Across Continents

Ken's Blog

And now a message for our friends in France

September 6th, 2009

Je m’appelle Ken Roberts. Je viens d’Angleterre et je fais le tour du monde en vélo en solitaire. J’ai l’intention de parcourir plus de 77 000 Km en 4 ans afin de récolter de l’argent pour une œuvre caritative qui travaille avec les jeunes. Je traverserai l’Europe, l’Asie, l’Australie, l’Amérique du Nord et l’Amérique du sud et l’Afrique. J’ai un peu d’argent pour me permettre de manger et de vivre lors de mon aventure. Je campe où je peux afin de réduire mes frais autant que possible.

Je suis très heureux de pouvoir traverser en vélo votre pays et je m’excuse car je ne parle pas vraiment votre langue. Malheureusement, je rencontre des gens qui parlent tellement de langues différentes que je ne peux pas toutes les apprendre ! J’espère que vous m’aiderez à faire en sorte que mon voyage se passe en toute sécurité. J’ai l’intention d’écrire un livre sur mes aventures à mon retour en Angleterre et j’aimerais dire à tout le monde à quel point j’ai apprécié mon séjour dans votre pays.

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The kindness of strangers

September 6th, 2009

I met Mathias close to the village of Pleguien, a little over 10 kilometres short of my next stop in Etables-sur-Mer on the coast of Brittany. He was out cycling. We immediately had something in common, each regretting having not tried harder at school learning each other’s mother tongue.

I explained briefly about my expedition. He kindly offered to provide me with some provisions for the evening. I accepted with many ’tres bien’s and ’merci’s, and we agreed to rendezvous at the church in the next village. A short while later Mathias arrived by car, accompanied by his mother Dominique. The gift of a baguette, pate and fruit was gratefully accepted before we then parted company.

I continued on my journey to the coast down quiet country lanes. A little while later a car approached, passed me and then stopped abruptly. The number plate seemed familiar. It turned around, passed me once more and then stopped again. Mathias and Dominique emerged. It seems that since they had left me earlier, they’d had a look at my website and decided to find me once more and take a photograph for the local newspaper. The kindness of strangers.

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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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