FNRttC FNRttC to Newhaven, Dieppe and Paris 2011
- Thread starter dellzeqq
- Start date
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threebikesmcginty
Corn Fed Hick...
- Location
- ...on the slake
I always feel tired and confused at the start too, is that normal?
(back after a weekend camping in the New Forest)
I seem to have missed all the excitement by dint of stopping to take a couple of photos. The only person I encountered on the path was part of the "healthwalk" group, who asked where we were all off to. I gave a brief run down of the night's activities and a winning smile and was on my way all happy and nice.
Photos to follow later this evening.
Flying Dodo
It'll soon be summer
Reading that article, I would never have guessed that seagulls were an endangered species though. Or does Saltdean have a special variety?
Mark Grant
Acting Captain of The St Annes Jombulance.
- Location
- Hanworth, Middx.
When, in my youth, I was in the Army I knew a guy from the Isle of Sheppy who devised several ways of dispatching seagulls. One method involved wrapping a Steradent in bread and throwing into the air for a seagull to catch and eat. The theory was that the tablet would fizz up in the birds stomach and cause the creature to explode! He also told me of a device he had developed that would cause a mixture of Vaseline and petrol (a la Napalm) to explode over a group of seagulls feeding at his bait on the beach.
Strange lad.
Strange lad.
All gull species are protected, although some may be controlled in certain circumstances. They may be locally abundant, but most species have been declining in number for years, and their UK populations are a major part of what's left. Plus people aren't very good at telling the difference between species, so given the go-ahead they might easily have a pop at something rare.
1385858 said:
I reckon there are lots of rival claims. Dr Evil and I were eating chips on a bench in Tenby not long ago, when an interested specimen landed imperiously on the roof of a nearby parked car. There was a driver in it and his reaction was a joy to behold. Think the first appearance of T. rex in Jurassic Park...Anyway, a brilliant ride. Really, really good. The pace was a bit sharp, as some were stuck to a timetable. Unfortunately this meant Mrs. Hall had to bail, as her knees exploded. One day she'll complete a ride.
Random bits that have stuck in my memory:
Martin235's gentle TECing as we ground up Portnall's Lane. Watchful and unobtrusive.
Hitting <mumble> miles per hour down Reigate Hill. Bloody speed camera must be U/S. I'll be ringing my friend at the council on Monday to complain.
The more personal nature of the ride.
Titus barelling his way to the front to chat with the boys in blue when we were stopped on the A23. "Excuse me while I whip this out" as he produced his warrant card. (My recollection of his words might not be 100% accurate).
The size of Wanda's saddlebag. Blimey. Enough for a week long tour.
The cycling policemamn at Gatwick.
An earworm in the shape of "Help me Wanda".
Getting to Turner's Hill, having dropped Mrs. Hall at home mere minutes after his Leggness got there.
The peachy smoothness of some of the East Sussex lanes.
Simon not noticing the bandages.
The breakfast.
Olaf losing his toast.
The beer.
The company.
Pics
Random bits that have stuck in my memory:
Martin235's gentle TECing as we ground up Portnall's Lane. Watchful and unobtrusive.
Hitting <mumble> miles per hour down Reigate Hill. Bloody speed camera must be U/S. I'll be ringing my friend at the council on Monday to complain.
The more personal nature of the ride.
Titus barelling his way to the front to chat with the boys in blue when we were stopped on the A23. "Excuse me while I whip this out" as he produced his warrant card. (My recollection of his words might not be 100% accurate).
The size of Wanda's saddlebag. Blimey. Enough for a week long tour.
The cycling policemamn at Gatwick.
An earworm in the shape of "Help me Wanda".
Getting to Turner's Hill, having dropped Mrs. Hall at home mere minutes after his Leggness got there.
The peachy smoothness of some of the East Sussex lanes.
Simon not noticing the bandages.
The breakfast.
Olaf losing his toast.
The beer.
The company.
Pics
where to start...........
well, not at the beginning, but before the beginning. I'd anticipated a ride of about twelve to Newhaven, but, in the event we had 34, although one of our number went home from Mitcham, and didn't text me to tell me that she was safe...........
so I had to decline Tim and Anne's magnificent offer of hospitality, and, make for Gatwick. A reprise, then of our rides up to 2009, when about the same number would arrive at The Surprise at 2.45. And, as reprises go, it was a good 'un. The wind was behind us, and we sailed down to Coulsdon, swished up Portnalls Road, swooshed down Reigate hill and swarmed along Lonesome Lane in fine fettle. My companion at the front was Origamist, he idly turning the pedals when he felt it neccessary, I pumping blood and lactic acid at red-for-danger levels, both of us taking those turns at experimental speeds.
