June 11 – 17, 2023

Sunday, June 11 (Day 82). After the Eiffel tower, Mont-Saint-Michel is the most visited site in France. As a child I recall being amazed by pictures of this place in National Geographic. Today, we made the short ride from Avranches to visit for ourselves. From any distance, from any angle, it is visually stunning.

The story goes that in the early 900’s the Bishop of Avranche had a vision. He dreamed of a church on what was then just a rocky outcrop. Clearly, people got on board with the idea. Over centuries they constructed the magnificent structures that are Mont-Saint-Michel today. As with so much of antiquity, it is  hard to fathom what they accomplished without modern tools.

After getting situated at the campground, we rode out to get a closer look. We quickly realized that while it is truly stunning from the outside, inside every square inch was given over to tourism and tourists. I understand it. I realize we were not “stuck in traffic” – we were  traffic. As evidenced by the pictures, we joined the throngs of selfie taking tourists. Still, we quickly tired of  shuffling along with the masses, shoulder to shoulder in the narrow streets. We didn’t stay long. 

Back in the campground, we started chatting with our neighbor. Mark was a week into a solo, month long journey around France. Given his current trip, it was no surprise to find that from their base near London, he and his family had seen quite a bit of the world. As usual, we enjoyed sharing stories about travel and just – life. We peppered him with questions about his homeland in anticipation of our visit. He graciously offered loads of useful info.

Monday, June 12 (Day 83). On this flat stretch of coast, the lines between ocean and land were a bit blurred. Sky and ocean were the same gray. With the tide out, water was barely visible across vast mudflats. It was hard to say where “ocean” began and land ended. Even the headwinds seemed equal parts air and water.

We made quick work of the thirty miles to Saint-Malo. The weather cleared slightly and revealed this to be a perfect place to spend our last day in France. We got settled at the city campground and went for a walk. We found World War fortifications, ancient castles, and beautiful harbors. Our exploration built a powerful thirst, and – what are the chances? – we found someone selling beer and cider. From our comfy perch at the Cafe Cancalais, we watch life pass by on the street and out in the harbor.  

Back in camp as the skyline disappeared in fog, Mark appeared out of the mist. He came bearing gifts of local fermented cider. What better excuse to stay up later than planned? We learned about house swapping, honeymoon hiking in Bolivia, and the story behind getting a £200/night penthouse suite in Japan for £20. Cheers Mark. Safe travels. Hope to see you in Flagstaff!

Tuesday, June 13 (Day 84). Saint Malo was founded in the 1st century by Celtic tribesmen. Then the Romans took their turn. Much later, it became the  famous (infamous?) home to a fleet of corsairs – the French King’s private pirates. These pirates preyed on commercial shipping and brought tremendous wealth into  Saint Malo. During WWII, allies believed the Nazis had stockpiled war material inside the city walls. Thus, eighty percent of the city was destroyed by aerial and naval bombardment. After the war, it was decided to meticulously rebuild the city as it had  been – in all its medieval glory. That is the city visitors see today…well almost. In addition to the expensive handbags, jewelry, and art similar to what may have been available 400 years ago, today you can also find all manner of cheesy tourist tat.

After a turn around the old city, we settled in at a prime stretch of beach. Until it was time to board the ferry, we people watched. We reminisced about our trip so far. We dared to think ahead to a time off the bikes. Finally it was time to leave. We found our place on board and watched as France faded from view. Au revoir France – it has been a pleasure getting to know you.  

Wednesday, June 14 (Day 85). We arrived in Portsmouth fully rested, ready to embrance another new country.

Since arriving, we’ve been almost  overwhelmed by friendly, helpful souls. The gentleman at the terminal entrance offered detailed route instructions. Minutes later a young lady, clearly on her way somewhere else, turned her bike around to make sure we knew where we were going. She arrived seconds before another gentleman asked if we needed guidance. Having won the right to assist by her earlier arrival, she went completely out of her way to lead us along slightly confusing bikepaths. Once we were in the clear, she wished us well and pedaled off. Another woman started chatting at a crosswalk. A lifetime ago she had cycle toured and was keen to share, and also learn about our trip. And so it went all day. Wonderful chats with random people whenever we stopped. We did not realize how much we’ve missed these interactions and conversations over the past three months. Except for a few notable exceptions, the language barrier has kept us rather isolated.

Mark had prepared us for camping in the UK. Still, it was a shock. Wild camping, while always possible, is not allowed. Campgrounds are fewer, farther between, and much more expensive than on the Continent. So while the campground outside of Winchester was very nice, 33£ for a patch of grass was a bit of a shock.

Thursday, June 15 (Day 86). Today we experienced the England TV shows and movies had prepared us to believe we would find.

Hills and headwinds made the ride today a challenge, especially to legs grown accustomed to the flat coast of northern France. We loved it. This country seems purpose built for cyclists. Beautiful countryside, streams, and charming villages were a joy to ride through. By far the highlight came later. Rupert and Rosie struck up a conversation while we were cooking dinner. Rupert had, among other things, cycle toured through the Himalayas and India. How is that even possible? He downplayed his epic trips with typical English understatement. Conversation wandered far and wide and too quickly time slipped away. As night settled they had a long walk home, and we needed to be off to bed.

Friday, June 16 (Day 87).

The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green; and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year; all things were glad and flourishing.

Charles Dickens – Oliver Twist

Mr. Dickens perfectly described this portion of southern England. Not surprising, given that he was born in Portsmouth where our journey began.

Our arrival here coincided with a heat wave. Because of the heat we’d both run out of water earlier. Passing through town, I happened upon Julian and inquired if he could spare some water for a thirsty cyclist. As he led me into his yard, he asked with a grin, “Fancy some gin?” Actually, no – but thanks for asking. Instead, he filled my bottle with ice cold water from his fridge. Perfection! He insisted I drink up, then refilled the bottle. Then, in addition to the gift of a nice chat, he sent me on my way with two bottles of beer. Thank you Julian!

Saturday, June 17 (Day 88). You may have heard of Oxford University? It’s this little school that’s been around officially since 1214 (although teaching began in 1096). Yes, you read that right. Over 800 years ago, scholars began gathering in this little English town to impart knowledge. Richard spent two hours sharing stories from the fascinating history surrounding this university. Events and characters include bishops being burned alive, Bloody Mary, Henry the 8th, King James of biblical fame, Lawrence of Arabia, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R Tolkien, English Prime Ministers, Einstein, and even Hogwarts. Over a pint at a 16th century pub, we decided to extend our stay. That allowed us to spend the afternoon wandering, gawking, and soaking in the ambience.

Thus ends another week “behind bars” filled with lovely people and places. We now face the daunting task of decided how best to fill our last two weeks. Check in next Sunday to see what we chose. Until then, STC!