Epilogue

It's been a week, I've caught up with all the necessary friends and family, I've posted the photos on facebook and I've been spending some quality time with the badger. It hasn't worked. She's still sulking, even after I gave her the present I bought her back, a red scarf with a bull on it all the way from Pamplona, she is now a Basque-spaniel albeit a grumpy one.
 It's a bit weird being back, I know wasn't away for 12 months or on the other side of the world or undertaking a perilous adventure but it was 23 days on my own in a van and that was perilous enough in itself. I've talked a lot, more than normal just because people can properly understand me and I can understand them, I thought my French was OK, not fluent by a long shot but good enough to get by until a waiter in Etretat dampened my enthusiasm, he said, "Please speak English, its easier for me to understand good English than bad French". I was deflated and he was under-tipped.
 I've realised that there are certain aspects of French culture that I really like, especially in the Basque regions, they fly flags, national and regional and don't care if it offends anyone, they put crosses and statues of Christ at road junctions and don't care if it offends anyone, they eat horse and frois gras and don't care if it offends anyone, they proudly bullfight and don't care if it offends anyone, they urinate in the street, smoke anywhere and guess what, they don't care if it offends anyone. I don't agree with all aspects of the culture especially the bullfighting but I love the fact that they do not care if it offends anyone, it is their home, their land, their culture and their traditions all of which they are fiercely proud of and will continue to celebrate without a care for any outside opinion and I really respect that.
 I like the Aire culture, I paid a total of 8 Euros and 50 cents in accommodation while I was away and that was by choice at a municipal site, the people I met were friendly, especially the Dutch and I was amazed at the respect for these sites, I know if you had a shower/toilet block open 24/7 in a car park on the edge of Bideford it would be awash with graffiti, criminal damage and drug users within hours and by no means am I saying that these things don't exist in France, they just seemed to be better hidden. I don't think that staying at Aires would necessarily be a good way for families to see France unless you have a big motorhome with a shower and a toilet, I seemed to be grabbing either wherever I could and you wouldn't want to know some of the stories !
 I covered a total of 2464 miles in the van and according to the app on my phone another 467 on the bike, I've got a nice tan, I returned without over or under spending, only two things broke the entire time, my phone charger and my bike lock and this is point where I have to praise the van. It's twenty years old, I bought it, ripped it to pieces, turned it into something ti was never meant to be and hacked it to Spain. It sat in traffic jams for over two hours in Biarittz in thirty plus degrees and didn't falter, I drove it over the Pyrenees at some nigh on impossible angles and it didn't bat an eyelid. I really could not think of a better vehicle for the budget and i would recommend a Granvia to anyone.
 Settling back in at home has mainly comprised of laundry and lots of it, well that and planning the next trip. Going away this summer has taught me a few things but probably the most important is that some things you day dream about are attainable without a massive budget, things aren't as far away as you think and depending on what your desires are you can bag more than one in a matter of weeks. I've drank Burgandy in Burgandy, Bordeaux in Bordeaux, Champagne in Champagne, eaten Rochefort in Rochefort, I've seen the D-Day beaches, Merville battery, the Lorient U-boat pens, Oradour-sur-glane, I've seen a top14 match and Toulouse play in Biarittz, I've revisited childhood memories on Jersey, I've had coffee with Hemingway and I've seen, done, tasted and listened to sights, sounds, foods, drinks and experiences I wasn't planning on and wasn't expecting all in the space of 23 days. It's amazing what you can achieve with a touch of resolve and an open mind. I'm glad I did it, I really am.

Next up, the Northern lights....the Arctic circle isn't that far away right ???

Oh and I saw some bridges, some really nice bridges.

