Thursday, September 4, 2003
Boulevard brunch
To the Greek Texan diner on Lakeshore Boulevard in Toronto for brunch. I cycled down there on the Brompton folder keeping to the side streets and met Mrs LT - she works at a nearby school. About six miles round trip. I sat watching the red street cars going by out the window in the sunshine, drinking coffee and trying to make the most of the warm weather. Peameal bacon and double eggs-over-easy and a feeling that whatever I do winter is on the way.
Monday, September 1, 2003
Gone West
We took the Smart car to the west country and Wales for a summer tour of historical sights. After lunching in Guildford, Surrey with good friends Richard and Karan Banks we headed west to start our holiday. First stop was at Goodwood for the Festival of Speed where we planned to arrive at seven o'clock on the Friday morning. We hunted around for a camp site and after exploring Chichester and the coast we wound up at Slindon for the night. We found a pub, the Newburgh Arms, for supper in the village and called it a day.
The Festival was celebrating it's tenth anniversary and Ford was the featured marque with the Le Mans-winning Mk IIs as the centrepiece, brought from the United States for the occasion. The weather was kind and we hooked up with radio-colleague Peter Flanagan to tour the various paddocks. The downhill soapbox racers caught my eye - in fact most were anything but 'soapbox' rather high-tech cars without engines. I also enjoyed the Ford model collection in one of the pavilions. For me the whole event was rather expensive and lacked the buzz of a real race meeting - nostalgia is not what it used to be. Good to hear Ian Titchmarsh "on the tannoy," sadly missed on Radio Le Mans this year.
Around midday we headed off into Hampshire to find the birthplace of 'Mad Jack' Fuller at North Stoneham - now subsumed into Eastleigh. We found the church where his father was the vicar, the Rev Henry Fuller, and the rectory where he was born. The rectory is now on a gated trading estate but I managed to take a reasonable photograph through the railings round the back.
We headed for Dorset for the next night stop - we thought better of Blandford Forum and carried on to Dorchester. A check with tourist information pinpointed a campsite out in the hills near Cerne Abbas. We stocked up with provisions at Waitrose and camped with spectacular views toward the Dorset coast. Next morning to Yarcombe to photograph the Belfry Hotel, formerly Yarcombe School erected by Sir Francis Eliott Drake in 1870. Then to Killerton House and Gardens, historic home of the Acland family; the arboretum with its giant Redwoods being the highlight for me.
We drove across Dartmoor, getting gas at Postbridge before turning south, with the ponies and sheep up close to the road. We camped at Ashburton in Devon, deciding to buy a takeaway pizza in town for supper and while waiting for it to cook a lengthy parade of WW2 vehicles with folk in period dress went past. We discovered that they were billeted at the South Devon Railway - our destination next morning. The railway runs from Buckfastleigh to Totnes (or vice-versa) in the valley of the River Dart. It should be called the friendly line as one of the volunteers remarked - everyone at this scenic railway were bending over backwards to make it a worthwhile visit, all in forties garb and happy to tell the story of the line.
After our morning steam along the Dart Valley we headed to Buckland Abbey north of Plymouth, home of Sir Francis Drake and later inherited by Lord Heathfield from Sussex. A quick look also in the church in Buckland Monochorum where Lord Heathfield is commemorated.
Across the Tamar and into Cornwall for the first time and on to Padstow to research the shipbuilding branch of the Willmett family - my mother's maiden name being Willmett. Found a bed and breakfast place on the outskirts of town, Penjoly Cottage, comfortable at a reasonable price.
Next day to Dennis Cove on the Camel estuary where James Willmett built ships. The railway later connected Padstow to Bodmin, the final section Wadebridge to Padstow opening on 27 March 1899. Dennis Cove yard, upstream of Padstow, was drastically altered as the railway embankment ran across the mouth of the cove almost cutting it off from the Camel estuary save for a single arch span.
All in all it was hard to envisage the shipbuilding industry as it once was but still worth the effort to visit the place where the pioneering "Pomaron" was launched in 1865, built to Henzell's patent. The Upper Docks in Padstow were also drastically altered as the railway station was sited there.
