The start of a long tour is always filled with apprehension and worry! Cycling from Spain to France a couple of summers ago, I remember finding the first day very tough. This probably wasn't helped by the hang over in the extreme heat that greeted me in the Basque port of Bilbao but all the same, it's difficult to stay motivated. A way home is right next to you sitting in the port, you're all alone and many many kilometers away is the end! You're not in the flow of the tour yet, haven't got into the routine of; wake up, pack (probably with a motivational coffee), cycling (fast), lunch, cycling, afternoon stop (usually under tree), cycling (much slower), camp, cook and sleep. On the first day this routine is non existent, you wake up earlier than you'd like due to the ship docking, get pushed off and spend the first 2 hours trying to navigate your way out of the port. The routine isn't there yet and this makes it all a little scary. That coupled with how slowly your speedo has ticked over that first 1km and the idea that you are now by yourself for however long it is, makes everything seem a very long way away.
Le Harve proved no different, I tried to calm my nerves by taking it easy and going down to the sea, before I realised that this would be the last time I'd see it until china, and who really knows when that will be! It didn't help the nerves!
The first days were big, I wanted to get miles under my belt, while I still had alot of energy and was carrying good food from home, but after some time I started to slow and settle into the pace. This was slightly caused as well by a serious headwind that I battled into for two days before Reims! On the final day into the city, in uttered the words 'what am I doing here? I really don't want to be doing this anymore' that was quite a low point in the whole trip and required an entire day off and a couple of call back to the homeland to get me motivated enough to continue. This along with some people watching they haven't half got some odd ones there; an 8ft woman in thigh-high boots, a pink boob-tube, white hot-pants and a cowboy hat! And the man in full sports kit (short shorts, green vest top and whistle) who was the darkest shade of mahogany I've ever seen, cruising around on a segway, making huge dramatic sweeping turns for no apparent reason, he kept this up all day.
After Reims life was easy, hot but easy and the next week cruised by until I got down towards Strasbourg which I always thought was in Germany but no apparently not. After a short stop for lunch, sending postcards and that, before trying to get near to where the ferry crossed the Rhine. Now usually my way for getting out of cities is to follow a compass for much of it, I tried applying this to this city thinking if I head south east then at some point I'd hit the river and could just follow that south. Theory good, practice not quite as sound. I ended up in the worst part of town, somewhere I wouldn't have stopped to help an old lady for fear of it being a scam! As I passed through I noticed that there were a lot of women on the side of the road, looking very dressed up for that time of day. Being English and slightly naive I had a good stare at two of them in a lay-by. they were an odd couple, one way skinny and all sort of leathery, while the other was fat and chavy looking. As I passed the skinny, one seeing me looking, waved and as I was passing on the other side of the road road, felt safe enough to give a little wave back. I'm not sure what the fat one read into this but she read something, walked forwards and lifted her dress to point out that she had nothing else on and was nice and clean below! I nearly hit a tree, we just don't get that sort of display in Britain and it was a nice pleasant way to say goodbye to France
