Here's just a few words and images about a 5-day bimble around France from which I'd just returned. There was also an unintended day in Switzerland thrown in, just for good measure.
First things first... Here's the (very approximate) route. I spent almost no time on motorways, so this doesn't show the roads I took - but it should give you a general idea.
It all starts at Dover, of course. Did you know that, with DFDS ferries, if you're booked, say, on the 1600 sailing, it is a very good idea to turn up just before 1400. This way, they will probably put you on the earlier boat, you won't have to sit around and wait for check-in etc. And if they refuse to shift you onto a different sailing, you're only wasting 30 minutes because you're supposed to be at the port 90 minutes before departure, anyway.
First stop, Reims. 170 miles from Calais. Two and a bit hours on the peage. I shared the ride with an Italian photographer called Alessio who'd travelled to Scotland to do some work for his magazine, and was returning home. He chose to travel on his Kawasaki Versys rather than fly.
In Reims, we both got very excited because we were promised a "light and sound" show at the local cathedral. I'd seen one before, at Rouen, and, done well, these things are stunning.
Sadly, we were misled. The only light came from street lamps; the only sound was made by our shutters as we explored the main square, and then by our knives and forks over a shared dinner.
We parted the following morning - I was heading West, and Alessio turned South.
On Tuesday, France looked a lot like Kent. Gray and rather uninviting. This picture was taken just before the heavens opened.
The farmers clearly knew what was coming - I saw dozens of tractors, combine harvesters etc. just sitting in fields, with brakes on and engines shut down.
And when it started raining, it really did it with gusto. I got drenched (bad) and had reason to check out the "RAIN" riding mode on my new GS (good).
For the non-bikers among us, the GS comes with a selection of engine response modes. "Rain" is soft and leisurely, "Road" is neutral, "Dynamic" is supposed to be sporty.
In real life, "Rain" makes you feel like you're riding a scooter; "Road" is neutral; "Dynamic".... I could see no difference to "Road" whatsoever.
The rain stopped in the afternoon, and, as the clouds were parting, the French countryside decided to display its pretty face.
I can't remember which D-road it is (if you don't know.... D-roads in France are the same as B-roads in the UK). But here's the thing. It took me about 20 minutes to get this shot just how I wanted. In the time I'd spent standing in this spot, not a single car passed me.
Unimaginable here in the UK.
And here's one more thing. I don't know why, but all these roads in France are in pristine condition. I had to go along the A25 here in the Southeast of England yesterday - it's 200 times worse that the most obscure country lane in France.
I approached Pontarlier (which was supposed to be my next overnight stop) with a feeling of "job well done". 256 miles covered, rain and/or shine (literally), lots of nice things seen along the way, bike behaving perfectly. And then, just on the outskirts of Pontarlier, I saw this airfield with a very lonely plane sitting there. I had to stop and take a picture. The weird thing, - there was nobody there. No security. Nobody to shoo me on. No gate, even, no "do not cross" ribbon. Just a gravel lane off a main road, a field, a plane, a windsock, and, in the distance, a concrete runway. Very down-to-earth.
I didn't stay in Pontarlier after all.
The F1 hotel I'd booked turned out to be well and truly horrible. They're all pretty nasty, and I was prepared for things to be a bit spartan.
But the one in Pontarlier took "spartan" to the next level. It was so bad that I decided I'd deserved better.
So out came the iPhone and the app which shows you rooms available around you on the night, without booking.
The nearest room which didn't cost hundreds of pounds was in Lausanne, in Switzerland.
So I rode on, through the night, crossing Europe's last proper border at midnight, and descending into Lausanne at 0100 in the morning.
I woke up at 0800 to this view of Lake Geneva and to a Starbucks double espresso which cost me £3.80. I was in Switzerland.
For different people, Switzerland means different things. To me, the first thing which comes to mind when you say "Lake Geneva" is Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water".
"We all came down to Montreux
On the Lake Geneva shore" etc.
I knew I had to go to Montreux and see whether there was anything still burning there.
This meant ditching my carefully-prepared plans for riding the Vosges. In the satnav, I had an itinerary file called "Vosges day 3" which I'd downloaded from the website of UK's Ride magazine. It was supposed to take me along the best roads and the twistiest lanes in the region.
Deleting it felt very much like a big commitment.
But I couldn't not see Montreux. I owed it to the 16-year-old in me.
But before I went, I had another thing to attend to. In Switzerland, almost all roads are toll roads. You have to buy a "road vignette" from the post office to use any of the major routes. It costs 40 Swiss francs (£26), it's valid for 14 months, it has to be "displayed in a prominent location on the vehicle", and it's a devil to get off (I tried).
All of this means I've now got a reason to return to Switzerland.
And this image shows Lake Geneva in Montreux. Swan Lake, almost.
This, too, is Montreux.
I've no idea how this lady managed it. I took this picture just before noon. It was +32. To sit there, clad in full accordance with tradition, must have been more than a little uncomfortable. I know, because I wasn't under-dressed either, in my biking gear. But it didn't seem to disturb her too much.
From Montreux, I asked my satnav to give me a "winding route" to Mittlach, back in France, my base for the next night.
I rode with the Alps to my right and the Vosges to my left, in mountain valleys, next to alpine lakes, where cows wander up and down hills, their bells making a quintessentially Swiss noise, and horses graze in the sunshine.
Along the way to Mittlach, I stopped in Munster, one of the main towns in the Alsace. A town with strong German roots, it was celebrating its birthday. It timed it perfectly for my arrival.
Basically, what this means was that everybody who lives in the town gathered in the main square, drank beer and ate sausages. You'll notice that a lot of the people in this image are looking upwards. That's because there is a stork's nest at the top of the townhall; and the storks were busy with chicks. Always a very interesting sight.
But not everybody was bird-watching. This chap - selling beer to the celebrating crowd - was clearly having a brilliant day. I'm not even sure he needed the taps - it would have been much easier for him if he'd just let the beer flow, only changing glasses under the stream of the drink.
Folklore and national traditions were represented by this band of trumpeteers. The dress, and the trumpets (is that what these things are called?) were certainly very impressive.
But then they started playing. I wished they hadn't.
I once heard a guy playing the Australian version of this instrument - that was at the Overland Event organised by Paddy Tyson's magazine this June. That was music. This was horrible racket. But no matter, people still clapped and smiled - you would do, wouldn't you, if it was your grandfather playing?
There wasn't much more to see in Munster, and the crowd was becoming too agitated for my liking, so I rode on to Mittlach, a town in the middle of nowhere high up in the Vosges mountains.
I thought I was staying at a hotel.
But it turned out the "hotel" was just an annex to a working farmhouse.
A charming family greeted me, and we discussed riding, food and weather. All in German, a language which comes to me (and, dare I say it, to them) easier than French.
The bike was put into the shed for the night, I was given a room key, a chunk of meat and some chips, and told to make myself comfortable.
I fell to sleep to the sound of screeching owls and howling wolves. Really. In the middle of Europe.
The next morning I awoke to see the shed door open (as illustrated by this picture). They took the tractor out at first light. They also scratched the pannier which I'd kept on the bike in the process. It looks like it had contact with a sharp farming implement of some sort.
But I thought that was no big deal. After all, my bike cost what I'd paid for it precisely because it has quite a few battle scars from being dropped in its previous life as a BMW Off Road Skills machine.
The Vosges are to the Alps what primary school is to Oxford. But even so, the riding is fantastic, and the views, - simply stunning.
Meet Juergen, a German guy who was exploring the Vosges with his wife.
I spent about 45 minutes glued to this spot, waiting for a bike to pass. In the scorching heat (it was +38 that day). But what would one not do for the sake of art!
I caught up with Juergen and his wife further down the road. They stopped to tour the local confectionary factory; and I stopped to drink some water at the cafe attached to it.
Jurgen now has a copy of this image; and I have some great recommendations for riding in Germany.
It was a scorcher. At +38, I felt I was boiling alive. I took a detour to Namur and its fine arts museum, where the only really interesting piece of art was this staircase.
This also happened to be the last decent picture I took on the trip. Mostly because the rest of it was just a mad motorway dash home, and there's not a lot to photograph on motorways.
But I'm still very pleased with the tour, with the bike, with the weather, and with the entire "experience".
Next year, more of Switzerland, - before my vignette expires.
First things first... Here's the (very approximate) route. I spent almost no time on motorways, so this doesn't show the roads I took - but it should give you a general idea.
It all starts at Dover, of course. Did you know that, with DFDS ferries, if you're booked, say, on the 1600 sailing, it is a very good idea to turn up just before 1400. This way, they will probably put you on the earlier boat, you won't have to sit around and wait for check-in etc. And if they refuse to shift you onto a different sailing, you're only wasting 30 minutes because you're supposed to be at the port 90 minutes before departure, anyway.
First stop, Reims. 170 miles from Calais. Two and a bit hours on the peage. I shared the ride with an Italian photographer called Alessio who'd travelled to Scotland to do some work for his magazine, and was returning home. He chose to travel on his Kawasaki Versys rather than fly.
In Reims, we both got very excited because we were promised a "light and sound" show at the local cathedral. I'd seen one before, at Rouen, and, done well, these things are stunning.
Sadly, we were misled. The only light came from street lamps; the only sound was made by our shutters as we explored the main square, and then by our knives and forks over a shared dinner.
We parted the following morning - I was heading West, and Alessio turned South.
On Tuesday, France looked a lot like Kent. Gray and rather uninviting. This picture was taken just before the heavens opened.
The farmers clearly knew what was coming - I saw dozens of tractors, combine harvesters etc. just sitting in fields, with brakes on and engines shut down.
And when it started raining, it really did it with gusto. I got drenched (bad) and had reason to check out the "RAIN" riding mode on my new GS (good).
For the non-bikers among us, the GS comes with a selection of engine response modes. "Rain" is soft and leisurely, "Road" is neutral, "Dynamic" is supposed to be sporty.
In real life, "Rain" makes you feel like you're riding a scooter; "Road" is neutral; "Dynamic".... I could see no difference to "Road" whatsoever.
The rain stopped in the afternoon, and, as the clouds were parting, the French countryside decided to display its pretty face.
I can't remember which D-road it is (if you don't know.... D-roads in France are the same as B-roads in the UK). But here's the thing. It took me about 20 minutes to get this shot just how I wanted. In the time I'd spent standing in this spot, not a single car passed me.
Unimaginable here in the UK.
And here's one more thing. I don't know why, but all these roads in France are in pristine condition. I had to go along the A25 here in the Southeast of England yesterday - it's 200 times worse that the most obscure country lane in France.
I approached Pontarlier (which was supposed to be my next overnight stop) with a feeling of "job well done". 256 miles covered, rain and/or shine (literally), lots of nice things seen along the way, bike behaving perfectly. And then, just on the outskirts of Pontarlier, I saw this airfield with a very lonely plane sitting there. I had to stop and take a picture. The weird thing, - there was nobody there. No security. Nobody to shoo me on. No gate, even, no "do not cross" ribbon. Just a gravel lane off a main road, a field, a plane, a windsock, and, in the distance, a concrete runway. Very down-to-earth.
I didn't stay in Pontarlier after all.
The F1 hotel I'd booked turned out to be well and truly horrible. They're all pretty nasty, and I was prepared for things to be a bit spartan.
But the one in Pontarlier took "spartan" to the next level. It was so bad that I decided I'd deserved better.
So out came the iPhone and the app which shows you rooms available around you on the night, without booking.
The nearest room which didn't cost hundreds of pounds was in Lausanne, in Switzerland.
So I rode on, through the night, crossing Europe's last proper border at midnight, and descending into Lausanne at 0100 in the morning.
I woke up at 0800 to this view of Lake Geneva and to a Starbucks double espresso which cost me £3.80. I was in Switzerland.
For different people, Switzerland means different things. To me, the first thing which comes to mind when you say "Lake Geneva" is Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water".
"We all came down to Montreux
On the Lake Geneva shore" etc.
I knew I had to go to Montreux and see whether there was anything still burning there.
This meant ditching my carefully-prepared plans for riding the Vosges. In the satnav, I had an itinerary file called "Vosges day 3" which I'd downloaded from the website of UK's Ride magazine. It was supposed to take me along the best roads and the twistiest lanes in the region.
