Grumpy Old Men On Bikes

My man flu turns out to be the very worst strain.  I am only still breathing thanks to my supreme will to live.  In fact, things are so bad that the customers have started raising money to send me to disneyworld before I die. Despite being desperately ill I have struggled out to a nearby beer hall where they have an elaborate drinks list.  They sell only one sort of beer and only in one size which certainly keeps the round simple.  Unfortunately the size is 0.2 litres so we have our own personal waiter who is running himself ragged keeping us supplied. We are in Cologne, staying just around the corner from the cathedral which is a pretty amazing pile of stones. Anyway, time for a dozen more beers.

Here is an odd thing.  For the last few nights we have been staying in German hotels.  Every single one has placed a mini packet of Haribo on my pillow.  If the Krauts think they can buy me with a small packet of gummy confections they are absolutely right. Time has passed since my last report and we are now in Mainz, gateway to the Rhine Gorge.  This morning a strange thing happened.....as I was riding along two cyclists came the other way and, bugger me, I knew them!  They were a Dutch couple who were on a Land's End to John O'Groats trip with me last year.  After I had muddled my way through the Dutch kissing thing (3 sides) we had a quick chat.  They are heading to Venice so I assured them that the climbs over the alps were nothing to fret about ;-). Today the wind was blowing at 25mph, but somewhat from behind and my main job on the bike was to keep it balanced while the wind provided almost all motive power. Oh yes, I have a cold. Or possibly terminal man flu.  The next 4

It is Day 3 and we are on the shores of Lake Constance. My group of 18 riders are slowly being beaten into shape but yesterday a couple of them had a go at testing my patience. Rather than letting us padlock up their bikes with all the others they padlocked them together using their own special, 'even Houdini couldn't open it' padlock‎. Next morning they lost the key. Bugger. After a great deal of searching, including offloading all 18 sets of luggage from the van to check in a suitcase, the key was still missing. A quick go with a hacksaw established that the manufacturer's ‎claims weren't entirely unjustified and we started the search for an emergency locksmith. It was Sunday; the Swiss REALLY don't like working on Sundays. Bugger. 'So you have searched your room REALLY carefully?' I asked. 'Yes, twice' came the confident reply. Naturally I then when up to check for myself and found the key under the bed. As a man with some previous history of

‎Kids Study hard at school and do well in your exams! If you don't you may not be able to afford a car and have to travel by public transport. As fates worse then death go, this is right up there. I am in Zurich, waiting to meet my next group of victims and shepherd them onto a coach which will take them up into the Alps to Oberalpass - source of the Rhine. I had the great honour of travelling to Gatwick last night using britain's magnificent public transport network. Instead of hopping in my car and wafting there in a hour of air-conditioned luxury I spent over 2 hours on 2 surface trains, a tube train and.....I can barely write the words....a bus. I don't do buses! The reasons for this are many and varied‎ but can be summarised by 'buses are completely shite'. Actually, it turns out that my opening remark about working hard at school may be wrong. It appears that for the privilege of  travelling on a bus one must part with £1.15 per mile. I reckon the total cost o

‎Today was the big hill and 108 miles so my slower group of riders decided it would be a good day for multiple extended rest/meal breaks. They set out at 7am and finished at 8pm. It was my turn to ride the afternoon shift and I was a great big hot hungry grumpy old Hector when I got in. The shade temperature hit 35 celsius but of course we weren't in the shade. We rode on a lengthy stretch where the tarmac had meted which didn't exactly improve progress!  My brain has been lightly poached in sweat and suncream and I REALLY want a sports drink. We are in Villefranche de Rouergeue, 2 days from the Med......oh sod it......i'm going for a beer. Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone on the EE network.

‎Tough work being a Tour Leader! Today is a virtual rest day at only 74 miles, with my contribution being a measly 37. We have reached the Dordogne and tomorrow we will climb the Puy Mary - a 3000 foot beast and occasional category 2 Tour climb! But for now it is time to chill while I wait for the riders to turn up. Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone on the EE network.