I had a Plan for Gatwick, and it was a good 'un, that worked perfectly until we were stopped by the police. I suppose it's fair to say that no police force is paid to trust people, and it can't be easy wondering where the next ant-plane protest is coming from (although if I were intent on closing Gatwick I'd leave the Colnago at home.......). Cometh the hour, cometh the man, and 'AKA Bob' gave them confidence, which, to their credit, they re-inforced by googling FNRttC, so our peaceful invasion of the Arrivals hall passed off smoothly, and, it has to be said that Costa has smartened up its act (but not its prices) considerably since last we queued.
Out then, through the Schlumberger car park, and south via Copthorne School (avoiding dead end lanes) and up to Turners Hill, which we reached just as the sky was lightening. The wind was still in our favour, the sky was clear, and the roads almost devoid of traffic. I'd made some bold promises about the quality of the ride between Wivelsfield and Cooksbridge, but I wasn't wrong - those lanes are as sweet as can be, and, on a fresh morning I think that we felt ourselves blessed.
Susie had tweaked her knee and was finding it hard work - she'd done Turners Hill sitting down, which is pretty impressive, but found the hill in to Lewes a bit much. Cometh the hour etc....it's always good to know that if the love of your life is in trouble a helping hand will reach out and, well, help. Well done, 'Teef! My wife thanks you from the bottom of her.....bottom.
We ran aground a bit in Newhaven, the cafe having gone out of business, (each and every one of the customers having had a heart attack), but a solution was at hand. Miranda engaged two ten year old boys on scooters (what were they doing up at that time of the morning?) who led us to The Captain's Table, which, as others have said, was quite a find. Breakfasts came out of the kitchen at a tremendous rate, and we were each of us fed by a quarter to eight. There was a newsagent next door, but, sadly, Newhaven's Grauniad ration was exhausted, both copies having gone to regular customers.
Thankyou so much for the card and the cake. As Susie says 'your friends are so nice'. You are, indeed, so nice.
Fourteen of us got on the boat. Els (bound for Belgium), Simon, Jens, Colin and Tim making their own way, and Teef, Frank, Miranda, Titus, Michael (Mika), Olaf, Stuart G, Susie and yr ob'd'nt s'v'nt. Susie and I took a cabin, which I'd heartily recommend, if it were not for it being the last cabin. Teef and Frank took to beer, and the rest dozed. All went smoothly - once you get one of LD Lines golden bike tickets you're well looked after, and we disembarked in great shape, setting off from the port of Dieppe about half past three. Els, bad us goodbye, Teef, Frank, Miranda and Titus heading for the the local Etap, and Olaf, Mika, Stuart, Susie and I made our way timourously across the steel mesh bridges in to town, and then out again, south and east, bound for Saint-Saens, some forty kilometres away.
Cycling overseas takes a bit of getting hold of, but if you're going to start somewhere (and it's so long since I cycled outside the UK this was almost like starting...) then Dieppe is as good a place as any. The roads are gentle, and you're clear of traffic within about five miles. We had a heck of a tailwind, flattering us not a little, as we scudded along a steep-sided valley, crossing the river Varenne every little while. Halfway there, we pulled in at a bar in Torcy, and asked for ham sandwiches. Le Patron obliged, going over the road to purchase the ham, which came in the freshest bread with lashings of Normandy butter.
Our chambre d’hote in Saint-Saens was just fantastic. Pretty doesn’t begin to describe it. Madame showed us a fridge, stocked with beer, and we showered, changed, and made our way out in to the village......which was delightful. Half-timbered houses, a stupendous thirteenth century church, and a choice of family owned restaurants. We strolled in to the most likely, Mika negotiated a table, and we hoovered up spag bol, returning to the chambre d’hote about nine. Not one of us could recall that head-touching-the-pillow moment.
Breakfast at a quarter past six (Madame apologising for the bread being baked the previous evening) and on the road by a quarter past seven. Sixty kilometres of bliss. We took to smooth-tarmaced back roads, barely seeing a car, running up and down gentle inclines, across barley plains, through sweet little forests, steering for the next church steeple and then the one after that. Some fifty kilometres in to our day we stopped for ham sandwiches, and, again, fresh bread, Normandy butter and just-sliced ham just melted away......
