A humble project, though it could be said that "the journey" covers a wind-down cycle-tour nearer home after two years away cycling in South America. I rode from my door the whole way south to Spain, a land I'd only cycled in briefly before and I can see myself returning to. I didn't get to cycle to all the places; locations I only heard about from others when Is there on the ground. I'm not one who trawls LONELY PLANET; for "the must see" places; doing Spain and "ticking the boxes" that the well organized' even those going expecting to flit between pretty mountain and lakeland country to cities of cultural interest, plus buy the T-shirt. No. Instead I tend to go on word of mouth from others on the road and often return many times to a country before I tire of whatever draws me back.

"Did you get to Santiago del Compostello?" I may be asked for example. The true answer is I'd only a few weeks there, not enough time in my view. But sometime I'll be back and get around the Iberian peninsular; to it's extreme north west corner, Portugal and the city of Cadiz, the port which was Spain's link to her colonies in America. And while down that way, I may as well cross to Morocco: CasaBlanca here I come. I'm thinking famous wartime movie, but seriously the Atlas mountains appeal...

France on the other hand, I've cycled lots. Though in the late eighties-early nineties and not since. It was France where I first cycle-toured; riding from London to Saint Etienne (near Lyon) in 1988, and the French roads which inspired me, leading me to return many times and continue cycle-touring in other lands. A lot has changed in the intervening years of coarse. Back then I took the ferry from Dover to Calais on the first of November, in a prolonged spell of clear skies; meaning, white frosty mornings followed by sunny autumnal afternoons which got dark at six. I'd a Michelin map for the whole of France, not a lot of detail but it was sufficent. It did show with a green outline scenic roads but the road Is on in the north on the way to Paris was through a countryside which was pretty bleak that time of year, being treeless ploughed fields, stubble and the young green of emerging grain crops. There was a certain beauty in the bleakness though, just me and the road ahead of me. It took me two days riding to reach Paris; then I took the bike on the Metro cross the capital, coming up at Orly in the south and followed roadsigns for a place called Melun which I found on the map; beyond which I reached the forest of Fontainbleau by dark. There I camped. I was travelling light with a small backpack and bivacing. First thing next morning I rode through the picturous town Foutainbleau with the whiff of coffee from it's many cafes with clientale in warm fur against the frost. I followed roadsigns south, passing by many turns for Orlean, heading for Nevers on route N7, which I reached by dark and slept in a bus-shelter; a distance of around two hundred kilometres. It was the kind of daily distance I was doing, as the main purpose of the trip was to visit my French girlfriend. The following day was Sunday and I continued south through Moulins, La Lapalissee, into the Massif Central and reached Roanne at five. At a roundabout instead of continuing for Lyon I turned for Saint Etienne, just as it was getting dark, but found an old stone farm building which I went into and slept. It was an extremely cold night and Is glad in the morning knowing that was my final day on the road. But there was thick fog and so it remained cold the whole way to the village north of Saint Etienne where My girlfriend lived. It was memorable adventure with a happy end, and many reffections afterwards.

The France I saw in the eighties, looking back now was only a short distance in time from the mono-tone photographic age; the post war decades which became ingrained, forming my impression of France from afar while growing up in the seventies. The stylish France of Films and art. Smoking was everywhere and bars and cafes were full of blue haze. The cigarettes Gitane and Gauloise; brands uniquely French. The cars were all Renault and Citroen; many of them old classic, 2CVs and DSs which looked like an upside-down boat with wheels peeking out underneath. The police cars in French movies of the fifties and sixties.

After near twenty years away I returned in 2011 in the internet age to a globalized France: the young France where most have the good sense not to smoke and are as likely to drive a non-French car. The most negetive change is the great increase in cars on the roads. Nowadays the roads I cycled on back in 88 are a no no; they're predominately autoroutes and there are many more roads too busy to cycle upon: even route D8 through the valley north of Saint Etienne was a relatively quiet road back in 88, was a constant flow of cars and commercial vehicle when I cycled there in 2011. Though as long as you remain in rural areas on roads between small villages it's not so bad. One thing which hasn't changed is the French's respect for cyclists.

There isn't the same level of respect for cyclists in the UK, though the situation is improving due to the sport of cycling and cycling general becoming a more mainstream activety. The roads here are sinuious with high hedgerows and with arduous hills: Devon is especially tough in this respect; but, if it's scenic countryside as it usually is with cycle-touring, the UK is unbeatable in sunny spells between showers, plus there's managable interesting cities to stopover in.

Finally to sum up how has cycling changed me. Since my first tour cycling has led me to many small places that outsiders don't normally go. And being alone, "solo!" as they'd exclaimed with shock when they saw me by myself in South America, I've learned to be happy with my own company. I choose my route and in the evening hopefully find a nice spot to camp. Then when I reach a city I meet others which I exchange views with. One thing I'll do different next time is use a dedicated touring bike.