First trip to France (Short Way Down!)

My husband, Rich suggested that he and I take our bikes to France for the weekend; he said it would be a “mini adventure” and good practice for me having just got my first big bike a SV650S. Our neighbours have a house in Normandy which they said we could stay in and Richard wanted to visit the D Day landing sights and take in a bit of WWII history.

So we picked the first weekend in August hoping the weather might be ok and booked the Euro Shuttle and started plotting our route. Quite quickly our planned trip got named “the little way down” by one of Rich’s mates and I got the nickname “Charlie”.

Bearing in mind the furthest I had been on my bike was Tunbridge Wells to Rye and back and on the rare occasions we had ridden out together things had not gone well. You see I cannot drive the car sensibly if Rich is in the passenger seat and sober, it’s a wife/girl mental thing, so when I am on my bike and he is watching or for that matter any other more experienced looking biker is anywhere near, I ride like an idiot, a very slow idiot.

My bike was still restricted to 33bhp and I have only had it for a couple of months. I really want to be able to ride it well, I think that is my problem I try too hard and think too much. But I had to do this, and as I kept telling myself other women do it and what was the worse that could happen, crash, die, get divorced? So the couple of weeks leading up to the trip I rode my bike as much as possible, hoping to build a bit of confidence.

The day before setting off it suddenly occurred to me that we had no breakdown cover and no travel insurance, the breakdown was easy through the RAC but it took a while to find travel insurance as soon as I mentioned motorbikes most didn’t want to know, but we eventually found a company.

The RAC had advised that we needed GB stickers, spare light bulbs, yellow tabards and a hazard triangle to travel in France or face an on the spot fine. Given that Rich’s VTR Firestorm has rather exuberant exhausts and a very discreet number plate, plus his black visor I figured it would be stupid to antagonise the French Police further and so set about getting all the required bits, plus some waterproofs hoping that I was wasting my money and we wouldn’t need them.

We packed a tank bag for his bike and a ruck sack each and set off early on a fairly nice Friday morning. I was thrilled to make it to the Euro Tunnel; I’d never been on the motorway before, well not on my bike. Rich decided to do his impression of Jeremy Clarkson and see just how fast you ride inside the train (boys!). The train crossing was fine, despite watching our bikes wobble on their side stands, we met a another biker off to Nurburgring on a newer version of Rich’s bike, a nice chap his parting words to me were “ride fast and dangerous” I was confident I could do the dangerous.

We took the motorway down from the tunnel toward Boulogne, which has got to be the windiest place on earth, I was terrified. Rich behaved himself and stuck to 80ish, bless him but every time I passed a lorry I thought I was going to die. My little bike seemed to get sucked in just as I passed the lorry cab and it took a while to get used to that sensation. When we stopped for a break Rich was adamant that it really wasn’t that windy, (compared to 1987 I guess it wasn’t).

We turned off the motorway just before a small town called Berck, Rich needed some more fuel, neither of our bikes were designed with touring in mind but his tank range is hopeless. Before setting off Rich had read somewhere that it was difficult to use your debit card at automated petrol stations, not so we had no problem.

The coast road out Berck was so nice Rich decided not to go back on the motorway so we carried on the more scenic route. The roads were faultless and hardly any traffic, when we did come across a car they very courteously pulled over and let us by. This was much more fun, I knew I was holding Rich up but I was beginning to think I might actually enjoy the trip.

We came across a lovely little river port town called St.Valery sur Somme where we stopped for lunch in a lovely little café overlooking the river. We both had Moules et Frites the only down side being we couldn’t enjoy a bottle of wine, we still had a long way to go to the house.

After lunch we set off again, having decided to just stay on the coast road, we were not in a great hurry and the motorway was just boring (and scary). The roads were fantastic, no pot holes, lovely smooth roundabouts, where the road was straight you could see for miles, bends were easy to gauge by the avenues of trees, every so often the road would wind down into a sleepy little town nestled in the valley then back up. It was real fun, I was managing to keep up or should I say he kept to steady pace for me.