What, you ask, of the ‘Second Division’? I’d assumed they’d steam out of Dieppe and catch us mid-morning, but we learnt, to our great surprise, that the boys had been on a Beery Bacchanal the night before, one that lasted until the small hours. Judging by the photographs they’d been lubricating the entent cordiale to such good effect that Teef had taken it upon himself to take Dieppe to his bosom – or at least a rather dishy gentleman whose resemblance to ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin was, as they say, unfortunate rather than disastrous. So, I regret to have to report that their progress was no more rapid than ours, hampered as they were by hangovers. Fortunate, then, that a succession of downpours saved them from dehydration......
We were caught by the rain at the sixtyfive kilometre mark, just south of Gisors. And what rain – coming in horizontally and skipping across the tarmac like a flat stone on water. It hit us as we ground our way up the longest climb of the day, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who considered the SNCF option. It was Susie’s finest hour – she just got on with it, water pouring through her shoes, wind whipping the front of the bike out of line, visibility dropping to a few metres notwithstanding. We persisted, like a little shoal of fish, Olaf counting off the clicks, all the way to the outskirts of Pontoise at the ninetynine kilometre mark.
Stewart lost the middle of his Brompton’s three gears, and Olaf punctured, so we sought shelter in the kind of French burger place that gives MaccyD’s a good name. Never has crap food felt so good. Never has a handdryer been put to better use, and anybody who says that directing hot air down the front of your shorts is vulgar simply hasn’t lived as we lived that day.....
Olaf’s Garmin guided us through Pontoise and on to Saint-Denis and Paris via Porte-la-Chapelle. We reached the hotel just after four, having cycled one hundred and thirty six kilometres. News from the Rabelaisian Rouleurs was sparse, but it was clear that they were losing time on us rather than gaining it, so we repaired to a bar, where, once again, Mika sorted matters to great effect. We toasted our day with beer, and went back to the hotel to await our confreres – who turned up around a quarter past eight, having had a bit of an adventure. We’d endured two hours of rain, but they’d had to survive five. There’s been some confusion over the route. I’m sure that you’ll hear all about it........
Dinner, which turned out to be a birthday treat (many thanks, and see nice friends above), bed, up early, SNCF baggage handler, Eurostar, and home just about midday. The house is still standing (we’d left with Daisy and her friend Flo shouting ‘party’) and the cat not too traumatised. I was abducted and made to watch the last (hooray!) Harry Potter film.
That’s it, then. Our small adventure. All over in two and a half days, but seeming so much more than is reasonable for such a little time.
For all the miles cycled, for all the delightful roads travelled, for all the charming towns and villages, and for all the delights of Paris it’s the company that makes a trip like this so memorable. And, as on so many rides before, the company was something special. Thankyou, one and all. It was just great being with you.
well, not at the beginning, but before the beginning. I'd anticipated a ride of about twelve to Newhaven, but, in the event we had 34, although one of our number went home from Mitcham, and didn't text me to tell me that she was safe...........
so I had to decline Tim and Anne's magnificent offer of hospitality, and, make for Gatwick. A reprise, then of our rides up to 2009, when about the same number would arrive at The Surprise at 2.45. And, as reprises go, it was a good 'un. The wind was behind us, and we sailed down to Coulsdon, swished up Portnalls Road, swooshed down Reigate hill and swarmed along Lonesome Lane in fine fettle. My companion at the front was Origamist, he idly turning the pedals when he felt it neccessary, I pumping blood and lactic acid at red-for-danger levels, both of us taking those turns at experimental speeds.
I had a Plan for Gatwick, and it was a good 'un, that worked perfectly until we were stopped by the police. I suppose it's fair to say that no police force is paid to trust people, and it can't be easy wondering where the next ant-plane protest is coming from (although if I were intent on closing Gatwick I'd leave the Colnago at home.......). Cometh the hour, cometh the man, and 'AKA Bob' gave them confidence, which, to their credit, they re-inforced by googling FNRttC, so our peaceful invasion of the Arrivals hall passed off smoothly, and, it has to be said that Costa has smartened up its act (but not its prices) considerably since last we queued.
