It truly is a beautiful day here in Britanny.

Harley and I have just over a hundred miles to ride to Roscoff and the ferry back to Plymouth and I intend to savour every moment if it! Beyond that there’s not much more to say. Once I’m back ill post some  details of mileage, number of passes etc.

For now, this is the front of the Chateau with the morning sun on it. My room front left with the window open!

Thank you all for riding along with us and thank you for the comments and emails, it’s good to know that you enjoy this little Blog of mine!

…and the future, well let’s just say that discussions have yet to begin! Also I haven’t really got anything much in mind, not that I’m going to admit anyway! Always open to sensible suggestions…., but that song, how does it go?

“This land was made for you and me……”

Pût être!

Dookes

‘Fraid I’ve gotta report that the dirty work continues…..

After a pretty reasonably hard day in the saddle, only 290 miles though, I just had to go check out the facilities at the latest hôtel.

Regretfully not as big as previous pools, but most acceptable after un jour a monté ma moto!

…oh yes i nearly forgot, air temperature at 17:30hrs was a mere thirty degrees Celcius! Life can be a b+++h!

As this is the last night of this trip and tradition is that we push the boat out a little on the last night, voici l’hôtel! Un petit château Bretagne!

The Dookes suite is on the second flood of the west wing, so it’s the open window at the top right. This is the back of the château, the view from the front window is this.

…and this.

Easy on the eye, eh?

With today’s mileage we are now just four miles short of two thousand since rolling of the ferry in Santander…and that seems a lifetime away! It’s sometimes hard for me to put trips into context whilst I am away, I need to sit down in the quiet, without the tinnitus singing in my ears and take it all in again. Sometimes I think what I ask that Harley of mine to do is bordering on the cruel, but she does it nonetheless. Looking back we have cruised Autoroutes, braved gravel roads in a desert, tackled sleet and snow in the Pyrenees, scraped pipes and gearbox on hairpins everywhere and crested the highest pass in the Alps! Not bad for a carburettor fitted bike that owes more of its design to the 1920’s than the 2000’s and a pilot that is definitely past his best!

And now I am doing what I enjoy, almost more than anything on my travels, sitting in the corner of a restaurant enjoying wonderful food and people watching. There is a noisy group of Belgian bankers on a golfing holiday, they were passing round the schnapps and now are boisterously happy, but their entrée has just arrived and they go quiet whilst they eat. To do anything else would insult the chef, and the food is too good! I am enjoying liver on crepes with a marmalade of onions de Roscoff. This is Britanny after all!

Across the room two elderly couples occupy a table, the men talk together as do the women, comfortable in their mutual presence but largely ignoring their spouses of goodness knows how many years. They order two bottles of wine and one of water, the men drink the wine and pass the water to their wives!

I finish my starter and after due polite pause waitress Ani collects my plate. “C’est bon?” “Oui, très, très bon!” In fact it was bloody great!

The bored couple on the adjacent table ask to sit outside, the Belgians are getting too noisy! I can’t understand why they need to move. He looks like Maurino, the Chelsea manager and sits reading a sailing magazine. She just stares vacantly at the ceiling, she looked ok by the pool, but seems to have chosen to wear old curtains to dinner….

My Magret du Canard arrives, first the duck breast still cooking on a hot stone over a spirit burner is delivered by Head Waitress Marie. Next le plat, dressed with sautée potatoes, lightly fried girolles and bâtonnets of yellow and green courgettes with carrot. I leave the duck breast to cook for a few minutes longer, turning it halfway. I like it rare but this might still have a pulse! Then I begin to enjoy….

This is seriously good food! The waitresses do not fuss around, but leave you to enjoy the food…they know it’s bloody good so why bother asking mere customers! The Belgians chatter excitedly, their guttural language making the waitresses giggle and the rest of the restaurant exasperated. Hell, this duck is fantastic and I’m not going to rush!

The head Belgian proposes a toast, the others all ignore him and keep talking and eating! Ani walks by and clocks that I have only one mouthful of wonderful duck left. All too soon it’s gone and Ani arrives to collect my empty plate and the cooking stone. “C’est bien aussi?” “Non, c’est ne pas bien, c’est le mieux!” No, it wasn’t just good, it was the best! And that’s true, I’ve eaten that dish all over France, even in its spiritual home of Mamande and trust me that was the best by a country mile, or kilometre as we are in France.

Désert is a lovely Bretagne Tarte Aux Pommes Fines, with a small scoop of liquorice ice cream.

