The First 500 miles: London to Strasbourg

Firstly, i've realised the impossibility of trying to record and convey all the things that have been making me smile, "wow", sigh, frown or dispair as we've progressed from London, through Kent, across the Channel and meandered our way along the flatest route through northern France to the German border. There's not really a story to tell as such so here's some highs and lows and memorable bits and check out the photos through the link on the left of the page.

• 6 months in the planning and on the day of departure we were still trying to fit parts to bikes and work out what to take. It was rushed and desperate. First stop was the health clinic on Exmouth Market for my final Japanese Encephalytis jab. Second stop was trailing around cycle shops in central London trying to find Tracey a water bottle. A bit last minute to say the least.



• My brand new Brooks saddle looked like it needed breaking in - it nearly broke me on the first 60 miles to Ashford. Next day i went out and bought a gel saddle cover and some arnica cream for my bruises.



• Careening down the final hill from the North Downs into Dover, sun shining, sea glistening blue (i kid you not), Tracey wooping with excitement that we would be crossing the Channel. Alas she had not factored in travelling with Loser Littlewood. French fishermen had blockaded all the french ports and no ferries were sailing. We spent the night camped on the White Cliffs of Dover.





• Having to get off and push my bike up the North Downs - and all subsequent steep hills as its so heavy. Bring on the Alps!



• Sitting outside cafes in the old squares of St Omer, St Amand, Bethune and Metz towards the end of the day, with the sun on my face sampling local beers.
  

• Going to sleep in the peaceful ancient forest of Clairmarais and waking to the dawn chorus of birds and sunlight streaming through the trees.............followed by college students piling past the tent on an orienteering exercise!
  
  

Tracey's hay-fever and 400 miles of hay fields!

After 46 miles into a headwind. Cooking dinner in a swampy wet forest under our tarpaulin in the pitch black of night in the pouring rain trying to fend off the swarm of daddy-long-legs, mosquitoes and poo slugs (so named due to their resemblance to faeces and ability to annoy), whilst Tracey laid in the tent with a period, hay-fever and numerous swelled mosquito bites.

Washing ourselves and clothes in rivers.

Tracey removing my ticks with a pair of pliers.

T-shirt tan.

A headwind that blew for a week - one day reaching 30mph so that we even had to pedal down the hills.

Picnic lunches in the sun.

Climbing over a 6 foot fence to break back into the campsite at Metz, drunk at 2.30am after being locked out.

Going the wrong way.

Being hot, sweaty and tired.

The joy of a hot shower and a bed.

Storks nesting on churches and poles in villages of pastel coloured half-timbered houses.

• Being kept awake by huge electrical storms thundering overhead, thrashing rain on the tent and lighting bright enough to blind (and needing to go out for a piss).



• Slowly unwinding from the stress of leaving London and waking up the enormity of the journey ahead.



• France being shut for most of the day, except Sundays when everything is shut all of the day.



• Tracey convincing me to grow a ridiculous "french fisherman" moustache for her amusement during desperate times.



• Addiction to wine gums.



• Watching deer in the evening and finding a little grass snake sleeping under a piece of tree bark.



• The sanctuary of Fred's amazing 19th century house and barn in Melshiem and his fantastic and unwarranted hospitality.