Eventually just past Dieppe we turned in land and headed for the Town where we would be staying, Rich who has little sense of direction took the wrong road and we ended up on very rural lanes but still easy and fun to ride. We arrived at the little town about 4.30pm and stopped to get some essentials, milk, cheese, sausage & bread before heading to our friend’s house on the outskirts of town.

The plan had been to have a snack get changed out of our leathers and take one bike into town and find a restaurant for some supper, hence the rucksacks stuffed with shoes and clothes. As soon as we were out of our gear and having a cup of tea we realised just how tired we were, after a hot bath and realising our friends had sky TV and a wine cellar plans to go out were abandoned for a quiet night in on the sofa.

Saturday was grey and raining, that fine rain that’s seems to get you really wet, we had planned to go to Omaha Beach but decided instead to visit the local seaside town of Fecamp, we decided against the waterproofs confident the weather would cheer up. Fecamp is famous for Benedictine and despite the rain there was some festival going on in the Town. We stopped by the harbour for a coffee, realising the weather was set for the day we decided to just ride round the coast a bit and find somewhere nice for lunch.

As we headed out of the town the rain was pelting down, the road winds very steeply up onto the cliffs, to me the bends wouldn’t have looked out of place on MotoGP circuit and Rich was off, he likes riding in the rain, terrified that I would definitely lose grip on what appeared to be a dark glass surface I followed at safer speed. It was wet!

We had lunch in another town named after St.Valery, the rain stopped long enough to have a wander round and find another restaurant specialising in Moules-et-frites, Rich opted for Steak this time. The staff seemed not to mind that we were laden with crash helmets, wet leather and a tank bag and the food was again delicious. After lunch it started to rain again so we just rode up the coast a bit further and then headed back to the house.

Despite the rain and stopping for coffee and lunch we again spent the whole day just riding and it had been really fun, we got lost a couple of times and I have never done so many u turns but that aside we had great day doing nothing.

After a hot bath and bite to eat the sofa and TV was once again irresistible, we justified this by the realisation that we covered over 100 miles just ambling around. The next day, whatever the weather we were planning to visit Omaha Beach and Pegasus Bridge plus some other points of interest, so an early night was in order.

We woke to heavy rain but it eased off by 9am and we set off, Rich really wanted to cross the river Seine via the Pont de Normandy, a huge suspension bridge near Honfleur. The signs as we approached just filled me with trepidation all I could think about was cross winds and being blown into the Seine.

Before you get that far there is another bridge over the Grand Canal du Havre, a giant arch that is equally impressive, imagine a hump back bridge the size of the Dartford Crossing. As you get to the apex it curves back down to the ramp of the Pont de Normandy which is just unbelievable, it dwarfed the first bridge we had just ridden over. And it wasn’t windy, everyone slows down to take in the view, its impossible not to. You can see for miles in both directions, so far the trip had been worth it just for that experience.

Heading on we stuck to the motorway, round Caen and on to Bayeux and then Omaha Beach and the American War Cemetery. What a sad place, immaculately kept it seemed unreal until I saw some flowers on one of the graves, then scenes from Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan sprang to mind and I felt near to tears. We stayed a while and read a few inscriptions but you do feel like an intruder, like you shouldn’t be there. This feeling was enhanced by one of Rich’s Sidi boots that having been soaked the day before had developed an irritating squeak, no WD40 to hand we decided to move on.

We followed the coast round, past Arromanches and the remains the British Mulberry Harbour to Courselles-s-Mer a really pretty little coast town close to Juno Beach. We found another fish restaurant, part of a hotel overlooking the harbour and enjoyed a huge platter of seafood and watched the world go by.

Heading further along the coast we decided just to find and see Pegasus Bridge. The traffic on this stretch of road east toward Ouistrehem was really heavy, the French are very considerate of motorcyclist moving to the side when there is a hold up and letting you past, so even with my lack of filtering experience we made steady progress.

Even so it wasn’t the best bit of our journey, tempers got a little frayed when Rich decided to go round a round-about for second time, spotting what I thought was the exit I took it and left him to work it out. Realising half a mile or so later that he hadn’t followed I pulled over to wait. After a while a group of French bikers came past indicating that I should head back to the round about. Another u turn (I hate doing them) back to the roundabout about I spotted Rich waiting just off one of the exits, pulling up next him I got a moody lecture about how I should have pulled over sooner, wonderful things earplugs! Couldn’t really hear him, he did another U turn and shot off in a bit of a temper, resisting the urge to giggle I just sat waited for him to come back, after all he had no idea where he was going.

