The End: Biarritz to Home

To finish the trip, we enjoyed a couple of days and nights in Biarritz soaking up the best weather of the whole tour and exploring the warren of streets that made up the city centre. Our only pressing issue was buying bike bags and then dismantling the bikes to ensure that we could transport them home. After a couple of bus rides we found a decathlon relatively easily, and bought two bags that would do the job just fine. We then dismantled the bikes on the street outside the hotel, removing wheels, pedals, turning the handle bars and then chucking everything into the bag!

Bike bags packed and ready to go at Biarritz airport

The journey home was going to be something of an ordeal, with two flights, a night at a Manchester airport hotel, a train journey and then a final 20 mile ride on the bikes to overcome before we could say we were home! The airports were actually very accommodating of the bikes, and we were surprised by how painless the whole thing was really. Biarritz to Gatwick, then up to Manchester  we went, before checking into a hotel for the final night. 

The moment of truth however, came the next morning when we had the challenge of assembling the bikes again. With only Dad's front brake proving to difficult to reassemble, we set off for the train station where we would catch a train to Clitheroe. However here came near disaster, as we set off out of the hotel car park at the airport, and had gone no more than 20 metres when I attempted to ride right (now the wrong way) round a roundabout. Seeing a Volkswagen estate heading straight for me, I quickly stacked it into the middle of the roundabout to avoid an even worse accident! Brushing myself down, and believing that Dad hadn't seen (...he had), we made the train, and eventually rolled off at Clitheroe and began the final leg home. Feeling every one of the last 14 days in our legs by this point, it was by no means easy, however conditions were perfect, and after roughly 90 minutes, we were rolling down from Rathmell, across the bypass and along the last half mile home. 

Awaiting us was a welcome home party just as had waved us off 15 days previously, and a well earned afternoon of rest on the patio!. A final mention must go to everyone who has helped by sponsoring us. With the total standing just short of £4000, we thank you for your generous support. All in all, a hugely successful and enjoyable trip, and one that has given both of us a desire to take on another similar challenge in the not too distant future. 

Thanks,

Jack and Gavin

Home at last!

Day 11: Lesperon to Biarritz

The final day's cycle ride was supposedly going to be a simple jaunt down the coast and into Biarritz, less than 40 miles we expected. If we have learnt anything from this trip, it's that the estimates I made on google are wrong, and as it turned out, the victory parade into Biarritz would be nearer 60 miles.

Setting off from Lesperon, and praying for some dry weather, it was no more than 30 seconds out of the hotel door that we were drenched with the first downpour of the day. The rain set in for the first couple of hours, however did eventually clear as we approached (what we thought anyway) was the approach to Bayonne, a city which lies just to the north of Biarritz. 

The journey into Biarritz was fairly uneventful except for a few wrong turns, and a brief spell cycling along an inner-city highway that we almost certainly shouldn't have been on. Deciding to press on through lunch, we completed just over 60 miles in one session, arriving in Biarritz shortly before 3 o'clock. 

Biarritz as a city lived up to all expectations as a beautiful city and there was plenty going on. After a good while patting ourselves on the back for achieving what we set out to do on schedule, neither of us took much persuading to find the nearest bar and begin celebrating. Despite the painful price of beer locally ( of which the worst amounted to 9.60 euros a pint!!!), we sampled some tapas and wine (interestingly called Domaine du Harry) at one of the local wine bars, and had a good night out - all the better for knowing we didn't have to get back on the bike the next day!

Day 10: Biscarosse to Lesperon

Leaving Biscarosse, the sky looked ominously grey, and sure enough it was not long before driving rain made cycling increasingly hard work. With no wrong turns made however, we covered ground relatively quickly, and despite being soaked to the core, we planned to stop in the small town of Mezos for lunch. Once there, we quickly discovered that there was only one establishment open in town (a recurring theme of our trip thus far). The place was heaving with workers from the factory in town however, and even though it had just passed 1pm, that they could not offer a full menu, but would make us a sandwich and chips if we wanted. Not in a position to argue, we quickly agreed, and were pleasantly surprised by the quality of what we got, and it turned out to be the cheapest meal of the trip! Trying to wait until the rain had subsided somewhat, it was to no avail, and thus we were forced to make way again towards Lesperon as the downpour continued.

Two hours later, after battling through the elements, we arrived squelching at the only hotel in town in Lesperon. With no sign of anyone around, we understood from what we could read of a notice on the door, that the receptionist wasn't here (and wouldn't be until 6 or 7 this evening!), and thyat if you had a booking, your key was on a table in the hall, go in and help yourself! We did as instructed, and found the hotel to be perfectly comfortable. As we dried off and attempted to warm up, we watched yet another stage of the Tour de France, something that was increasingly becoming a daily tradition.

