Ooh La La

What do you do when you’ve finally achieved your dream?

When we last posted in November 2024, we had just cycled across Europe from Bath to Istanbul, the bicycle journey we’d been dreaming of ever since we first clipped into our pedals back in 2016.

But, much to our surprise, we found ourselves wanting more. We weren’t done with bicycle touring yet, especially now that we’d discovered the extra joy of e-bikes.

Clare was dreaming of an African adventure to Morocco. Of ticking off another continent.

Having enjoyed a taste of Italy on the way back from Istanbul, Andy’s head was full of pasta lunches, cold Italian white wine and delicious gelato.

So we checked out Morocco first. Yes, said Andy having researched possible routes, it’s do-able and the mountains will be fun. But honestly, the rest looks a bit boring … there’s an awful lot of stony desert. Please take a look and see what you think.

So Clare checked it out too. Great for a cycling holiday in the Atlas Mountains, she thought, but it doesn’t really look so appealing for a long distance e-bike tour. Too many hot dusty roads, too much busy traffic, some big gaps in accommodation. Plus some female touring cyclists do talk about getting a bit of hassle.

The pasta and wine lunches started to look a bit more tempting for her too.

So right now, we’re back on our e-bikes and are intending to pedal from Bath to Rome. 

It’s still quite an adventure … over 3000km through England, France, Switzerland and Italy. Over the Alps as well. 

And back through Spain. As we can’t fly home with e-bikes our return plan is to take a ferry from Rome to Barcelona, cycle across the foothills of the Pyrenees to Bilbao, then jump onto another ferry back to Portsmouth.

Before embarking on such a long trip, the bikes needed a full electrical check-up and a proper service. We took them to Tom at Green Park Bike Station who did an excellent job … he is highly recommended to our Bath based readers. And it was just as well we did, as Clare’s Bosch power control unit turned out to be faulty.

Imagine if that broke down while she was crossing the Alps?

After a very dry summer, the weather broke just as we were about to depart, with bands of rain coming in from the Atlantic fuelled by the remnants of Hurricane Erin.

We were lucky to dodge the showers from Bath to Winchester where we enjoyed an evening catching up with Ian and Nicola, old friends from when we lived there in the 1990’s.

Leaving Winchester Andy had forgotten that Komoot (our navigation App) has a deep mistrust of roads it thinks might be busy with traffic and will reroute us away from them at every opportunity. Often this means directing us down a narrow, rutted track when there’s a perfectly nice minor road nearby.

When we’re bicycle touring he checks this carefully every day. But we weren’t yet in the swing of things so Andy was out of practise.

We found ourselves pedalling up a steep, narrow, stony walking path with thick brambles on either side … just to avoid a roundabout. A roundabout we knew was totally safe for cyclists.

Just over half way up, Andy ducked under a leafy branch hanging across the path. But it wasn’t a leafy branch, it was a thick bough, which knocked him on the helmet and sent him tumbling violently sideways into the prickly brambles.

He managed to clamber out with only a few scratches but his bike was less lucky. 

The twisting fall had snapped something inside his suspension seat post which was now moving alarmingly from side to side. No matter, said Andy, I’ll sort out a replacement in Portsmouth before we get the ferry. 

We arrived at the hotel just as the rain set in. Leaving Clare behind to enjoy the warmth, Andy set of to explore the bike shops of Portsmouth in search of a new seat post.

Unfortunately they did not cover themselves in seat post glory …

Number 1 said he’d had a recent run on seat posts and didn’t have the right size. Helpfully he gave Andy a note of the size (27.2) … so he could find it elsewhere.

Number 2 was also out of stock of 27.2’s (but he might have had some larger ones?)

Number 3 had a 27.2 (hurray) but then told Andy it was the wrong size when he tried to fit it. Andy actually needed a 30.9 … but he was out of stock of those.

Number 4 was closed for his holidays (fair enough).

Number 5 didn’t have a 30.9 but he did have a 30.8 which he reckoned would be alright. He then broke the existing tightening bolt but managed to find a replacement at the back of his drawer.

Job done … but it was a very wet and bedraggled Andy that limped back to the hotel 2 hours later.

The next afternoon, after a pleasant ferry crossing, we were happily cycling along the Normandy coast from Ouistreham to Honfleur when Andy felt his saddle suddenly give way beneath him as it sank into the frame of the bike. He stopped to raise it, tightening the bolt as hard as he could. A few minutes later it happened again, then again and again.

The trouble was Andy’s bottom was acting like a pile driver with every bump he went over.

So he started riding as lightly as he could on his saddle, standing up over even the tiniest of bumps, avoiding every pothole as much as possible.

It was an obstacle course … and it was surprising to find out just how many bumps and cracks there are on an apparently smooth road.

Honfleur, on the Seine estuary, is a gem. Ports don’t come any prettier. Colourful half-timbered houses jostle for position on the quays, alongside art galleries and restaurants.

That night Andy read about a hack for sinking seat post syndrome, a little piece of electrical tape to provide more traction plus some duck tape to create a ridge.