The Belgians are now getting excited and declare that they will win the World Cup, oh Lordy here we go! Time to have coffee on the terrace and as special treat un petit Calvados…I’m gonna regret this in the morning, but hell we don’t celebrate riding 2000 miles every day!

The two elderly French couples join me outside and we talk of football and rugby. They know all about my Harley and I, seems that in the hotel we have become minor celebrities. Marie pops outside to check all is ok, I think she just wants to go home, but she insists on looking at some of my photos from the Alps.

Everyone drifts away, the Belgian noise drops to a murmur and I am left alone with just the sound of a thousand crickets chirping away. The warm evening is lulling me towards bed, or is it the calvados?

All I know is that I am, as les Français say, “Très Heureaux”, very happy. I am in a country that I really love, amongst people that I really like. All that is missing is Mrs Dookes, and she gave me permission to do it! “Merci beaucoup, mon amour, je t’aime!”

Let’s you and I go do one little bit more tomorrow, before we catch the ferry, it’ll be cool.

“So put me on a highway and show me a sign and take it to the limit, one more time…”

Dookes

“….one more time!”

Now it’s very hot again!

Well, 29 degrees is hot enough in black bike leathers!

Had a nice cruise from Vierzon to Chateaubriant, now we are officially in Brittany, just. Most of the way we have been on the Péage, which was delightfully empty, is super smooth and as nice a motorway as you can ever expect.

Before we left the ‘normal’ roads we passed through about 15 miles of delightful countryside and stereotypical French villages and I got me thinking. I mused how France is changing, not by much but a change is definitely occurring. I suppose that it’s just natural evolution, but these days perhaps it globalisation and a sign how the world is shrinking. Bearing in mind that over 90% of Les Français now live in towns and cities the swing is inevitable.

Some of the places that I venture to are still home to the group of old men who play boules in the centre of the village at the same time every week. The old women are still there sitting in doorways watching the world pass by their gaze and occasionally you’ll still see a labouring Citroën Deux Cheveux being used for goodness knows what sort of load carrying! But these sights are getting as rare as a wiff of Disque Blue cigarettes and the 2 CV these days is more likely to be a treasured classic only taken out on very special occasions!

That old France, if you like the stereotype, does still exist, you have to know where and how to look for it and like I said it is evolving.

The French are still a nation of values, family is still the most important thing and work is not to be the most defining thing in people’s lives. Sunday shopping is still very rare in France, not because the French don’t want it, more they don’t feel that they need it and identifying that is quite defining and what’s makes us Brits so different from our French cousins! You see the French view is that they don’t want to work on a Sunday, so why should anyone else have to just to pander to someone else’s whim to go shopping…there are after all six other days in the week!

Likewise, our French cousins take a two hour lunch break and so do the shops, same principle as Sunday my friends, the shops and most offices are however, often open to seven pm!

It’s also apparent in French politics, the people let the politicians have their head and then once they are fed up with them it’s death by ballot box, true democracy, none of your petty name calling like at Westminster!

Which makes me ponder further about the British relationship with Europe in general, would the British people really be worse off living life a bit more like our Continental cousins? Or is it that our political and economic powers are afraid of a six day week, real lunch breaks and a more laid back lifestyle…cos the people with the most money would end up making a bit less out of the labours of others?

Only this week has the Frence Government been forced to drop the idea of an Ecotax system using cameras to record vehicle license numbers on the motorways, the People simply set fire to the very expensive camera systems and good for them!

Now you see what France does, subtly it turns you socialist and in the best possible taste as well! As my French friends say “Plus ça change!”

Now back to the biking. Just had lunch in Chateaubriant which is a bustling town that I came through by accident some time back and now can hardly keep away from! This is the Chateau.

“Gotta ride, gotta run, gotta race from the devils gun!”

Dookes

The weather is nice again! It’s a really lovely morning here in the Berry Province of Mid-France.

I am currently enjoying a sumptuous petit dejurner at the chambres d’hôte. There are six different home made confitures, that Madame insists I try. Fresh crêpes, gâteau chocolat, melon, du pain, cheese, ham and of course croissants. All with bucket loads of strong coffee, excellent!…what is there not to like about this wonderful country and it’s people?

The view out of the window is not as spectacular as previous mornings, but it is very easy on the eye, and sunny!

We’ve got a fair distance to cover today, about 280 miles, to our Chateau in the heart of Britanny. So I’d better get on and tackle this petit dej, pack Harley and hit the road!

“Come on with me, tramps like us baby we were born to run!”

Dookes

After a restless hot night in Macon, we got rolling just after nine. Two miles later it started raining and pretty much followed us all day.

I must admit that following yesterday, I wasn’t complaining!