We met up next day with John Buckingham of the Padstow Museum who very kindly showed us round. We bought a copy of "Ships of North Cornwall" by John Bartlett, on his recommendation, at The Strand Bookshop on The Strand by the harbour. This proved to be invaluable with details of the ships built by the Willmett brothers.
We headed south to Falmouth to visit the National Maritime Museum. Access to the John Bartlett library here is free so we spent the afternoon researching Willmett shipbuilding activities in Padstow and at Newport in South Wales. We also got lucky in the car park when the parking attendant, a young lad in a woolly hat said "There is no charge as your car is so cool." The Smart car was making friends everywhere we went.
Next to Redruth for two nights at the Tehidy Campground and a day and a half at the Cornish Studies Library in town - it may not be everybody's idea of a fun holiday searching through microfilmed newspapers from the 1860's but the weather had turned wet and we were glad to be out of it. We found much to interest us about the bankruptcy of James Willmett in 1865.
We decided to head for Devon and Barnstaple but not before a quick return to Padstow to photograph St Edmund's Lane, formerly Horse Mill Lane, where we had discovered John Henry Willmett once resided. Today Rick Stein's trendy fish restaurant is at the bottom of the lane and property prices are going through the roof.
An overnight stop at the Park Hotel in Barnstaple and a visit next morning to the Barnstaple Museum. A sign saying "Huguenot refugees came to Barnstaple from La Rochelle in 1685" got my attention, still wondering when and why the Willmett family might have fled France. Perhaps the Protestant uprising in 1745 in France or further risings in eastern and southern France in 1754 had got them on the move - the mystery remains.
We motored on next morning via Ilfracombe to a campground near Lynton. By chance we passed the Lynton and Barnstaple narrow-gauge railway and stopped by to talk with the folks who have heroically restored Woody Bay station and a short section of track - they plan to restore as much of the 19½ miles linking the two North Devon towns as possible, offering rides to the public soon.
We were nosing around Lynton and Lynmouth by car and on foot, checking out the Cliff Railway built by Sir George Newnes. We noticed an advertisement for the Thai-Lyn Restaurant at the Waterloo House Hotel. Good Thai food in North Devon we thought - not likely - how wrong can you be as we were served the best Thai meal I've had in a long while. Highly recommended, best to book.
Next morning on the road to Minehead we found ourselves at Holnicote, an Acland estate once used for stag hunting. Another old estate which has fallen into the clutches of the National Trust.
We checked into the Castle Hotel for two nights in Dunster. We climbed the hill to the Conygar Tower built by Henry Fownes Luttrell in 1775. It has no strategic or military significance and was designed as a "mock ruin" simply for its aesthetic value.
We drove to Stogursey, West Quantoxhead, and St Audries to see the haunts of the Palmer Fuller Acland family. Next day we rode on the West Somerset Railway, founded by Jack Fuller's nephew, Peregrine Fuller Palmer Acland, the first Chairman of the line. This railway at twenty miles in length is an extraordinary survivor from the sixties, when there were wholesale railway closures, with great sea views on the approach to Minehead.
After a night in Taunton we drove via Cheddar gorge over The Severn Bridge to Newport in Wales. Newport is a town of contrasts still struggling to find a role after the prosperity of past times. We photographed the dock where my relatives once built ships at Jack's Pill, now with an old car shoved into the water. The town centre car park was an urban hell, broken lifts and grafitti, yet the Ridgeway a short distance away has delightful views of the Bristol Channel and to Twmbalwm in the north.
I was intrigued by a surviving section of 'pre-fab' housing nearby built as a temporary measure after WW2. The reference library in town was a credit and in keeping with the Welsh tradition of valuing education - they were most helpful.
Next day we drove north to Pontypool, stopping for lunch at Pontymoile canal basin by the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal. There was a splendid cafe in a boat, now on dry land by the cut, where egg and chips and tea are dispensed to hungry boatmen. The banter was good too.
Largely by mistake we ended up at the folly tower high above Pontypool. Built around 1765 by local worthy, John Hanbury, the tower was demolished during the second world war by order of the Ministry of Defence. In the 1980s a group called CROFT (campaign for the reconstruction of the folly tower) was formed and the rebuilt tower reopened in 1994. I love the stubborness of restorers - they say stop messing with my world - I like it the way it is.
