This could be interesting.................
FNRttC FNRtC to Newhaven, Dieppe and Paris
- Thread starter dellzeqq
- Start date
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This could be interesting.................
martint235
Dog on a bike
- Location
- Welling
I will be better behaved in Normandie, largely due to now abstaining from the alcohol!!!
swarm_catcher
Guru
'Good luck with that lot', said Susie, as parties parted. People nodded in agreement. I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. 'No, really, good luck', said Susie. I missed all the excitement, as with a next day ride to Belgium I had food and sleep on my mind.
clivedb
Guru
- Location
- Milton Keynes
This is how legend and myth are created - from the fog of alcohol! Who was the cider drinker?
There's one cyclist who seems to be absent from all these accounts - Davy. Did he get to Paris? have you lost him altogether?
There's one cyclist who seems to be absent from all these accounts - Davy. Did he get to Paris? have you lost him altogether?
martint235
Dog on a bike
- Location
- Welling
We did lose Davy temporarily on Friday but found him again on Saturday.
so.......another year, and the third Fridays trip to France. Just the nineteen of us at Hyde Park Corner, and a young woman offering me a passport. It turned out that Stephen and Ingrid had ridden down to Newhaven without Stephen's passport. They'd re-booked on to our ferry crossing (LD Lines setting aside its maximum number of bikes, of which more later), and we were to deliver the passport to them. That sorted we set off in to a mild night, running down through Mitcham, South Croydon and Purley where we picked up the A23. We'd suffered a blown tyre in Chelsea, repaired by Big Martin while Miranda and User10571 nipped round to Miranda's place to pick up a spare, but...other than that, it was a very smooth trip. We negotiated the switch to the right at the M23 slip (yours truly doing his roadblock bit) and rolled through Redhill and Horley before picking up a police tail just north of Gatwick. I stopped, hailed them, explained that we were on our way to Paris, they relaxed, and we took the Surprise in to Departures - quite like old times. Costalotta Coffee did the deed (some of us sneaked away to Caffe Nero) and we were back on the road again by 3.40.
And on, south along the B2036 before branching off to Turners Hill, arriving just before dawn. The mild night made for an almost restful descent to Ardingly and one couldn't help but wonder 'where would we rather be?' as the sun lit up Slugwash Lane.
The byways to Cooksbridge were as delightful as ever. Jenny led us along with the breeze at our backs. Even the climb to Lewes lacked the bite of last year, and, while we saw a few crazies coming the other way on the Piddinghoe road, it wasn't near as busy as I remembered.
There was a reason for this - we'd made good time, pulling in to Newhaven at 6.45. The Captain's Table wasn't open, so we took a chance on the caff in Newhaven Harbour. Not the greatest of breakfasts, but not the worst either. Susie offered the passport to passing men, but, happily, none accepted before Stephen arrived to claim it.
On to the ferry. I slept while the grown-ups partied. Rumours of alcoholic derring-do began to circulate, and when Big Martin, Long Martin, Els, Ian and Andy set off from the ferry terminal some of us wondered whether this might end in tears. Eleven went on to Saint-Saens - Susie, Stuart, Olaf, Mika, Miranda, Jenny, Stephen, Ingrid, Georgios and Sahar. Nine of us stopped at the same small cafe in Torcy as last year, and, once again, had ham sandwiches and coffee, while Georgios and Sahar, with fifty miles to cover before their overnight stop, went on.
We rolled along the D154, following the sweetly pastured Varenne valley to Saint-Saen, the breeze still behind us, getting in to town about six, and meeting up again at (yes) the same restaurant for spaghetti bolognese. Saint-Saens is so pretty it's almost silly. There's half-timbering, florid stonework, a square in front of a church clearly carved by masons on mescaline, kitchen gardens and soft woodland pressing in from the valley sides. All of which makes for a good night's sleep.
When we woke the valley sides were obscured by mist, coming down to, perhaps, a hundred foot above our heads. Susie and I rendezvoused with the others and, once again, we ambled along D-roads almost devoid of traffic. After Saveaumare (no licky dog this time) we rose up on to a flat limestone plateau, cut, from time to time, by valleys similar to the Varenne. The plateau was given over to corn, scattered with villages, each with its own church, each church with it's extravagant spire, and, thus, we went from spire to spire, meeting Georgios and Sahar at Fleury-le-Floret, and then stopping for another ham sandwich and another coffee at Morgny, at, yes, the self-same boulangerie that we stopped at in 2011.