22nd of August Dieppe to Northam via Newhaven

Turns out I did a bit of both, started watching 'Game of thrones' and fell asleep, I dozed for a couple of hours before my alarm went off at half 3, I gave the van the once over and headed across the roundabout to the ferry terminal, I checked in and parked up, there was little to do apart from try and grab another hours sleep. I woke again to the sound of engines being fired up and followed suit, the ferry was quite nice but leaving France was never going to allow me to enjoy the trip home.
 As the lights of Dieppe faded into the dark distance so did my willingness to stay awake. I slept for most of the journey and was startled awake by the captain doing what I can only describe as the nautical version of a handbrake turn to get us in the right place to enter the tiny harbour of Newhaven. What a dump, sorry if I offend anybody who may read this and may be from Newhaven but what an ugly place, I felt almost embarrassed that this was the first sight of the UK that some people will have, there was a literally one other ship there and it was being filled with scrap metal by a largish rusty crane that looked like it should make some sort of suicidal attempt to load itself on as the last of the payload.
 What followed was hell. A journey that the ever faithful - apart from that morning last week - satnav said would take a mere 5 hours, satnavs however have no awareness of what a bank holiday is nor what a demoralising, unkempt, idiot infested stretch of concrete the A303 is.
 7 and a half hours later I was pulling in to Mum's driveway, I opened the door and the badger was waiting, she jumped into my arms and sniffed and wiggled and licked for a good 5 minutes before putting on her best "you left me alone" face and retreating to the garden for a sulk.

That was it, adventure over.

21st of August, Etretat to Dieppe.

I was indeed up early and showered, almost feeling like a human being I cycled the 5 minutes into town, the market was in full flow half 8, lots of fresh fruit and veg, cooked and cured meats, bread and of course cheese, if the van hadn't only just returned to a somewhat normal, read combination of lived in by a bloke for 3 weeks and a handful of magic trees (not quite Paulie's magic forest but close) I would have been tempted to buy some more. I also saw a market stall that offer an answer to a question that had been bugging me, why do French men get their clothes ? Well now I know, I spent a full ten minutes looking around this rather large market stall and came to the conclusion that there was not a single item for sale that I would contemplate wearing if my life depended on it and I am by no means fashionable, the only comparison I can make and this will only make sense to a few readers, would be to an Asian run company called "Leisure lines" who used to frequent Holsworthy market on a Wednesday morning throughout the eighties and early nineties, for everybody else, it was just crap.

I returned to the van glad that not only had I visited Etretat but that I had plumped for the camp-site, I said goodbye to the French couple set up next to me and off I went. I wasn't expecting much from Dieppe, I knew the Aire was close to the ferry terminal so I wasn't counting on it being quaint, as I approached the town/city ? I topped up with cheap diesel in anticipation of my hack down the A303 tomorrow, I found the Aire with ease, it wasn't quite as bleak as anticipated and was literally 100 yards from the terminal, no chance of getting lost in the

morning ! I parked up, locked up and unstrapped the bike for my final cycle round the final stop of my tour, you cross back the other side of the harbour for the town and pebble beach of Dieppe, only a 5 minute ride and you are almost instantly met with quite how nice a place it is, not the industrial and harsh environment I was for some reason expecting, it was also really sunny, which helps.

I spent the day ambling around, taking in the sights, learning as much as I could about the place and people watching along the open plan seafront walled each end by high white cliffs, I can see why this was such a difficult place for the Canadians to attack in 1942 and why it was such an easy place to defend. There are memorials and Canadian flags everywhere, even now, a nice touch I think.

I ate this evening at a strange little bistro, the owner asked me before I ordered what my favourite part of the French cuisine was and without hesitation I said cheese ! He proposed that I had a dish that I can't pronounce let alone spell that was a sort of French twist on calzone using more like a bread than a pizza crust and stuffed with 4 French cheeses, a goats cheese of some description, Camembert, Brie and Rocheforte, it was amazing and washed down with a Leffe or two saw me content for the evening. I watched the sun go down across the sea towards Blighty and lingered for a while to take in the last sights and sounds as I made my way back through the town, as I rounded the corner to go back to the ferry side of the harbour it turned out that France had one more bridge surprise for me, the cantilever bridge was being raised to allow a couple of trawlers out, nice to watch the engineering in action, some massive hydraulic rams right there, even if I had to wait 20 minutes in the middle of the road.

So to the van and my evening writing session, Dieppe had been much nicer than I had given it credit for, maybe it's because I'm going home in the morning and it was more what it signified than the place itself but either way, I'm glad I spent the day here. It's now half ten and I have only one decision left to make, my ferry is at half 5 and you need to be booked in an hour and a half before it goes so I need to be up at half 3, should I have a snooze or see it through watching Game of thrones ?

