DAY ONE: Heads or tails?

Main Route

Second part of day one route

The weather in the UK has been pretty favourable over the last few weeks with talk of a "heat wave" and the promise of plentiful sun. Then, as our first days ride approached, things started to turn a bit damp.

Researching the weather forecasts has now begun to absorb so much of my time that each morning I find myself arguing with the telly about forecasts. Whichever way we cut it, it would seem that today, we're going to get wet

As we set out it was still dry and our pace was surprisingly good. Everyone was on time too which revealed a touch more excitement than 6 grown up chaps were happy to admit to. We rode off of in a convoy of shiny gleaming bikes and ran smoothly to meet the last two members of the team.

My bike had been delivered successfully by the bike shop and was running wonderfully, not a creak or rattle to be heard, instead just the smooth buzz of tyres rolling on tarmac.

The route we have chosen through Kent avoided most of the main roads and took us to Rochester in double quick time. We took the opportunity to for our first tea break at the Deaf Cat on the old Rochester high street and enjoyed hot drinks and bike chatter.

The climb out of Rochester, up from sea level was long and hard, splitting the group a little and slowing us down a lot.
Kent is a bit lumpy which can make the going slow on the ups and rapid on the downs, this fast-slow-fast pace eventually carried us to Sittingbourne, where the road eventually opened up and flattened off enough for us to start munching up the miles, with a steady and rapid pace.


Our lunch stop found us in a delightful Horse Inn pub garden, in Boughton, resting under willow trees and for some...under kids slides. As we waited for lunch, the rain began to catch us up and all talked turned to waterproof kit. By the time we left our lunch venue we were all a little on the chilly side of comfortable and keen to get moving to warm up once more.

We needn't have worried...

About 100 yards up the road we met the most intimidating of hills. It wasn't its height, nor its gradient that were the most off-putting but the fact that the Roman road was as straight as a dye, providing an haunting view of what was to come. Although the top was within our line of sight, it remained hidden from view, shrouded in swirling mist and looking more than a little like a scene from a horror film.

This hill literally climbed straight up into the clouds and just disappeared.

By the time we had reached the top, no one had even noticed, nor cared, that the rain had stopped as our thoughts were all drowned out by the noise from our screaming muscles.

Grateful for the summit, we pushed on towards Canterbury and were soon faced with the realisation that the route I had picked for the day took us directly along a busy section of the A2... motorway. There was only so much checking that I could do beforehand with the use of streetview but I was still disappointed that I had let this bit of road slip in...I'm supposed to be local after all!

To add to the disappointment, the rain started to make an appearance. So with heavy rain joining us once more we rode "off mission" and followed the sat nav around Canterbury, and into the surrounding country lanes, seeking to avoid much of the busy A2.

Our concerns turned to timing.

We had a ferry to catch and had just opted to extend our route, in heavy rain and only a 3 inch screen to guide us.

However, after some delightful detouring  through Bishopsbourne and Kingston (which turned out to be a beautiful surprise addition) we rejoined the last 2 miles of the A2 and braved it out on the tiniest of hard shoulders for 2 miles...at least the rain had stopped.

At the town of Lydden, we pulled off the main road, checked for survivors and began the 6 mile drop into Dover. A few small, sharp hills later and we were cruising along the seafront, our horizon all full of Ferry.

We had 15 minutes to spare.

Boarding the ferry was simple, straightforward and secretly great fun. We chirped like giggling kids to the security staff, reminding everyone who would listen, (and all those who wouldn't) that we had ridden from London and were headed to Brussels!

Some people foolishly feinted interest, which only helped to encouraged us to chatter more.

What is it with me and ferries?

Two, or so hours and two, or so pints later we spilled out of the ferry and, at last, set cleated foot on French soil.

In France, still getting used to riding on the right

The road running through the dunes to the docks (The Routes des Dunes)  was smooth and clear. I had been studying the weather reports this week not just to confirm what clothing to wear but to constantly check on the wind direction.

After our 65 mile ride to Dover, we had just over 10 more miles to ride to the hotel and all of it was on exposed sea front roads. A headwind would have been horribly draining whilst a tail wind could see us propelled at superhuman speeds.

As we rode the Route Des Dunes, most of the group were fixed on keeping to the right of the road, where as I was preoccupied with the direction that the smoke from the many industrial towers that littered the horizon, was choosing to take.

We hit the sea front road and were greeted with a strong tailwind...I was delighted as we purred along at 25 MPH without a breath of wind in our faces, our legs making no effort at all.

After 6 or so miles we pulled off of the road and headed across the docks to the Hotel and were hit our second challenge of the day.

The huge and impressive swing bridge that was to carry us back onto proper roads, had swung! and was refusing to drop back into place. A small line of cars had already formed at the barriers and we took our place in line to wait.

and wait

and wait

Eventually, after around 30 minutes, Chris purposefully strode up to the waiting cars to find that they knew as little as we did and so, in true British style we showed the local French folk our Dunkirk spirit....formed an orderly queue...and waited some more.

Eventually a few chaps in hard hats and important looking hi-viz appeared and whatever button needed to be pressed was pressed .Then, to the the ironic sound of a world war two air raid siren, the bridge swung slowly into place.

Minutes later, we were checking in to our hotel...and after 30 or so more we were sat in the welcoming "La Table De Cha" restaurant on the marina square enjoying great wine and even greater food. Our chef was the only English speaker in the restaurant and  came out, sweaty browed and flushed faced to patiently translate the menu, describing in detail how he would cook everything. The Chefs patience made an otherwise incomprehensible menu come alive with expectation and we decided that we wanted everything.

We made our choices and relaxed, waiting for Martin who had resorted to working a full day at the office before getting home and grabbing a fast train to Dover. This left him to navigate the Route des dunes and the sea front road...in total blackness, with no ambient nor direct streetlighting and only the feeble glow of his emergency road lights to guide him. He arrived with wildly dilated pupils and the stare of a man blinded by darkness, to be greeted with cold beer and smooth wine

We were all here, in France, ready to ride on into Belgium.

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