‎I'm still trying to balance out my observations on France so here is another positive one. A bottle of vino i n restaurants here is no less expensive than blighty. From about 14 quid. Given that they make the stuff and there is MUCH less booze tax this seems unfair but they at least offer a more economical alternative. The 'pichet' is a wonderful thing - a carafe of plonk, decanted from a bloody great vat and sold at about 4-5 quid for a half litre. When you consider that a large beer (again half a litre) can be anything up to 6 quid this makes it all the more magical. Needless to say 'et un demi rouge' is the logical ending for every dinner order! Today is a lovely flat 80 through the woods south of the Loire. Yesterday's epic through the scorching farmlands took its toll and everyone is enjoying the cooler weather and more varied scenery. Having done my half I have set up my command post in a layby in the woods......thank goodness we aren't in Italy where

‎Of course, the truth is that France is mostly spiffing. Certainly for cycling there probably no other  country that even comes close. We are now down on the Loire and have hardly seen a car. It is possible to ride two-abreast chatting for hours. Of course, in my case this is tricky because a/ I am miles behind everyone and b/I  am using the full capacity of my mouth to draw in oxygen. It is a fast group :-(. Today we have ridden across France's grain fields - the best part of 100 miles with nothing to do but count tractors. It was a chunky 117 miles in total but about as easy as cycling gets - flat, sunny, little wind.  My fellow sweeper and I are each riding half of each day - this was my idea and was backed up by sound solid arguments (none of which were 'I won't be able to keep up for 117 miles'). We are in Beaugency, my favourite stop on the trip‎, and I am looking forward to sports drink and pizza at my regular table in the restaurant down by the bridge. Sent from

‎One more brief rant about French opening hours and then I will move on. Here is a list of things you can buy in France on a Sunday: -  - - That's it! If you live near a REALLY big supermarket you might be able to shop there until lunch-time and occasionally a bakers ‎deigns to open for a few minutes. Otherwise forget it.   Oh yes, one other thing. The French seem to have discovered the Merican trick of adding tax onto a restaurant bill so that when you come to pay it is suddenly 5 Euros more than you were expecting.   Today we had a jolly 95 shopping free miles to Vernon, on the Seine. The weather continues to be mixed but tomorrow we are promised El Scorchio for our 117 mile epic to Beaugency.   Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone on the EE network.

‎The County Hotel, Dover wouldn't look out of place in 1960's Soviet Russia. It is a concrete monstrosity which hasn't seen a penny spent on it in decades and about as welcoming as a kick in the gentlemen's are ‎a. The rooms are spacious though spartan but the public areas range from poor to squalid. It's strong points are low prices and proximity to the ferry port. It's weak points are.....everything else. They have cleverly trained their staff to preserve the illusion that you are in Moscow - not exactly rude but completely disinterested. Guess where I stayed last night? It seems that in a few weeks time the place will be bulldozed to make way for some smart new shops. Great!! 'But where will he stay on his next trip?' I hear you ask.  ‎It doesn't matter - a bench in Dover high street is probably classier. In one of the very brief ‎ lulls in French industrial action we snuck across the Channel and my little band of 8 are busily peddling their way s

  I am aware that I have one French reader.  You might want to go and do something else for a couple of weeks Pierre.   What keeps the French economy going?  It is virtually impossible to buy anything.   Firstly, the French don't seem to have shops in any town smaller than, say, Lyon.   If you are lucky enough to stumble on a shop then statistical probability says it will be closed. Shops routinely close on Sunday, one other day in lieu of Saturday, every public holiday and  often a day adjacent to a public holiday.  Then, to add insult to injury, on the remaining handful of days when they actually open they close for at least 2 hours in the afternoon........generally just before the time when a hungry cyclist would like some lunch.   Restaurants aren't much better.  Their response to the recent economic downturn appears to be to just close on Mondays and Tuesdays then jack up the menu prices by 20% on the other 5 days to compensate.    In virtually every