Then on to Gisors, stopping for group photographs at an old watermill, and, from Gisors on to the dreaded D915.
Which, it must be said, was nothing like as intimidating as last year - just not very pleasant. We were pretty content up to the Georgios' fateful pedal incident. For a while it looked as if he was going to make it to Paris, but he was looking more and more pale, and we stopped at Marines, where he iced the wound in the restaurant.
Enter, stage left, Big Martin and Andy. They'd chased us across half of Normandy, Big Martin gamely hanging on to Andy's back wheel. So, thirteen of us dined in Marines, but Sahar and George went on to their hotel by taxi, and we, remaining eleven, went back on to the D915 to Cergy-Pontoise, and across the bridge over the Oise in to Greater Paris. There followed seventeen miles of dinning traffic, first through some of the most unlovely suburbs one can imagine, then through the more genteel parts around Corneille, and then in to metropolitan Neiuilly and then in to Haussmann territory, fetching up at the Arc de Triomphe about 6.30. I led a small posse around the Arc and along the Boulevard Haussmann to past the Gare Saint-Lazaire to the Magenta where we went our separate ways - Susie and I to the Crowne Plaza, which is not all bad.
The meal (and the waiters) at Brasserie Flo is worth a report all of its own. Suffice to say we made our way back to the hotel, slept fitfully, rose at a quarter to seven, had the pretty competent business breakfast, rode to the Gare de Nord and caught the quarter past nine train. We were home by half past eleven. It's an odd thing, unwinding an adventure with a fast train or plane, but watching the highlights of the Tour softened the impact.
I've done this trip for the last time. The ride to Newhaven is sweet, and the journey from Dieppe to Saint-Saens and Gisors is delightful, but the rest is dull and riding in to Paris just isn't smart. Maybe we'll combine Haute-Normandie with La-Manche next year, but, as far as this particular ride is concerned, the box is ticked.
And on, south along the B2036 before branching off to Turners Hill, arriving just before dawn. The mild night made for an almost restful descent to Ardingly and one couldn't help but wonder 'where would we rather be?' as the sun lit up Slugwash Lane.
The byways to Cooksbridge were as delightful as ever. Jenny led us along with the breeze at our backs. Even the climb to Lewes lacked the bite of last year, and, while we saw a few crazies coming the other way on the Piddinghoe road, it wasn't near as busy as I remembered.
There was a reason for this - we'd made good time, pulling in to Newhaven at 6.45. The Captain's Table wasn't open, so we took a chance on the caff in Newhaven Harbour. Not the greatest of breakfasts, but not the worst either. Susie offered the passport to passing men, but, happily, none accepted before Stephen arrived to claim it.
On to the ferry. I slept while the grown-ups partied. Rumours of alcoholic derring-do began to circulate, and when Big Martin, Long Martin, Els, Ian and Andy set off from the ferry terminal some of us wondered whether this might end in tears. Eleven went on to Saint-Saens - Susie, Stuart, Olaf, Mika, Miranda, Jenny, Stephen, Ingrid, Georgios and Sahar. Nine of us stopped at the same small cafe in Torcy as last year, and, once again, had ham sandwiches and coffee, while Georgios and Sahar, with fifty miles to cover before their overnight stop, went on.
We rolled along the D154, following the sweetly pastured Varenne valley to Saint-Saen, the breeze still behind us, getting in to town about six, and meeting up again at (yes) the same restaurant for spaghetti bolognese. Saint-Saens is so pretty it's almost silly. There's half-timbering, florid stonework, a square in front of a church clearly carved by masons on mescaline, kitchen gardens and soft woodland pressing in from the valley sides. All of which makes for a good night's sleep.
When we woke the valley sides were obscured by mist, coming down to, perhaps, a hundred foot above our heads. Susie and I rendezvoused with the others and, once again, we ambled along D-roads almost devoid of traffic. After Saveaumare (no licky dog this time) we rose up on to a flat limestone plateau, cut, from time to time, by valleys similar to the Varenne. The plateau was given over to corn, scattered with villages, each with its own church, each church with it's extravagant spire, and, thus, we went from spire to spire, meeting Georgios and Sahar at Fleury-le-Floret, and then stopping for another ham sandwich and another coffee at Morgny, at, yes, the self-same boulangerie that we stopped at in 2011.
Then on to Gisors, stopping for group photographs at an old watermill, and, from Gisors on to the dreaded D915.