We stopped in at the Pontypool Museum in search of the Hanbury Hotel in Griffithstown, a large redbrick pile once run by my great-grandmother. After much driving round in circles we finally located this former traveller's hotel which has seen better days. We returned to Newport via Abercarn where my grandfather once lived.
Next morning it was back to England across the bridge to Bath. We wanted to visit the William Herschel museum but it was closed so we consoled ourselves with a visit to the excellent Building of Bath museum, a monument to Georgian architecture, and to Beckford's Tower, a folly overlooking the town.
After lunching at Bradford-on-Avon by the Kennet and Avon Canal we headed east to Caen Hill Locks at Devizes which date from 1810. I once walked the towpath of this waterway from Bath to Reading, about 80 miles, when much of it was in a derelict state.
We spent the last night at a campsite at Orcheston not far from Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain. I was mindful my father had been at Larkhill nearby when in the Royal Artillery, his wartime experience curing him of camping for life. The site had an adjacent pub which had Wadworth's in cans and a welcome roast dinner on a wet night. The weather made this the worst night of the trip and we pulled out early in search of a cooked breakfast before pointing the Smart car in the direction of Sussex.
The Festival was celebrating it's tenth anniversary and Ford was the featured marque with the Le Mans-winning Mk IIs as the centrepiece, brought from the United States for the occasion. The weather was kind and we hooked up with radio-colleague Peter Flanagan to tour the various paddocks. The downhill soapbox racers caught my eye - in fact most were anything but 'soapbox' rather high-tech cars without engines. I also enjoyed the Ford model collection in one of the pavilions. For me the whole event was rather expensive and lacked the buzz of a real race meeting - nostalgia is not what it used to be. Good to hear Ian Titchmarsh "on the tannoy," sadly missed on Radio Le Mans this year.
Around midday we headed off into Hampshire to find the birthplace of 'Mad Jack' Fuller at North Stoneham - now subsumed into Eastleigh. We found the church where his father was the vicar, the Rev Henry Fuller, and the rectory where he was born. The rectory is now on a gated trading estate but I managed to take a reasonable photograph through the railings round the back.
We headed for Dorset for the next night stop - we thought better of Blandford Forum and carried on to Dorchester. A check with tourist information pinpointed a campsite out in the hills near Cerne Abbas. We stocked up with provisions at Waitrose and camped with spectacular views toward the Dorset coast. Next morning to Yarcombe to photograph the Belfry Hotel, formerly Yarcombe School erected by Sir Francis Eliott Drake in 1870. Then to Killerton House and Gardens, historic home of the Acland family; the arboretum with its giant Redwoods being the highlight for me.
We drove across Dartmoor, getting gas at Postbridge before turning south, with the ponies and sheep up close to the road. We camped at Ashburton in Devon, deciding to buy a takeaway pizza in town for supper and while waiting for it to cook a lengthy parade of WW2 vehicles with folk in period dress went past. We discovered that they were billeted at the South Devon Railway - our destination next morning. The railway runs from Buckfastleigh to Totnes (or vice-versa) in the valley of the River Dart. It should be called the friendly line as one of the volunteers remarked - everyone at this scenic railway were bending over backwards to make it a worthwhile visit, all in forties garb and happy to tell the story of the line.
After our morning steam along the Dart Valley we headed to Buckland Abbey north of Plymouth, home of Sir Francis Drake and later inherited by Lord Heathfield from Sussex. A quick look also in the church in Buckland Monochorum where Lord Heathfield is commemorated.
Across the Tamar and into Cornwall for the first time and on to Padstow to research the shipbuilding branch of the Willmett family - my mother's maiden name being Willmett. Found a bed and breakfast place on the outskirts of town, Penjoly Cottage, comfortable at a reasonable price.
Next day to Dennis Cove on the Camel estuary where James Willmett built ships. The railway later connected Padstow to Bodmin, the final section Wadebridge to Padstow opening on 27 March 1899. Dennis Cove yard, upstream of Padstow, was drastically altered as the railway embankment ran across the mouth of the cove almost cutting it off from the Camel estuary save for a single arch span.