Walking through the village, we stumble upon one of the many travelling circuses that seem to be touring the area, and were surprised to see 3 lions, a tiger and what looked like some dwarfed goats on view for passing pedestrians to have a look at. With nothing else really of interest in the village, we made our way into the only bar, had a few beers and a couple of games of pool. This passed the time until the hotel restaurant opened (again, our only choice if we wanted to eat that evening!) where we had a good meal, and a couple of bottles of local wine before bed.

Distance: 56 miles

Day 9: Lacanau to Biscarosse

From Lacanau we were slightly late to start again, probably in some way due to our favourite Aussie the previous night ensuring that we had a good measure of Whisky whilst we waited for him to fetch his car! After this, we headed down the coast to Cap Ferret, where we would need to take another boat across the Bassin D'Arcachon in order to continue our progress towards Biarritz. The weather was again awful, and the locals must have been laughing at the sight of cyclists with no waterproofs dressed for 100 degree heat. The wind and rain however relented at lunchtime, after we had completed around 30 miles through forest to arrive in Cap Ferret, and be told that the boat to Arcachon was cancelled due to the terrible weather.

This presented something of a problem, as if the weather didn't fair up, the route around the bassin would have added another 40 miles onto the journey, and leave us with no way of reaching Biscarrosse that evening. However, for a change the gods were kind to us, and after having a brief tapas lunch on the beach, the people running the ferry announced that a service would resume at 2.30.

Once across the bassin, it was not much further down the coast from Arcachon that we arrived at the Dunes de Pilat. These sand dunes, at just over 100m tall, are the largest in Europe. Throngs of tourists arrive by the bus load to see them, and climb to the top. As if the biking hadn't been challenging enough, we decided to take it on and join the hundreds of others trying to make it to the summit. It was well worth the effort (see pictures later), as due to being the highest point for miles around, the views were incredible.

Biscarosse was still some 25 miles away, but we covered this relatively quickly as the land flattened out again, and for a brief time the wind seemed to be at our backs. Though Biscarrosse didn't really have much to offer, we had a hearty meal in the restaurant 'Le Pub' next door to the hotel, getting talking to an English couple who had retired to Biscarosse recently. After this it was an early night, in anticipation of our penultimate day in the saddle on Wednesday.

Distance: 59 miles

Day 8: Royan to Lacanau

The first part of our journey from Royan to Lacanau, would have to be made by ferry, to cross the Gironde, a body of water that eventually becomes the Garonne and Dordogne rivers that flow around Bordeaux. Thus on yet another wet and windy morning, we first had to cycle along the seafront, and await the ferry across. The crossing would only take about 45 minutes, but with the wait at the port, this would ensure that we had a late start, not really getting going on the bikes until about 11am.

Once across, we made good progress along the cycle paths that pass down the coast, and through numerous campsites and resort towns. It was in one such resort that we stopped for lunch, and for the first time all trip were disappointed with our food. Dad's ceasar salad was apparently, in his words, the worst food anyone had ever served him for the past decade. Not fully fortified then, it was no suprise that the afternoon stint through forests, taking in some really poor quality paths more suited to serious off road mountian biking, made the going quite difficult.

We arrived at the golf complex in Lacanau, where our hotel for the night was situated, at around 5pm. After having a drink and some food at the hotel, and with not a lot going on there, we decided to venture into town Lacanau, a 2 mile journey in the most expensive taxi in the world (no mroe than 5 minutes in the taxi came to 20 euros!). Once there, we were surprised by how lively such a small town was on a monday night. Having sampled a few beers in various bars, we ended up in an Australian bar listening to some pretty awful live band, when the heavens opened once again. As the bar was about to close, we decided to ask the barman to call a taxi, only to be informed that there were none available. With the storm really raging (and the barman informing us that this was the first rain they had had since March!), the barman, an Aussie himself, offered to drive us back if we would wait a short while. We were more than happy to oblige, and so after sampling some of the house whisky, we were taken back by the kind barman, and avoided having to pay another fortune on an actual taxi!

Distance: 60 miles

Day 7: Rochefort to Royan

After a wholesome breakfast at our hotel in Rochefort, the Caravelle, we headed south out of the city to cross the river via the Pont Transbordeur. Turns out this thing (see cringe touristy photo above) is auite  structure, and basically consists of a flat deck suspended on wires, which then shimmy across the river. I could only think that there must be an easier way to cross 30 metres of water! Anyway, we travelled along cycle paths from here, out of Rochefort, through Soublise and then through Bourage, town situated within the walls of an old fort. At this point, we sensed an impending downpour, so took refuge in a coffee shop. The weather was still distinctly overcqst qnd miserable, and constantly threatened to throw a shower; Dad's exlamations of the sweltering conditions we would face and my supposed 'madness' at packing a pair of long trousers, were an increasing source of amusement. Our judgement proved shrewd, and rain began to fall almost instantly upon entering the cafe. Sitting it out, the woman serving us told us to expect worse later on in the day, not exactly music to our ears.

