Day 01 to 3 Streatham to Montbelliard

I have arrived in a rather soulless hotel near a motorway junction in the town of Montbelliard. This is where the mountain bike tour starts, so I will get to see what these “Jura Mountains” look like tomorrow. Today I cycled 85km from a nice little town called Vesoul, I arrived there on the train from Paris, I arrived there on the train from Dieppe, I arrived there on the ferry from Newhaven, I arrived there cycling from East Grinstead and I arrived there on the train from Balham.

The story so far in pictures.

A bit of the South Downs, snapped by a hot and sweaty me from the top of my final hill, looking north here towards Glynde.

And looking the other way down there is Newhaven. I met an American cyclist here, he got stuck in a cattle grid, who was out for an evening ride (dripping sweat, working harder than me) he used to live in Geneva and went cycling in the Jura on the Swiss side. Said it was pretty.

This is my bike and the ferry at 3am in Dieppe, I had a couple of hours sleep. My train goes at 6:15 French time, so a couple of hours to spend in sleepy Dieppe, a walk along the seafront, Dieppe has a shingle beach like Brighton, I crunch along all alone in the dark, it is still, no breeze, tiny waves rippling, tide is out.

There are some new war memorials, 80 years since an expedition to try and capture Dieppe port in 1942, this was a test at the time, to judge the best way to land in France, they thought they would need to capture a port. Very costly in lives. Of this unit of 553 Canadians only 50 made it back to England. Awful to think of.

Further along the seafront a set of photos of individuals involved in the exercise. Makes it real. In the end I guess they learned a lot about how not to re-invade France, must have been why they chose beaches for the invasion two years later, rather than attacking a port.

Later in Paris, with two hours between trains, what to do? Well, lunch of course, in a busy pavement cafe, lovely food, glass of wine. But then – well a pilgrimmage to the office of Inspector Maigret, for those of you who are fans, here is the entrance to the Police Judiciare on the Quai des Orfevres.

So to Vesoul, a very nice hotel and more good food, and this morning I set off on my first day’s French cycling this year, through country not unlike Surrey, BUT so unpopulated, hardly any cars – unlike the horrid traffic-filled roads of Surrey. Good ride, cloudy hot day with storms forecast, but none arrived.

The river Doubs, over the next few days the route winds in and around the valley of this river as it cuts through the mountains.

The final 20km are along a canal path, Eurovelo 6. A very well maintained cycle path, such as this section which runs alongside a main road, but keeps cyclicts and walkers safe. EV6 goes from Holland to the Black sea, worth investigating. Somewhere in the over-plush overpaid corridors of the EU in Brussels is the sub-section of the transport secretariat that administers cycle routes – well the bureaucrats there are worth every penny! Probably the case for many other users of the many services administered by the EU bureaucrats.

And so I arrived here in this hotel on a motorway junction, god knows why I picked this one, it has a “spa” which is a tiny swimming pool and tiny sauna and steam rooms – still, the sauna did calm me down, even after a hot days riding, sitting in that heat just removed all tension (including the desire to write this) and just forced a … re-lax-a-tion. So, I chilled out.

It’s from a chain called “Charme Hotels”. Well, it’s a modern facility on a motorway junction, many things it may be (convenient, family-friendly etc.) “Charming” it is not. Except. The human element creeps in, the African young woman on reception is polite but bored until I say “j’ai un velo, est’qu’il y’a un place pour le metre?” when she gives a lovely smile, perhaps she likes bikes, or perhaps she’s laughing at my bad French? And she shows me to the linen cupboard.

Dinner is charming too, they are busy, there is only one waitress, an ageing lady with short black hair, pointy features, too much lipstick, thick-rimmed black spectacles and a harassed air who rushes from table to table. But she has a smile and a joke where she can. I order the dish of the day simply to be obliging. Then wine, you can choose “White” or “Red” – simple wine list. White (Maigret always drinks white, so I do too, now). Large or small? Large (somehow I find it so difficult to say “small”). I thought she meant a large glass, but it was a large carafe, half a litre. It was warm, sweet, fruity. Nice how you can tell where you are in France from the wine (who knows, perhaps it was Hungarian Sauvignon? I don’t think so, we are near Germany here, sweet white is the rule).

So I swigged the wine and did the “people watching”. A family with 5 kids, probably friends as well as offspring. Teenage girls, younger blonde boys. Mother and Father are both middle-aged good looking, yummy blonde mummy. Wearing cut-off pale jeans, mother has a loose lacy top, father long-sleeved blue T-shirt with “Hedoniste” emblazoned on the back, well he seems to be enjoying his meal, and with that wife – could be no lie. Then again, all the conversation from the kids goes to the mother, later he is leaning back with folded arms, looking bored, probably on their way home after holidays, he’s looking forward to getting back to work and re-finding his ego.

Next table to me three teenage boys, steak with cheese on top, chips, ice cream – can they really be French? They are polite to the waitress though, French boys can try to be cheeky but it never lasts, politesse is in their blood.

Next is a table of five working men, technicians of some kind, being put up on expenses, they are sanguine and manly and mainly sober.

Then a table of eight way over in the corner, young peple, twentysomething, effusive but not relaxed. A bear-man arrives, huge, bald head and full beard, dressed in baggy shorts and a lumber-jack shirt. They clap and he hugs each in turn – but NO KISSING – have the French stopped kissing because of covid? Perhaps. They order chips with everything also. I know chips are “French Fries” but they are not obligatory surely?

My plat du jour is ham hock with cream-and-mustard sauce and a julienne of vegetables. Real cream, cream like you used to get on the top of Jersey Milk. Surprisingly delicious. Dessert is advertised as “Vacherin” which is a type of local cheese, so I am hopeful, but it turns out to be a slice of ice-cream cake, real Vacherin will have to wait. A charming evening.