I think it all started as just started as a friend’s ( Fatpan ) idea to have a small reconnaissance run, ahead of a lager France ride in early May but somehow it just grew.
Whatever the reasons, several assorted bikes gathered at the Eurotunnel entrance, missing only one thing....the trip leader.
Lacking any knowledge of his whereabouts, we opted to get on the pre-agreed train and just go.
Just as this was decided, a message came across the ether that tour leader and his companions would meet us at the Texaco filling station, right on the exit road in France.
This bit of news we translated as, “We are on an earlier train”. Odd and (as it transpires) totally wrong. Anyway, through the tunnel we trundled and rode the short hop to the petrol station, to be greeted by an empty forecourt. No sign of Monsieur Fatpan and party at all.
Eventually though they did hove into view, sheepishly admitting that they had cocked-up. It seems that Fatpan (and chums) had arrived so early at the train that they had decided to enjoy a relaxed coffee. So relaxed in fact that, when they woke up, train G had departed and train J was being called!
But, at last we were all together, and off we set on Fatpan’s ride. What a good time we had, carving a broad circle around the lanes and country roads of the Pas-de-Calais. I am the first to confess that – though I am a regular traveller across the water - I have always seen that part of France as a blur of flat nothingness as I hotfoot down the motorway. How wrong I have been. OK it’s not the Alps, nor is it totally crammed full of bend swinging like other parts of France, but for a day’s fun it’s worth the trip.
Fatpan had worked out a route that took us down country lanes and even up some reasonable hills (certainly not as flat as Essex) – for a mid-morning coffee stop in Cassel.....
.....and then continuing on, ending up in Le Touquet for a good lunch on the sea front.
After lunch, by now mid afternoon, the party divided up. Half to return home, whilst seven of us headed off to St Omer, to spend the night, ahead of Sunday.
St Omer is certainly a good stopover spot, if anyone wants to do anything similar, with a good choice of hotels, bars and restaurants to chose from, all gathered around the town square.
Having depleted the town’s beer cellars and had an excellent meal, it was off to bed ahead of Sunday.
Being a day of rest and meditation, we did our bit by breakfasting at around 9:00, during which we decided to take a vaguely scenic route down to Arras and Vimy Ridge, the infamous killing ground of 1917.
For anyone who has not been, I would certainly recommend a visit.
The ridge dominates the surrounding country being held by the Germans since very early in the war, giving them virtual domination of the lower countryside around. The crest was heavily fortified, with trenches, machine guns, artillery positions and several huge underground bunkers, each capable of holding a full battalion of men. The task of taking the impregnable defences was assigned to the Canadian army, who launched a devastating attack over several days, assisted by (I learned) a host of Moroccans, fighting as irregular troops on behalf of the French.
The slaughter on both sides was immense, the ridge being a charnel house already after years of fighting. The Canadians though won the day but, at a huge cost, particularly to the Newfoundland regiment who were all but totally destroyed in the course of a few hours.
It is said – and I have no reason to doubt it – that the battle and slaughter of so many young Canadian men, thousands of miles from home- marked Canada’s defining moment as a new nation in its own right.
The site is now preserved as a monument and memorial to the fallen Canadians, from that immense battle and as a war grave to the thousands of their comrades that fell over the course of the Great War.
The memorial is immense and a stunning piece of art in its own right, towering above the ridge, dominating the land, visible over 30 kms away.
We were lucky to have seen the memorial so soon after its complete restoration, finished only last year. The Canadian government has funded a huge drive to restore all the many grave sites and monuments that commemorate fallen Canadians and others over the Flanders area.
That we were, by chance, there on April 13th, near enough on the 91st anniversary of the main battle, made it very poignant.
The ridge top is still littered with unspent armament, from four years of fighting, with large areas closed off from public access.
The old trench system can still be seen though, being remodelled in parts to give a visitor some small idea of its scale.
Still very obvious too are the five huge craters left behind from underground mines that were exploded, beneath the German positions, following months of dangerous tunnelling. The photograph does not give a good idea of the crater’s depth or width.
The tunnels themselves are also open to the public but not until, 1st May.
Should you get the chance, do take some time out to see the site
The visit having been made it was a then just short hop into Arras for a very late snack.
Followed by a quick run up the motorway, the Chunnel train again and home.
A great 36 hours away. 450 miles or thereabouts.
