Land’s End to John O’Groats by Moped, May 1987: Day 2

Thursday 7 May

Up at 7.00am and after breakfast, on to Land’s End by 9.00am. It’s a touristy place, souvenirs etc. Stopped off at St Just and St Ives, posted some postcards and head northeast, more or less on the road I had came down on. I am now drying off my gear and resting, near Redruth. It is a nice sunny day and very little wind. The bike has not got enough power to climb the steep hills, but I press on regardless.

5.00pm – carry on back the A30 to Exeter and camped for the night amongst some young trees by the side of the A30. A fairly good night and not much dew. In a nearby farmhouse a dog was whining for most of the night.

Land’s End to John O’Groats by Moped, May 1987: Day 1

Wednesday 6 May

Set off from London at 5.45 am, the weather good and sunny. Traffic light, except in Winchester. Saw my first swallow.

10.20am – Now eight miles east of Dorchester, having covered 120 miles in 4.5 hours. All is well, average speed 35 mph. Finding it hard to change down (gears), as side pannier is in the way of my foot. It is a lovely day – went off my track at Dorchester and on to the coast at Weymouth. To get back to the A35 at Bridport, I took a coastal minor and very hilly road and I ran out of petrol at Abbotsbury. I had to push the bike up some steep hills and free wheel down, getting petrol at Burton Bradstock.

Now back on the A35, pressed on to Exeter and on to Oakhampton, Launceston, Bodmin, Redruth, Penzance and finally on the camp just outside Lands End – in a meadow. There was no hassle but it was very cold and a heavy dew wetting everything, just like rain. Distance today was 311 miles and I am whacked. The cold woke me up several times during the night.

Cycling Through France, April-May 1986: Day 18

(Go to http://supertramping.wordpress.com/2009/08/03/cycling-through-france-april-1986-days-1-3/ for the first entry of the trip)

Friday 2 5 86

The purser kindly accepted my out of date day return excursion ticket, which was already two weeks over due, otherwise it would have cost me £17. 50 single. At the last moment there were parties of French secondary school children boarding the ship and immediately created a chaos of a playground din of boisterous activity through the ship and it was, for a while, hard to settle down to sleep for the 4½hours night sailing to Newhaven. I get into my sleeping bag and crashed out ‘til we were going into Newhaven Harbour. It was still dark but could hear the dawn chorus welcoming us. The pleasure and relief of returning made the harrowing adventures of the past 16days all the more memorable. A little difficulty in landing as there was a check by emigration on alien embarkation.

Before leaving initially at the start of my trip, I camped overnight near Seaford, and as it had rained during the night. I tried to dry out my camping gear and I laid my tent out on some long grass a little distance away. I had camouflaged the tent by staining it dark brown by painting it with over-brewed tea -yes tea – so well, that on packing my gear on that first morning out, I gathered everything but omitted to see the highly camouflaged tent and did not discover it missing until I tried to camp on that first night in France. Now, the trip finalised and return fatigued, possibly exhausted, but a lot wiser. By some remarkable long chance, would the tent be still there, maybe blown into some odd corner and not been particularly noticed by anyone that happened along that stretch of the shoreline between Newhaven and Seaford. Before returning homeward on this the 16th day of the trek, I went over to the spot where I had camped that night over two weeks previously, and in the early morning light at about 05.30hrs, I could see no sign of my Bukta tent – hold on a minute – a heap of lumped up plastic sheeting attracted my attention. I turned the plastic over and low and behold, there is a tent here attached to the plastic sheeting which is intended to form a sort of extra water-proofing – no not my tent but a tent just the same. Could there be a connection? Why not – those campers had evidently come across my Bukta tent and dumped their own scraggy thing.

I have brought it home with me and perhaps with time and patience, it may go a short way towards my much-travelled Bukta tent.

Homeward bound at last, the weary traveller finds himself going through a street in Lewes on the right hand side of the road and to make matters worse it is also a one-way street and Murphy’s Law inevitably supplied the two police officers. This could not be overlooked in the early morning, so I was stopped and cautioned but not breathalysed for riding a bike under the influence etc. The officers kindly decided to overlook the matter in spite of the fact that it just happened underneath the stalwart outer walls of Lewes Prison where there was a riot a few days previously.

The 60 odd miles from Newhaven to my humble abode on the outskirts of London town took just over six hours in fine weather and the only day of the 16day trip to supply me with the much wanted follow wind. It also was the only day that I discarded my extra clothing and actually cycled along in just a pair of shorts and shoes in the warm spring sunshine.