All in all it was hard to envisage the shipbuilding industry as it once was but still worth the effort to visit the place where the pioneering "Pomaron" was launched in 1865, built to Henzell's patent. The Upper Docks in Padstow were also drastically altered as the railway station was sited there.
We met up next day with John Buckingham of the Padstow Museum who very kindly showed us round. We bought a copy of "Ships of North Cornwall" by John Bartlett, on his recommendation, at The Strand Bookshop on The Strand by the harbour. This proved to be invaluable with details of the ships built by the Willmett brothers.
We headed south to Falmouth to visit the National Maritime Museum. Access to the John Bartlett library here is free so we spent the afternoon researching Willmett shipbuilding activities in Padstow and at Newport in South Wales. We also got lucky in the car park when the parking attendant, a young lad in a woolly hat said "There is no charge as your car is so cool." The Smart car was making friends everywhere we went.
Next to Redruth for two nights at the Tehidy Campground and a day and a half at the Cornish Studies Library in town - it may not be everybody's idea of a fun holiday searching through microfilmed newspapers from the 1860's but the weather had turned wet and we were glad to be out of it. We found much to interest us about the bankruptcy of James Willmett in 1865.
We decided to head for Devon and Barnstaple but not before a quick return to Padstow to photograph St Edmund's Lane, formerly Horse Mill Lane, where we had discovered John Henry Willmett once resided. Today Rick Stein's trendy fish restaurant is at the bottom of the lane and property prices are going through the roof.
An overnight stop at the Park Hotel in Barnstaple and a visit next morning to the Barnstaple Museum. A sign saying "Huguenot refugees came to Barnstaple from La Rochelle in 1685" got my attention, still wondering when and why the Willmett family might have fled France. Perhaps the Protestant uprising in 1745 in France or further risings in eastern and southern France in 1754 had got them on the move - the mystery remains.
We motored on next morning via Ilfracombe to a campground near Lynton. By chance we passed the Lynton and Barnstaple narrow-gauge railway and stopped by to talk with the folks who have heroically restored Woody Bay station and a short section of track - they plan to restore as much of the 19½ miles linking the two North Devon towns as possible, offering rides to the public soon.
We were nosing around Lynton and Lynmouth by car and on foot, checking out the Cliff Railway built by Sir George Newnes. We noticed an advertisement for the Thai-Lyn Restaurant at the Waterloo House Hotel. Good Thai food in North Devon we thought - not likely - how wrong can you be as we were served the best Thai meal I've had in a long while. Highly recommended, best to book.
Next morning on the road to Minehead we found ourselves at Holnicote, an Acland estate once used for stag hunting. Another old estate which has fallen into the clutches of the National Trust.
We checked into the Castle Hotel for two nights in Dunster. We climbed the hill to the Conygar Tower built by Henry Fownes Luttrell in 1775. It has no strategic or military significance and was designed as a "mock ruin" simply for its aesthetic value.
We drove to Stogursey, West Quantoxhead, and St Audries to see the haunts of the Palmer Fuller Acland family. Next day we rode on the West Somerset Railway, founded by Jack Fuller's nephew, Peregrine Fuller Palmer Acland, the first Chairman of the line. This railway at twenty miles in length is an extraordinary survivor from the sixties, when there were wholesale railway closures, with great sea views on the approach to Minehead.
After a night in Taunton we drove via Cheddar gorge over The Severn Bridge to Newport in Wales. Newport is a town of contrasts still struggling to find a role after the prosperity of past times. We photographed the dock where my relatives once built ships at Jack's Pill, now with an old car shoved into the water. The town centre car park was an urban hell, broken lifts and grafitti, yet the Ridgeway a short distance away has delightful views of the Bristol Channel and to Twmbalwm in the north.
I was intrigued by a surviving section of 'pre-fab' housing nearby built as a temporary measure after WW2. The reference library in town was a credit and in keeping with the Welsh tradition of valuing education - they were most helpful.