20th of August Saint Sauveur to Etretat.

I'm very pleased about two things today. Firstly when I woke this morning, stowed the van and fired up the satnav everything worked, apart from the satnav. I kind of knew where I was heading and set out regardless, this included heading over a rather large suspension bridge (not quite as big as the St Naizarre bridge) I knew I was going to before I left because I could see it from the Aire, we all know by now that I like a good bridge and this one didn't disappoint, I smiled for the first time today. I successfully navigated the bridge, some motorway and some rather confusing triple roundabouts before finding the road to Etretat at the first time of asking. Upon arrival the Aire look pleasant enough but was right next door to the municipal camp site, seeing as this was to be my last full night in France I thought I'd treat myself for the princely sum of 8 euros I was not only given a pitch but electric and a shower ! God I've missed showers. It turns out that I made the choice at the right time, I was only gone for an hour on the bike and when I returned there was a sign to say the camp-site was full, I was tempted to have another shower to celebrate.

I know I said there were two reasons I was pleased with myself today, the first was getting here unaided and the second is choosing to come here in the first place, I'd never heard of Etretat before, it was merely a location in the green binder that was on the coast and in the direction of Dieppe. It is a lovely little seaside town with lots of shops, bars and restaurants as well as a pebble beach that is flanked by two large cliffs that have eroded to provide some quite spectacular viewing, so much so that Claude Monet painted scenes depicting both ends of the beach as he could decide which he liked best ! Coming to the end of Quartermaine I sat in the sun and watched the sailing school and the windsurfers before the local fishing boats returned. They are aluminium hulled small boats and when they returned to the beach they are simply winched up the pebble slope on pallets, spun round and left ready to head out again on the next tide, very simple but very efficient.

I enjoyed a meal out this evening and spent a while idly cycling around the town, this was a great way to bring my last full day to a close, I hear there's a market tomorrow morning so I must be up early for that and I'll need to have at least two showers before I make my way to Dieppe.

19th of August, Cormeilles to La Riviere St Sauveur.

It rained like hell during the night and the sound of the drops on the roof of the van reminded me of being a young boy under canvas in the scouts, it made last night feel like proper camping, like an adventure, it also mildly pissed me off because I was knackered.

Today I was to explore a stretch of the Normandy coastline I had been yearning to see for many years, in

particular 5 bays along a stretch of coast from Montebourg to Ouistreham or Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword as they would latter become know after their code-names used during Operation Overlord in 1944. That's right today was the day I get to see the D-day landing beaches, it may not be that big a deal for some people but for me it is an attainable bucket list tick.

I started with Gold, a beach stormed by the Americans, moved on to Juno, taken by the largely uncredited and under-strength Canadians, it turns out that Canada as a country is fiercely proud of this fact and the visitors centre is staffed by French speaking Canadians whom have to fight of tough opposition to earn a 12 month contract there, it is somewhat of a dream job for Canadian college leavers it appears. I followed up with a walk along Sword beach famously captured by the Brits, the weird bit is that on the surface these stretches of sand appear no different to any other, war memorial aside and ignore the odd tank or gun placement and you could easily be on Westward Ho! Beach, Saunton sands or Widemouth bay, the crux is you know they are different, you know that with each step you cover ground on which blood was spilled in part of the largest conflict the world has ever or hopefully will ever see. There is a deserved quiet about the beaches, I'm guessing, the by now grey, skies helped set the mood but the whole area gives off an aura of respectful pride.

I didn't make it further up the coast to Utah or Omaha because there was another site I wanted to visit before the day was done, if you don't know it let me tell you the story of Merville, I'll be as brief as I can.

Before the D-day landings the allies made other attempts on the Normandy coast but met with failure, the most notable being an attack on Dieppe, Dieppe is a high-walled harbour and at the time had artillery placements, many infantry encampments and both sea and air defences, a veritable fortress worthy of such an important sea way. It was attacked head on by landing craft manned with ill fated Canadians who where engaged and several boats were sunk before they even reached the harbour, the infantry and tank support due to meet them on the shore was delayed by other defences and those who made it ashore didn't last long. Many lives were lost and many lessons were learned.

