Distance Learning

Something's not right. I seem to be falling short and I don't know why. I knew there was an issue but now that I retread old ground it has become more obvious. I can't do the distance any more. And I don't know why.

I came this way 9 years ago, specifically Charleville-Meziere to Verdun. Don't look it up, just trust me. It's a distance of about 110km. Back then I did it no problem and arrived in time for tea. Now I find 80km a challenge. 

Of course, it may be that I am going in the opposite direction, against the prevailing winds and the hills seem to have got steeper. Plus now I am camping, so no quick getaway. 

But something tells me that there is another factor at play. If only I could figure out what it was.

Chats et Chiens

It is pouring down in historic Verdun, in fact it is raining across Western Europe, so there is no escaping it. And it's no fun getting soaked on a bike so I have decided to settle into the campsite cafe and wait it out. It will be sunny tomorrow.

It's a lonely existence here as anyone with a camper van or car has headed off into Verdun. But that means that I have the launderette to myself, so I can catch up on my chores and drink endless cups of coffee.

It's kind of nice being forced to stay in one place. I am sure Verdun has a lot to offer but we did the WW1 caverns 40 years ago and I assume that they haven't changed. 

So, as long as tent holds up under the relentless downpour and Bike doesn't mind a bit of a soaking then tomorrow will be another sunny day.

Sent from my iPhone

Double Dutch

He wandered over after I had just arrived at the campsite, admitting afterward that it was to give me advice on how to pitch the tent - "not under a tree as it will take longer to dry." Not that it was going to rain. I am Admittedly I looked like an amateur as I was taking my time over my first pitch of the ride.

He may have wished that he'd kept his thoughts to himself as I then talked his socks off for the next 2 hours - his and his wife's. I think I was making up for two weeks of solitude.

They were Dutch, he was body builder but had given it up in later life and his wife a teacher. I shared all my thoughts and stories over one of his beers. My stories generally last two hours but now they know them all.

He's going to do the Santiago del Compostello route on his bike next year when he retires, but by himself so he can pitch his tent however he wants. And his wife seemed keen for him to go off and do it.

The photo shows looking back down on the campsite after climbing half way out of the Moselle valley next morning to ride over the top to Verdun and the river Meuse.

I Fancy Nancy

The rain pours down, with more forecast, and the wind is in the wrong direction. So I've decided to call on the help of SNCF in my efforts to teach the the River Meuse and so take the train to Nancy.

It saves me a couple of days riding over hills (the memories of taking the same route ten years ago do not fill me with joy) and then I need to make some decisions. Do I head north up the  Meuse or east towards the coast? 

I will leave that decision until tomorrow. The first task in Nancy will be to plough through the rain and find a campsite.

Stressbourg

It's a lovely city with its canals and ancient centre but things are just not working in its favour, at least not in my mind. After the stresses and anxiety of the previous night shared with my cuddly German friend the day did not improve.

The weather can't be helped but pouring rain does dampen the spirits. Then having to change youth hostels because my current one’s fully book. But the big worry was Bike, grating like a rusty pepper grinder due to grit from the rain-sodden path coating every mechanical part.

Bike is like a cowboy's horse, the one that always gets fed first. For if he goes wrong then I am stranded. Hopefully, some tender loving care has done the job and so eased both out stress levels.

Crossing Over

He's gone but his frustration lingers. I am going to miss my German friend. With the looks of a chubby Einstein, he shared my youth hostel room and shouted in his sleep. It was quite disconcerting being woken in the middle of the night by cries of "Warum haben Sie das noch getan?" I was continually concocting a response so that he'd let me go back to sleep.

I shouldn't be to hard on him though, for he'd put up with a lot. According to him the window didn't close and the curtains wouldn't draw. His door key did work and he decided to sleep in the bathroom.

His problem was that he'd come to France and it just wasn't what he was used to. It’s not that he was prejudice as he was all excited about his forthcoming epic bicycle trip around the country. It's just that he hadn't made the adjustment yet.

I could see his point. My first day was marked by things just not quite working properly - starting with the surly waitress, plus breakfast was weird - only hot milk for your cereal, yuk! And why does the drink always come out of the wrong spout of the push-button coffee machine, the one you didn’t put your cup under. Only the French know.

But I'll get used to it and soon appreciate the laid back enchantment of the country. He will too, once he gets a good night's sleep and an answer to his perpetual question.

High Water, Mark

So this is it, the end of the line, or the furthest I am going up the Rhine. Now is the point to turn back if I am to return to the UK to fulfil other commitments.

It has been just under two weeks so we are on schedule, with perhaps the luxury of a rest day to see Strasbourg and prepare for the rest of the trip, which I feel will involve hills and camping (in the rain).