This was great news as tape is an important spare part for any touring cyclist so we had plenty of it with us.

But all it did was change a sudden saddle drop into a slow sinking feeling on what turned out to be a long and challenging ride from Honfleur to Rouen. It reminded Andy of riding his old Raleigh Chopper bike as a kid!

For much of the day we followed the Routes des Chaumières (the Thatched Cottage Route) through the delightful Normandy countryside, each cottage topped with that unique local tradition …. a line of irises to take up moisture and help bind the thatch together.

Then onto the Seine à Vélo, a cycle path that follows the river around it’s huge, sweeping bends, crossing over from time to time. Many cargo ships ply this part of the Seine so bridges are rare and in their place are several little free ferries called bacs.

Our route included three bacs and meant we could cut across some of the biggest bends. But when we arrived at the first bac it was closed because of an ‘operating incident’, back as normal tomorrow.

No matter … it was only a 10km deviation to get the next bac further upstream. That was closed too. Now it was 30km to get around the next bend. At least the sun was still shining.

Disconsolately we pedalled on and soon reached a point where we had a choice between a rough river path or a short but precipitously steep hill. There was a local man walking his dog. He pointed to the hill, shaking his head.

Vous n’y monter là-haut, n’est-ce pas? (You’re not going up there, are you?)

Même les cyclistes français ne font pas ça! (Even French cyclists don’t do that!)

Without admitting that she was riding an e-bike, Clare gave him a cheery wave and shot up the hill.

Ooh La La! he exclaimed, clearly impressed. He peered at Andy suspiciously … et vous?

As discretely as possible, Andy switched on turbo power and selected his lowest gear before staggering slowly up the 20% hill. Expecting to hear the man’s surprise at the extraordinary strength of British cyclists, all Andy got was …

Anglais, votre selle est trop basse! (Englishman, your saddle is too low!)

When Andy reached the top, feeling somewhat exhausted, Clare quietly admitted that she hadn’t even used turbo … Ooh La La! indeed.

To our great relief the 3rd bac was working but as we cycled to Rouen, the heavy rain eventually caught up with us. As Andy was sitting so low on his bike, a small, stagnant pond started to appear in his lap. He was sure he could see a couple of tadpoles frolicking around.

The next morning, we took Andy’s bike to an excellent Rouen bike shop. They explained that Portsmouth Number 5 had done a botch job, not only was the seat post too small but the bolt he’d used was also the wrong size.

The French mechanics carefully replaced the seat post with exactly the right size, added a brand new bolt and coated it in friction paste for extra grip before testing it carefully to make sure it would hold. It might have been a lot more expensive but it was a much better experience.

After Rouen, our next stop was Giverny, the small village where Claude Monet created his home of 43 years, together with a truly remarkable garden that includes the famous lily pond that he then proceeded to paint over 250 times. The garden was just as stunning as the paintings, even on a cloudy day.

On previous visits to Paris, we’d always thought that Versailles was too far out of town to include on our itinerary. But this time we’d be cycling right by it so it would be rude not to stop and take a look.

As well as the staterooms and the famous hall of mirrors, we particularly enjoyed seeing Little Trianon, Marie Antoinette’s refuge from the stifling formality of court life. And the Queens Hamlet, a peculiar play-farm she had built to recreate the charms of rural life with a windmill and a dairy sitting right next to her salon and boudoir.

Having read in the newspaper that Paris mayor Anne Hidalgo was working hard to clean up the city, improve air quality and make it cycling friendly, we decided to ride through the city centre, rather than give it a wide berth.

And the first signs were encouraging … well marked bicycle lanes, even on the busiest roads.

Andy persuaded Clare to join him on a magical mystery tour of the famous sights on the way to our hotel.

She enjoyed cycling around the Eiffel Tower.

She didn’t object to the incredibly long queue to see the newly refurbished Nôtre Dame.

She even enjoyed cycling up the Champs Elyesees.

But when she started following Andy around the chaos of the Arc de Triomphe at rush hour, she decided enough was enough!

There are lots of people on bicycles in Paris, she thought, but only one of them is trying to ride around the biggest, busiest roundabout in the world. My crazy husband!

Paris did have one sting in the tail. For the first time in 10 years of bicycle touring and over 300 overnight stays, our Paris hotel charged us for bicycle storage. Quite a whack too … €17 per bike per night, adding up to €68 for a couple of nights.

Everyone we’ve mentioned this to gives a little Gallic shrug and says That’s Paris … but should they really get away with stuff like this, just because it’s Paris? We managed to negotiate the rate down by half … but even so!

By far the best bit of our short stay in Paris was the late night show at the Moulin Rouge.

It was 90 minutes of magic, a whirlwind of feathers, sequins and legs from the incredibly professional dancers, interspersed with strength, virtuosity and humour from their guest artists. And the main highlight? The iconic, timeless Can-Can!

As they might say in Paris … Ooh La La!

Clare and Andy

Bath to Paris

507km pedalled (350 miles)

3,735m climbed

28 hours in the saddle