1976 in the UK was a very hot summer. Remembered for it's heatwave and a plague of ladybirds. 

My friend and I had finish school, I was off to college in the autumn and she, being brighter than me, to study A levels.

I had an old bike, given to me by my brother. His cast off. It was probably a bit big for me really.  I'd been abroad once before on a school trip to Spain, though my friend was more experienced in such matters. 

I remember going to the bank and getting out £50, that's the maximum you could take out of the country, and the sum total of my savings.  It has to do me for the 6 weeks I expected to be on the road. Including the ferry to France, food and camping. God, how cheap it must have been! 

We left home full of excitement, we'd cycled plenty and hiked together a lot, on hostelling weekends. We were probably a lot fitter than the average teenager of the 21st C.

Our holiday began in earnest in France, but to get there we needed to take the ferry from Southampton.  A two day ride on old fashioned bikes. We had an uneventful start, riding down the old Brighton Road, then heading West through rural Surrey and Sussex and Hampshire, along the coast to Southampton.

My first real memory is of getting off the ferry in Chourboug and riding a mile or so, before stopping for baguettes and cheese in a small village.

We camped at night in municipal campsites, that usually were empty, except for us. Usually there was a toilet block, and that was it as far as amenities went.

We headed south, following minor roads, at junctions we'd choose a route, rarely knowing what lay ahead. We had no destination in mind at the begining of the day. France 1976 was littered with campsites and small, mostly quite roads. It was rural, in every sense of the word. 

Lorries tooted to pass us. Something they no longer do, except sometimes in Spain. To warm you of their presence rather than rudeness or malice.

We rode down the Loire for a few days.

Old towns with ancient churches, fields of sweetcorn, orchards and old farms, hardly changed since the second world war.

My father has fought in France in the British expeditionary force at the beginning of WW2.  My only inkling of life in France came from the few stories he'd told  about being billeted with French families in Normandy and dreadful times at Dunkirk.

The people we met remembered the British fondly still and we found ourselves being invited into homes by elderly farmers to share a brandy and be shown French hospitality on many occasions 

Once we asked to camp, instead of a field, we found a space on  the floor of the garage, shared with a vintage car. It looked like it hadn't moved since the 1930 when it has been last used. 

We left the Loire valley and headed South Easterly towards some bigger hills. One day as we breasted a bit of a mountain, the cars that had past us had stopped by the road side to cheer us at the top. They gave us drinks and were amazed at two Brit teens, far from home,  cycling up their hills on ancient bikes loaded with panniers. 

We stayed in a few youth hostels along the route. In France dorms were shared by men and women. It seemed strange, but often, there was only the one dorm. Coffee was drunk from bowls, not cups in rural France. Bread was dunked in coffee or hot chocolate for breakfast. Baguettes and cheese for lunch. Dinner was often a can of fish and potatoes boiled on our little stove.

Eventually time got the best of us, we arrived in La Puy. Cycled up a hill . And down again. Went to the railway station and bought tickets for home. 

Via Paris and  Calais. Our bikes were put on racks to goto England.....you couldn't take them with you on the train  in those days. They turned up 10 days later at Waterloo stn.

I don't think our parents had any idea of what lay ahead, so far from home for two 15 to 16  year olds. No communications, only a postcard. No help if we needed it, we coped with all the awkward situations as they arose. Including the man with the plums. ( Another story, maybe). 

I left me with a sense of adventure for the rest of this life. I've cycled across continents and hiked across countries in the 50 years since that holiday. I love it now, as I loved it then. Though I'd like those young legs again sometimes on mountain passes!