Which, it must be said, was nothing like as intimidating as last year - just not very pleasant. We were pretty content up to the Georgios' fateful pedal incident. For a while it looked as if he was going to make it to Paris, but he was looking more and more pale, and we stopped at Marines, where he iced the wound in the restaurant.
Enter, stage left, Big Martin and Andy. They'd chased us across half of Normandy, Big Martin gamely hanging on to Andy's back wheel. So, thirteen of us dined in Marines, but Sahar and George went on to their hotel by taxi, and we, remaining eleven, went back on to the D915 to Cergy-Pontoise, and across the bridge over the Oise in to Greater Paris. There followed seventeen miles of dinning traffic, first through some of the most unlovely suburbs one can imagine, then through the more genteel parts around Corneille, and then in to metropolitan Neiuilly and then in to Haussmann territory, fetching up at the Arc de Triomphe about 6.30. I led a small posse around the Arc and along the Boulevard Haussmann to past the Gare Saint-Lazaire to the Magenta where we went our separate ways - Susie and I to the Crowne Plaza, which is not all bad.
The meal (and the waiters) at Brasserie Flo is worth a report all of its own. Suffice to say we made our way back to the hotel, slept fitfully, rose at a quarter to seven, had the pretty competent business breakfast, rode to the Gare de Nord and caught the quarter past nine train. We were home by half past eleven. It's an odd thing, unwinding an adventure with a fast train or plane, but watching the highlights of the Tour softened the impact.
I've done this trip for the last time. The ride to Newhaven is sweet, and the journey from Dieppe to Saint-Saens and Gisors is delightful, but the rest is dull and riding in to Paris just isn't smart. Maybe we'll combine Haute-Normandie with La-Manche next year, but, as far as this particular ride is concerned, the box is ticked.
mmmmartin
Random geezer
Is my training for LEL on the right track, I ask myself. I read this report and wonder if perhaps just getting on the bike and riding it to or from work and at weekends is possibly not enough? Maybe I should be including vast amounts of beer and wine, trips to hospital, injuries, doctors, etc ec.
what does the team think?
ianmac62
Guru
- Location
- Northampton
Glad I ticked the box this year, then! I thoroughly enjoyed the visit to Gatwick Airport:
and the unloading at Dieppe
I can report on a delightful solo ride on Saturday in glorious weather - to Saint-Saëns along the Varenne valley with excursions to the eastern and western slopes to add some climbing; then a lovely lunch here:
a bit of a wander west and then picking up a quiet road down the Scie valley back to Dieppe. Route here.
All this was in search of La France Profonde. OK, it's not sufficiently in the interior for that but I certainly discovered les routes vertes. Meanwhile, my erstwhile companions went in search of L'Ivresse Profonde, which was odd, as they had found it the evening before, lost it, found it again, etc. Fear ye not, they found it again! Ferry was met, trains were boarded, all ended happily.
ianmac62
Guru
- Location
- Northampton
And I must add thanks to DZ for everything, and to Stuart & Olaf for route suggestions for my day out from Dieppe.
P.S. Olaf - a set of new Ortlieb panniers was waiting for me on my return home!
P.S. Olaf - a set of new Ortlieb panniers was waiting for me on my return home!
Aperitif
Meme bar
- Location
- ...I don't have much idea - really.
I agree!1946648 said:
Considering the respective returns of TM and DW, one could have hoped for more. I have just returned - couldn't be bothered to unpack and assemble my bicycle once more, so I prevailed upon The Metropolitan Line to suck me out of London, and the melee that is Kings Cross.
The washing machine is in action, my first beer is being sampled and I have harvested some photos.
Anyway, it was a good evening for a ride last Thursday, and my panniers this year were being held by excellent German engineering, so I wasn't wobbling like a silverfish - which was quite handy as there was a bit of quick stuff on the roller-coaster to Lindfield!
Olaf and I breakfasted at Luna Rossa while the others tried the shed. 'Luna Rossa' is the new name for The Captains Table. Yes, it opened at 07:30 but the quality was tip-top, and the coffee made with passion, not poisson. We retraced our route to Shedville and saw the distainful grimaces presenting themselves through the dirty glass. The worst thing is, I had photo evidence of the quality, and I deleted it by mistake this morning - sorry Olaf, we had arranged an exposé and I blew it!
