head to the port, I did the usual awkward thing of cycling down the car lanes, but as usual it was no problem. One of the dockers somewhat furtively told me "go on, just cycle to the front of the queue!" - so I did. We could lock up our bikes, so I went into the terminal looking for food or drink. Weirdly, the Costa coffee had an attached bar, from which they could serve me a pint, and which I could drink on a balcony overlooking the port.

After waiting behind a camper van that took a very long time to book in - I think they had unregistered animals on board - the only odd part of the boarding process was the security, which they really had beefed up for the cyclists (who are typically ignored). We all actually had to take off a pannier and get it scanned. "Oh, that's a big knife" the rather jolly security guy said to me, in reference to my (blunt as a stick) butter knife.

Once on board I headed straight for the restaurant to get some proper food. Finally I took my drink and wondered around the deck as we departed at 11pm. Inside, people had already occupied sofas and were trying to sleep. I was somewhat sleep deprived, but hadn't got a cabin - but unlike them, I did have a proper sleeping matt and bag, so was wondering myself where I was going to crash. During my peregrinations I discovered that there was a little cubby-hole beneath one of the funnels out on deck. It was tucked away and, more importantly, wasn't in a brightly lit corridor next to the toilets. I figured this would be my first night in the open!

The cubby-hole had a kind of window looking over the side, covered in netting. This is the view of Portsmouth as we departed.

A view of my cubby-hole in the light. I slept, rather well, in here - though the glass [pictured] might have had something to do with that

Despite the open sea air, I slept remarkably well, and felt much revived - if somewhat salty - when I awoke. It was only 5am and there weren't too many people on deck, so I didn't feel too sheepish emerging from beneath the funnel and wondering in to see if I could find some breakfast. I had less success there - it seemed everybody was queuing. I made my way down to the cargo deck to ready my bike instead.

We arrived in Oustreham on time, and as I was prepared, I was off the ferry quickly. There was a French passport control, but there were hardly anyone waiting, so in five minutes I was through.

My first task was the pleasant, early-morning 15km ride into Caen, from which I could catch the train to Paris. When I'd booked the ferry I'd been cursing myself for not noticing that it didn't actually go to Caen ("where's this Oustreham place?") - but it's a simple and well-signed ride along a canal that you can do in an hour. The shift was running well with the load, and I made good time to the South.

Pegasus Bridge over the L'Orne and canal. This was a major flashpoint during the Normandy landings.

A military-themed brassarie is next to the bridge

I got to Caen ridiculously early, and since I'd missed breakfast, hit the first bakery I saw for coffee and croissant. As was to become a theme in this trip, I screwed up my French and managed to confuse everybody. The station was just down the road, and - as I'd pre-booked a very cheap ticket into Paris - I just had to wait for them to announce which platform it would be. They even had lifts to get the bike up to the platform - a couple of French touring cyclists indicated their appreciation of these as I passed them.

The French trains are, conversely, very well prepared for bikes. These had bike-hangers in every carriage. I had to detach some of the luggage to get the front wheel high enough to reach the hook, but once hung up I could pretty much forget about the bike.

At 11am we rolled into St. Lazare station in Paris, and I emerged blinking into the light. I took (quite a few) minutes to find my bearings, then headed off vaguely in the direction of the river. I just needed to find the Seine, and then follow it to the South-East to reach the Gare de Lyon, and behind it the minor Gare de Bercy, where the "slow" trains depart for Dijon, without coming a cropper in the Paris traffic, cobbles, or seemingly endless broken glass.

Lots of tourists of a different sort were about in Paris

I passed the Louvre and a lot of prominent Paris landmarks as I crossed the city. Sadly I didn't take too many photos, as I had a train to catch!

Despite some nerve-racking moments with taxis, and some mutual polite incomprehension with other cyclists determined to give way to me, I found Boulevard de Bercy which led, unsurprisingly, to the Gare de Bercy. It was now midday, my train wasn't for a couple of hours, and I was ready for lunch. I found a rather charming little restaurant I could sit outside in (and keep an eye on my bike) and ate Pizza. My meal was only interrupted by the unfortunate and comical sight of a pedestrian that managed to walk into my bike, knocking it off balance, and then dramatically struggle with trying to right it with it's massive weight. I shouldn't laugh, but I did.

The Gare de Bercy was worryingly busy. I bought a ticket from the machine then struggled for 5 minutes to validate the sodding thing - eventually I was reduced to asking a stranger for help, who also struggled with it until it finally worked to the accompaniment of both of our "ahh"s. I got the bike on nice and early, and helped another couple of cyclists get their front wheels on the hooks in the other carriage. A further couple added more bikes next to mine after, rather sweetly, asking if it was ok - there wasn't room for one, so it go wedged in the vestibule. Before the train pulled off I kept wondering back to check on my bike (and make sure my panniers hadn't been stolen ... not sure what I would've done if they had been, but needless to say any thieves would have been grieviously disappointed). A funny bloke seemed to want to discuss the spare bike in the vestibule, and I had a very confusing conversation where I tried to make it clear it wasn't mine but the other cyclist.

Anyway, eventually the train pulled off. It was actually pretty direct to Dijon.

Crossing Burgundy and the rich agricultural lands. Lots of grain elevators.

About 5pm the train reached Beaune, much emptied, and I leapt off. The lifts in Beaune were just slightly too small to take my long bike. As I went to see if the lift up to the exit was big enough, a station guard came running over, essentially saying it wasn't for bikes. As I sighed and rather laboriously lifted the Shift up the steps, another cyclist tried the lift and got the same treatment ... and then a third. He must spend most of his time chasing after lift-using cyclists.

My map of Beaune wasn't the greatest, but it didn't take me long to find the campsite: especially as outside it was a queue of maybe a dozen camper vans. There were maybe half a dozen couples queuing in front of the reception, and I took my place. The Beaune municipal camping is well-appointed and very good value; but efficient, it is not. It took over an hour for this small queue to move, and to be assigned a place for my little tent - and I had already booked! In my travel-weary state it became amusing - satirical even. The Germans in the queue were not amused and quite plainly told me, and some of the kids waiting were just tearing the place up with boredom. It was obviously over-subscribed, and some people (in massive campers) were turned away, but it was a bit ridiculous. I hoped all municipal campings wouldn't be this difficult to get into.

Anyway, I eventually was assigned my spot, and very nice it was too. Every plot had a small hedge around it, even for the small tents, so you had some privacy. I put up the tent, pleased to see I hadn't forgotten anything vital, got changed into my "smart" clothes, and went to the on-site restaurant. Now, again this seemed to have a few delusions of grandeur. It was half empty - as was unsurprising at 7.30 - and I just sat outside. But no, I couldn't sit there, because I was only one person - I had to sit in the only single place behind a pillar and in the hot inside. Well that was silly, so with a bit of apologies and bluster I just moved myself to a place by the door. Of course as the evening went on it ... stayed half full. On the other hand, the food was good and good value, and the rest of the serving staff seemed nice.

After my meal I went for a wonder around Beaune in the evening light. It's a very pretty place, and obviously overwhelmingly prosperous on the wine trade.

A somewhat racy sculpture in front of the Marie. Ah, France.

A couple of fellows just sitting on the rooftop

Today's ride: 25 km (16 miles)
Total: 25 km (16 miles)

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