Next day we drove north to Pontypool, stopping for lunch at Pontymoile canal basin by the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal. There was a splendid cafe in a boat, now on dry land by the cut, where egg and chips and tea are dispensed to hungry boatmen. The banter was good too.
Largely by mistake we ended up at the folly tower high above Pontypool. Built around 1765 by local worthy, John Hanbury, the tower was demolished during the second world war by order of the Ministry of Defence. In the 1980s a group called CROFT (campaign for the reconstruction of the folly tower) was formed and the rebuilt tower reopened in 1994. I love the stubborness of restorers - they say stop messing with my world - I like it the way it is.
We stopped in at the Pontypool Museum in search of the Hanbury Hotel in Griffithstown, a large redbrick pile once run by my great-grandmother. After much driving round in circles we finally located this former traveller's hotel which has seen better days. We returned to Newport via Abercarn where my grandfather once lived.
Next morning it was back to England across the bridge to Bath. We wanted to visit the William Herschel museum but it was closed so we consoled ourselves with a visit to the excellent Building of Bath museum, a monument to Georgian architecture, and to Beckford's Tower, a folly overlooking the town.
After lunching at Bradford-on-Avon by the Kennet and Avon Canal we headed east to Caen Hill Locks at Devizes which date from 1810. I once walked the towpath of this waterway from Bath to Reading, about 80 miles, when much of it was in a derelict state.
We spent the last night at a campsite at Orcheston not far from Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain. I was mindful my father had been at Larkhill nearby when in the Royal Artillery, his wartime experience curing him of camping for life. The site had an adjacent pub which had Wadworth's in cans and a welcome roast dinner on a wet night. The weather made this the worst night of the trip and we pulled out early in search of a cooked breakfast before pointing the Smart car in the direction of Sussex.
Saturday, August 23, 2003
Unless I'm very much mistaken
I've got round to reading Murray Walker's autobiography "Unless I'm very much mistaken."
The man who commentated on car and motorbike racing for more than fifty years finally tells something of his life but this is far from a tell all book.
Running to 462 pages here is the story of Murray in the army, in the advertising business and of course behind the microphone.
Walker is a bit like Forrest Gump, marvelling at his achievements and dazzled by the company he keeps. He wants to see the best in everyone - turning James Hunt and Nigel Mansell into nice guys. He denounces Ayrton Senna for taking out Prost at Suzuka in 1990 - "I never forgave him for that" - yet he glosses over Michael Schumacher's similar move on Jacques Villeneuve at Jerez in 1997. There are several pages of hagiography for Michael - all unconvincing as he invites us to feel sorry for the world's highest paid sportsman - "he's a really decent bloke."
Murray is on safer ground when he talks about the difficulties of commentating - as one who has been behind the microphone I know how fiendishly difficult it can be - the jetlag, the petty rivalries, the language barrier, the funny food, the late nights.
His anecdotes about the Macau Grand Prix are of particular interest to this reviewer although his Jackie Chan-style fictionalised account of a Triad hit at the races was particularly ill-advised - his publisher must have fallen for this tripe.
In view of the dominant position tobacco sponsors have held in motor sport Murray is courageous in saying "Why anyone smokes when they know the possible consequences is beyond my comprehension."
There are some 'Murrayisms' in the book - he refers to Enzo Ferrari as "the greatest driver in the history of Formula 1"; Paul Tracy becomes Paul Tracey; and Peter O'Sullivan, the horse-race commentator, becomes Peter O'Sullevan; but these are quibbles.
You have to wonder however at a man who counts appearing on "This is your life" and Noel Edmonds' "Late, Late Breakfast Show" among the highlights of his life. Receiving a gong, an OBE, from the Queen was "the ultimate achievement I could have hoped for."
Having met Murray on a few occasions I know him to be a decent man with no side, better than his book portrays him. He is missed on the airwaves for his self-confidence and his sheer explosive enthusiasm.
The man who commentated on car and motorbike racing for more than fifty years finally tells something of his life but this is far from a tell all book.
Running to 462 pages here is the story of Murray in the army, in the advertising business and of course behind the microphone.