Now rain has three effects on a motorcyclist. Firstly you get wet, but wearing the right gear can solve that and today I had no problems, save for a slightly leaking boot which I knew was due for replacement anyway, my gear gets a good hammering! Secondly you can get cold, but cooler today was good, very, very good! Lastly there’s the effect of water on the road, in the form of spray, increased stopping distances and reduced grip.

Let’s talk about that last sentence then. With spray you just have to be a bit sensible and drop back giving other vehicles more space, this is also good because it gives you more stopping distance which you certainly need on a wet road. The right tyre certainly helps here and my new ones have impressed me greatly. I’ve looked long and hard for better tyres for Harley and now good old Dunlop have come up with the goods, a new sporty tyre specially for Harley Cruisers. These tyres are brilliant, usual disclaimer, and I am happy with them in general, but today they got a real testing and came through with flying colours. No I haven’t taken a photo of a tyre either, but believe me I’m very pleased with them!

We set out on the N79, but a bad accident right in front of us, about fifty miles from Macon, blocked the road. Sadly it was a fatal as well. Basically a Merc Sprinter van was doing what those guys do and tried one overtake too many, right into the path of a Portuguese articulated truck. There was only going to be one winner. I went to help the truck driver, whilst others tried to assist the van man. The Gendarmes, Fire and Ambulance all arrived, but interestingly the first emergency response was from the guys who sweep up…and that’s just what they did even before the Police had arrived! After forty minutes the ambulance crew gave up and left the firemen to extract the remains from the van. Traffic was well stacked up and the road covered in diesel oil. One of the Gendarmes told me to turn round and go as the road was going to be closed and I needn’t get trapped. This turned into a blessing as I was very near a part of France that I know quite well and was able to find my way by some lovely rural roads.

Grabbed a bite to eat in Moulins and rolled on through the Forêt de Troncais, which is one of those little French secrets that sees very few foreign visitors and the French that go there are the huntin’, shootin’ types, so I fit in quite well! The forest is largely beech, quite dense and lush…it’s also lovely and home to an incredible range of fauna, including Sanglier, wild boar. Didn’t see any of them today, so a picture of Etang du Troncais will have to do.

Staying tonight in a luxurious, honestly, Chambres d’Hotes near Vierzon. Very comfortable and with charming owners who cannot do enough to be of assistance. Lovely, as an old mate says!

“No I don’t give a damn ’bout my bad reputation!”

Dookes

As we descended from Col du Glandon, the temperature began to climb rapidly. You loose one degree for each 300 feet you ascend, so reverse the principle coming down, we started at over 6000 feet. In UK terms that’s twice the height of Snowdon the highest mountain in Wales, which is higher than anything in England as well, just for the record! We dropped down to less than 2000 feet and boy did it go hot, 34 degrees in La Chambre, where we fuelled and slotted onto the A43 Péage.

I ride in a flip face Schuberth C3 helmet and I toyed with the idea of rolling with the face shield in the raised position, but actually is was more comfortable shutting it all up and keeping the warm wind out. Traffic was light and we soon reached Chambery where we turned onto the D1504 and skirted Lac du Bourget.

It was getting hotter!

We crossed the gorge of the still young River Rhône, on it’s way from the glacier near the Furka Pass to its estuary in the Camargue.

At 13:30hrs we rolled into a place called Belley and blow me there was a McDo’s, as McDonalds are known in France. Now am I the only one to get it, Belley and McDo’s….! Oh well, such is irony…! Well anyway, all McDo’s in France are air conditioned, so one long cold drink and a salad later, I cooled down for an hour and did some Blog stuff for you folk!

When I walked back outside I melted!

The ride on to Macon was draining, the heat was relentless and there was no breeze. I tried going faster, no good. Slower, no good. Just gotta tough it out! Took on fuel about five miles from our destination, I always like to top up last thing so we are ready to kick off next day, and in rolled a Harley Sportster, ridden it turned out by a Portugese guy. We chewed the fat for ages in the shade if the petrol station canopy. He lived locally and had just popped out to fill up, funny how Harley’s always seem to get people talking. Finally we rolled into Macon at 17:00, it was still 32 degrees! The coolest place in town was by the River Saône, another mighty French waterway that merges into the Rhône at Lyon.So that was wrap up Day Seven, 204 miles for the day, 1505 so far for the trip.

“If this is hell, at least I’m enjoyin’ the ride!”

Dookes

Sunday morning marked the beginning of our last day in the Alps, at least for this adventure. The day dawned bright and clear, it was pretty obvious that this was going to be a scorcher!

