As some of you may be aware, a couple of weeks ago Clive packed his camping gear and headed off for a night in Cleethorpes only to realise that he had fitted his GPS(R?) upside-down and ended up in Devon! 
Sunday 14th May, saw us do a 'hardcore', non-stop run from my place to Millbay Docks in Plymouth, where (a yet to be damaged) Pont Aven was waiting.
Although only one cabin had been booked (by me). Such is the reputation of the 1200GS that the staff were easily convinced that Clive was me and that it was normal for a 1200GS owner to have an 1150GS along as a spare for the when inevitable happens.
Once again (for me) the crossing was smoothe and trouble free. Clive though experienced some nocturnal trouble with the swipe-card door key and spent most of the night on a recliner!
(I would have woken me up!)
Next day was bright, warm and clear.
After a short squirt on Autovista's we were in the twisty stuff heading for Potes in the Picos.
Plenty of time in hand so we stopped by the Rio Deva,
Clive had a paddle,
I opted for a cool rock and a smoke.
Through Potes to the campsite about two K's on the other side. Camp set-up, we adjourned to the campsite bar for a beer and something to eat.
Then Clive settled down in his folding 'Club' chair complete with foot-rest, pillow and magazine rack!
The next day. Early morning view from the campsite.
The it was off to find somewhere to ride.
Then lunch in the sun.
Shortly after this we encountered some local goat-herders. They waved us down and demanded TicTacs. We only had 'Compo' Ration boiled fruit sweets. They were less than impressed and we high-tailed it out in hail of surprisingly well aimed boiled sweets, lucky to escape with only minor bruises!
Before finding somewhere else to look at.
Clive checking the views.
The view itself.
We came in on the lower of the two tracks.
The vultures persuaded us that venturing too far off the beaten track may not be a good idea. Enough UKGSers have visited the area for the vultures to congregate and circle above UK registered GS's the way they normally do over carrion!
We stopped by the Rio Deva again on the way back to 'Picos Base Camp One' and I fired-up the MSR and got the coffee pot bubbling away in no time (hardcore!).
Clive had to go paddling again!
Day Four saw us break camp and re-load the bikes. As Clive commented, a first for him to be packing-up to re-use his gear later that day. We were heading for 'Pyrenees Base Camp Two' and as the Sherpa's had deserted us (rumours abounded of six GSers due to arrive who would need the Sherpa's to help them pick-up their bikes occasionally and they would pay better than us ) so we had to porter our expedition gear to the bikes ourselves. I'd told Clive that Trade Beads weren't a viable currency these days!
More bloody scenery accompanied us!
A fairly rickety viewing platform hoved into sight at 1334 metres.
Even more views! I was getting worried about the additional weight in my camera of all these views but Clive reassured me that as they were digital, they're only half the weight (and he's a computer god so he knows about these things).
We ran out of scenery for a short time, just scrubby country and then someone switched on the scenery again.
Some fool had left a castle right in the middle of the scenery, on that hump.
It had to be explored. It was hot work and devoid of our Porters we had to climb the bloody thing on our feet!
Halfway up, Clive decided that it was not on. He felt that it was "Going Native" one step too far to make the ascent un-aided.
To cries of "You go on and leave me, I'll be alright". Chin-up and Pip-pip echoing in my ears, I pressed on.
Once inside I was disappointed to see that some villain had had the fittings and fixtures away!
There was even more scenery from the top.
Standing on the top, I realised that I'd left my Union Flag at the bottom so this place has not been annexed in the name of Her Majesty.
Eventually we reached the Franco-Spanish border in the Pyrenees, complete with the results of a raid on a supermarket strapped to the bikes (Clives loaf is in danger of being sliced through by the bungee. He later said that it tasted better than anything you could buy in Andover but that comment was lost on me.
).
Looking upon La Belle France. It was downhill form here (in more ways than one!)
We made it to 'Base Camp Two' by 8.00 pm only to find that the back-up 4x4's hadn't made it and we had to put the tents up on our own!
That night we were treated to the taste of things to come. A thunderstorm over the mountains. (Best photo I managed I'm afraid).
Next day it was grey and damp. The clouds clung to the mountains.