Walker is a bit like Forrest Gump, marvelling at his achievements and dazzled by the company he keeps. He wants to see the best in everyone - turning James Hunt and Nigel Mansell into nice guys. He denounces Ayrton Senna for taking out Prost at Suzuka in 1990 - "I never forgave him for that" - yet he glosses over Michael Schumacher's similar move on Jacques Villeneuve at Jerez in 1997. There are several pages of hagiography for Michael - all unconvincing as he invites us to feel sorry for the world's highest paid sportsman - "he's a really decent bloke."
Murray is on safer ground when he talks about the difficulties of commentating - as one who has been behind the microphone I know how fiendishly difficult it can be - the jetlag, the petty rivalries, the language barrier, the funny food, the late nights.
His anecdotes about the Macau Grand Prix are of particular interest to this reviewer although his Jackie Chan-style fictionalised account of a Triad hit at the races was particularly ill-advised - his publisher must have fallen for this tripe.
In view of the dominant position tobacco sponsors have held in motor sport Murray is courageous in saying "Why anyone smokes when they know the possible consequences is beyond my comprehension."
There are some 'Murrayisms' in the book - he refers to Enzo Ferrari as "the greatest driver in the history of Formula 1"; Paul Tracy becomes Paul Tracey; and Peter O'Sullivan, the horse-race commentator, becomes Peter O'Sullevan; but these are quibbles.
You have to wonder however at a man who counts appearing on "This is your life" and Noel Edmonds' "Late, Late Breakfast Show" among the highlights of his life. Receiving a gong, an OBE, from the Queen was "the ultimate achievement I could have hoped for."
Having met Murray on a few occasions I know him to be a decent man with no side, better than his book portrays him. He is missed on the airwaves for his self-confidence and his sheer explosive enthusiasm.
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Brompton in Canada
I've been back in Europe for the summer where the muse deserted me - hope to bring news of my travels in the coming weeks. My Brompton folding bicycle made it to Canada OK. I got a carton from the shop in Heathfield, Sussex, used old bubble wrap and three quid for some tape. Hideously overweight at check-in but the guy was in a good mood and didn't charge me - no sweat in customs at the other end.
I have been out for a road test this morning - everything OK after I decided to ride on the right side of the street. - in fact going better than ever with new Schwalbe Marathon kevlar tyres inflated to 80 plus PSI. The guy in Heathfield says 85 PSI, not more, not less and don't leave out in the sun - highly appropriate for this British summer.
Bought myself a decent pump with gauge at Canadian Tire while attending the local cruise night yesterday - T'birds, muscle cars, Corvettes, street rods plus old Brit sportcars even an original Lotus Elite.
I have been out for a road test this morning - everything OK after I decided to ride on the right side of the street. - in fact going better than ever with new Schwalbe Marathon kevlar tyres inflated to 80 plus PSI. The guy in Heathfield says 85 PSI, not more, not less and don't leave out in the sun - highly appropriate for this British summer.
Bought myself a decent pump with gauge at Canadian Tire while attending the local cruise night yesterday - T'birds, muscle cars, Corvettes, street rods plus old Brit sportcars even an original Lotus Elite.
Friday, August 15, 2003
Mother of all Blackouts
We've just got the power back on after 23 hours here in Toronto - the whole town has been hurting again. The air conditioning finally got the better of the power stations.
Ontario has been bribing the voters (with their own money) by keeping the price of juice artificially low - they tried to fix the market and the market fixed them! If you sell electricity for less than cost don't be surprised when demand outstrips supply.
Ontario has been bribing the voters (with their own money) by keeping the price of juice artificially low - they tried to fix the market and the market fixed them! If you sell electricity for less than cost don't be surprised when demand outstrips supply.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
A good day
By Brompton folding bicycle to downtown Toronto avoiding the roads - take the pavements along the Queensway and Parklawn to Humber Bay Park - join the Martin Goodman trail along the lakeshore in blazing sunshine, dawdling along about seventy minutes in all. Past the Exhibition Centre, the windmill, the Molson Amphitheatre and the CN Tower to meet the misses at Queen's Quay. A soda on the dockside before folding up the bike and taking a taxi home, after about a seven-mile ride. Building up gradually to a proper ride having tried a short trip to Dimpflmeier's bakery outlet earlier in the week. Still dreaming of the Georgian trail up on Lake Huron - could this be the week-end?