Leaving Bourage, we continued south, having to deal with high speed winds again prevailing from the ocean, till we reached Marennes. Here we took a slight detour, along a road laden with oyster farms. Stretching some 2 miles, the road eventually became sand and then a wide bay, with no ferry crossing available. The only option was to turn aruond, and head back through the so called 'Cité de l'Huitres' back to Marennes, and find another way across. The only point of crossing it turned out, was the highway bridge, over which the wind made cycling almost impossible. Nevertheless, we reached the other side eventually, and picked up cycle paths again first through Ronce les Bains, and then through the forest headed for La Palmyre. On this route, the heavens opened again (see below), forcing us to take shelter temporarily under some rather large pine trees, before we could set off and complete the last few miles to La Palmyre, where we stopped for some lunch.

Heavy rain forced us to take shelter in the forest before La Palmyre

The beaches at La Palmyre, after the storm had passed!

Lunch it turned out was perfectly timed in La Palmyre through, as the storm returned

Eventually reaching our destination at Royan after over 50 miles, we were amazed at firstly the amount of places open on a Sunday, and secondly the number of people wandering around. Our hotel was average to say the least, with the room looking like something out of a 1950s timewarp, but we ate well in town and were able to catch a few drinks afterwards despite it being so late on a Sunday evening.

Distance: 56 miles

Day 6: St Michel to Rochefort

Leaving the one horse town of St Michel behind, with no plans to return anytime this century, we set off on an overcast morning through the marshlands of the Vendeé region, headed south for the much larger town of Rochefort, just below La Rochelle. Assured of how searingly hot France would be at this time of year, we had not packed any clothes in anticipation of cold, let alone wet, weather. It was disappointing then when after 30 minutes in the saddle, the heavens began to open, and the wind took on what felt like gale force strength. With driving rain coming head on, progress was slowed to snail pace. Taking brief shelter for a coffee, the weather showed no sign of letting up, and thus we were left with no alternative but to continue head on into the appaling conditions. Around 2 hours later, soaked to the core and increasingly unamused by the deteriorating conditions, we found an open restaurant that after a brief towel down, would allow us to dine. Shivering throughout, we enjoyed a wholesome lunch, and made sure to make it last until the weather relented somewhat, which it did. A further 15 miles was completed relatively quickly and led us into the port town of Rochefort.

Attempting to dry out our saturated shoes 

Finding the hotel with ease, we then set out to locate somewhere to eat/drink/update this blog. Again, we were bewildered to find landlords shutting bars, cafes closing and people leaving the city centre in droves, on a Saturday night! Needless to say, an internet cafe was never going to be found open, and we managed to stumble upon what seemed like one of the few restaurants open in town. A stroke of good fortune then led to us wandering past the open door of a bar, and even though it cuold hardly be described as lively, we decided that beggars could not be choosers, and entered for a couple of beers. Well, what happened next can only be described as totally bewildering. Within 20 minutes of entering, couple after couple of what seemed like the drunkest people in the world continued to stumble through the door. The dukebox was put into action, and an impromptu over 50s disco began to take place in front of us, with a certain lady called Gladys a star attraction (the pictures that will follow will explain everything). To say we were surprised is a gross understatement. Never in our wildest dreams when struggling to find somewhere to eat 2 hours previously, did we envisage finding somewhere to have a few beers, let alone the complete chaos that we ended up in the middle of. Phillipe and Gladys soon became our new best friends, and began partaking in our round of drinks. However, with Gladys in a drunken stupor, and Phillipe preferring to talk with his hands rather than his mouth, it wasnt long before first I was showered in Stella, and then a second was thrown over Dad. Zu Zu the landlady (the woman with the scarlet hair in the photographs) swiftly mopped up so that the obscene show of dancing could continue safely, and replaced our beers. Having had a hilarious night, we called it quits at about 1.30am, and left in complete disbelief at how our night had unfolded.



Dad and I, still dry at this point...



...10 minutes later, Phillipe and I, complete with spilt Stella



Phillipe, Zuzu (the landlady) and mop, first used for cleaning up beer, and then as a dancing aid



Gladys, looking as graceful as she had all night, and another straggler who took the opportunity to get in the photo

Distance: 52 miles