Day 43: Blois to Tours. Approx 40 miles.

No wind!!!!! AND I was off to see someone I know for the first time since London.

Another shocking revelation is how much faster days can be done when there is a super exciting prize at the end. I managed to make it Tours in just 4 and a half hours (if any of you "professional cyclists" wish to laugh at this then screw you, I'm pleased with it). The journey was pretty uneventful so I won't bore you trying to come up with some filler chat.

Sappho had text me saying that they were on the river bank getting a few bevvies so I decided to try to get to them without alerting them to my arrival in Tours. Having found the river all I had to do was cycle along and hope I was on the same side as them. True enough I was and after 10 minutes I spotted them...folk I know!!!! Sappho's face was a picture, kind of total amazement mixed with excitement mixed with what the fuck are you wearing Jo. Ha!

Lots of hugs and excitement were followed by a lovely mix of Guiness and unpleasantly warm cider, yummy. The relief of being back with familiar folk was amazing! More Guiness, more cider then off to the hostel to dump the bike and assorted shit then out into the Tours nightlife. Went to a few pubs after some much needed chips and cheese because, being in France, you can't get dinner until at least 8pm. Booze, booze, booze and no need to worry about the safety of the bike or myself, hurrah!

Dinner ended up being a rather silly affair; at least I have a crack at speaking the language, those two meanwhile just speak English very slowly, much to the amusement of the waiter. These two are the reason I'm cycling an extra 200ish miles:

Day 42: Orleans to Blois. Approx 40 miles.

Oh dear....

Woke up at half 11 in a room with two other folk snoring heavily. Into the sitting room to try to gather my shit and have a wash to find another million folk sleeping in between me and the shower and my stuff. Back to bed for a bit (bad decision) then up for a second attempt. Shower, packing, brioche and nutella, on the road.

Cycled down a pleasant road for 2 minutes to the river and turned right heading for Blois. This road was to be my last pleasant one of the day.

Clement had told me there was a nice cycle track all the way from Orleans to Blois, making me view the day with misplaced optimism. It was brutally windy. Probably the most brutal wind I had experienced so far. The follwoing video attempts to document the "utter brutality" of the day. Anyway I pushed on and was making surprisingly good progress by the time I stopped for lunch. Tears nearly broke through following a rude expulsion from a restaurant because I was about 3 minutes later than lunch was served for. Cunts. Eventually I found some scran and was feeling a bit more hopeful (mainly cause there was no wind but then again I was in an enclosed square in a village).

Back on the road for a section of the "nice cycle track" that wasn't nearly paved and instead consisted of a shitload of potholes filled with manky water. Then the iPod died. Tears in the saddle for the first time since I left Glasgow! Its funny how easliy misery and a feeling of utter helplessness can manifest itself if a bad feed, wind and the failure of a small music player occur simultaneously.

Pedal on, nearly dark and I pass the sign for Blois. Heaven! After the mania of Clement and Orleans I was praying for some quiet couch hosts and thats what I got. Daniel and Emmanuel were very apologetic at not taking me out for a ruckus night out on the town but I was fucking relieved! A very polite evening of chat, raclette, assorted meats and red wine made me hate my cycling mission slightly less. Thanks folks!

Day 41: Paris to Orleans

Long lie yet again, woop! (little did I know how badly I would need this).

Off on an epic panicked cycle to the station to take the train to Orleans* through the chocked cycle lanes of Paris. Not, however, choked with keen commuters and other city based cycling specimens but instead middle aged female shoppers, shifty looking men, folk with push chairs and all Parisiens between. Arrived at the station in plenty of time planning an easy ticket purchase folowed by a pre journey fag and juice. Not so in France. In France, even though its a Friday afternoon, they elect to open around 5% of the ticket desks and employ folk in silly hats to run about doing literally nothing but looking stressed to add to the chaos rather than serve folk who are about to miss their trains. After 45 minutes and a dollop of irate shouting in shit French I got served, leaving me with 2 minutes to run to the platform and try to load the heaviest bike in history on to the train single handed.

Train journey was slightly more successful though as not only did I get a call from Angus (first contact in about a week) but also a message confirming that I was meeting Sappho in Tours in 2 days, woohoo!

Arrived in Orleans in good time to meet my new couchsurfing host Clement and his lovely cat Captain Asshole. Clement turned out to be lunatic, but a nice one, whose bathroom ceiling had fallen in only 2 days before. We sat about and chatted with his mates until heading out to his friend's house for some utterly rank Pastis and some less rank whiskey. Also they had chickens in their back garden, sound. This, and the next journey, took place in an awesome old VW golf not dissimilar to Angus' Vulcan, accompanied by some drink driving, very loud Beastie boys and drawing on the roof. Not that I knew at the time but we were heading miles out into the countryside to a gig which turned out to be rather excellent. As did the barman who gave me some free beer. This is a terribly filmed video of said band who may play a show at the Halt Bar in the not so distant future. They are called The Ghost Brothers Big Band.