After winding our way through the mountains up narrow switch-back roads where the visibilty dropped with each metre we ascended we weren't surprised to find that the scenery had been switched off again.
The descent was interesting. Visibility down to a few feet on winding roads with a drop on one side, there was the additional fun of finding a herd of cows or horses on the roads too!
Once down we headed towards Pau to see if the weather was better. It wasn't but the locals were treated to the sight of two Brits with motorbikes on the side of the road with their brollies up having a fag!
Day Six dawned overcast but dry. Today we headed north making for Oradour-sur-Glane arriving in time to visit the memorial village before it closed.
(If you don't know the story, give me few days and the weblog entry will be posted with the full story and more pictures).
For now I'll just post some pictures.
In silence we made our way back to the bikes.
We found a great little hotel with secure parking and a fantastic restaurant not far away courtesy of the Nav II 'find' feature. When we explained how we chose his hotel to the owner he thanked Garmin!
Day Seven was grey, windy and wet (it was to get worse).
Again north was our direction, heading to Arras in the Somme region for me to keep my promise to return to my great-uncles grave and now armed with a lot of research to wander the battlefield and place the events of 9th April 1917. (Again full info and more photo's on the weblog in due course for anyone interested).
The ride north was accompanied by very high westerly winds, the precursor of those that were to do for Pont Aven next day. We were routed via the Paris Peripherique, just after which we encountered a couple of sudden showers that defy description. It really was like a hose being played on your visor.
The wind never dropped. In fact it became stronger as we came closer to the west coast.
First thing for me was to visit uncle Percy.
Then we made camp. We gave up trying to put up the Tarp in the usual way. The winds were too strong and the ground too wet to keep the pegs in. Instead we set up the tents then stretched the Tarp over them to provide a low-rise, dry, crawl space between.
The following day was dry, still blowing a hoolie and quite cold. We went to Neuville-Vitasse and with Clive's help interpretted some old Trench Maps that I'd brought along. We were able to work out the dispositions on the ground that saw one of my great-uncles killed on the first day of the Battle of Arras and another (in the same battalion) wounded. Uncle Fred was killed six days later when HMTs Donegal, the hospital ship taking the seriously wounded home, was torpedoed between Le Havre and Southampton.
We worked out that this track was actually Pine Lane Trench, the battalion's first objective that day. (Full report in weblog one day soon).
The area is of course liberally scattered with little British & Commonwealth War Graves.
Above is Crump Trench Grave.
Some are really out of the way.
Access is down this lane. The sticky Somme mud needs TKC's in these conditions.
Above, Clive the By-way Wafter in his element!
And below, recovering!
The 'Harvest of Death' continues. Less is turned up these days but there's still a lot of unexploded 14-18 ordenance to be destroyed.
Monday 22nd, saw Clive head home (he'd been blubbing about missing his wife and kids all trip. Only difference between him an Ewan was that he never lost his wedding ring)!
I headed off south east. Now with the winds hitting me from the other side and after Reims, the rain returned with a vengence.
A hotel beckoned. A hot bath and breaking the shower rail with all my wet gear hanging from it revived my morale. I was in the Voges after a long tiresome ride.
Next day it was brighter but still windy.
I headed for Natzweiller/Struthoff, the only Concentration Camp on French soil. I had particular reasons for the visit. Four female SOE agents were executed here in a very unpleasant manner and one of them was still alive when pushed into the crematorium. (Full story in weblog etc.).
The trails and logging roads through the Voges are great GS country. It's on my list for a re-visit in better weather and with more time.
I'll let the pictures of Struthoff speak for themselves here.
After the experience even the view couldn't lift my mood.
Now I faced a blast east to west across France to Normandy (the weather forecast put me off attending the TT Rally).
I arrived in Falaise just before 8.00 pm and pitched camp on the same spot I used a year before.
I spent the next few days looking around William I's castle, Falaise itself and up to the Normandy beaches.
From the ramparts I could look down on my tent and the bike (above).
One of two R75's in a local museum.
Normandy:
That's me done. A few of the 'must do before I die' list ticked off.
There are a few more detailed entries already up on the weblog. There are more photo's, more words (a lot more!) and some CN screenshots of the routes taken. It should all be up within a week or so.