Merville served as the artillery and anti-aircraft placement to defend Sword and Juno beaches from a similar attack from the allies, a plan was hatched for the battery at Merville to be rendered useless the day before the D-day landings and 9 Para were deemed the boys to get the job done. The 9th parachute regiment formed part of the 6th airborne brigade and some 700 men were dispatched in Dakota twin prop planes (they have a Dakota at the memorial with "SNAFU squadron " on the nose and it occurred to me how many of the people that see that know what it means ?!) to drop over Caen and take the battery overnight. Unfortunately due to adverse wind and the need to avoid anti-aircraft fire the 700 men were scattered over a 40 mile radius, sadly many of them died in purposely flooded fields, drowning after being weighed done by their kit and many were captured, only 100 made it to the rendezvous point at the allotted time, the young officer in charge did what anybody would do, he waited 15 minutes. In that time another 50 men arrived.

Merville battery was heavily guarded, over 150 German soldiers were entrenched in concrete bunkers with machine guns, mortars and hidden behind steel doors and feet of concrete walls.

The Paras pressed on, determined to finish the job, they crossed razor wire perimeter fences and mine fields to take on the Germans, it was all over by 3am. Of the 150 Paras a further 75 were killed or seriously injured but of the 150 Germans only 20 remained alive to surrender. Against the odds, job done.

They say that for every life lost at Dieppe 10 were saved during the D-day landings thanks to the lessons learned and implemented in no small part by the men of 9 Para at Merville.

As I walked around the battery site and along the sandy stretches that were once battle fields it struck me that I was proud to have come here and that when people talk of these places in the future I will be proud to say then that I have been there and paid my respects.

18th of August, Giffaumont to Cormeilles.

That's a long way by the way and en route I bested both Paris and Rouen, two cities with formidable reputations for driving conditions albeit I missed out the Champs Elyesse and going round L'arc de Triomphe but hey, it was still brave/stupid either way. I covered around 350 miles today and as much as I am acclimatised to driving on the right it still takes more energy than you'd think. Basically I've set myself up for a couple of days taking in the Northern coast of France and seeing what Normandy has to offer before spending my last night in Dieppe in a 3 days time.

Today's entry is short because I'm tired.

17th of August Saint Pourcain to Giffaumont.

I had paid a price for loitering in the Limousin region for a few days just to catch a rugby game, I needed to press North if I were to have any time exploring the coastline of Normandy before my shortened tour come to an end, so that's what I did, through the Bourgogne and into Champagne country, the day bought me my first affirmation that the stereotypical French roads you see on TV do exist, arrow straight, tree lined and surrounded by rolling open fields filled with grape vines, every couple of kilometres a stall by the side of the road selling local produce.

It was very soothing country to drive through and brought to bear a couple of names that even a wine novice like my self recognised as I drove through, Burgundy, Chablis and various Champagne houses, the only slight issue was that despite all this wine to drink there didn't seem to be an abundance for the van to drink ! I was actually getting a bit worried I was going to pay the price for slow and scenic over motorways with service stations, I was eventually saved by a small Total garage on the edge of a small village just as the fuel light had come on ! I did make one slight detour from the route but it was to take a look at the motor racing circuit at Magny-cours, probably France's third circuit behind Paul Ricard and obviously Le Mans, it was rumoured to have never been liked by most of the F1 world because of its remote location but it still hosted the French grand prix throughout my childhood, from 1991 to 2008 and saw amongst other events, Prost's last win on home soil, multiple wins for both Schumachers, Frentzen and even some Brits in the shape of Coulthard, Hill and Mansell before them. During the 1960's it was the home of the French motor racing school and produced such talents as Francois Cevert whom was hand picked by reigning world champion Jackie Stewart to succeed him at Brabham, tragically Cevert died at Watkins Glen in the States before the world ever got to see even a glimmer of his potential and Steward retired then and there, mid-season, never to race in F1 again. As such a massive fan of motor sport I couldn't miss the chance to see such an iconic track.