Anyway everyone had a fucking great time and I ended up falling asleep on a particularly uncomfortable chair in the middle of the afterparty since there were a million folk sitting on my "bed".

*Yes folks, I got on another train but only because my silly Tazmanian mate Sappho wanted me to get to Tours for Sunday afternoon: I recieved this news on Thursday night and I couldn't be arsed doing over 150 miles in 2 and a bit days.

Day 40: Paris

Long lie! Awesome but some would argue a waste since Paris is one of the best cities in the world so up and out I went. Having been to Paris with the folks in September, I headed to my favourite cafe in Montmarte, Le Refuge. Sound folk, good scran and a paper stand opposite that sold English language newspapers. Bliss.

Next task: haircut. Not so easy, however, in a country where most folk have fairly traditional barnets and the customer is not sure how to say in French "I need a number zero please on the shaved bit but just leave the long bit cause I cut that myself, thanks". After much confusion in a rather posh Parisian barber shop the man agreed and I got the most expensive haircut I've had in years; a whole 10 euros! Anyway it was a good one and I got some nice flour type stuff applied with a nice soft brush afterwards.

Off in search of the internet and thanks to my fantastic sense of direction (if I say so myself) I soon found the establishment I had visited while escaping from the folks on the last trip to Paris. It was, however, shut. Surprise, surprise! Coffee, fags, more wandering....

I've realised though, that if in doubt of directions, internet whereabouts, accommodation etc, hit the nearest tourist office. But never between 12 and 2.30. Or on a sunday. Or between October and March if your in the countryside. Thankfully it was a Thursday at 3pm and I was in France's largest city so it was open.

I have to say on the side that I love Paris. Loads of folk say that Parisians are miserable bastards who won't help you out unless you shout at them and who infect those who move to the city with their "greyness" but I disagree.

Evening in Paris consisted of brutally expensive internet, wandering, coffee, Christmas lights to shame George Square and a surprisingly large number of sex shops. Not visiting though, obviously just strolling past. Anyway I managed to get lost after a while. I couldn't believe it! Turned out to be quite good though because my couchsurfing host was working late so I had nowt to do in the flat and I ended up chatting to a sound Parisian who speacialised in English swear words due to learning English from gangster rap.

Day 39: Melun to Paris. Approximately 40 miles.

Another hungover cycle, oh dear! However, a beautiful day, good breakfast and a lovely farewell from the mouse infested hotel meant that I was pretty pleased with progress at the start. Heading along a road with forest on both sides and a cycle path lost in the ipod...

...not for long. The cycle path soon disappeared and for some reason when this happens it makes me feel like I shouldn't be cycling on the normal road. Possibly, the fact that I had no rolling tobacco and had drunk far too much the evening prior didn't help. Anyway after some ample route confusion and some retracing of steps I got bored and cycled on the normal road. Its funny the things that become confusing when you have noone to tell you what to do any of the time.

Paris was a couchsurfing stop and the guy had said he might not be back from work until half 7 so I wasn't exactly pushing it. The worry of getting into Paris then realising I was desperate for the loo and had a bike with at least a million stealable items on it was rife. Anyway I managed to hit the Paris suburbs just in time to find out that the guy was in fact off work and heading out at half 5...new deadline. This, of course, should still have been fine if is wasn't for the most epic getting lost of probably the whole trip so far (I'm writing this in Chamonix).

The stort goes that some prick wanted to freak me the fuck out while I quietly went about my lunch and fag break on a Parisian pavement. He decided it would be totally sound to sit and stare at me from a bench for AGES and then make kissing noises as he walked after me when I moved. What an idiot. I kindly asked him to "fuck off" which of course he neither understood or was interested in.

Feeling mildly abused I set off for Montmatre but ended up taking a right far too early and cycling in the wrong direction all together. At one point, confidence waning, I decided to ask some folk who struggled to explain the whole wrong direction thing but eventually succeeded. What a gutter. Back from whence I came except that all the road signs wanted me to go on the motorway, stress stress and then I was officially in Paris proper. Time now: 4.50 pm. Distance from couchsurfing: (a mere 7 miles). No worries you say? Well i'm in a city I don't know, without a map and its rush hour. In addition, France and Algeria had both won at football that day. Oh the fun and games of Parisian cycle lanes!

In the end I got to the allocated square at 5.41 pm pretty stressed out and pissed off but at least I was in Paris! The guy I stayed with, Julien, headed off for his pints so I could sit the fuck down for a bit then wash and eat and smoke and generally make myself feel better. What made me feel even better again was the visit to the pub later on. An excellent establishment with a drunk barman and the allowance of bringing food from an adjacent restaurant in (plates and cutlery and all).