July25th was our departure date, and we had the car packed and ready to leave home at one in the
morning. Our bikes were secured to the tow bar mounted bike rack on the rear. The inside was packed
with suitcases, bags and panniers full of everything we would need. Quite possibly the kitchen sink
may have made its way into the luggage. I drove through the night to Dover and we got there just as
the dawn was cracking over the English Channel. Vernon took the opportunity to sleep whilst I drove,
as he would do the driving from Calais down to Paris, with me navigating that part. We had arrived
in Dover in good time for the Seacat crossing and I took the opportunity to drink in the dawn sea
air and chase a seagull across the car park. Whilst waiting, I noticed how clever the sparrows of
Dover had become. The sparrows had discovered how to take advantage of the food supplies to be found
attached to the front bumpers, number plates, lights and bonnets of stationary cars. The food supply
consisted of all the insects that had met their doom by impacting on the front of cars. This is a
sought after food supply by Dover sparrows. Quite clever of them to have worked that one out and a
great example of how a species will make the most of opportunities opened up to it in the strangest
places. I mused about which bird had first come across this ample food source and how many
generations of sparrows had now utilised the supplies presented to them.
The early morning Seacat appeared and we drove on board. How the cars are packed into the hull of
these things! Our car was right inside the prow of the boat, complete with limited headroom when we
got out of it. It sank in (probably not the best choice of words) that there were only a couple of
inches of steel between our bikes and the cold waters of the Channel. The crossing was not the best
one we've experienced. There was a strong crosswind and one of the Seacat engines was down. The
result was much lurching and swaying of the boat, with many a passenger looking a little green about
the gills. On the plus side, the crossing only lasted an hour, so it wasn't an unbearable
experience. It was just an unpleasant one.
After disembarking at Calais, Vernon took over the driving and just before we got on to French
roads, he had the sound of Nathan and I nagging, sorry, reminding him that it was now to be "A
droit! A droit!" or "On the right! On the right!" Both Vernon and I have driven in Europe before,
as we took our bikes to Tuscany the year before. We drove down there for a two-week holiday with
bikes attached to back of the car. It was our first attempt at a holiday with bikes. We'd also
driven to and around Austria a few years previously. It only takes a little while to settle into
driving on the wrong side of the road. The worst bit I find is negotiating roundabouts by going the
wrong way around them. I never get entirely comfortable going around European roundabouts in the
car! Vernon got us out of Calais and I navigated us on to the road to Paris. We had a couple of
stops on the way down and got to Paris early afternoon. Driving so far had been easy. Then we came
to Paris. Oh dear. Somehow we managed to get stuck in St. Denis and seemed to be going around and
around in circles, not able to get out of it in the direction we needed to be. Eventually we
managed it and got to the banks of the Seine. This is where we discovered that to drive in Paris is
a foolhardy thing to do. There were no rules of the road as regard giving way or who has priority
at junctions. It was each driver for his or herself. I admit by now I was worried about cycling
round the city as many a junction we had come to we found gridlock as drivers fought for space with
no thought about other drivers.
Eventually we found our hotel. Phew! I was tired as I'd driven through the night and then navigated
us to Paris and by now it was late afternoon. We parked the car in the hotel garage (12 Euros per
day to park the car), signed in at the hotel reception, got the keys to our suite, transported
suitcases up to it and then put our bikes in the hotel secure garage ("No charge pour les vélos,
Madam!"😉. Our suite was great, but also quirky. Nice big double bedroom for Vernon & I, bathroom,
loo, and big living room with huge sofa-bed for Nathan, TV, mini-bar and, kitchen area. But no
kettle: we had to pay a 100 Euro deposit for that. There was no plug in the kitchen sink, no
complimentary tea or coffee (so much for a four star hotel), a fridge, a microwave, and a chopping
board stuck down to the worktop next to the sink. All very, well, different. By the time I unpacked
our suitcases it was time to eat, so we went down to the hotel bar where there was an informal
eating area alongside. Vernon and I had delicious seafood salads and Nathan had a French burger.
Then Vernon and Nathan had a tarte tatin each and I had a crème caramel. We followed this by having
an early night.
