Kilometer Zero to Somewhere South of St. Quentin

Well howdy there.

Why yes – It’s been a little since this narrative voice graced this site. Almost 4 days in fact, a time frame that correlates almost precisely with the time we’ve been on the road.

Setting Sail

After a flurry of packing and smattering of something sparkly on Monday the 14th, we waved goodbye to a clan of Pengillys in Hinchley Wood. Stopping to correct the first rub in Esher, roughly 300 meters away, we set off, rather uneventfully through the roads we’ve become acquainted to. Dipping past Box Hill and rolling into Reigate, it felt more so that we’d managed to get out of the workshop/office long enough to steal a weekend away. Continuing our route ever Southward that first day, we stopped at Turner’s Hill, reflecting on being wedged halfway between the North and South downs – home, and beyond.

It was a moment of teariness, but that may well have been due to my having been charged £6 for two lemonades. Happily, Stef nipped into a local offie ad returned with pastried goods from lands of the north and far west, so we continued dutifully.

Whizzing around and downhill, we eventually stumbled upon the South Downs. Following our noses, and our little Beelines, we were soon skipping into Lewes – A town much prettier than anticipated. Blitzing on to Newhaven, we raided the local Lidl for all it’s pasta, tuna and sweetcorn, and took it to the beach. With the light fading and 100 laden kilometers in our legs, we got out our little stove and started popped up the tent (cheeky) for what was to be a windy and cold evening.

Waking early with a ferry to catch, we jumped out of the tent as the sun was rising, packed everything up and went to wait about at the port. With us installed to the rear of the boat, the crossing was soon to take us past the iconic Beachy Head, one final geographical salute as we set off for the continent.

French Soil

The first day saw us climb out of Dieppe before weaving around the valleys of Picardie. Clicking down 50 kilometers in distance, we did a fair job considering our boat docked at 14hrs French time, and also that we’d not had all too much sleep the night before. As evening drew in, we headed for a forest, a shade outside of St Germain au Bosc, set up the tent and enjoyed the French trinity of bread, sausage, and cheese.

 

Day two, and we continued with our desire to strike east. With a forest worker’s tractor waking us, we skulked out of the woods to keep crossing valleys and rearing up towards the flatter lands south of Amiens. Supermarket lunches keeping us going and we blitzed through towns, and, aside from one café stop, we were fairly comitted to the forward pedalling motion, putting in another good 70-ish km. Retreating to a copse on a hill, we stayed the night wild and reflected on the cost per person per day so far – we were just about under the €20 mark per person…

 

We woke frozen on our wind-turbine laden hill in our very own circle of trees. As we shiveringly packed up our things and pushed off, the farmer, who’s field we had nonchalantly chosen, came to scope us out, but after a few pleasantries, went on his way cheery enough with our having been there. Desperate for warmth, we high-tailed it to the nearest cafe/bet shop, and put €6 down on two cappucinos coming in neck and neck. We were each served a double espresso topped with cream, but that was not remotely quibble-able, or at least, not as we were now warming at a rate of knotts.

We pushed onwards, across the flats and wrangled about 70km out of the day, impeded by rather gusty headwinds and some unpleasantly lorry-full roads around the sugar and wood factories of Nesle and Ham. Still, after Ham, we made ground again on quieter and altogether lovlier roads, through Saint-Simon and ended in a little place called Montescourt-Lizerolles. Here, whilst snacking on a brioche in the shade of a hedge, a youngish chap approached us with his daughter and asked us a few questions. Not 2 minutes had passed before he offered us a place to stay and a shower to boot.

This was a deal clincher for Stef. Stinky Will gave her a cursory glance, and knew he was obliged to live in his own filth no longer. We took up Nicolas’ offer, and found ourself in a little bamboo gazebo in a backyard. More like something you might find in a visit Thailand brochure, this was a little open to the wind, but as intrepid explorers, we weren’t perturbed, or inclined to turn down the amazing hospitality. Super lively and hugely energetic, Nicolas is a fantastic sort, who having travelled the world himself knows that when you’re hiding from the sun and eating brioche with a 20 yard exclusion zone around you, it’s probably high time they could do with a little help. We sat and talked for a good many hours, shared a couple of beers and bedded down for the night, ready to see what the next day would bring.