When I arrived at Giffaumont I knew I was to parking up lake-side but not quite a lake of this scale, I am now up directly East of Paris and the famous river Seine runs into this lake and out the other side and it is massive, hence the name, Le grande lac Seine. The lake has a circumference of 20 miles and has a hard paved path all the way around it giving access to all the small "resorts" that are dotted around it as well as sailing schools, water sports centres, bird watching hides and of course the natural beauty of the place. It was now 5pm and after a day being sat down behind the wheel I though what could be better that a little bike ride, so I did the whole thing in 90 mins, not bad for a fat lad and there was a head wind the whole way (yeah I know, made no sense to me either) all I know is I should sleep well tonight, even if there is a touch of a whiff of cheese about the van still !

Oh and I saw a bridge, in Auxerre a small but very nice Brunel-esque railway bridge that had been converted for road use, lots of iron riveted together with rivets as big as your fist, great stuff (in my best James May voice).

15th August, Oradour-sur-glane to Felletin.

I wanted to find somewhere fairly close to Clermont-Ferrand and a sift through the book of Aires offered Felletin, looked nice enough and a touch over an hour from Clermont, perfect, I arrived around lunch time, parked up in a very pleasant looking car park complete with toilet and free drinking water tap and mooched into the small town centre. It was market day, perfect, my lunchtime appetite would be quelled by various fresh breads, cured hams, sausages, relishes and pickles all locally produced and of course cheese, oh my God the cheese, on one stall alone an offering of 20 or so, it seemed rude not to try a few before plumping for my favourite then off to the next vendor. I collected my wares that not only would see off lunch but also tea and probably both meals tomorrow and sat a large table in the public square, there were about 10 people sat around it but it had room for as many more and they made me welcome. I sat and ate lunch in the pleasant sun and marvelled at the market around me. After the main course I headed to one trader who was selling a variety of dried fruits, the usual raisins, sultanas, pineapple, apricots ect but they had one thing I'd not seen before, chunks of dried melon, I was intrigued and bought a handful, good stuff, I was pleased with my choice of dessert.

I spent most of the day sitting in the sun reading, War of the world's long since dispatched to be replaced by Allan Quartermaine, the day rather drifted by me which was nice, my only real concern being how to stop the van smelling of ripe cheese but then again, why would I want to ? I feel very relaxed today and my surroundings and fortuitous choice of destination have only served to promote this feeling, people describe some small towns as sleepy, this one was and so was I, too much food at lunchtime saw me take a little nap in my chair by the van. When I woke I woke with a grin on my face, today has been a slow-paced but good day with nothing more remarkable to write about than the fact that the van really does smell of cheese.

16th of August Felletin to Saint Pourcain via Clermont Ferrand

I was up early, the morning was fresh and the cold water I washed with really sharpened me up. It was time to drive to Clermont for today the Top14 season started and Clermont played host to Grenoble, the hours or so drive in was pleasant enough and the sun was making an appearance already, it generally seems a little shy in the mornings.

On the way I found myself a little taken aback at the scenery today, it would appear that to get to the Rugby I would in fact be driving through a range of, not mountains but Volcanoes, wasn't expecting that !

I found a place to park for free less than half a mile from the stadium an wandered off to buy a ticket, this was my first Top14 game and I was excited ! The stadium was great and the atmosphere was that only provided by passionate sports fans on the first day back after the off season. Fofana, Parra, Rougerie and Bonnaire all played as did Abendanon on his debut after a move from Bath but the Fox did not, Jonathon Davies one of the latest Welsh imports to France has not fully recovered from the shoulder injury sustained playing for Wales against South Africa, another game I was in attendance. Clermont showed true class at times and their supporters are fanatical to say the very least, Grenoble put up a good fight, better than I expected but were found wanting.

After a drama-free escape from the metropolis that is Clermont I found my way with ease to Saint Pourcain, I learned quickly (mainly due to the massive amount of posters) that the Tour de France passes through the town, they seemed very proud ! The Aire was busy (50+) but quiet and I managed to bag a spot on the river bank and very pretty it was too. After a mild argument with a French neighbour who was questioning if my van was a "camping car"  as it had no toilet and therefore shouldn't be allowed on the Aire, I think he was just jealous of my pitch. I soon learned that good body language and a well executed glare car transcend any language barrier, his wife ushered him back in to their van and shot me a nervous smile. That was the first bit of negativity I've had from anyone in over two weeks and it annoyed me, I've had such a great day and I've had such a great time touring round, I'm determined not to let the little Frenchman rattle my cage. So I did the sensible thing and went for a bike ride, it was dark by the time I returned and there were no lights on in his van so tears before bedtime after all.

