Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Let them eat cake…

September 6th, 2009

History has not been kind to Marie Antoinette. It’s quite possible she never actually uttered the immortal words ’Let them eat cake’. Even if she did, it was probably brioche, a type of bread, rather than cake, that she mentioned. Not that would have made much difference to the lot of the starving peasants.

Despite the controversy, I do have some sympathy for Marie Antoinette. Riding into the medieval town of Pontrieux I discover that whilst object d’art are plentiful, simple foodstuffs are much more elusive. Pity really, especially when you’re a hungry, and you’ve a cunning feeling that most shops in France are about to close for a couple of days.

Then, hidden amongst the many boutiques, art galleries, bistros and creperies, I find a combined boulangerie and patisserie (bakery and cake shop). So, I to am obliged to eat cake – chocolate eclairs – deux to be precise – well, trois would have been piggish. Perhaps then Marie Antoinette had also been cycling in Brittany. We will never know for sure.

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Arrivee en France

September 6th, 2009

I imagine Roscoff is quite a pleasant port. Unfortunately, in the dark and damp I really couldn’t tell. Besides I had enough to contend with, getting to grips with riding on the wrong side. I was glad I’d had the sense to invest in a right-hand drive bike.

Despite the gloom, the ride to the medieval town of Morlaix, winding along the estuary, was very pleasant. I wandered briefly around the town, looking for a cafe. It was still very early and none were yet open. Just ’Bar Tabacs’. Too soon to start drinking I thought.

Finding a small supermarket in the village of Plouezoc’h I decided it was time to take the plunge and impress the locals with my language skills. Struggling at first with an unfamiliar dialect – I think they call it fluent – far removed from my school boy comedy French, a very perceptive chap suggested a useful phrase for my admittedly limited repertoire might be ’Je parle tres peu le francais’ (’I speak a little French’). I much preferred this to the offering of my little phrase book which suggested ’Parlez-vous anglais?’. Apparently this roughly translates as ’I can’t be bothered to make any effort to speak French’.

So, what of Brittany? Mostly twinned with Devon and Cornwall. Not flat, except perhaps the runways. And quite a few similarities with Wales and the Welsh language. Like bilingual road signs – French and the regional Breton language. Except nobody’s got around to painting out the French. Then there’s the expression ’Ty’ – in Welsh this means home, similar to its meaning in Breton. There’s even a small village called St Dogmel, close to the regional town of Lannion, just as St Dogmaels is to Cardigan back in Wales.

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Testing times

September 6th, 2009

Pam Goodall – accomplished round-the-world cyclist – was right. A fiery start she said. Some would call it an epic. I’ll let you know when I emerge from the ’-stans’ next year. Wet I don’t mind too much, but riding into gale force winds on Dartmoor is not funny. Being blown over on the bike a couple of times smarts just a little.

Accompanied by good friend and, until recently neighbour, Peter, we eventually reached Bellever Youth Hostel just in time to drop the bikes off and join some of my old colleagues from work for dinner in Princetown. A kind gesture you might think – yes, but a lot more than that, given most of them live a couple of hundred miles away. I was very touched.

Day two of errr quite a few started rather better, the rain being closer to the vertical. We soon reached Plymouth and a chance for me to say farewell to my parents. And indulge in a little root canal work. No, really. Then off to catch the overnight ferry to Roscoff in Brittany. Waiting to board, there’s the sudden realisation that the adventure is about to begin in earnest….

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Last times….

August 26th, 2009

It’s a strange feeling, suddenly realising you are doing things for the last time, for 4 years at least. Like filling up the car with petrol. Or having a very wet Wednesday at home in the cottage. Some things I’ll miss, others I won’t.

Despite myriad of things still to do – which I’m comfortable with as, being male, I find I do my best work when cornered – earlier this week I was pleased to be able to catch up with a few people in London. Lunch with Laura and the team at The Outward Bound Trust, together with meeting up with Pam Goodall and Steve Fabes. Pam has cycled around the world, and Steve, like me, is going to fairly shortly. I left Paddington station, returning on the train to Somerset, content that all was finally coming together, one way or the other.

Back then to my most favourite question of the moment – do I really need to do this before I go?

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Counting down…

August 16th, 2009

Departure is getting close, the gripping realization that I’m running out of tomorrows. A welcome diversion to the ever increasing number of last-minute-things-to-do has been the media, a couple of radio interviews, session with a photographer and a couple of telephone chats with journalists. All new and interesting experiences.

I was most intrigued by radio. Fearing that I might have the face for it, my Dad gave me some sound advice – ‘Remember, it’s a dialogue, not a monolog’ – simply no idea what possessed him to say this…. I took along some examples of the kit, including my miniature Christmas pudding. One interviewer suggested it wasn’t all that small – ‘It is’, I assured her, ‘when you’re on 6000 plus calories a day…’

Sometimes you just need a break from all the preparations – and I’ve taken to re-watching some old ’Trigger Happy TV’ DVDs. Originally shown as a series on Channel 4 around about 2000-2001 and performed by Dom Joly, they’re a collection of comedy ’stunts’ filmed mostly around central London. And Porlock Weir, just down the road from my cottage. All very original, very clever. With a carefully crafted soundtrack. The various real-life sketches seem to capture a certain essence of the Capital back then, one I’m very familiar with as started living there at about the same time.