Saturday morning arrived and we got up and dressed in cycling kit. Today was the day we needed to
cycle into the centre of Paris, down to the Ecole Militaire where we would find a Tour Village for
the Randonnée participants. In the hotel foyer, I sat down and examined my street map of Paris to
work out how I would get us to our destination of the morning. I was to be chief navigator once
more, as the map would be encased on the top of my bar bag. At this point, an American voice, in a
Texan drawl said, "Excuse me, but are you doing the Randonnée?" No, it wasn't Lance Armstrong
himself, it was Larry from Texas, who was also over here to do the Randonnée but due to postal
delays between France and the States, did not have his instruction leaflet with him. Luckily we had
a spare, so we gave him this. Larry had just got here after cycling all the mountain stages of the
Tour, and I felt incredibly exhausted just listening to his tales of doing such mad feats. Vernon,
Nathan and I got our bikes out of the hotel garage and set off for the centre of Paris. I was
apprehensive leading the way. I'm not exactly greatly experienced in cycling in a major city never
mind cycling in a European capital city and our driving experience of the previous day did unnerve
me. I shouldn't have worried. Cycling in Paris on the main roads was an absolute dream. The
motorists who had appeared aggressive the day before had completely changed now I was on a bike.
Courtesy was everywhere with drivers giving us space. What an eye opener! I navigated us
successfully to the Ecole Militaire with only the odd minor detour as a result of working around
one-way roads. At the Ecole Militaire, a large area of the Parc du Champ de Mars was allocated to
becoming a "village" for the Tour and Randonnée riders in particular. On showing our Randonnée ID
bracelets we were each given a yellow jersey, retro style, with "Randonnée du Centenaire" in blue
letters across the front. All participants in the following morning's main event would be wearing
these. There was also a multitude of stalls giving out free souvenirs; little bags of sweets, hats,
bags, cheeses. Tell me, why would anyone want to queue for an hour for a snack size portion of
Camembert? Cyclists were everywhere to be seen and the crowds seemed to be fighting for souvenirs. A
man speaking French very quickly and very loudly thrust a microphone in my face and asked me lots of
things in French which I didn't understand. My schoolgirl French, even rustier than my schoolgirl
German, came into play. I excused myself, politely, for not understanding all that was being asked.
I heard the man say "Enchanté, Madame." to me, so I am sure I did not, at least, cause a regretful
international incident. An elderly French lady, complete in elegant dress, highly made-up, bouffant
hair and with her tiny poodle in tow came up to me and started chatting away in French (a lot of
this went on, anyone would think I was in France). I made my apologies again, but this did not deter
her. I whipped out my pocket sized French dictionary and managed to work out she was asking me why
all of these people were wandering about with bicycles and carrying yellow jerseys. So I told her
about the Randonnée and she seemed quite excited at the prospect of ten thousand international
amateur cyclists cycling round her home city the following morning. At this point I heard Nathan ask
his Dad, "Dad, why does Mum always manage to get people coming up to her like this? How does she do
it?" I was about to mention my natural charm (!) but I think I heard "Loony on the bus syndrome"
being mentioned by Vernon. Trouble was I think Vernon may have meant that I was that loony.
After that we set off on our bikes again to cycle around Paris. We found the Champs Elysées and had
coffee in a little café just off the main thoroughfare. I photographed Vernon and Nathan sat
together at a table outside the café and the photograph now adorns my computer desktop, a daily
reminder of our visit to Paris for the Tour centenary. Off again, we even cycled round the L'Arc de
Triomphe with traffic rushing all around but all giving us much more space than traffic in the UK. I
was absolutely delighting in this; cycling here was just so easy compared to cycling in traffic back
home. I fell in love with Paris on a bicycle.
On arriving back at the hotel we bumped into Larry from Texas again. He too had noticed how
cycle-friendly the traffic was compared to his experience of cycling in Texas traffic where, he
said, it is not unusual for motorists to deliberately aim at a cyclist with the intention of pushing
the cyclist off the road. Rather than eat again in the hotel restaurants, we wandered out into the
Paris evening and found a little corner shop selling groceries. We bought breads, meats, fruits,
juices and wines and took these back to our suite. We ate whilst watching the events of that day's
Tour stage on Eurosport with a commentary not in English.
The next morning we were up bright and early. Dressed with our yellow jerseys on and ate a mighty
breakfast in the hotel restaurant to keep us going for the rest of the day. I have to admit, I was
as excited as a child going to see Santa Claus at the thought of doing this Randonnée! Nathan had on
his CSC team jersey under his Randonnée jersey, as he was supporting Tyler Hamilton, the American
CSC rider who had broken his collarbone on the first stage of the Tour and was still cycling in
spite of his injury. We were planning to watch the Tour main event on the streets of Paris once the
Randonnée was over and Nathan wanted to make sure he was supporting his favourite rider.
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This is sent from a redundant email Mail sent to it is dumped My correct one can be gleaned from
h*$el***$$n*$d$ot$**s**i$$m*$m$**on**$s$@*$$a**$*ol*$*.*$$c$om*$ by getting rid of the
overdependence on money and fame
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