Out then, through the Schlumberger car park, and south via Copthorne School (avoiding dead end lanes) and up to Turners Hill, which we reached just as the sky was lightening. The wind was still in our favour, the sky was clear, and the roads almost devoid of traffic. I'd made some bold promises about the quality of the ride between Wivelsfield and Cooksbridge, but I wasn't wrong - those lanes are as sweet as can be, and, on a fresh morning I think that we felt ourselves blessed.
Susie had tweaked her knee and was finding it hard work - she'd done Turners Hill sitting down, which is pretty impressive, but found the hill in to Lewes a bit much. Cometh the hour etc....it's always good to know that if the love of your life is in trouble a helping hand will reach out and, well, help. Well done, 'Teef! My wife thanks you from the bottom of her.....bottom.
We ran aground a bit in Newhaven, the cafe having gone out of business, (each and every one of the customers having had a heart attack), but a solution was at hand. Miranda engaged two ten year old boys on scooters (what were they doing up at that time of the morning?) who led us to The Captain's Table, which, as others have said, was quite a find. Breakfasts came out of the kitchen at a tremendous rate, and we were each of us fed by a quarter to eight. There was a newsagent next door, but, sadly, Newhaven's Grauniad ration was exhausted, both copies having gone to regular customers.
Thankyou so much for the card and the cake. As Susie says 'your friends are so nice'. You are, indeed, so nice.
Fourteen of us got on the boat. Els (bound for Belgium), Simon, Jens, Colin and Tim making their own way, and Teef, Frank, Miranda, Titus, Michael (Mika), Olaf, Stuart G, Susie and yr ob'd'nt s'v'nt. Susie and I took a cabin, which I'd heartily recommend, if it were not for it being the last cabin. Teef and Frank took to beer, and the rest dozed. All went smoothly - once you get one of LD Lines golden bike tickets you're well looked after, and we disembarked in great shape, setting off from the port of Dieppe about half past three. Els, bad us goodbye, Teef, Frank, Miranda and Titus heading for the the local Etap, and Olaf, Mika, Stuart, Susie and I made our way timourously across the steel mesh bridges in to town, and then out again, south and east, bound for Saint-Saens, some forty kilometres away.
Cycling overseas takes a bit of getting hold of, but if you're going to start somewhere (and it's so long since I cycled outside the UK this was almost like starting...) then Dieppe is as good a place as any. The roads are gentle, and you're clear of traffic within about five miles. We had a heck of a tailwind, flattering us not a little, as we scudded along a steep-sided valley, crossing the river Varenne every little while. Halfway there, we pulled in at a bar in Torcy, and asked for ham sandwiches. Le Patron obliged, going over the road to purchase the ham, which came in the freshest bread with lashings of Normandy butter.
Our chambre d’hote in Saint-Saens was just fantastic. Pretty doesn’t begin to describe it. Madame showed us a fridge, stocked with beer, and we showered, changed, and made our way out in to the village......which was delightful. Half-timbered houses, a stupendous thirteenth century church, and a choice of family owned restaurants. We strolled in to the most likely, Mika negotiated a table, and we hoovered up spag bol, returning to the chambre d’hote about nine. Not one of us could recall that head-touching-the-pillow moment.
Breakfast at a quarter past six (Madame apologising for the bread being baked the previous evening) and on the road by a quarter past seven. Sixty kilometres of bliss. We took to smooth-tarmaced back roads, barely seeing a car, running up and down gentle inclines, across barley plains, through sweet little forests, steering for the next church steeple and then the one after that. Some fifty kilometres in to our day we stopped for ham sandwiches, and, again, fresh bread, Normandy butter and just-sliced ham just melted away......
What, you ask, of the ‘Second Division’? I’d assumed they’d steam out of Dieppe and catch us mid-morning, but we learnt, to our great surprise, that the boys had been on a Beery Bacchanal the night before, one that lasted until the small hours. Judging by the photographs they’d been lubricating the entent cordiale to such good effect that Teef had taken it upon himself to take Dieppe to his bosom – or at least a rather dishy gentleman whose resemblance to ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin was, as they say, unfortunate rather than disastrous. So, I regret to have to report that their progress was no more rapid than ours, hampered as they were by hangovers. Fortunate, then, that a succession of downpours saved them from dehydration......