Standing in the queue, Davy and Martin were 'talking about it', and 'thinking about it'. Could they actually do it? Bikes were stashed and the bar was opened. They sat down like two innocent Dads at Butlins, among the brass and 'traditional' fitments.
At this point, I might take a break and leave readers with the latter-day Morecambe & Wise of the FNR...
Stuart and Olaf enjoying celebrity status.
Dieppe was next on the list, along with watching the Skytrain - just as I got out of the shower - an impressive sight. No, not me silly, the cycling
Martin was 'downtown', in a bar with TV that wasn't showing TdF. I ordered a round of beverages in giant-sized glasses (Davy has photo evidence I believe) and that, I think, is when it all started to become a trial. The latter stages would see TM having trouble with the Dieppe hokey-cokey "You put your Leffe leg in, your Leffe leg out...et seq" Follow this with a few rounds of 'demi' + Ricard appreciation lessons, and things were getting out of control.
Davy had proved ultralight and had nothing to offer. Food followed, I settled up, and that was the last I saw of the Nelson riddle - he disappeared!
End of Part the First.
U
User10571
Guest
Well writ.
I look forward to the furthermore....
I look forward to the furthermore....
Aperitif
Meme bar
- Location
- ...I don't have much idea - really.
Thank you.
Anyway, Andy and I went for some breakfast at half past seven..the others had already left Saint Saens apparently - 38kms over yonder! I advised on filling and making sandwiches for the interim. People shy away from the Etap / Ibis brand, but the places are clean, secure and the coffee and cake is passable - with the fresh baguettes an absolute delight...as much as you can eat, or secrete in the race pockets.
So, we cracked on in clement weather - no massive headwind, just a gentle controlled togetherness. It was only 180kms - a mere 'Etap-in' so to speak.
Afore we departed, TallMart materialised. He had no explanation for the bandage on his elbow and the grazing on his leg. Nor did we.
In the wee small hours, the hospital considered this specimen from over the water and I'm sure thoughts about bundling him off to The Foreign Legion crossed their minds...until the doctor intervened and told him to 'March or Die(ppe)' - it was a beau geste, which TallMart duly accepted and called for his chauffeur. Ian didn't know that he was chauffeur/guardian designate but hey - he slipped back into the role effortlessly!
Davy was nowhere to be seen - it was like he was sleeping uphill...just taking his time. As I understand, Ian was the only one true to his word ie: I'm going for a ride around Dieppe...while the other two rouleurs brushed up their Ricard technique encore un fois.
Straight roads and not unpleasant scenery passed us by; flaxseed is the stuff that is laying in the fields? (Just guessing)
Meanwhile, Andy and I hit some town ten minutes before midday and thought to stop for some drinky winkies.Then the midday bells tolled for 15 minutes...
often a significant event in rural France, in this case, the significant event was two roadmen slugging café, beer, coke and Perrier. (Every day, I think Andy asked me the same question; "Are you drinking a beer this early?" I have no intention of giving up either.)
So we upped and pressed to make 'Marines', where we arrived not in need of sustenance, but cold, bubbly water - the riding temperature was superb. George was ailing and a remedy found. They fell upon a nice taxi driver too, who was going to cosset George to Paris with Sahar and their bikes.
George collapsed as swiftly as the Greek economy apparently - he left his mark upon the metal.
And on we went - towards Paris, the banlieue and the poxy cobblestones.
Certain things kept jogging my memory of the intrepid non-cyclists in Dieppe:
And next: How Olaf, Andy and I left twenty minutes to get across town and back for a posh meal served by waiters slower than the snails they were trying to serve up, and how we sought solace in large beers at 'Le Triomphe' (meaning we left only twenty minutes to get across town etc ) - Olaf became a convert to hot music with style.
Anyway, Andy and I went for some breakfast at half past seven..the others had already left Saint Saens apparently - 38kms over yonder! I advised on filling and making sandwiches for the interim. People shy away from the Etap / Ibis brand, but the places are clean, secure and the coffee and cake is passable - with the fresh baguettes an absolute delight...as much as you can eat, or secrete in the race pockets.
So, we cracked on in clement weather - no massive headwind, just a gentle controlled togetherness. It was only 180kms - a mere 'Etap-in' so to speak.
Afore we departed, TallMart materialised. He had no explanation for the bandage on his elbow and the grazing on his leg. Nor did we.