It may seem to have been a useless and unnecessary way to punish one’s self but many things of interest emerged: relationship of ones capacity under stress of various sorts and how to cope, survive, make the most of whatever is available – what to expect in the line of help from other individuals. Those who offered help, advice or kindness, will linger longer in the memory, than those who were petty, mean or mocking.

Dermot Leo CURRAN

Cycling Through France, April-May 1986: Day 17

Thursday 1/5

I could hear fishing boats coming in several times during the night. It was a clear night and from my tent I could see the lights of other towns along the coast, southwards toward Spain, about 25 miles away. Also the stars were very clear, particularly the Plough, which was overhead and towards the west over the ocean. Have not seen any seagulls or other sea birds. Was disturbed by two ladies jogging, before 07.00hrs, who seemed quite surprised and curious to see me. So it was time for me to pack up, but there were two guys fishing quite close to my tent and I wondered how long they had been there. I got hold of my gear and changed back to the sheltered side of the hill, laid out my stuff in the early morning sun to dry. Got myself some nosh, packed and got to the rail station with half an hour to spare. Was not sure about the bike but luckily, saw those Germans again and they parley voused with the ticket clerk and with paying an extra 30f got my cycle documented and officially on the train. So it’s on the same train with me in the baggage car, unlike most trains here. I thought I might have to wait a day or two in Paris for my bike to eventually come along.

I am writing this section on the moving train, which is very plush and very, very smooth and fast running – only thing is all the passengers are only speaking French and that includes the infants. I am passing now the vast forest country I mentioned back some days ago – seems like years. At last I can relax till the next hurdle – Paris – and getting across the city which I have never been in before, to the rail station serving Dieppe and I have to go through the formality of booking the faithful, reliable steed for the final leg of the French trip, Paris to Dieppe. The sky is clear and sunny and very warm with the sun shining in through the window. I can hardly stay awake and yet I feel I should be aware and conscious as ever on this my first and possibly last French train journey. Plenty of time to sleep when I am resting in the bone-yard, eventually, not just yet I hope! It takes about six hours to reach Paris and I should be able to do this part of the trip, with some luck, on my way to Dieppe. These trains travel at over 100mph and when a similar speedy train passes in the opposite direction, it seem as if the windows are going to blow in, like an explosion.

Whatever about doing this trip in the cold and rain and all the hardships it has entailed, to do it now that the sun is so high in the heavens and the scorching heat that emanates from it now, would be sheer hell indeed. Repassed the vine country around Burdeaux in a matter of an hour which took me days biking. If I ever think of doing anything like this again, it will have to be a Honda moped or motoring. At least I think I could keep to my right now, which I had a little difficulty doing that at first – especially when making turnings into other roads, I was inclined, without thinking to end up on the left. Fortunately I pulled myself up just in time to get back on the right hand side. By far, the main difficulty and loss was not having a basic knowledge of French. I now see an acute need and even though I may never come to France again, I will now have a much greater interest. It would be different if only coming on a package holiday where there is a courier or plenty of other English speaking people in a resort but on your own, it’s a different story and a very special need to know the lingo.

I notice that there is a great difference in the forward growth of vegetation, coming near to the Paris area, than there was two weeks ago when I started out. The clumps of mistletoe in the poplars seem more numerous. Still signs of flooding in places. There are certainly some large rivers in France running in flat land in wide-open fields without hedges, which have all been cut away.

Got into Paris (Austrials) at 16.00hrs. Had to get across the city to St Lazare Railway Station for a train to Dieppe. It was very hot and humid and thousands of visitors were everywhere. It had a holiday atmosphere – that ‘Paris in the spring’ – feeling. I did not know my way across but consulted a map at a bus stop and figured my route through the city. Traffic was almost at a standstill, so I rode and walked heading in the general director of St Lezare. There seems to be about 10 different rail stations in Paris. I found it without too much bother and made enquiries about putting my bike on the train, there was no problem whatsoever and no further charge. They were only being awkward and super efficient at St Jean de Luz and also charged me 30f (about £3) when there should have been no charge. Paris is certainly an impressive city and would need at least a week to do it properly. Had to wait about three hours at St Lazare, I put the bike in the luggage van without even asking the guard.

I was tired out and with so large a crowd everywhere, I was pleased when the stopping train moved out on its way to Dieppe. Local French people getting on and off at every station.

Got to Dieppe at 22.30hrs and am now waiting to embark, at midnight and expect to get to Newhaven at 04. 00hrs BST. Here in France the time is an hour advanced on British time. Felt a bit apprehensive about getting the bike on the ferry, I would have hated to leave it behind. I would soon have rode it all the way back than have to abandoned it. The weather is fine, quite warm and the sea calm – not a lot of people travelling.