14th August, Uzerche to Oradour -sur- Glane.

Thus far I have tried to be mildly entertaining, witty, observational and light hearted. Today has forced to abandon all the former aspects of my writing. I don't know the best way to do this so I'm just going to go for it, cold hard facts.

Oradour is a small village just West of Limoges in the heart of the Limousin region, in 1944 it had population of a

little over a thousand, most of whom lived in the out-laying areas and only around 400 actually lived in the village. In the early months of 1944 high ranking officers of the Nazi special branch, the SS had taken up office in Limoges, their task to put an end to resistance fighting in the region and quash believe in the cause. It was on this basis and this alone that the following took place.

June 10th 1944 saw Ordour busier that normal, a couple of local schools had closed, swelling the infant school and the all girl primary school beyond capacity and the monthly supply of tobacco rations had arrived bring men from the far reaches of the village into its heart. Armed with this knowledge the SS struck. They arrived at lunch time and quickly surrounded the village, by 3pm they had rounded up all inhabitants of the village and separated them into 5 groups, 4 consisting of men and one large group consisting of women and children, the latter were taken to the church. The four groups of men were moved to various sites across the village and upon the signal from the SS captain in charge, shot, all 250 of them. Of the 200 women and 200 children in the church, one escaped, the rest were forced to stay in the church while the SS soldiers set it on fire, anybody who attempted to leave via the large doors was shot.

The SS soldiers then rounded up all the bodies of the men and burned them before burying them in a mass grave, the same burial that met the remains of the women and children, thus leaving almost everyone unidentifiable.

The town was then scorched and in part exploded before being abandoned by the troops.

A total of 642 people lost their lives that day.

General Charles de Gaulle ordered that the village be left undisturbed and unrestored and in the condition that the SS left it in 1944 so that future generations could experience the devastation.

Today I have seen war damaged buildings, I have seen cars left to rot in garages, no longer tended by their owners, I have seen sewing machines still on kitchen tables and I have seen the gut -wrenching ruins of a school. Today I have stood where innocent men my own age were gunned down and I have stood in the remains of a church where 450 women and children were burned alive all some 70 years previous. They say that war is hell but this is evidence of a new level of hell, wars are fought by soldiers and these were not soldiers, this was slaughter.

I stood in the memorial and looked at the marble walls, each one adorned with the name and ages of each person who lost their life that day. I made a point of reading each one. The youngest was 8 days old.

13th of August, Vers to Uzerche.

My first job this morning was to make use of the shower, so freshly washed and shaved I felt prepared for the 2 and a half hour drive that would see me leaving the midi-Pyrenees and firmly entering the Limousin region of France and a picturesque little town called Uzerche, a medieval town with many complete buildings at the heart of the community. I took some photos while trying my hardest not to look too much like a stereotypical tourist and I set out exploring the old train line, the Aire as per yesterday is the car park of the old train station although not quite as pretty it did have a toilet block ! Running close with Biarritz this is the busiest Aire I have stayed at to date, by the evening it was full with over 30 motor homes. Anyway the disused railway track had been converted to a cycle way not dissimilar to the Tarka trail and ran parallel with the river, there was a handy 25km circuit that proved to be very scenic as well as allowing me to watch some kayakers/canoeists to navigate a slalom course close to a weare.

By the time I had got back to the van it had been flanked by two Dutch vans, I seem to be seeing a lot of Dutch people and I have to say that the more I see the more convinced I am that they are the friendliest nationality on the planet.

As the evening drew on I headed in to the town centre, there was live music at one bar so I stopped, as I did so did they, although only for a break. Unusually for me I was wearing a rugby shirt this evening, an Exeter Chiefs one to be precise and the bar owner struck up conversation with me, it appears that there are three things that the people of Uzerche are fiercely proud of, in ascending order.....their lovely medieval town, their heavy involvement in the French resistance and during WW2 and most of all their 101 year old rugby club, who I'm told famously in the 1970's beat Clermont in a cup game. I explained that Llanelli Scarlets, the team I support, beat the All Blacks 50 years ago and it is still commemorated with a regional holiday in West Wales. The bar owner was convinced his story was better, as he had bought the beer I didn't want to contest it too much !