In the wee small hours, the hospital considered this specimen from over the water and I'm sure thoughts about bundling him off to The Foreign Legion crossed their minds...until the doctor intervened and told him to 'March or Die(ppe)' - it was a beau geste, which TallMart duly accepted and called for his chauffeur. Ian didn't know that he was chauffeur/guardian designate but hey - he slipped back into the role effortlessly!
Davy was nowhere to be seen - it was like he was sleeping uphill...just taking his time. As I understand, Ian was the only one true to his word ie: I'm going for a ride around Dieppe...while the other two rouleurs brushed up their Ricard technique encore un fois.
Straight roads and not unpleasant scenery passed us by; flaxseed is the stuff that is laying in the fields? (Just guessing)
Meanwhile, Andy and I hit some town ten minutes before midday and thought to stop for some drinky winkies.Then the midday bells tolled for 15 minutes...
often a significant event in rural France, in this case, the significant event was two roadmen slugging café, beer, coke and Perrier. (Every day, I think Andy asked me the same question; "Are you drinking a beer this early?"
I have no intention of giving up either.)So we upped and pressed to make 'Marines', where we arrived not in need of sustenance, but cold, bubbly water - the riding temperature was superb. George was ailing and a remedy found. They fell upon a nice taxi driver too, who was going to cosset George to Paris with Sahar and their bikes.
George collapsed as swiftly as the Greek economy apparently - he left his mark upon the metal.
And on we went - towards Paris, the banlieue and the poxy cobblestones.
Certain things kept jogging my memory of the intrepid non-cyclists in Dieppe:
And next: How Olaf, Andy and I left twenty minutes to get across town and back for a posh meal served by waiters slower than the snails they were trying to serve up, and how we sought solace in large beers at 'Le Triomphe' (meaning we left only twenty minutes to get across town etc
) - Olaf became a convert to hot music with style.Attachments
Aperitif
Meme bar
- Location
- ...I don't have much idea - really.
The run-in to Paris was a whole heap easier than last year - less traffic and fine weather. I like the urban stuff as much as a country road pace line and there are always plenty of things to see - for me. Other people - possibly no? I have to say that there was some piss-poor road positioning from one of the riders. It was a sure fire way to antagonise following traffic...this lack of willing to keep tight and in file, riding to the conditions. It's is just ignorant. Some stop / start sections of the approach to Paris felt a bit like a commute to me -
I can't feel confident grinding a high gear - others can...
and, by then I had decided that the next feu rouge would see me drop my bike and go for a 'demi' - should a bar be on the corner. We also stopped at a Surgeles for a bit of map reading... and started again before I could buy a box of ice creams. All positive thoughts though! ('thoughts'...as in "I'm gasping for a beer!")
Which is how Olaf, Andy and I came to be in Le Triomphe, eating bowl after bowl of popcorn and drinking 50cl foamy glasses of seize cent soixante quatre.
The comfort/quality equation was tempting further indulgence...the music was rhythmic but that would have been ridiculous so we tried, one more time, to be sensible. We parted for our billets, and the traffic was desperate en route to Gare du Nord + Usual Ibis/Etap efficiency meant that our bikes were safely stored, breakfast sorted, and hot showers were underway prior to the march back to Gare du Nord for a rendezvous at 'Brasserie Flo' - somewhere in Small Squirrel Court. Late, ergo 'no space for sitting down'. But the evening passed - for Andy and I in the excellent company of Katerina, Olaf's wife, and Olaf, natch. The staff ride for team slow - without a doubt. Maybe that's the way it is when one goes with the Flo...However, a fitting full stop to a long day, on the eve of 'Yellow fever'.
Hospitals had played a significant role in this year's ride I thought, as Andy and I strolled toward The Champs Elysees - admiring the 'BCBG' of passing females. "Boomp" "Aieeee!" was the cry as I turned around to see a woman collapsed on the floor. At least she was conscious, asked for someone who could speak French, and five minutes later the Sapeur Pompiers were on hand.(Dial 18) She was 65 (didn't look it!) and was a bit concerned. We bade her farewell and wished her good luck before continuing the minature sightseeing tour, joining the throng in the blazing sun...checking out positions before deciding on the Norwegian Bar as they had a telly,
I was hungry and thirsty, and they were giving away cycling jerseys! All good. The place looked like a sea of Neutrogena at times...but the service was great. Managed to chat with a couple who have been attending the Tour since 1967; they originated from Finistere, and were just absorbing the atmosphere - cool! She was from a fishing family and the time passed with conversations about how young people didn't understand the weather, the tradition of aperitifs and their social importance - all sorts of stuff. My contribution was knowing about Galettes Bretonnes and caramel au beurre salé - which was lucky!