I got Harley loaded and we were on the road by nine, heading up towards Col Du Lautaret was the first time I had ridden up here in the early part of the day and I was surprised how different it looked with the sun at a new angle. The glacier stood out particularly well.

Our first target was Col de la Croix de Fer, The Pass of the Iron Cross, 2067m, another legend amongst Tour de France climbs. From Lautaret we rolled down the valley to Bourg d’Oisins, where by 10:00hrs the temperature was already 24 degrees Celcius! The climb was nowhere near as spectacular as many of the others that we have enjoyed over the last few days. True the scenery is still pretty impressive, but in a greener, more gentle way as the road traverses the high alp. OK listen up people, a small geography lesson…yes I know, it’s a passion of mine. Now many folk think that the name The Alps refers to the mountains, that’s not true at all. The “Alp” is the name give to the high pastures that hang above the valleys and cling to the slopes of the mountains. Normally these pastures are only usable in the summer and the traditional way of farming in the past was for the farmer to move his animals and family to high chalets or huts on the alp for the summer months. Things have changed a fair bit nowadays, tractors and quad bikes have made commuting to the high pastures much easier so few make the summer move any more, which is a bit of a shame, but plus ça change! Now, back to the biking!

Near the summit we were privileged to see a group of vultures, wheeling on a thermal at the head of the Col. There are few of these mighty big birds left in the French Alps, modern regulations require farmers to remove dead stock promptly, so in some places ornithologist groups make it their mission to proved food for these impressive creatures. Judging by the  number of cars and vans parked up and people tooled up with telescopes, binoculars and long lens cameras I guessed that was just such an organised event. Sorry I haven’t got a photo for you, but the birds were a bit too far for my pocket camera to capture. The summit was pretty busy, it’s very popular for families as it is quite safe for children, no steep drops and there are a number of shallow lakes. The views are however quite magnificent!

The needle like peaks are Les Aiguilles D’Arves, the tallest one is 3510 metres high.

….and of course, La Croix de Fer itself!

We retraced our route by about a kilometre and turned right to top Col du Glandon, 1924m, the last of our Alpine Passes.

The road then headed downhill to the north and the Arc valley, where we would turn left on the Autoroute towards Chambery and our overnight stop in Macon on the banks of the River Saône.

As a last hurrah, it was brilliant…I scraped Harley’s low bits a few times on the delightful hairpins so much was I enjoying myself!

“Living after midnight, rockin’ till the dawn!”

Dookes

Descending from L’Iseran, Harley and I were in total harmony and very pleased withourselves! We stopped to grab a few photos and commiserate with a Dutch chap who’s BMW GS overheated. Yes, a BMW GS Overheated! Amazing! He was a really nice bloke who told me that he was on his way home from Morrocco and that the Beema had not been the same since getting back into Europe. I assured him that it was quite cold at the Col, with lots of snow so he would be ok to cool it down again! I hope he got on OK.

We dropped back into the Arc valley and enjoyed a lovely sprint to Modane where we fuelled. I briefly contemplated taking the Frejus Tunnel back to Briancon, but you folks know how much I hate tunnels….! So it was the long way round for us and another crossing of Galibier via Col du Télégraphe. Life can tough at times, Galibier again? Well OK, yes pleeeeeeese!

The Arc valley certainly has it’s moments, some parts are really nice, very chocolate box alp stuff. 

Whilst a little further along the road you’ll find a massive hydroelectric power station and the Autoroute feeding into Frejus Tunnel, its a little disconcerting.

Turning South at St. Michel de Maurienne, where those lovely Opinel knives come from, the drag up to Télégraphe begins pretty quickly. It’s mostly hemmed in by forest, views are restricted and the road surface varied between awful, under repair or very slippery! Take your pick, but hang on for grim death and don’t rush on them bends…anyway we survived! The view through the trees at the Col looked down into the valley, yes we were down there a few minutes ago!

The road then bumbles along to Valloire where the 18km drag to Galibier begins, except it’s anything but a drag! No, this is Galibier, the nearest thing you can get to heaven without actually driving off the edge and taking the short cut! We seemed to have found a nice gap in the thinning traffic, it was starting to get later in the day, and Harley and I settled into our stride and rhythm. Then we came round a bend and started to catch some traffic, but hey wait those two bikes up ahead are Harleys too, two up on each to boot! Harley and I slotted in behind and took up tail gunner duties. I switched on my video cam. What a noise those three bikes made as we thundered up the mountain! A couple of four wheel things momentarily got in the way, but we soon passed them…even more noise! That climb, with those two sisters of my Harley will remain with me for ever and if I ever meet with you, be prepared, I’m likely to bore you stupid talking about it!