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Le Mans 2003
After planning to take the Smart car to France, possibly to Pau, I canned the whole idea and opted for the luxury of the Mercedes 'V' class of my friend Jack for the annual trip to Le Mans. Being a passenger has its attractions and I rode up front on the tour.
As has become the custom we packed an assortment of folding bikes for the trip anticipating a ride in the lanes of Normandy and trips from bar to track at the races.
I overnighted with Jack on the Wednesday and he took me for a spin in his Honda Insight, his hybrid electric daily-driver used for commuting from Sussex to Gatwick Airport. His Brompton folding bike rides in the back and he boards the Gatwick Express train for Victoria station and a short bike ride to the office in London. I was impressed by the lively performance and handling of the Honda which coupled with the economy makes it an ideal long distance commuter. The car is three years old with 72,500 miles on the clock and is the highest mileage example he has come across.
We arrived at Folkestone at 08:15 to a scramble at services with long queues - managed to grab an orange juice - and we reached Sangatte via the tunnel at 10:08. We stopped over at Abbeville for the plat du jour at the "C'est la Vie" Bar-Brasserie in the Rue Boucher de Perthes. Stuck in traffic approaching Rouen we take a deviation on the S2, slow moving as we approach the Seine crossing. Listening to Pat Metheny on the stereo in the 'V' Class.
We reach the camping municipal at Gacé late afternoon and I struggle to put up the Swiss 'Outwell' tent - it is easy when you know how. Time for a quick beer at the Bar de la Poste
"Chez Patricia" followed by Toulouse sausages and Cote du Rhône.
Next morning we pack up and Jack marshals us for a bike trip with modern Bromptons, a sixties Raleigh RSW16 and a "Bugatti Royal" Chinese folder. A circular route on rural roads is punctuated at the rural Hotel du Relais at St Evroult de Montfort. We all choose Orangina - it is too hot and we're too thirsty for alcohol. A long climb follows which sorts out the men from the boys.
We are back in Gacé for lunch - time for a quick beer at the L'Etoile d'Or where the classic car crowd are gathering with their expensive motors. Quickly on to the Restaurant Tahiti, an old favourite, for the set lunch. We sit outside this year and the cheeseboard and atmosphere is as good as ever.
We make good time to Guécelard south of Le Mans where friends have a campsite then on to our camping spot near the Porsche curves in the front garden of Monsieur Hamelin. Travelling via Arnage there are large crowds on the strip, some Brits making mischief squirting motorists with giant water pistols. We avoid the crowds by cycling to the Bar Restaurant "La Croix de Paris" - our old favourite the "Bar des Sports" has changed hands (and names) so it is time to move on.
Our new bar is by the level-crossing with two-car diesel SNCF trains zipping past and we are back there by bicycle for breakfast before eight o'clock and the boys help set up the tables on the pavement. A café grand crème is most welcome after a fitful night sleeping through fireworks and general partying.
After breakfast we cycle up to the office of the Automobile Club de L'Ouest to collect my membership card - we repair to the clubhouse to watch the Legends of Le Mans race - the weather has turned wet and a spell indoors is most welcome. Back outside and my bike punctures - it is a long walk back to the campsite. Thanks to the persistence of all concerned we mend four punctures - turns out I've been running the tyres drastically underinflated.
The weather turns hot and you cannot stay out in it for too long - the Bentley team starts to run away with the race, the only question being which of the two cars will reach the finish first. We all pile into the van for the evening at the Arnage Curves, the newbies among us are getting into the atmosphere.
Sunday we head for Mulsanne in scorching weather for lunch on the strip and a last look at the race - we head off around 15:30 the race already won by Bentley. A stop at Le Mele sur Sarthe is aborted as the Hotel de la Poste is closed. We press on to Brionne noting Police pulling over the race crowd on the N138. A check on our favourite pizza restaurant and it is booked out for a private party, we phone another place but no dice. After a very welcome shower Jack and I cycle into town and secure a table for nine at a creperie which turns out to be a very acceptable substitute and a fitting end to our French tour.
