clairedavieswriter

When I planned it, today’s ride looked ‘undulating’ but not particularly testing.

However, if you add a 16mph headwind, gusting to 26mph, on legs that suffered the same punishment yesterday, the hills become more of a challenge, and I was back to using climbing gears on the flat. So in practice, it was not a day for enjoying myself: I just had to put my head down and get the job done. Maybe it’s a penultimate day thing, because I remember feeling exactly the same on the last but one day of my LEJOG ride.
It all started well enough. I rode past Abbeville’s Collégiale Saint Vulfrane, which looked indestructible in the morning light, although it barely survived World War II….

…. and onto a shady cycle path, built in response to the pandemic. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was pretty much the last stretch of easy windless riding I would have for the rest of the day

At least this time I had music, and once again the playlist kept it relatable. We had Norah Jones’ Take the long Way Home, Eve Cassidy’s Fields of Gold (‘You’ll remember me when the west wind (sic) moves among the fields of barley’), Lily Meola’s Daydream (‘If it makes you nervous, it’s probably worth it’) and The Beautiful South’s Good as Gold (‘Don’t know what I’m doing here, I’ll carry on regardless’).
I had no human company at all, but enjoyed a moment with this friendly fellow until it became clear he just wanted my pastry

Guillaume was up to his old tricks again. First, he convinced me to leave a perfectly good tarmac road in favour of this shortcut:

At least it gave me a chance to see the windmills close up

But worse was to come. He took us down a track, which led to a derelict mill, where he insisted there was a bridge over the river, but there definitely wasn’t, and I would bet there never had been. Where does he get his data from? It was very pretty, but I could have done without the subsequent detour

I’ll be honest, for the rest of the day I probably spent more time looking at the tarmac in front of Bernard’s wheel than the scenery, because it was a hard enough job just pedalling, and frankly, I already know what barley looks like. But I enjoyed a close encounter with a red deer, that leapt right across the road in front of me and bounded away into a field. I also saw partridge and pheasant – neither of which are as common here as in the UK – and several huge rangy hares.
It was easy to take for granted how quiet the roads were

But overall it was the hills and the headwind – usually both at the same time – which most preoccupied my thoughts in the saddle today. This village seemed to understand what I was feeling:

It didn’t help that refreshment was even harder to come by than before. In fact, aside from breakfast, today was a coffee-free ride: there was not a single bar/tabac in any of the villages on route, and only one shop, which was just as well, or I’d have had no supper. As for comfort stops, it was my feet that were at risk today: I took my chances, keeping a careful look out for traps:

Team Bernard finally rolled into our destination – a chambre d’hôte on a working farm – 9 hours after we set out. Seldom have a cup of tea and a ready meal tasted so good.