Sunday 14th May, saw us do a 'hardcore', non-stop run from my place to Millbay Docks in Plymouth, where (a yet to be damaged) Pont Aven was waiting.
Although only one cabin had been booked (by me). Such is the reputation of the 1200GS that the staff were easily convinced that Clive was me and that it was normal for a 1200GS owner to have an 1150GS along as a spare for the when inevitable happens.
Once again (for me) the crossing was smoothe and trouble free. Clive though experienced some nocturnal trouble with the swipe-card door key and spent most of the night on a recliner!
(I would have woken me up!)Next day was bright, warm and clear.
After a short squirt on Autovista's we were in the twisty stuff heading for Potes in the Picos.
Plenty of time in hand so we stopped by the Rio Deva,
Clive had a paddle,
I opted for a cool rock and a smoke.
Through Potes to the campsite about two K's on the other side. Camp set-up, we adjourned to the campsite bar for a beer and something to eat.
Then Clive settled down in his folding 'Club' chair complete with foot-rest, pillow and magazine rack!
The next day. Early morning view from the campsite.
The it was off to find somewhere to ride.
Then lunch in the sun.
Shortly after this we encountered some local goat-herders. They waved us down and demanded TicTacs. We only had 'Compo' Ration boiled fruit sweets. They were less than impressed and we high-tailed it out in hail of surprisingly well aimed boiled sweets, lucky to escape with only minor bruises!
Before finding somewhere else to look at.
Clive checking the views.
The view itself.
We came in on the lower of the two tracks.
The vultures persuaded us that venturing too far off the beaten track may not be a good idea. Enough UKGSers have visited the area for the vultures to congregate and circle above UK registered GS's the way they normally do over carrion!
We stopped by the Rio Deva again on the way back to 'Picos Base Camp One' and I fired-up the MSR and got the coffee pot bubbling away in no time (hardcore!).
Clive had to go paddling again!
Day Four saw us break camp and re-load the bikes. As Clive commented, a first for him to be packing-up to re-use his gear later that day. We were heading for 'Pyrenees Base Camp Two' and as the Sherpa's had deserted us (rumours abounded of six GSers due to arrive who would need the Sherpa's to help them pick-up their bikes occasionally and they would pay better than us
) so we had to porter our expedition gear to the bikes ourselves. I'd told Clive that Trade Beads weren't a viable currency these days!More bloody scenery accompanied us!
A fairly rickety viewing platform hoved into sight at 1334 metres.
Even more views! I was getting worried about the additional weight in my camera of all these views but Clive reassured me that as they were digital, they're only half the weight (and he's a computer god so he knows about these things).
We ran out of scenery for a short time, just scrubby country and then someone switched on the scenery again.
Some fool had left a castle right in the middle of the scenery, on that hump.
It had to be explored. It was hot work and devoid of our Porters we had to climb the bloody thing on our feet!
Halfway up, Clive decided that it was not on. He felt that it was "Going Native" one step too far to make the ascent un-aided.
To cries of "You go on and leave me, I'll be alright". Chin-up and Pip-pip echoing in my ears, I pressed on.
Once inside I was disappointed to see that some villain had had the fittings and fixtures away!
There was even more scenery from the top.
Standing on the top, I realised that I'd left my Union Flag at the bottom so this place has not been annexed in the name of Her Majesty.
Eventually we reached the Franco-Spanish border in the Pyrenees, complete with the results of a raid on a supermarket strapped to the bikes (Clives loaf is in danger of being sliced through by the bungee. He later said that it tasted better than anything you could buy in Andover but that comment was lost on me.
).
Looking upon La Belle France. It was downhill form here (in more ways than one!)
We made it to 'Base Camp Two' by 8.00 pm only to find that the back-up 4x4's hadn't made it and we had to put the tents up on our own!
That night we were treated to the taste of things to come. A thunderstorm over the mountains. (Best photo I managed I'm afraid).
Next day it was grey and damp. The clouds clung to the mountains.
After winding our way through the mountains up narrow switch-back roads where the visibilty dropped with each metre we ascended we weren't surprised to find that the scenery had been switched off again.
