A day of many firsts today, my first day in France, my first fall off the bike, my first puncture. All in all, awful. The fall, courtesy of a French pothole the depth of the Grand Canyon was luckily timed with the day I had to wear most clothes, so apart from a very sore shoulder, I made it away (once if repaired the puncture) unscathed. Ego, notwithstanding. Quick check, the bike was fine but more importantly, so was the ipad. The horror in my face must have been amazing as I desperately tried not to land on my backpack!
If I could call this off now. I would. Without hesitation. It was always going to be a rough one when I looked out of my window and saw the docks at Folkestone being lashed with rain. After a quick panic, I stole all the bin liners and plastic from the spare pillows and bath mat (why do they wrap the bath mat up!?) to make sure my belongings were waterproof.
I then set off for the first 5 miles, up the most ridiculous of hills, to the pick up point for the Euro tunnel Cycle Service. Ironically, which was the hotel I was due to stay at last night, before thinking I'd got a bargain. I was then taken in the van to the tunnel. There was a 30 min delay, which was passed by making small talk with the van driver, which isn't exactly my favourite hobby.
It wasn't until we boarded the carriage that the tone really changed. John Woodward, who has two daughters, 40 and 42 who live in Maidstone, (see, I really did get it all!) decided to offload everything. I hadn't told him the reason for my jolly, but I couldn't believe the coincidence. John got divorced, or rather, Johns wife divorced him for another man, 25 years ago. She re married and John met someone new. Johns wife Marie-Anne was diagnosed with an illness called Lupus in 1976. She managed it well with medication but sadly passed away in 2009. Now, I have felt awkward many times in my life, but never more so, than when I was locked with a visibly upset inside a transit van, inside a tin can, inside a tunnel with no exit for another 35 minutes.
John then explained that he was due at the doctors this morning but had cancelled the appointment when I made my booking. John has had heart murmurs for most of his adult life, which progressively got worse. It was decided that He needed a new valve fitting, which was done via the open heart method, 2 years ago. Unfortunately, he suffered a heart attack 6 months ago and is now on a pretty hefty concoction of medication and beta blockers. I was a bit shy telling him about why I was on my bike on a wet Monday morning but he was really chuffed. The entire journey was spent having a laugh about how this guy, twice my age had so much in common. We talked about lupus, about hearts, about doctors, good and bad. Then he mentioned the races, he loves the horses. The conversation pretty much ended like this "oh, my girlfriend lives near a racecourse, in Thirsk" "lovely Thirsk, I've been many times" "oh, wow, yeah, it's only a small town but everyone seems to know it" "I tell you what, you know that white horse you have on the hill up there?" "Yeah" "we'll we have one of them in Folkestone, just near the tunnel, I was going to show you but you were too busy gassing".
By 9.20 I was a bloody emotional wreck. Not at all focused on what I needed to do today. By about 9.30 I was throwing a mega strop in a Calais car park.
Turn on my phone...
Searching...
Searching...
Seatching...
No Network Found!
No not word, no sat nav, no calls, no help.
I don't know who is to blame, Nokia or Virgin but when I find out, I am going to erupt on someone.
So I pedalled to the ibis hotel and stole some WiFi. I managed to get out an SOS email and a cry for help on Facebook. I also managed to get a map and plan a route on the inside pages of a book I'd brought with me (sorry for defacing it Tim). And so my route to Abbeville was slow, wet, painful and massively frustrating, following scribbled directions and road names on a piece of paper, now tucked in a waterproof phone case, held on to my handle bars with my phone holder. I must have looked a total knob.
Anyway, I digress. I hate it, I've had enough, moan moan, pity me and all that stuff. I have wifi in the room I'm in tonight so that's good, I can let people know I'm not dead. I'm due to get to Paris tomorrow, then have two days off. I don't think I will take them. I need to have a look but think I would prefer to get there, see the sights, sleep then head home. It will mean that I cock up my accommodation, but I can sort that.
If I could call this off now. I would. Without hesitation. It was always going to be a rough one when I looked out of my window and saw the docks at Folkestone being lashed with rain. After a quick panic, I stole all the bin liners and plastic from the spare pillows and bath mat (why do they wrap the bath mat up!?) to make sure my belongings were waterproof.
I then set off for the first 5 miles, up the most ridiculous of hills, to the pick up point for the Euro tunnel Cycle Service. Ironically, which was the hotel I was due to stay at last night, before thinking I'd got a bargain. I was then taken in the van to the tunnel. There was a 30 min delay, which was passed by making small talk with the van driver, which isn't exactly my favourite hobby.
It wasn't until we boarded the carriage that the tone really changed. John Woodward, who has two daughters, 40 and 42 who live in Maidstone, (see, I really did get it all!) decided to offload everything. I hadn't told him the reason for my jolly, but I couldn't believe the coincidence. John got divorced, or rather, Johns wife divorced him for another man, 25 years ago. She re married and John met someone new. Johns wife Marie-Anne was diagnosed with an illness called Lupus in 1976. She managed it well with medication but sadly passed away in 2009. Now, I have felt awkward many times in my life, but never more so, than when I was locked with a visibly upset inside a transit van, inside a tin can, inside a tunnel with no exit for another 35 minutes.
John then explained that he was due at the doctors this morning but had cancelled the appointment when I made my booking. John has had heart murmurs for most of his adult life, which progressively got worse. It was decided that He needed a new valve fitting, which was done via the open heart method, 2 years ago. Unfortunately, he suffered a heart attack 6 months ago and is now on a pretty hefty concoction of medication and beta blockers. I was a bit shy telling him about why I was on my bike on a wet Monday morning but he was really chuffed. The entire journey was spent having a laugh about how this guy, twice my age had so much in common. We talked about lupus, about hearts, about doctors, good and bad. Then he mentioned the races, he loves the horses. The conversation pretty much ended like this "oh, my girlfriend lives near a racecourse, in Thirsk" "lovely Thirsk, I've been many times" "oh, wow, yeah, it's only a small town but everyone seems to know it" "I tell you what, you know that white horse you have on the hill up there?" "Yeah" "we'll we have one of them in Folkestone, just near the tunnel, I was going to show you but you were too busy gassing".
By 9.20 I was a bloody emotional wreck. Not at all focused on what I needed to do today. By about 9.30 I was throwing a mega strop in a Calais car park.
Turn on my phone...
Searching...
Searching...
Seatching...
No Network Found!
No not word, no sat nav, no calls, no help.
I don't know who is to blame, Nokia or Virgin but when I find out, I am going to erupt on someone.
So I pedalled to the ibis hotel and stole some WiFi. I managed to get out an SOS email and a cry for help on Facebook. I also managed to get a map and plan a route on the inside pages of a book I'd brought with me (sorry for defacing it Tim). And so my route to Abbeville was slow, wet, painful and massively frustrating, following scribbled directions and road names on a piece of paper, now tucked in a waterproof phone case, held on to my handle bars with my phone holder. I must have looked a total knob.
Anyway, I digress. I hate it, I've had enough, moan moan, pity me and all that stuff. I have wifi in the room I'm in tonight so that's good, I can let people know I'm not dead. I'm due to get to Paris tomorrow, then have two days off. I don't think I will take them. I need to have a look but think I would prefer to get there, see the sights, sleep then head home. It will mean that I cock up my accommodation, but I can sort that.
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