Slightly calmer we set off again in what we thought was the general direction and really just happened across Pegasus Bridge, it was raised so it there was huge traffic jam waiting to cross, we stopped at the little café next to it, apparently the first place to be liberated by the British before D Day. The rain started again just as we sat down for a drink so we took a few quick snaps and headed back to the house.

The journey back was wet and cold but by now I was getting used to riding in the rain. We just headed back on the motorway boring but fast, the bridges were still impressive even in heavy rain and by 6pm we were back this time desperate for a hot bath.

Charlie and Eugan were on the TV, a re run of the Long Way Round, the episode where they are in Mongolia making a big fuss about being tired, getting wet and trying to cross bridges, they got no sympathy from me. We had covered a couple of hundred miles and I hadn’t crashed or killed anyone, only one minor dispute with my husband and now I only had to make it home safely.

When we set off on Monday morning I felt different, something clicked in my head, I felt more in control of my bike rather than hanging on for dear life, the road to the motorway was fun, the motorway was boring. Lorries were passed with ease and turned out to be the only entertainment; I wished we had taken the Coast road back.

We headed up to Hardelot just between Le Touquet and Boulogne for lunch, another fish restaurant on the sea front and another seafood platter. Every time we have visited Hardelot the weather has been the same, sunny and warm but with a blustery wind, this day was no different, we didn’t have much time though, needing to get back to Calais for the 3.15 train.

After the respite of the minor roads in and out of the town it was back on the motorway and what seemed like and endless ride up to Calais. It turned out to be perfect timing, we arrived and were ushered straight to a waiting train. The only down side was being joined on the platform by a group of boys on their sports bikes, needless to say despite having ridden hundreds of miles with my husband, mentor and most feared critic, I instantly felt like a wobbly amateur boarding the train in front of what I imagined to be hardened “real” bikers.

There was something weird about being back in England, we just wanted to get home, I had told Rich just to go if he wanted and not hang around for me, I knew the way. We stayed together up the M20 only because he wasn’t sure of which exit to take but I lost sight of him in the traffic in Maidstone. It didn’t matter though; I was fine and got home a few minutes after him. Checking the milometer on my bike we had done 750 miles in all, in the wind, the rain, on motorways, across huge bridges, over cliff tops and down really windy roads, all on the wrong side of the road, around round-abouts the wrong way and those horrible u turns, eat your heart out Charlie I am sure I had as much fun as you did.

I love my little bike now, at worse after a couple hours I get a sore bum, but that’s the only thing I can moan about, it’s perfect for me. And I still love my Husband, if not more, he didn’t moan at me, just gave useful tips and encouraged me all the way.

We have definitely got to do that again!

Sandra

nice one, sounds like a good trip

Good write up! Really interesting!

Glad you had a good time.

A great write up, sounds like you're now enjoying your bike

Nice report. We did the Normandy beaches back in April. Coming from South Wales, four of us took the ferry from Portsmouth(or was it Plymouth? mmm) to Cherbourg and then Caen/Portsmouth back.

It was a very moving experience. What about the thousands of white crosses at the Omaha memorial? Kids in their teens, what a waste.

I remember well that little cafe by the Pegasus bridge. We spent a pleasant couple of hours there.

You went over the massive looping bridges? Quite scary in the wind innit?. My mate on the FJR1300 had several BT moments hehe! The SV was a bit skittery but for me it just added to the enjoyment. Definitely too windy to slow down though..

We only got rain when we were on the last leg going home, from Severn bridge to Cardiff - hammered down.

Later on, in May/june, three of us toured France and Spain for 10 days(2000 miles). Ripping rain every day except the last - bit of a nightmare at times ) Actually only two of us made it the whole way, one bottled out of going over the Pyrenees in the storm and headed along the autoroute to Biarritz and thence to Santander..

Next year I am voting for a return ferry to Santander. If it's raining in Spain we'll head south to Morocco.