Day 64: Tuesday, 12 July 1983

Start: Campground, Carentan, France

End: Hostel, Cherbourg, France

Took care of business in Carentan first thing, so panniers are lighter after mailing books -- Bob very thankful -- and pockets are heavier after getting cash.

Hit the Utah museum. Tacky. Doesn't measure up. Spent time down on the beach. Stopped at the memorial for French 2nd Armored Division and Leclerc. My favorite WWII Frenchman. Then on to Ste Mere Eglise. Nice town and excellent airborne museum. Spent a couple of hours studying the exhibits, but avoided loading up with books again.

Pedaling around slowly. Backtracking. Studying terrain. Drinking in the battlefield. 

I'm tempted to turn around, go back to Pegasus bridge, and do the whole run again.

Not going to happen, though. I eventually roused myself from such pleasant reveries and started kicking it toward Cherbourg. I know what I need to do. But this is still beautiful countryside, and full of notable WWII sites.

I rode briefly with a racer who claimed to be a commando in the French Army. Not sure if he meant 1944 -- I doubt it! -- or now. Other than that, roads strangely empty of bicycles. Odd because -- even without D-Day attractions -- it's prime cycling territory. I stayed off the main road, riding closer to the eastern shore. Much hillier. Not a problem. A couple short, steep climbs, and into Cherbourg.

Quickly located the ferry terminal. Brief conversation. Purchased a ticket for the boat from Cherbourg to Weymouth departing at 5:30 PM tomorrow. Clerk assures me Bob will be no problem whatsoever. US$30 for me. Bob rides free. So that's it. Leaving France. Leaving the Continent. Skipping, sad to say, Ireland altogether. Guess I won't be able to inspect any more Irish "touring bikes" with metal baskets, and won't be able to wander the streets of Belfast pining for redheaded Geraldine.

Buying the ferry ticket kind of choked me up. I recognize that I'm almost at the end of the line. I still have awhile before my return flight ticket expires, but Bob and I are heading toward the barn. Well, not that Heathrow or O'Hare will actually have barns.

I picked up a couple of maps of southern England. Found the hostel and got a bunk. Went back out for a pizza. Had some beers with a solo touring biker from Quebec. He laments that in England no one understands his English and in France no one understands his French.

Cherbourg isn't an exceptionally charming place, but under the circumstances it seems lovely and a bit sad.

Hey, it's mostly behind me now. 

And I never even found a decent D-Day t-shirt.

Conditions 

Distance: 70 km 

Weather: Warm 

Road: Good 

Traffic: Light to moderate 

Terrain: Mostly flat, then hilly and steeper 

Mechanical: All is well 

Physical: Feeling very strong