I got back to the van quite early this evening as I have something quite important to do tomorrow, I was advised to visit my next stop by my boss although at the time of writing this he is now my former boss, I'm heading to Oradour -sur-glane the site of a WW2 atrocity and I want to to be fully focussed and prepared for what lays ahead.

12th of August, Barbotan Les Thermes to Vers vis Cahors.

I had a bit of a lay in today, didn't get up til gone 9 and it was half ten before the van was stowed and I'd done a lap of the town on the bike to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I hadn't.

It occurred to me as I trundled North East that I hadn't happened upon an interesting bridge in a while and that made me a little sad.

Cahors is a lovely town/city or certainly appears to be, I saw a couple of novelties on my cytour (a new word I'm coining to describe touring a location whilst on a bike) firstly that strung through the main streets of Cahors is a high ropes course, fixed between lamp posts and the tress that line the roads, you can even buy a lofted guided tour. Secondly Cahors is miles from the coast, barely out of the foothills of the Pyrenees and extremely central, it does however have a large river running right through it (with an old and pretty albeit boring bridge) so a local entrepreneur has decided to create a beach only the riverside, importing sand and laying out sun beds, very clever. I greatly enjoyed my short stint in Cahors but I needed to press on.

The route to my overnight stop in Vers ran parallel with the river and slowly made its way towards the head shed of the watercourse. Upon arrival I was immeasurably pleased with the Aire, a grassy, park-like area with not only a toilet but what heaven is this ? a serviceable shower ! I cooked myself a decent lunch, following my own advice from yesterday's downtrodden mood and set about exploring Vers, there isn't a lot of it but what there is needed to be seen. Some amazing views up and down stream, high rock faces that edges the valley carved by the river over centuries stood like impending bookends, a river at the base so clear it puts glass to shame and yet another disproportionately large church. The French do appear to love a big church !

The Aire was, upon further investigation, part of the grounds of the old railway station, the station itself having now been converted into a quirky but very desirable house. The tracks are still laid and not altogether overgrown, I'm not sure when or why they closed the line but as there is only one road along this valley floor it must have dealt quite an economic blow to Vers and almost doesn't make sense. Sightseeing aside there isn't a lot here any more, there are several closed businesses and a couple of others who appear to be struggling, it would be a shame to see this place collapse but it would be even more of a shame, I think, to let it become commercialised.

On a completely different note the van has developed a squeaky brake pedal, I've dosed everything in WD40 and left it soak, I went in search of some free WiFi to poach as I'd been out of contact with the great wide world

for a few days and to my great sadness I learned that Robin Williams has taken his own life. The class clown, the mimic, the frustrated genius both comic and observational, the depressive, the alcoholic, the drug user, the boy who refused to grow up, the sole reason I know where Boulder is, the sole reason I watched a Disney film on my own, the sole reason I understood divorce and visitation rights from a view point other than my own, the sole reason I'm glad we don't have to have 35mm film developed any more and the sole reason I have listened to Martha Reeves and the Beach boys in a 90 minute period and above all a man I could relate to on so many levels, an inspiration, an icon and a man that will be sorely missed by so many.

O Captain, my Captain.

11th of August, Arette Pierre Saint Martin to Barbotan Les Thermes via Pau.

Leaving Saint Martin was actually rather hard, I filled my washing up bowl full of cold Pyrenees water and had a good wash before I packed up the bed and set off, the views to be had on the descent of the French side of the mountains had to be said weren't quite as good and in parts obscured by cloud, I initially headed for Pau, a small city that had been described as an interesting historical town with a chateaux. I arrived after a mundane drive, parked up and hopped on the bike for the customary reconnoitre. I was back at the van within an hour, I found the place dull, dirty and totally uninviting, obviously I hadn't seen all of it but I hadn't got this impression before, not even of the car park at La Rochelle so I followed my instincts and hit the road again, this time headed towards Barbotan.

