Thread: Your First Tour
View Single Post
Old 07-03-22, 04:29 AM
  #15  
GhostRider62
Senior Member
 
Join Date: Apr 2021
Posts: 4,083
Mentioned: 6 Post(s)
Tagged: 0 Thread(s)
Quoted: 2332 Post(s)
Liked 2,094 Times in 1,311 Posts
My first tour some 40 years ago was a total cluster by modern GPS, Internet, heatmaps, and packaged route standards.

I flew my fit relatively young body with gear to London on Peoples Express (was it really $49 OW?) sans velo.

I wanted a Claude Butler. I really did not have enough money and the shop in London convinced me the Dawes Super Galaxy was almost as good. Front and rear panniers, handlebar bag, tent and sleeping bag on the rear rack and off I went to the Southwest towards some old Cathedral and then a pile of rocks in the field left by UFOs or so they say. The Welch rain was cold in April but the mountainous terrain was nice. Snowdon mountain is pretty high. I wore a helmet and local cyclists made fun of me at pubs, hostels, on the road, and pretty much everywhere. One fellow smartly asked why I forgot my coat of arms and how often do I come off to which I replied often. There were not a lot of camping grounds. I slept wild here and there and got wet and cold. Pubs were warm. I do recall a postman buying me some stouts. We had four. I learned that then that a glass of british beer is 20 oz unlike our 12 oz beer and that it was not 3.2% alcohol. Fortunately, it was a short walk to the Youth Hostel.

I set my sights on the tip of Scotland. But snow got into my brain. I remember spending the night in a train station waiting for a train to take me somewhere warm and holligans were having at it with me. They were not getting my money or bike. The station master observed and called me into his overlord type office to sleep the night with my bike. I can remember the warmth of his office to this day. I get to Dover, take the ferry, and decide to just follow the coast of France thru Normandy and then Brittany down to Bordeaux. It brings tears to my eyes thinking of the older french people who thanked me for saving them from the Nazis and especially seeing the white crosses (and stars) at st laurent cemetery. Standing at the top of Point du Hoc, I could not imagine what that day would have been like. I stayed there longer than planned and was starving with yesterday's tailwind now a headwind arriving at a roadside routier or truckers restaurant a touch after 2 pm and as anyone knows, you ain't getting lunch at 2 pm in France, this is the culinary noman's land. Meekly, I walked into the kitchen where a seemingly elderly lady (she was probably 50 or 60) was cleaning up, I asked her in french if I could eat something. American? Yes. A velo? Yes. She waves me to the dining room. I sat waiting and waiting. She brings a huge steaming plate of lamb chops, puree, and asparagus. A huge basket of bread and says, "Red or white". She brings a full pichet of red for me and white for her. She tells me of the war and how it was like when they were saved when she was a little girl. An amazing account. She asked if any of my family served. My uncle lost his leg in the Battle of the Bulge and supposedly was at D-Day but I only know for sure he lost his leg by a bullet. She would not let me pay. I begged her. She hugged me. Just crazy.

I got robbed, met a girl, drank First Growth, had interesting encounters, and finished my counter clockwise tour of France. Came back many times.
GhostRider62 is offline  
Likes For GhostRider62: