Never saw the middle bit before.
Always, when we've 'done' France, its usually down the east where the bumpy bits are, on the way to somewhere else like Croatia or Corsica, or once down the west which I thought was a bit boring.
Dont mean boring in a nasty way .... just a bit similar to the scenery up here, you know, green stuff like fields and trees.
Trees are bastards when they are living. I like them when they are dead. Trees definately make the best wood, but before that, they just block the scenery, and, have you ever noticed that the buggers steal the heat.
As soon as you ride into the treeyie bits, it gets colder.
Some trees are nice. Like the lines of Poplars? which line some French roads.
Did you know why they are there? Well, this might not be true, but someone, Bloody Steven Fry probably, told me that to pay for the expense of owning daughters, French landowners were allowed to plant trees alongside the road , so by the time the bitches were ready to get married and stuff, the dads could sell the trees to pay for weddings and dresses and things.
Dont know if its true though.
I digress ..... Holidays, yes.
It was sunny in Kirkcaldy when I set-off for Newcastle for the ferry.
God must have been busy doing something else, because it was just south of Edinburgh before he noticed that I was going somewhere.
In his haste to get me wet, he turned the tap on too much .... and it must have got stuck, because it rained biblically till I reached the boat.
Feckin soaked. Stopped under a tree (feckin useless as umbrellas as well) to have a fag, which were not in the waterproof pocket and tried to light one.
The wet lighter weakly sparked despite the frantic efforts of a wet thumb. Failed to produce a flame .... and then a big raindrop fell from a bloody tree leaf, right onto my damp marlboro and the whole white bit fell off and dangled there, on a sliver of fag paper at right angles to the tip.
A flaccid fag. A wet head. Soaked gloves.
I did actually look up and shout at the bastard. 'What have I done to upset you. I'm one of the good-guys. Let me have a bloody decent holiday'.
He obviously couldn't hear me, because he left the tap on until Grenoble, with a slight respite through Belgium.
Some of my favourite benign roads through the champagne region, usually sunbathed and swoopy, were now dull, wet and a bit uninteresting.
F1'd in Charleville Mezieres and Dole. F1's are not as cheap as they used to be and are full of foreigners queueing up at the microwave in reception with their microwaveable pasta bags.
You dont get lost walking into town (they are usually on the fringes of towns) .... but you do get lost trying to find the hotel on the way back, as beer disturbs the coordinates in the head.
Next time, I'm going to walk soberly backwards into town, so I can recognise landmarks for the drunken stagger back.
Where was I ? Bloody hell, I'm just on day 2. Bored yet? Did you look at the photos? I'm currently specialising in night time shots. Thats not strictly true. Its just that night time is normally when drink has been consumed, and I suddenly turn into David Bailey, only to spend hours fumbling with camera controls which Ive no idea how to work.
Next night I lodged in Sisteron where I spent two hours using the stools balanced on top of each other, and the bathroom towel rail on top of them (it was loose. It would have come off eventually) to photograph the thing on the top of the rock.
Here is it.
I forgot Annecy. Stayed there the night before I got to Sisteron. Lovely as usual. I like Annecy.
And ... how could I forget. Went from Annecy to the Col Du Machine, but it rained all the way and the Zumo seemed to forget that anything wider than a cart track existed.
I traversed mountains with zero visibility because of thick mist and rain .... and, as I discovered, the anti-fog coating on the inside of my visor had all bubbled-up and, what I thought was rain on the inside of the visor was the bubbly coating (which I spent two hours scraping-off with a credit card the next night).
Passed down the Col du Machine without realising I was on it, so had to ride back up it again to have a look.
Bloody impressive though. But hard to get on a photo.
Managed to find Route Napoleon on the way to Sisteron .... and the sun came out.
It ... and the road to sisteron were magical. I felt for the first time that I was on holiday.
Next day I had to pick-up Louise in Nice.