Barbotan Les Thermes, as its full name would suggest is a spa town and a quaint little one at that, the Aire was pleasant, the small "high street" was full of local produce shops and brasseries and towards the lower end of the town stood and impressively large church for the populous, a medieval gate and a extremely well manicured park. For a 33 year old bloke I've spent a lot of time commenting on parks or sitting outside people watching or reading in the sun (I've done most of war of the world's now) I guess this pace of life just infects you, I'm not saying the French are lazy but it would appear that today only half the businesses in town have bothered to open and everybody is in the park, snoozing on benches.

today hasn't been rip roaring, I'm surmising that the combination of the last two days being a sensory overload, the lack of regular proper meals, sleeping in the van and the heat have meant that there were always going to be low spots, I think today was destined to fail but I was always prepared to sacrifice a day or two in three and a bit weeks to the gods of meh.

A nice spell in the public baths and the steam rooms of this historical town would do me good, closed you say, thought so. Only one thing left to do.....un biere si vous plait.

10th of August, Pamplona to Arette Pierre Saint Martin.

After striking a "Bucket list" item off the schedule yesterday I became determined that the way home wasn't an anti-climax or simply the drive home. Nothing could have been further from that notion with what unfolded in front of me today.

N135/N137 the map calls it, the sign posts say Pamplona to Francia. The locals call it the Navarra pass. What it is in fact is a ribbon of high quality asphalt that drapes itself over some of the most breath taking and awe inspiring scenery I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. The road, if such a simple term does it justice, runs over the

Pyrenees and through the heart of the Navarra national park, mountains, valleys, rivers, waterfalls and forests stretching to the horizon that only serves to underline the brightest blue sky you have ever seen, are around every corner and corners there are a plenty. I'm not good enough at this to begin to describe the natural beauty of this place but I will try and describe the man made beauty that is the road. It twists and turns like an unspooled tape from a cassette reel, reminiscent of the Stelvio pass of James Bond and "Italian job" fame couple with the wild imagination of a 10 year old with access to unlimited Scalextric track. The inclines can seem ludicrous and the degree of the hairpins incredible, what I wouldn't have given to be in an E-type, a Daytona or other exotica, as it happened the van did just fine, you can't make a cup of coffee to stop and admire the view in a 1960's Ferrari.

I took nearly 3 hours to cover 70 miles and when I arrived at Saint Martin I found to to be, well, a ghost town. Saint Martin is a notable ski resort barely a mile inside the French boarder how ever as we all know it is smack bang in the middle summer and there is no snow, I don't mean not enough to ski on but none whatsoever. As a result the whole resort is completely empty, devoid of all life except for me and some goats with bells around their necks. I had a good explore of the complex in all its eighties glory and it really is empty although I did find the occasional light on, the place exuded an atmosphere that made it almost eerie, kind of like the Overlook hotel in the Shining only in reverse. As there was little to amuse me except the view I took it upon myself to try and find the best vantage point.....by climbing, OK, walking up one of the ski slopes under the shut down chair lift, it was hard work but worth it.

By the time I had got back to the van a couple of other motorhomes had arrived but only for lunch apparently, they hung around for a while but I was getting the impression by the time the last one left that they knew more about this place than I did. I left Pamplona without restocking my fresh food, eager to get some miles under me and convinced I'd pass something on the way, that was a mistake, no shops and nothing else even remotely open I had to rely upon my secret stash, I took the camping stove and gas bottle up to the balcony of what once appeared to be a very swanky apres ski lodge and cooked my super noodles like a king, a lonely king but a king none the less. They were OK, not really chicken flavoured as the packet suggested but OK. I packed up my kit and headed back to the van, smug that I'd made the best of a scenic but bad situation. And then it came. Fog. Like you'd never seen before, I'm not even sure it wasn't cloud but within minutes I could see no more than 2 foot in front of me. Remote deserted ski resort, fog and already a thought of a Stephen King story in my head, what was I to do ? Climb in the van, lock the doors and watch Xmen (thanks MBK) and hope that a clown didn't come and kill me to complete the hat-trick. I wasn't scared, honest. I got into bed with the sound of goat bells doing nothing to ease the tension.

I've just remembered the bar man in the golden room of the Overlook hotel was called Lloyd.