We were caught by the rain at the sixtyfive kilometre mark, just south of Gisors. And what rain – coming in horizontally and skipping across the tarmac like a flat stone on water. It hit us as we ground our way up the longest climb of the day, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who considered the SNCF option. It was Susie’s finest hour – she just got on with it, water pouring through her shoes, wind whipping the front of the bike out of line, visibility dropping to a few metres notwithstanding. We persisted, like a little shoal of fish, Olaf counting off the clicks, all the way to the outskirts of Pontoise at the ninetynine kilometre mark.
Stewart lost the middle of his Brompton’s three gears, and Olaf punctured, so we sought shelter in the kind of French burger place that gives MaccyD’s a good name. Never has crap food felt so good. Never has a handdryer been put to better use, and anybody who says that directing hot air down the front of your shorts is vulgar simply hasn’t lived as we lived that day.....
Olaf’s Garmin guided us through Pontoise and on to Saint-Denis and Paris via Porte-la-Chapelle. We reached the hotel just after four, having cycled one hundred and thirty six kilometres. News from the Rabelaisian Rouleurs was sparse, but it was clear that they were losing time on us rather than gaining it, so we repaired to a bar, where, once again, Mika sorted matters to great effect. We toasted our day with beer, and went back to the hotel to await our confreres – who turned up around a quarter past eight, having had a bit of an adventure. We’d endured two hours of rain, but they’d had to survive five. There’s been some confusion over the route. I’m sure that you’ll hear all about it........
Dinner, which turned out to be a birthday treat (many thanks, and see nice friends above), bed, up early, SNCF baggage handler, Eurostar, and home just about midday. The house is still standing (we’d left with Daisy and her friend Flo shouting ‘party’) and the cat not too traumatised. I was abducted and made to watch the last (hooray!) Harry Potter film.
That’s it, then. Our small adventure. All over in two and a half days, but seeming so much more than is reasonable for such a little time.
For all the miles cycled, for all the delightful roads travelled, for all the charming towns and villages, and for all the delights of Paris it’s the company that makes a trip like this so memorable. And, as on so many rides before, the company was something special. Thankyou, one and all. It was just great being with you.
Great pics, Tim, and a lovely write-up, DZ! Love the pics with the headlights and rooftop silhouettes. It was indeed a perfect night for Lonesome Lane. I chose swift and agile company for a bit of tow and was lurking just behind Origamist, DZ, User10571 and McWobble. That lovely road through User13710land with the new tarmac was a delight as well.
My third sample from the FNRttc menu and the best ride yet compared to Southend and Whitstable. My expectations of the latter part of the ride through the South Downs weren't let down by the build up at HPC; a magnificent tour through the lanes to Newhaven. Good company on the ferry too.
Oh and only my second post to the forum too.
As others did I used this ride as a launch pad to ride to Paris with my brother-in-law who had also dragged along two work colleagues to experience only the delights of the ride - they both had a night not to forget for different reasons.
Our route to Paris was a three day effort marked each by their singularity. Friday was flat and traffic less on the Avenue Verte from Dieppe to Forge-les-Eaux. Saturday was rolling hills marked with a magnificent descent into Triel-sur-Seine on our way to overnight in Poissy and yes it did rain much. Sunday was a pootle through the forests and parks west of Paris into the centre via the magnificent footbridge of Place de l'Avre over the Seine with the Tour d'Effiel in the distance - a real treat. Credit to Donald Hirsch for the route. We got to experience the finale of the TdF if only to see bits of it through the crowds.
And to top it all I may have made a convert to road cycling of my mountain-biking hardened brother-in-law who asked when the next tour was to be and how much he should spend on a touring bike.
Oh and only my second post to the forum too.
As others did I used this ride as a launch pad to ride to Paris with my brother-in-law who had also dragged along two work colleagues to experience only the delights of the ride - they both had a night not to forget for different reasons.
Our route to Paris was a three day effort marked each by their singularity. Friday was flat and traffic less on the Avenue Verte from Dieppe to Forge-les-Eaux. Saturday was rolling hills marked with a magnificent descent into Triel-sur-Seine on our way to overnight in Poissy and yes it did rain much. Sunday was a pootle through the forests and parks west of Paris into the centre via the magnificent footbridge of Place de l'Avre over the Seine with the Tour d'Effiel in the distance - a real treat. Credit to Donald Hirsch for the route. We got to experience the finale of the TdF if only to see bits of it through the crowds.
And to top it all I may have made a convert to road cycling of my mountain-biking hardened brother-in-law who asked when the next tour was to be and how much he should spend on a touring bike.