We stood near the exit from the tunnel, watched a few circuits and made a calculation to watch the Skytrain pass (Next time you go downhill very fast, think of that speed and imagine yourself in the lead-out group with 1.5kms to the end - it is a phenomenal pace...) and then "sprint" - ahem - to the TV in the Norwegian bar...then ten seconds later saw Cavendish give the four fingers!
The final day is a photographer's paradise - cycling or not - there is something to catch the eye. It's a 'captive audience'!
iLB - CycleChat's Bradley Ouiggins of the future, standing at a bar or two. Good practice.
As part of Andy's Paris lessons, we then returned to Gare du Nord area to meet a couple of my mates - sensible, upstanding citizens of Paris - for a few beers. So far, we had passed a good day - it was about to get better. Patricia, the bar owner, was crying with laughter, my friends Doron and Patrick were amused by Miranda, and Sahar was able to give the first indication that George was comfortable and not severely injured, thankfully.
I can't feel confident grinding a high gear - others can...
and, by then I had decided that the next feu rouge would see me drop my bike and go for a 'demi' - should a bar be on the corner. We also stopped at a Surgeles for a bit of map reading... and started again before I could buy a box of ice creams. All positive thoughts though! ('thoughts'...as in "I'm gasping for a beer!")
Which is how Olaf, Andy and I came to be in Le Triomphe, eating bowl after bowl of popcorn and drinking 50cl foamy glasses of seize cent soixante quatre.
The comfort/quality equation was tempting further indulgence...the music was rhythmic but that would have been ridiculous so we tried, one more time, to be sensible. We parted for our billets, and the traffic was desperate en route to Gare du Nord + Usual Ibis/Etap efficiency meant that our bikes were safely stored, breakfast sorted, and hot showers were underway prior to the march back to Gare du Nord for a rendezvous at 'Brasserie Flo' - somewhere in Small Squirrel Court. Late, ergo 'no space for sitting down'. But the evening passed - for Andy and I in the excellent company of Katerina, Olaf's wife, and Olaf, natch. The staff ride for team slow - without a doubt. Maybe that's the way it is when one goes with the Flo...However, a fitting full stop to a long day, on the eve of 'Yellow fever'.
Hospitals had played a significant role in this year's ride I thought, as Andy and I strolled toward The Champs Elysees - admiring the 'BCBG' of passing females. "Boomp" "Aieeee!" was the cry as I turned around to see a woman collapsed on the floor. At least she was conscious, asked for someone who could speak French, and five minutes later the Sapeur Pompiers were on hand.(Dial 18) She was 65 (didn't look it!) and was a bit concerned. We bade her farewell and wished her good luck before continuing the minature sightseeing tour, joining the throng in the blazing sun...checking out positions before deciding on the Norwegian Bar as they had a telly,
I was hungry and thirsty, and they were giving away cycling jerseys! All good. The place looked like a sea of Neutrogena at times...but the service was great. Managed to chat with a couple who have been attending the Tour since 1967; they originated from Finistere, and were just absorbing the atmosphere - cool! She was from a fishing family and the time passed with conversations about how young people didn't understand the weather, the tradition of aperitifs and their social importance - all sorts of stuff. My contribution was knowing about Galettes Bretonnes and caramel au beurre salé - which was lucky!
We stood near the exit from the tunnel, watched a few circuits and made a calculation to watch the Skytrain pass (Next time you go downhill very fast, think of that speed and imagine yourself in the lead-out group with 1.5kms to the end - it is a phenomenal pace...) and then "sprint" - ahem - to the TV in the Norwegian bar...then ten seconds later saw Cavendish give the four fingers!
The final day is a photographer's paradise - cycling or not - there is something to catch the eye. It's a 'captive audience'!
iLB - CycleChat's Bradley Ouiggins of the future, standing at a bar or two. Good practice.
As part of Andy's Paris lessons, we then returned to Gare du Nord area to meet a couple of my mates - sensible, upstanding citizens of Paris - for a few beers. So far, we had passed a good day - it was about to get better. Patricia, the bar owner, was crying with laughter, my friends Doron and Patrick were amused by Miranda, and Sahar was able to give the first indication that George was comfortable and not severely injured, thankfully.
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