PART 5, Millau Bridge and home.

[Camping_Millau]

[Millau_Bridge]

[Fazer_MillauBridge]

A leisurely morning sees us packed and away, after a failed attempt at following Botts directions we find the sightseers road that runs up the valley to show off the bridge at a distance. It is indeed an amazing feat of engineering, they have every right to be proud of it, altho the toll to cross it was a bit upsetting compared to the usual Peage rates it must be said. The ride over is rather uninspiring unfortunately, it feeling just like any other bridge despite its height. No matter, we cruise on, heading south still. Originally we planned to make our way over to Fayance to meet up with Paul again, however his business itinerary meant that wouldn't work so we changed plans and set forth for Sete instead. Sete is a port area surounding the old town, but still manages to retain its character. We hit the TI again and they find us a local hotel with secure parking. Its a bit of a strange place but it has the basics, and its better than camping afterall.

[Sete_street]

[Sete_harbour]

We hit town for a few beers and a meal, its your typical place, loads of roadside bars and bistros surrounding the port areas, and narrow streets of markets and tourist shops behind it all. We eventually settle on one place and scoff a nice three course fish meal down. Even though its a cheap deal (relatively) its still decent grub. After a short discussion Jimmy decides to head over to his brothers in St Tropez the next day, leaving us to begin the return route north. And then there was three. We plan a rough route through the south, taking in as many interesting looking roads as we can with the time left.

Unfortunately, on the day, after getting away from the coast and its busy network of roads and traffic we get a couple of hours in and the TomTom decides to take us across what can only be described as a goat track that meanders directly across the hills rather than following the main roads around them. 32kms of tiny lanes, quaint three house villages, and sheer drops later we emerge on the road we wanted. Another set of snake like tarmac draped across a mountain. I described it as a ribbon dropped in an egg box, it seemed fitting at the time.

At the next stop Simons phone informs him that the wife is feeling ill and struggling with the kids, after a chat its decided we'd head north a day earlier than "planned" and see how things went. We got to Lyon that evening (the goat track costing us time) and pitched up at a Formula1 for the night. These things are very basic but offer an easy overnight crashpad for reasonable money. We find a steak house and stuff a superbly cooked steak frites down our hungry mouths then hit the sack for an early start.

Now, I never wanted to put in big miles on this trip, it was a week away with the lads, enjoying biking and what France has to offer, but my when Simon asked how we felt about getting a Ferry from Calais that same day I have to say I was intrigued by the challenge. The basics were, Lyon to Calais for mid/late afternoon, Ferry across, then slog through the UK and home that same night. We put the details into the TomTom. Clearly we had to use the superb French Peage network, E15 most of the way as some of you will know. 500 miles in France, then another 230 in the UK to get us back to Cheshire. In a day. On bikes. Gulp.

We leave Lyon about half seven in the am. after a short detour to fillup. We set the cruising pace at a safe but sensible 90 ish, I'm struggling with sidewinds on my bike but the other two appear comfortable so I press on. The hours flow by, the land flattens and becomes more and more uninteresting, fuel stops come and go. At the final stop before Calais we look at booking the ferry now that we know we'll make it, P&O being the nearest available one, half five crossing. We'll make it ok if we continue at the usual rate.

Upon arrival the nice French lass tells us its actually the half six thats been booked, there is no half five (ffs) but at least we'll have a breather. Simon talks us through his youth working on ships, he clearly enjoys his sea based working life, and various English chaps wander over to talk to us, the line for the boat is mostly filled with retired couples and similar coach trips and they all want to tell us about their biking youth. Its nice that people are happy to talk to bikers, they are a great talking point and I think everyone appreciates the freedom and peace biking can give a person. A coach just doesn't come close to showing you a country imo. The crossing is smooth and uneventful, apart from my pleasant experience with French waiting on staff crashing back to reality when I see an English barsterward being rude to a French woman who just wanted a simple coffee. We have a lot to learn on this island....

By the time we arrive at Dover it's already getting dark and Simon announces he forgot to pack his clear visor! We are forced to pit stop at the first services to get him some cheap (clear as poss) sunglasses! That sorted we hit the M20, slightly daunted by the 230miles ahead. Somewhere after the Dartford tunnel something happened that I still can't figure out. We managed to get onto the M25 but then before we were anywhere near the M1 we came off and got lost, ending up on the North Circular!! A slightly heated chat later we figure it best to find our way back to the M25 and work out what went wrong from there.... and we almost managed it too! Simon takes another odd turning and we hit some roundabouts again. I spotted a services sign and figured he was heading for fuel (trip was showing 100 miles so it made sense) only as we reached the services turn off he veered back up the slip and onto the M25, leaving myself and Costa with nowhere to go but the services! I won't pretend that didn't rile me somewhat so I parked up and let off some steam while Costa sucks a rollup down. I text Simon to tell him to find his own way, we'll have a break and make our own way seperately. The irony of 2000 miles in France and then getting split up in the UK is not lost on me.

Its now gone ten pm and we're still a looong way from home. And I'm getting tired now. Anyway, between myself and Costa we agree that if either of us wants to go on ahead its fine, no hard feelings etc We both just want to get home now. As it turns out we're quite happy sticking together till Corley services were we stop to stretch, neck a double Espresso (expresso according to the staffer at the services *gnnnn*) and I bid farewell to Costa. I've donned my thicker gloves, waterproof oversuit, and fleece neck thingy by now, sealing myself in a nice cocoon of warmth and comfort for the long night ahead. I settle into "minimum effort, maximum progress" mode and get my head down from there on in. I won't mention the pace but the bike is hugely impressive and traffic was light so some law bending is inevitable I guess. My tank gives me a normal range near 200 miles but at this pace its looking like it'll be gone by 160 and working out the distances left, I don't want another fuel stop at this point, I figure if I back off a tad I can make it home without stopping again.

The welcome signing for Sandbach/Congleton appears soon enough and I bimble onto the dark A roads heading home.. after the days sustained cruising speeds I find myself careering down this little A road rather too briskly for safety and have to snap myself out of it and back it all off to tartan speed. The embarassment of falling off at this point would be too much if nothing else. I roll into the drive about half one am. 750 miles in more or less one day. Not something I'm especially proud of but its an achievement I won't forget in a hurry. I stuff the bike in the garage, dump my clothes in the conservatory and fall into bed. A text comes through, Simons just made it home too. I'm asleep in seconds, tired but content.

I gave the bike a good wash and tidyup today. Its come through unscathed. Big bikes rule and thats a fact. :D

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