Deleting it felt very much like a big commitment.
But I couldn't not see Montreux. I owed it to the 16-year-old in me.
But before I went, I had another thing to attend to. In Switzerland, almost all roads are toll roads. You have to buy a "road vignette" from the post office to use any of the major routes. It costs 40 Swiss francs (£26), it's valid for 14 months, it has to be "displayed in a prominent location on the vehicle", and it's a devil to get off (I tried).
All of this means I've now got a reason to return to Switzerland.
And this image shows Lake Geneva in Montreux. Swan Lake, almost.
This, too, is Montreux.
I've no idea how this lady managed it. I took this picture just before noon. It was +32. To sit there, clad in full accordance with tradition, must have been more than a little uncomfortable. I know, because I wasn't under-dressed either, in my biking gear. But it didn't seem to disturb her too much.
From Montreux, I asked my satnav to give me a "winding route" to Mittlach, back in France, my base for the next night.
I rode with the Alps to my right and the Vosges to my left, in mountain valleys, next to alpine lakes, where cows wander up and down hills, their bells making a quintessentially Swiss noise, and horses graze in the sunshine.
Along the way to Mittlach, I stopped in Munster, one of the main towns in the Alsace. A town with strong German roots, it was celebrating its birthday. It timed it perfectly for my arrival.
Basically, what this means was that everybody who lives in the town gathered in the main square, drank beer and ate sausages. You'll notice that a lot of the people in this image are looking upwards. That's because there is a stork's nest at the top of the townhall; and the storks were busy with chicks. Always a very interesting sight.
But not everybody was bird-watching. This chap - selling beer to the celebrating crowd - was clearly having a brilliant day. I'm not even sure he needed the taps - it would have been much easier for him if he'd just let the beer flow, only changing glasses under the stream of the drink.
Folklore and national traditions were represented by this band of trumpeteers. The dress, and the trumpets (is that what these things are called?) were certainly very impressive.
But then they started playing. I wished they hadn't.
I once heard a guy playing the Australian version of this instrument - that was at the Overland Event organised by Paddy Tyson's magazine this June. That was music. This was horrible racket. But no matter, people still clapped and smiled - you would do, wouldn't you, if it was your grandfather playing?
There wasn't much more to see in Munster, and the crowd was becoming too agitated for my liking, so I rode on to Mittlach, a town in the middle of nowhere high up in the Vosges mountains.
I thought I was staying at a hotel.
But it turned out the "hotel" was just an annex to a working farmhouse.
A charming family greeted me, and we discussed riding, food and weather. All in German, a language which comes to me (and, dare I say it, to them) easier than French.
The bike was put into the shed for the night, I was given a room key, a chunk of meat and some chips, and told to make myself comfortable.
I fell to sleep to the sound of screeching owls and howling wolves. Really. In the middle of Europe.
The next morning I awoke to see the shed door open (as illustrated by this picture). They took the tractor out at first light. They also scratched the pannier which I'd kept on the bike in the process. It looks like it had contact with a sharp farming implement of some sort.
But I thought that was no big deal. After all, my bike cost what I'd paid for it precisely because it has quite a few battle scars from being dropped in its previous life as a BMW Off Road Skills machine.
The Vosges are to the Alps what primary school is to Oxford. But even so, the riding is fantastic, and the views, - simply stunning.
Meet Juergen, a German guy who was exploring the Vosges with his wife.
I spent about 45 minutes glued to this spot, waiting for a bike to pass. In the scorching heat (it was +38 that day). But what would one not do for the sake of art!
I caught up with Juergen and his wife further down the road. They stopped to tour the local confectionary factory; and I stopped to drink some water at the cafe attached to it.
Jurgen now has a copy of this image; and I have some great recommendations for riding in Germany.
It was a scorcher. At +38, I felt I was boiling alive. I took a detour to Namur and its fine arts museum, where the only really interesting piece of art was this staircase.
This also happened to be the last decent picture I took on the trip. Mostly because the rest of it was just a mad motorway dash home, and there's not a lot to photograph on motorways.
But I'm still very pleased with the tour, with the bike, with the weather, and with the entire "experience".
Next year, more of Switzerland, - before my vignette expires.