Cycling Through France, April-May 1986: Day 16

Wednesday 29.4 / 30.4

Dawn chorus is the cuckoo, the wren and I now see the little beggar gathering bits and pieces for its nest, a few blackbirds, some blue-tits foraging for insects amongst the branches overhead and to the right, the rising sun. But cloud is already manifest and what amount of rain will we have today and what receipt awaits the trans-France ‘Wonder Boy’ , and what if they do let me into the Spanish paradise, in what direction will my handle bars steer me. Well here goes, as usual in the morning and so close to destination and possible trip conclusion, fresh from my wet bed, I rise to battle afresh with what I would like to assume will be some sort of adventure, a masochistic one, be it self imposed at that. If my mother could see the state of her wandering son now! It’s all in the mind they say, but somehow I can also feel depravation, cold, hunger etc as well.

Bike is holding up very well, no trouble apart from the ‘bump’ in the front wheel. Hope I am no speaking too soon. I am not home yet – or as yet over the Spanish border. I have my passport ready – here goes – amigos. About four miles and crossed into Spain – hundreds of cars and lorries queuing up to cross – I just walked across with my bike. Very few British trucks and cars crossing, mainly Spanish and French – also German and Dutch. A river separates the two countries and there are plenty of mountains in the background. It is very picturesque with villas splattered all over the mountains – I would not care to cycle there. So I spend about an hour in Spain and head out to the station on the French side. The guard is another cocky Frenchman and wants to charge me 750f to get back to London. I decide to go to St Jean de Luz where I was last night. It’s almost impossible to be able to make them understand. I try to do it pictorially and get a ticket – senior citizen – to Dieppe for 199f and I do not know for sure whether I can take my bike with me or not tomorrow morning but I will keep my fingers crossed. Today has turned out to be sunny for a change and the sun is very warm. The trees and shrubs are just beginning to burst bud. It would put the season normally behind ours in the southern British Isles. This is an Atlantic seaside town with again many villa type houses, a pretty harbour and quite hilly between here and the Spanish border which is about 10 miles south of here.

I will hang about here for tonight and find a doss somewhere for the night. I have changed some money to get my ticket to Dieppe – have to change in Paris – I think it is like making from Waterloo to Euston in London. With a bit of luck I should be home in a few days. I was going to try to ride right back to Dieppe but with the traffic to encounter, I would rather not think about such a nightmare of risk and danger. St Jean de Luz is a pleasant town with very much the holiday atmosphere about it – the air is keen off the Atlantic. Thank goodness my hernia trouble is not worrying me too much these past few days but it can come on at any moment particularly early in the morning when I am cold. I may have got my days mixed up because I see from a bank that I have been in, that today is 30 April not 29,

Plenty of kids whizzing about here and elsewhere on their spruced up mobolettes, when don’t seem to need a licence or number plate to ride here. Went out to the beach as the afternoon turned out sunny – sunbathed and had a dip, water about 52ºF. Large waves piling in on the shore, plenty of guys surfing and sail boarding. St Jean de Luz seems to be a very fashionable southwest French sea resort – town full of tourists – hotels, shops and various trades to cater for the tourist. It would also seem to be a plush place to retire to with the surrounding hills and mountains (Pyrenees), covered in red tiled Spanish villas. The people here are swarthy, dark, Italian/Spanish appearance. I look out for somewhere to camp by the sea and near to the town – so as to catch the 09.30 train to Paris. Good deal of trouble with sighting a camp location – too many dogs. Decided to wait till after dark to camp by an automatic lighthouse, but just as I start to put down my groundsheets, the whole place was floodlighted. It was not a bad place, well sheltered, with a hill between me and the Atlantic Ocean. I just took up my tent and went to the exposed side of the hill – a few yards in on the side of the cliff overlooking the pounding Atlantic wave on the rocks only about 50ft below. The thunder of the breakers and in such an exposed position, kept me awake most of the night. I thought I might be troubled by foxes as there was a lot of scrub and bracken about but all was well. Spray from the breaking waves showered me all night but fortunately the plastic sheets kept out most of it. I reckoned the temperature was approaching 60ºf I did not feel cold.

Cyling Through France, April-May 1986: Day 15

Tuesday 28. 4. 86

Got out on the road (N10) at 09.00hrs and with very heavy traffic, mostly huge lorries, as this is the main road into Spain. I have now reached a few miles outside Bayonne. When I have worked my way through Bayonne, I will only have about 25miles to the Spanish border, which hopefully I should reach some time tomorrow. Mainly drizzle now as it is near the Atlantic – it’s similar weather-wise, to the West coast of Ireland. Temperature about 60ºF. Some lorry drivers are beeping me now on their return journeys as they had evidentially seen me, probably several times, in the past two weeks heading south, very slowly! I wont be sorry when it is all finished. I will make enquiries about trains back to Blighty.