At the top we made our introductions to each other. The bikes were ridden by two couples from Picardie in Northern France who were on holiday and on their way to Tuscany. Naturally we swapped Harley stories, agreed that our bikes were not the best for the mountains, but also agreed that we wouldn’t want to ride anything else!

Jean-Marc and Bob, Les Pilotes de Harley! Nice guys, living life the Harley way and new friends too boot!

We exchanged email addresses and I have promised to send them a copy of that video! I will certainly do that.

“The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive, everybody’s out on the road tonight, but there’s no place left to hide.”

Dookes

After surviving the divine madness that is Col de Mont Cenis and descending into the Lanslebourg valley, I turned Harley’s front wheel right and headed for the daddy of them all, Col De L’Iseran. At 2,770 metres (9,088 ft)) this is the highest paved pass in the Alps, it beats Stelvio by 13 metres, size does matter! It is situated in the department of Savoie and is crossed by the Wonderful D902. The pass is part of the Route des Grandes Alpes. It connects the valley of the Isère (Tarentaise) and the valley of the Arc River (Maurienne) between Val-d’Isère in the north and Bonneval-sur-Arc in the south.

Road conditions were excellent, dry, hot and with little traffic. I gave Harley her head once we had left the limits of Lanslebourg village. There is a great little climb up to Col de la Madeleine but the real work starts eight miles later at Bonneval where you exit the village on a gentle hairpin left and go straight up….and up…and up! It’s bloody fantastic and lasts for over 18 kilometres! There is every sort of bend that you can imagine, very little in the way of edge barriers and a straight down drop if you get it wrong! Last time I came up here we got caught in a thunderstorm, it’s waaaay back in the blog if you want to look for it. So this was our unfinished business….to see the place on a decent day, well actually to see it at all, cos last time I could see nothing! Et voilà! Le top! Did I tell you I love this bike? …..and these mountains! Barriers? On the way down we looked back on where we had been, you can just make out the road crossing halfway up the mountainside! Bends? Bien sûr, beaucoup des virages magnifiques!
… and you wonder why I get so knackered?!?!?!?

“I need a shot of salvation baby, once in a while!”

Dookes

OK, we did go to Italy….and then promptly jumped onto the road out!  That in itself is a bit of a shame, cos I really like the country and want to see more of it. It’s really a case of what is there not to like, the food is great, the coffee magic, the wine is very good and the women…well best stop there, but you get my drift? I had intended to visit the Hadrian Arch in Suza, but the weather was so nice I decided to conclude some unfinished business on a French mountain pass, but more of that later. The run from Briancon over Col Montgenevre was a lovely way to get going, hard climbing but sweeping bends and great views. It’s really funny how when you cross a border in Europe that things change so quickly, after all it’s really just a line on a map. Entering Italy was no different once we passed the redundant Customs Post. Everything just got suddenly crazy, but in a nice sort of way! There is no doubt that the Italians are bonkers drivers, I’m not sure that I’d call them dangerous, just eager to get there quickly! The only things that they seem to slow for are to ogle a beautiful car/motorbike or beautiful person! Traffic lights are always to be interpreted like the start of a Grand Prix at Monza, speed limits are negotiable and road markings purely for decoration. That said, it also appears that any demonstration of on road consideration/chivalry will probably get you invited back to dinner and certainly makes you a friend for life! They really are great people, I love ’em. The SS24 road to Suza was pretty busy and actually had me wishing I’d hopped on the Autostrada, but I hadn’t so had to put up,with it. I find that seeing road signs saying “Torino” always gets my pulse going as well, it’s like Europe’s own answer to the USA’s motor city, without Motown records! Today though, the big T was not on the agenda. Suza was crazy busy, so I put off the Roman Arch for another day and took the SS25 north back towards France and Col Du Mont Cenis. What a race track this road is! Imagine a cross between a hill climb track, the Italian Moto GP and the old Mille Miglia and you are probably pretty near to the reality. Some of the machines were definitely not burning ordinary petrol either, judging by how fast that we’re going and the strange smell left behind! I saw a couple of lovely café racers being ridden like they were stolen and just for once not many GS1200’s. There were loads of Triumphs, classic Bonnevilles none of your modern stuff either. The sun was out, so Ducatti’s were also to be seen and most amazing of all…Vespa scooters being ridden as hard as you like by sharp dressed Italian Mods! Fantastic! I just loved that twenty miles of total chaos, noise, excitement, exhaust fumes, heat, dust and above all mutual respect. Thank you Italy and Chao until next time.

“Sit tight, take hold, Thunder Road.”   Dookes