Next morning after coffee and croissants we head for Calais via the Pont de Brotonne, thereby avoiding Rouen - we have a salad lunch at Flunch in Cité Europe and head for the train back to Blighty.
As has become the custom we packed an assortment of folding bikes for the trip anticipating a ride in the lanes of Normandy and trips from bar to track at the races.
I overnighted with Jack on the Wednesday and he took me for a spin in his Honda Insight, his hybrid electric daily-driver used for commuting from Sussex to Gatwick Airport. His Brompton folding bike rides in the back and he boards the Gatwick Express train for Victoria station and a short bike ride to the office in London. I was impressed by the lively performance and handling of the Honda which coupled with the economy makes it an ideal long distance commuter. The car is three years old with 72,500 miles on the clock and is the highest mileage example he has come across.
We arrived at Folkestone at 08:15 to a scramble at services with long queues - managed to grab an orange juice - and we reached Sangatte via the tunnel at 10:08. We stopped over at Abbeville for the plat du jour at the "C'est la Vie" Bar-Brasserie in the Rue Boucher de Perthes. Stuck in traffic approaching Rouen we take a deviation on the S2, slow moving as we approach the Seine crossing. Listening to Pat Metheny on the stereo in the 'V' Class.
We reach the camping municipal at Gacé late afternoon and I struggle to put up the Swiss 'Outwell' tent - it is easy when you know how. Time for a quick beer at the Bar de la Poste
"Chez Patricia" followed by Toulouse sausages and Cote du Rhône.
Next morning we pack up and Jack marshals us for a bike trip with modern Bromptons, a sixties Raleigh RSW16 and a "Bugatti Royal" Chinese folder. A circular route on rural roads is punctuated at the rural Hotel du Relais at St Evroult de Montfort. We all choose Orangina - it is too hot and we're too thirsty for alcohol. A long climb follows which sorts out the men from the boys.
We are back in Gacé for lunch - time for a quick beer at the L'Etoile d'Or where the classic car crowd are gathering with their expensive motors. Quickly on to the Restaurant Tahiti, an old favourite, for the set lunch. We sit outside this year and the cheeseboard and atmosphere is as good as ever.
We make good time to Guécelard south of Le Mans where friends have a campsite then on to our camping spot near the Porsche curves in the front garden of Monsieur Hamelin. Travelling via Arnage there are large crowds on the strip, some Brits making mischief squirting motorists with giant water pistols. We avoid the crowds by cycling to the Bar Restaurant "La Croix de Paris" - our old favourite the "Bar des Sports" has changed hands (and names) so it is time to move on.
Our new bar is by the level-crossing with two-car diesel SNCF trains zipping past and we are back there by bicycle for breakfast before eight o'clock and the boys help set up the tables on the pavement. A café grand crème is most welcome after a fitful night sleeping through fireworks and general partying.
After breakfast we cycle up to the office of the Automobile Club de L'Ouest to collect my membership card - we repair to the clubhouse to watch the Legends of Le Mans race - the weather has turned wet and a spell indoors is most welcome. Back outside and my bike punctures - it is a long walk back to the campsite. Thanks to the persistence of all concerned we mend four punctures - turns out I've been running the tyres drastically underinflated.
The weather turns hot and you cannot stay out in it for too long - the Bentley team starts to run away with the race, the only question being which of the two cars will reach the finish first. We all pile into the van for the evening at the Arnage Curves, the newbies among us are getting into the atmosphere.
Sunday we head for Mulsanne in scorching weather for lunch on the strip and a last look at the race - we head off around 15:30 the race already won by Bentley. A stop at Le Mele sur Sarthe is aborted as the Hotel de la Poste is closed. We press on to Brionne noting Police pulling over the race crowd on the N138. A check on our favourite pizza restaurant and it is booked out for a private party, we phone another place but no dice. After a very welcome shower Jack and I cycle into town and secure a table for nine at a creperie which turns out to be a very acceptable substitute and a fitting end to our French tour.
Next morning after coffee and croissants we head for Calais via the Pont de Brotonne, thereby avoiding Rouen - we have a salad lunch at Flunch in Cité Europe and head for the train back to Blighty.
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