Give it a go, you won’t be disappointed.
(Route plan to follow)
Whatever the reasons, several assorted bikes gathered at the Eurotunnel entrance, missing only one thing....the trip leader.
Lacking any knowledge of his whereabouts, we opted to get on the pre-agreed train and just go.
Just as this was decided, a message came across the ether that tour leader and his companions would meet us at the Texaco filling station, right on the exit road in France.
This bit of news we translated as, “We are on an earlier train”. Odd and (as it transpires) totally wrong. Anyway, through the tunnel we trundled and rode the short hop to the petrol station, to be greeted by an empty forecourt. No sign of Monsieur Fatpan and party at all.
Eventually though they did hove into view, sheepishly admitting that they had cocked-up. It seems that Fatpan (and chums) had arrived so early at the train that they had decided to enjoy a relaxed coffee. So relaxed in fact that, when they woke up, train G had departed and train J was being called!
But, at last we were all together, and off we set on Fatpan’s ride. What a good time we had, carving a broad circle around the lanes and country roads of the Pas-de-Calais. I am the first to confess that – though I am a regular traveller across the water - I have always seen that part of France as a blur of flat nothingness as I hotfoot down the motorway. How wrong I have been. OK it’s not the Alps, nor is it totally crammed full of bend swinging like other parts of France, but for a day’s fun it’s worth the trip.
Fatpan had worked out a route that took us down country lanes and even up some reasonable hills (certainly not as flat as Essex) – for a mid-morning coffee stop in Cassel.....
.....and then continuing on, ending up in Le Touquet for a good lunch on the sea front.
After lunch, by now mid afternoon, the party divided up. Half to return home, whilst seven of us headed off to St Omer, to spend the night, ahead of Sunday.
St Omer is certainly a good stopover spot, if anyone wants to do anything similar, with a good choice of hotels, bars and restaurants to chose from, all gathered around the town square.
Having depleted the town’s beer cellars and had an excellent meal, it was off to bed ahead of Sunday.
Being a day of rest and meditation, we did our bit by breakfasting at around 9:00, during which we decided to take a vaguely scenic route down to Arras and Vimy Ridge, the infamous killing ground of 1917.
For anyone who has not been, I would certainly recommend a visit.
The ridge dominates the surrounding country being held by the Germans since very early in the war, giving them virtual domination of the lower countryside around. The crest was heavily fortified, with trenches, machine guns, artillery positions and several huge underground bunkers, each capable of holding a full battalion of men. The task of taking the impregnable defences was assigned to the Canadian army, who launched a devastating attack over several days, assisted by (I learned) a host of Moroccans, fighting as irregular troops on behalf of the French.
The slaughter on both sides was immense, the ridge being a charnel house already after years of fighting. The Canadians though won the day but, at a huge cost, particularly to the Newfoundland regiment who were all but totally destroyed in the course of a few hours.
It is said – and I have no reason to doubt it – that the battle and slaughter of so many young Canadian men, thousands of miles from home- marked Canada’s defining moment as a new nation in its own right.
The site is now preserved as a monument and memorial to the fallen Canadians, from that immense battle and as a war grave to the thousands of their comrades that fell over the course of the Great War.
The memorial is immense and a stunning piece of art in its own right, towering above the ridge, dominating the land, visible over 30 kms away.
We were lucky to have seen the memorial so soon after its complete restoration, finished only last year. The Canadian government has funded a huge drive to restore all the many grave sites and monuments that commemorate fallen Canadians and others over the Flanders area.
That we were, by chance, there on April 13th, near enough on the 91st anniversary of the main battle, made it very poignant.
The ridge top is still littered with unspent armament, from four years of fighting, with large areas closed off from public access.
The old trench system can still be seen though, being remodelled in parts to give a visitor some small idea of its scale.
Still very obvious too are the five huge craters left behind from underground mines that were exploded, beneath the German positions, following months of dangerous tunnelling. The photograph does not give a good idea of the crater’s depth or width.
The tunnels themselves are also open to the public but not until, 1st May.
Should you get the chance, do take some time out to see the site
The visit having been made it was a then just short hop into Arras for a very late snack.
Followed by a quick run up the motorway, the Chunnel train again and home.
A great 36 hours away. 450 miles or thereabouts.
Give it a go, you won’t be disappointed.
(Route plan to follow)