The descent was interesting. Visibility down to a few feet on winding roads with a drop on one side, there was the additional fun of finding a herd of cows or horses on the roads too!
Once down we headed towards Pau to see if the weather was better. It wasn't but the locals were treated to the sight of two Brits with motorbikes on the side of the road with their brollies up having a fag!
Day Six dawned overcast but dry. Today we headed north making for Oradour-sur-Glane arriving in time to visit the memorial village before it closed.
(If you don't know the story, give me few days and the weblog entry will be posted with the full story and more pictures).
For now I'll just post some pictures.
In silence we made our way back to the bikes.
We found a great little hotel with secure parking and a fantastic restaurant not far away courtesy of the Nav II 'find' feature. When we explained how we chose his hotel to the owner he thanked Garmin!
Day Seven was grey, windy and wet (it was to get worse).
Again north was our direction, heading to Arras in the Somme region for me to keep my promise to return to my great-uncles grave and now armed with a lot of research to wander the battlefield and place the events of 9th April 1917. (Again full info and more photo's on the weblog in due course for anyone interested).
The ride north was accompanied by very high westerly winds, the precursor of those that were to do for Pont Aven next day. We were routed via the Paris Peripherique, just after which we encountered a couple of sudden showers that defy description. It really was like a hose being played on your visor.
The wind never dropped. In fact it became stronger as we came closer to the west coast.
First thing for me was to visit uncle Percy.
Then we made camp. We gave up trying to put up the Tarp in the usual way. The winds were too strong and the ground too wet to keep the pegs in. Instead we set up the tents then stretched the Tarp over them to provide a low-rise, dry, crawl space between.
The following day was dry, still blowing a hoolie and quite cold. We went to Neuville-Vitasse and with Clive's help interpretted some old Trench Maps that I'd brought along. We were able to work out the dispositions on the ground that saw one of my great-uncles killed on the first day of the Battle of Arras and another (in the same battalion) wounded. Uncle Fred was killed six days later when HMTs Donegal, the hospital ship taking the seriously wounded home, was torpedoed between Le Havre and Southampton.
We worked out that this track was actually Pine Lane Trench, the battalion's first objective that day. (Full report in weblog one day soon).
The area is of course liberally scattered with little British & Commonwealth War Graves.
Above is Crump Trench Grave.
Some are really out of the way.
Access is down this lane. The sticky Somme mud needs TKC's in these conditions.
Above, Clive the By-way Wafter in his element!
And below, recovering!
The 'Harvest of Death' continues. Less is turned up these days but there's still a lot of unexploded 14-18 ordenance to be destroyed.
Monday 22nd, saw Clive head home (he'd been blubbing about missing his wife and kids all trip. Only difference between him an Ewan was that he never lost his wedding ring)!
I headed off south east. Now with the winds hitting me from the other side and after Reims, the rain returned with a vengence.
A hotel beckoned. A hot bath and breaking the shower rail with all my wet gear hanging from it revived my morale. I was in the Voges after a long tiresome ride.
Next day it was brighter but still windy.
I headed for Natzweiller/Struthoff, the only Concentration Camp on French soil. I had particular reasons for the visit. Four female SOE agents were executed here in a very unpleasant manner and one of them was still alive when pushed into the crematorium. (Full story in weblog etc.).
The trails and logging roads through the Voges are great GS country. It's on my list for a re-visit in better weather and with more time.
I'll let the pictures of Struthoff speak for themselves here.
After the experience even the view couldn't lift my mood.
Now I faced a blast east to west across France to Normandy (the weather forecast put me off attending the TT Rally).
I arrived in Falaise just before 8.00 pm and pitched camp on the same spot I used a year before.
I spent the next few days looking around William I's castle, Falaise itself and up to the Normandy beaches.
From the ramparts I could look down on my tent and the bike (above).
One of two R75's in a local museum.
Normandy:
That's me done. A few of the 'must do before I die' list ticked off.
There are a few more detailed entries already up on the weblog. There are more photo's, more words (a lot more!) and some CN screenshots of the routes taken. It should all be up within a week or so.
complaining that the Compo wasn't the same since they stopped doing the tins of processed cheese 