Was about three hours getting through Bayonne, very busy traffic and people galore – very French, old fortress town with Cathedral, very similar to Westminster Abbey (without the trimmings) and of course still R C. Frenchmen in their berets old and young, looking very swarve and the French Madames as charmingly well clothed and titillated. Narrow streets with a variety of boutiques, cafes, jewellers, shoe shops and wine shops. As I came through the town Boyanne, it would have rush hour and all hell seemed to be let loose in their mad race to get home in the spread-out suburbs, as was the through traffic to and from Spain in an equally insane rush to get to a place in the sun or away homewards as the pendulum of vehicles battled it out to get where they we going.

A lone, heavily ladened Raleigh biker, almost three score years and ten has little reason of sanity, trying to battle through such a mob of unreasonable, so called humanity. However, I press on relentlessly on my pilgrimage endeavouring to overcome all obstacles with, I am sorry to say, the same basic reasons as all the other homo-sapiens, getting to places, considering everyone else’s rights that much less important than one’s own.

A humpy hilly area, the last remnants of the Pyrenees before they reach the furious Atlantic Ocean which is right here. I see it for the first time now from a height of about 400ft with huge waves driving on and breaking on the rocky shore below me. Very good for surfing (many cars with surf boards on them have passed me in the past two days.) On comes more rain – or is it drizzle – it’s wet anyway and on I ride and walk up and down this hilly country with Spanish type villas spread all over the same hills. On and on towards the border which is now only 6km away according to the signposts. I stop off for bread and the lady takes all my small French coins which must amount to several francs for a small, long, thin crusty French loaf, but delicious non the less.

I’m finding it hard to get a camping place among these inundated plush villas. On the way I pass a Gare which is French for Railway Station and go in to make the promised enquiry I should have made back in Bayonne. This is St Jane De Luz and everything is closed for the evening. I sort out the indignant station master in his equally impressive French uniform and in his French language he tells me to get lost and does not want to know a broken down and out old Limey. But somebody has seen what has happened, two similar broken down and out Germans, very depressed with the weather and their rotten hitch-hiking luck. They understand my brogue English and they console my doubts of the entire human race – they are very helpful, tell me of trains to Paris and one coming in shortly at 20.30hrs, which I could catch and then trek across Paris to some other station to get a train for Calais, Boulogne or Dieppe. But I have NOT reached my goal as yet – a few more kilometres perhaps – could I cheat and get out of this rain sodden fiasco – No, No, No – to cheat at the last moment would damage not alone my blotted conscience but worse still, to be so near and fail in a sad moment of frustration and despair would damage my self esteem far beyond repair, that I could never look myself eye to eye in the mirror again.

Alas, out in to the rain once more, I plod on and yet to camp site has welcome my weary bones for respite in my wet and cold sleeping bag. But very close to the border – I must be round the bend – and the local house guard dogs are relentlessly barking and snarling their ferocious disapproval. At last, and it is by now dark, I find a place, on the side of a hill, some trees, no fencing. Like a Gypsy’s’ forsaken last and lost stand against the local gendamie. To hell with the barking dogs – to hell with any locals who are no doubt tracking my uphill movement to my last buckshee campsite. Down on the wet sodden ground goes my ground sheet, covered with my plastic sheet of a ‘tent’. Will I be unsited during my hours of hopeful rest by some authority to close the Spanish border at midnight? No I am left at peace – the dogs eventually leave off their inferno and the rain has stopped, yet it has stopped to splatter on my plastic cover and all that disturbs me apart from being cold, damp and cramped, is an owl in the tree right above my temporary abode. I let him coo the eyrie night, hour after hour, to the echo from the trees on the hill opposite.

Cycling Through France, April-May 1986: Day 14

Monday, 27. 4. 86

– again I need not have worried, just as I was making my way back on to the motorway, a chap stopped his car and indicated that no way was I allowed on the motorway on a velo (bike). I took out my map and showed him where I wanted to go – in French, he gave me directions and once more I found myself back on a ‘country’ type of route – it was a joy indeed to get away from the motorway madness. I stopped off for groceries in a small village – had a tuck in of bread, biscuits, milk, sardines, apple, orange and still staying teatotal in spite of being in the heart of the wine country.

The road goes straight into the same motorway I had left off earlier. This time, unlike yesterday, a gendarmes had me within a few miles – male and female officers – and off I had to get at the next turn-off. A couple of mile down I took some pictures of them using my fluent French blaney. Then a place called Murcet. A little rain and the wind from the west helping me, thankfully it’s not a headwind.