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More haste less speed….

June 25th, 2009

bubble-wrap1

Yep – bubble wrap – lots and lots of it in fact. It was very cheap, so much so I probably didn’t pay enough attention to exactly how big the rolls were. Until the delivery lorry arrived. Still, that’s my loft insulation sorted…..

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Home sweet home

June 21st, 2009

Not everyone’s idea of home, but it will be for me in a little over 10 weeks…..

Somewhere in Somerset

Somewhere in Somerset - Photo Jon Bazley

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Back in North Wales

June 10th, 2009
wheel-building

Photo: Peter Jenkins

A hectic but brief sort out back at the cottage, then a return to CycleWales’ workshops near Caernarfon.  A simple plan – spend 2-3 days consolidating my cycle maintenance skills, primarily by building an entire bike for my neighbour and good friend Peter.  And I mean entire – new wheels out of rims and spokes, preparing the frame with gruesome looking cutting tools, then assembling the whole machine.

If this strikes you as a bit odd – a diversion from preparations for a rapidly approaching departure date – you may be reassured to know that there is real method here.  Peter’s bike uses all the components from my old touring cycle, which generates some welcome funds for the expedition coffers.  But much more importantly, standfast the frame, a great deal of his new bike is the same as my expedition cycle – the gears and brakes for example – which makes the build a really great way to consolidate specific skills I will need out on the road.  It is also really humbling to be asked to do this by a good friend, a real mark of confidence in your new found abilities.

And a visit to North Wales is also rather fun.  Since I moved to Somerset a few years ago, Peter and I have completed a number of Long Distance Walkers Association challenge walks in South Wales.  We work well together as a team.  So no surprise then that we find ourselves in Caernarfon, in a rather curiously named hostelry.  The place, we were told, had been the haunt of students from a CycleWales course the previous week.  It was pleasant enough, the bar food a bit retro even if the pricing was contemporary.  But not somewhere you’d be drawn back to every evening for a week.   We were bemused.  Until a few evenings later when we returned to Caernarfon.  We drifted around the quiet streets, searching for a suitable establishment for dinner.  We soon found ourselves outside a familiar public house….

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Ponderings….

May 30th, 2009

A week since my return from Scotland.  The inevitable domestic chores, the endless post and such like that come with being away for a month.  But also chance to reflect on what I’ve learnt out on the road.  From a purely practical perspective, lots ideas about how to  refine the cycle and all the kit that goes with it.  All this is hugely beneficial I don’t deny, but rather more useful has been the mental preparation.  I found myself pleased to be back in my village, my head nestling amongst fluffy pillows rather than the Paps of Jurra, and yet a bit saddened I wasn’t still out on the road, waiting to see what exploits each new day brought.  The right balance.

So, enthused by the experiences of the last month, and driven by a little over thirteen short weeks to depature, things have been very hectic since my return.  In a satisfying sort of way.  Expedition tent chosen and ordered, being flown in from Sweden.  Starting to make considerable headway in getting my personal affairs in order ready to hand over to my mother when I grant her Power of Attorney.  Lots and lots of stuff.  Doing is good, but rest and relaxation is equally as important to maintain clarity of thought and a clear sense of direction.  Nearby Wiveliscombe has the perfect tonic to help relax, a heated outdoor pool with a really friendly crowd of regulars.  And after that, sleep comes easily…

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Running on rails

May 24th, 2009

I suddenly remembered why I didn’t like taking my cycle on trains.  It wasn’t the lack of facilities,as these are generally pretty good, provided you’ve made the effort to make a cycle reservation.  No, for the most part it’s fellow cyclists.  Those who don’t bother to plan ahead, but seem genuinely surprised when there’s no space left for their cycles.  Funny bunch.

During this trip I’ve visited a few railway stations and met some really helpful staff who take pride in their work.  Grange-over-Sands had its hanging baskets and immaculate toilets.  I asked the lady in the kiosk if they were award-winning.  They were.  At Fort William my ticket home, together with cycle reservations across three different train companies, was arranged without fuss.  And then a brief change in a small border town.  Securing  my fully laden bike momentarily to a convenient stanchion, Jobsworth appeared.  ‘We remove abandoned cycles’ he informed me.  I didn’t think my bike looked like it was going to be abandoned anytime soon.  I’m sure he had his reasons.  They always do.  It was a light and airy station but the platform staff nevertheless stayed close together.  Occasionally one disappeared briefly to forage for food.  Our man clutched his train dispatch sheet tightly.

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