Je suis rentree de Paris

Did I really go to Paris? I can't believe it is all over, seven months of preparation over in three days, good job I'm not an Olympic athlete that would be years of training gone in seconds.

Standing around at Tower Bridge waiting to start was the worst as I didn't know how hard it would be nor how fast everyone else would cycle.

The organisers warned it would be a long first day and their car looked pretty impressive as it led us out through the city traffic
but the Sussex countryside was beautiful with towering oak trees and jig-saw puzzle cottages around village greens with duck ponds and wind mills. At Newhaven the wait for the late ferry was cheered by the unexpected pleasure of seeing friends walk into the departure lounge to wave us off. We crossed in the dark so didn't see much of the channel nor Dieppe until we woke to familiar looking Cornish mist.

We were led by the ever cheerful Brian from Expedition Wise with his Jolly Good back-up van and Ben and Paul who took it in turns to go in front or at the back of our convoy.
They looked after us and set up drink and banana stops which divided the days into bite sized distances.

The French countryside was lovely, I can't tell you the pleasure of bowling along for mile after mile without having to face switch back hills at every turn in the road, Paul Hill had paid off and the riding was, as a friend said, "a piece of cake".

Everything in France looked different, even the garden sheds and garages.

Just outside Paris we collected together beside a little park and water fall so that we could all cycle in together
French traffic is incredibly bike-friendly and it felt fine to whizz along the streets, we turned right at the Arc de Triomphe
and up to the Eiffel Tower for a fantastic reception with tears and hugs and champagne. It felt unreal and exciting and a fantastic achievement and sad and wonderful all in equal measures.

Paris is a city of grandiose buildings which seem designed to overwhelm mere mortals but there are lovely details, shop signs
bicycles at every street corner and lamp post

an official meter with brass bosses set into a stone wall
fun exhibits in the Jardin DesTuileries
the old and the new

and petit dejeuner in pavement cafes.

There will be a final post when I have collected all the money but I have exceeded my final target of £4000. Merci a vous tous.

Now .... for my next challenge ......

We did it!

What a fantastic three days.
After negotiating London traffic, pretty leafy Sussex, an overnight ferry, French mists, brilliant sunshine, (and too much food) we turned right at the Arc de Triomphe and celebrated with champagne at the Eiffel tower late on Sunday afternoon.

My bicycle took an earlier ferry home but I stayed on for a few days in Paris, I will soon be home so look out for the photos.

Thank you for all your support.

St Austell

On Monday afternoon my bike and I climbed onto the 4.44 to St Austell, it stretched out in the "bike bay" whilst I nervously perched beside it on an uncomfortable seat that faced inwards giving me a crick in the neck as I tried to look out of the window. Luckily I'd just got a copy of Mike Sagar-Fenton's book on serpentine so was able to get stuck into the rise and fall of the London and Penzance Serpentine Company and its rival the Lizard Serpentine Company. I became so engrossed in Victorian fire surrounds and the industrial landscape of Poltesco that it wasn't until we slowed down for St Austell that I realized my bike was buried under four others, luckily I managed to untangle it before the doors slid shut and we pedalled off through the traffic to the hospice. The September sun came out and the neat lawns and familiar hospice colours reminded me what this adventure is really all about.My carefully prepared pipe lagging all fitted and I'd remembered the masking tape, orange label and the Cycle Centre's advice to leave the chain on the inner gears so I left the bike all ready for its journey to London.

I felt sad leaving it and thinking about my recent dream of arriving in London with no bike.

St Austell is another world, a suburban world dominated by spoil heaps but I enjoyed the walk back to the station.

I had three quarters of an hour before the train so walked down into the town to look at Holy Trinity church, annoyingly the church yard was padlocked. I considered climbing over the railings but didn't want to get arrested or impaled at this stage so had to settle for enjoying the magnificent 15 century tower from road. Some unsympathetic PCC has plonked a horrible illuminated cross on the top but nothing could spoil the devils, the mythical lions sticking their tongues out, kings, wonderful gargoyles and faces with more grinning teeth than a Cheshire cat.




Rushing back up the hill to the station I was sobered by the simplicity of the Quaker meeting house, a perfect contrast, (sorry no photo).

Already, I miss my bike and can't wait to see it in London.

Nearly there

Nearly there now and suddenly it is rather scary, I'm in that pre-going away time of panic when you feel you will never get everything done. Time to wash the official shirt, pack the guide books and collect up euros, passport and tickets. Last week we had a final get together inTruro and had our photo in the West Briton. Tomorrow I take my bike to St Austell, protect it with pipe lagging and trust to the gods that it gets on the CHC transport to London.

But before I go here are some more photos from the greatest of bike rides around our peninsula. The first view of Zennor cowering under leaden skies
and the road signs which always make me smile, what else do pedestrians do but walk?
There are lots of wonderful mile stones dotted along our roads, I will probably run out of time but but I'd like to do a post on them alone.
The blue eyed Cornish miner at Pendeen guards his nasturtiums
as I whizz along to St Just and on, past unspoilt buildings which I hope never see the light of "barn conversion"
and the flashing lights at the airport where little planes drop out of the mist to bump along the grass, to the junction with the A30 and the Friends burial ground.
The little roads near Lands End always confuse me but it is good to see that Mrs Baggit is still alive and well.
By this stage I'm fed up of stopping and starting to get my camera out so its full steam ahead through St Buryan and Mousehole to Newlyn
before turning left for home, stopping only to rescue a tiny furry caterpillar that was bravelytrying to cross the road.

Latest swallow news

The swallows have flown, yesterday afternoon they launched themselves through their postcard sized door into a damp, wet, soggy dripping world. Ten days from being eggs they were swirling around the sky chasing their elegantly long tailed parents who twittered and chattered their encouragement. They retired to bed early, three in a neat line along the wall plate and two piled into the old nest but they were up at first light continuing the flying lessons. Soon they will fly south to Mediterranean sunshine leaving me a little sadder and with a swallow shaped hole in my life.

Glitches

I said there would be some glitches .... the latest post is hiding in July and is entitled "Collecting Bucket".

But, on the good side, the baby swallows are getting their feathers, neatly lined up in their nest like sardines in a tin.Swallow poo all over everything is a price I'm happy to pay.