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Newark On Trent
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NEWARK NOTES from the SecretaryJuly 2007 - Best viewed in 1024 X 768 screen mode France and other diversions They say bad luck comes in threes and the third bit could easily have put paid to our plans. It was bad enough that first Cathy, then Brian, had had to pull out, but on the day before we were due to depart, the engine of John's car decided to blow up. And guess who was due to pull the trailer. Fortunately, Pete also had a car with a towbar and generously agreed to step into the breach. Many thanks to him, and particularly to his wife, Joyce, who had to do without the car for the next 10 days.So, with the panic over, it was back to plan A, and we all met up next morning for the drive down to Portsmouth. The next day it was an early breakfast before catching the ferry, and a fortunately smooth channel crossing. We docked around half past three and then we knew the lazing around had to end; it was over 50 miles to the gite, and that included crossing Caen. It was just starting to get dark when we arrived, but we knew the ride had been worth it. The gite was everything the brochure had said it would be. After polishing off the complimentary bottles of local cider, we hit the sacks for a well earned rest.
The next morning we decided to take things a bit easier and explored the two local towns, Vire and St Sever, which was enough to confirm what we had suspected from the previous day's ride; the area was considerably less flat than the one around Newark. But on the way into Vire we did cross a disused railway line that appeared to have been converted into a cycle track, and a check on the map showed that it would make a good day's ride, so on Monday, we rode along it to Mortain and back. The track was a bit more steeply graded than most of the English railway paths, but still flatter than the surrounding countryside, and provided some excellent views.
Tuesday dawned overcast and foggy and most of us took another easy day, going into Vire again for a closer look. I wanted a longer ride and as nobody else wanted to join me (was it something I'd said?) I headed off solo for the west coast where I at least caught sight of Le Mont St Michel, providing me with a visual link with last year's trip. On Wednesday I joined James and Ray for a trip to explore le Viaduc de Souleve, designed by one Gustave Eiffel, who later went on to design a rather more famous structure. Amazingly, the steelwork of this structure was demolished as recently as the eighties. These days, the remaining stone towers are topped by a platform from which those with a self-preservation bypass can go bungy-jumping. It wasn't open for business, being a weekday, but no, I don't think we would have.
That evening, Tony and his partner Ruth, who had been holidaying in Spain, called in on their way home, and we all descended on a local bar, which did us proud and put on a really good spread on what should have been their day off. If we'd discovered it earlier, we might have visited it more often, but for me, one of the pleasures of the holiday was all sitting round the outside table in the evenings eating home-cooked food. (Don't forget the wine, cider and conversations too.. ed) It was getting near to the end of the holiday, and Ray and I headed off towards Bayeux to view the famous tapestry, which neither of us had seen before. As it was a bit far for a day-return, we planned to find a hotel when we arrived. By the time we did, it was raining quite heavily, so we opted for the first hotel we found, which looked from the outside like a set from The Addams Family. It looked like one from the inside, too, as did the proprietress, who could have been the grandmother of one of the goth girls who seem to hang around Slab Square most weekends. One of those hotels you would say had some character, I think. On to the tapestry itself, a great historic artefact, even if the electronic tour guides were obviously timed to get the paying punters through as quickly as possible.
The ferry was due to leave around mid-day, too early for us to ride 50 miles, hence the last night in Caen, but it meant we could have a more leisurely ride to the port, taking in Pegasus Bridge and the Café Gondree, that we'd had to miss on the way out.
I'd had my doubts that such a large group could stay together for a week, but, by and large, it seemed to work. On the ferry back, we exchanged ideas for next year, but that should be another story. Back in Newark, the next Friday should have seen me leading a Rural Ride to Maplebeck, but persistent heavy showers through the afternoon should have deterred any takers. Co- leader James and I agreed that we'd not run the ride if no-one showed up. We were just about to head for home when a guy, who'd driven over from Worksop, appeared, asking if this was the ride. Well, we could hardly tell him to go home again, so off we went, and, to our surprise, got to The Beehive without getting wet. It was a different story on the way home, though. We'd come prepared for a soaking, but not for what we got. The torrential rain on already saturated ground meant that by the time we reached the road from Caunton to Bathley, it was six inches deep in places, even up the hill, which was like riding up, then down, a small river. Worse was to come in Bathley itself, where the water came up to our axles, and debris swept onto the road made it difficult to ride. Eventually, we reached (relatively) dry land and got back to Newark, where we joined the others, who had wimped out, in The Mail Coach, and tried in vain to impress them with our exploits. I hope I'm no giving the impression of a gentleman of leisure here, but the following week, Colin and myself joined up with Nick Green, who has been mentioned in this column before, for a journey nominally along the line of the Great Western Railway from Bristol to London. Brian was originally to have come too, but, recovering from his mild heart attack, decided that a week long tour was probably taking the doctor's recommendation for exercise a bit too strongly. He did join us for the first and last days, though. All went reasonably well, with the rain that characterised that week only slightly spoiling our enjoyment. Nick had a cunning plan to finish in London to watch the prologue to the Tour de France, and that is what we did. I must admit that I've tried to get enthusiastic about Le Tour, and cycle sport in general for that matter, without much success, but the atmosphere in London that day was quite something. It was back to Newark on Sunday, and work on Monday. And there's an email from Cathy on my computer asking for something for Cyclonda…..
Mike Graham Page updated 15/07/2007 |
