Real world rides, real world riders

Ooh la Loire

Nik nudged me awake. ”Is it time to get up yet?” I reached over for my phone, 4.10am. ”We’ve got half an hour yet,” I replied as I snuggled back into the warmth of my duvet.

Suddenly my eyes sprang open and obscenities sprung from my mouth: “I’ve set the alarm an hour late, we’ve got 30 minutes to get to the tunnel!”

We threw our clothes on, hastily strapped way too much luggage to our bikes and belted through Folkestone to the channel tunnel booking-in booths – we arrived with a full 30 seconds to spare. Unlike the ferry terminal, there was no one around, everything was automated and computers can be very unforgiving if you’re late. The machine wouldn’t recognise the card I booked with so I punched our booking numbers into the screen, it printed off our boarding passes, opened the barrier and let us through. A mere 90 minutes after jumping out of bed we were on French roads and heading for the first place serving strong coffee.

It wasn’t the first time we’ve ridden in France, but it was the first time on the train rather than the ferry as we tend to go with the cheapest option – hence the ridiculously early start. Last time we were here I was riding a Suzuki GSX650F which has now gone to bike heaven due to a SMIDSY (as in Sorry mate... etc). Now, we both ride matching BMW F800STs (not chosen to be matching, I have to say), both fitted with cavernous Italian top boxes, German back seat luggage and tank bags.

Nik also has a set of BMW sport panniers, so we had enough luggage to embarrass someone circumnavigating the globe but were actually just visiting the Loire for a few days.

We asked the GPS to plot a route to Rouen avoiding all the toll roads – save the euros for beer! French roads could have been built with bikes in mind; they twist and wind through the countryside, have way fewer cars than at home and speed limits of 90-110kph, (56-68mph) of which the GPS conveniently kept us informed. What’s surprising is how easy it is to ride on the right (wrong) side of the road – I found the dangerous times were on roads too narrow for a central white line, and when setting off first thing in the morning. Other bikers of all nationalities seemed very friendly – there’s no nod here, as your left hand is in the middle of the road it’s more of a casual point – maybe it was the sunshine, but everyone returned my point.

We found the hotel in Rouen, on a one-way system tucked down a side road, so we missed it on the first approach, but on the second lap managed to pull in. There was nowhere to park, so we left the bikes right outside reception. When we asked where we could park we were told they were fine there – in France, the bike is king. It had taken us less than four hours’ relaxed riding from Calais to Rouen, and at these speeds the F800STs gave well over 60mpg.

Rouen is a very medieval looking town, with miles of narrow cobbled streets lined with unusual and interesting shops. If you glance up above the shop fronts you can see all the original upper floors of the buildings. You half expect a ‘look out below’ followed by a soaking by authentic medieval slops.

One of the highlights of the trip for me was a visit to the little village of Giverny, the home of the artist Claude Monet. His house is an incredibly popular tourist attraction, but the real draw is the gardens, full of tulips and late spring flowers when we went. They were the inspiration for many of his paintings and are still immaculately kept. Giverny is only an hour from Rouen and well worth the ride.

We had picked the city of Tours as our base in the Loire valley, and had a fiendish plan to cut our hotel costs. We converted supermarket rewards to airmiles and these to hotel stays, but this meant we could only find cheapish hotels in the larger cities. With the airmiles we added about £40 a night for a decent hotel with a cooked breakfast – without the airmiles it would have been budget accommodation at around £30 a night.

Tours is a busy city, and the hotel we’d picked was right in the middle, sandwiched between the train station and the bus terminal. We bumped the bikes onto the pavement and I went off to book us in. I have a failed CSE in French but fortunately the staff of the hotel hadn’t failed their English classes. It turned out we needed a token to book in, which we didn’t have – I sent Nik in to sort it out while I thought about whether the bus or the train station would have the most comfortable benches to sleep on. Fortunately it didn’t come to that and we were allowed in. Parking was in an underground car park at eight euros a night – each! We chanced parking the bikes on the pavement against the hotel wall instead, and again we got away with it.

We spent the next few days riding out to the towns and villages of the Loire, but there are so many beautiful castles or chateaux along the way that often we were heading for one place and ended up stopping somewhere completely different. The only problem with arriving by bike, joyful though the ride there is, is what to do with all the gear. It was always a bit of a drag removing everything at each place, stashing it around the bikes, walking around for an hour or two, then having to put it all back on again, but with my SMIDSY accident so fresh in my mind I wouldn’t risk riding without every inch of me covered in leather or Kevlar. I promised myself some
more comfortable and stylish gear before the next trip abroad.

Orleans, a big city full of old streets and interesting shops, but don’t arrive at lunchtime, when French shops close… for lunch. For some reason, I couldn’t get 1980s band OMD out of my head. Amboise, a beautiful castle above a lovely little town, is well worth a visit. I managed to con the ticket seller into thinking I spoke French, which worked well until she fired a load of French back at me and I just stood there like a fool. She only wanted to know if I wanted a French guide book.
The final leg of our trip took us to Lille, mainly because we’d never been and it’s near Belgium so we could stock up on cheap tobacco. It’s a long run from Tours, about seven hours avoiding the toll roads, it includes a ride around the Paris ring road, which is fun in an M25 sort of way.

We enjoyed the evening cafe culture in Lille, but nearly died of shock when we realised they wanted eight euros for one small glass of beer. A special price for the tourist? It was funny to watch the bikes and scooters zipping over the pedestrian precincts, parking directly outside the shop or bar they wanted. We’d come in on one bike, with me the designated rider, and that native insouciance, I’d cautiously selected a wide bit of pavement just outside the centre as my parking bay.

We went to the beautiful city of Bruges in Belgium for our tobacco and a day’s sightseeing. We parked the STs right in the main square among all the pushbikes.

Bruges is known as the Venice of the north, so although a boat ride is extremely touristy, it has to be done. The sun was shining, it was market day and the shops were full of Belgian chocolate, of all shapes and sizes, including chocolate genitals. I thought the Belgians had more taste.

It was time to go. The pushbikes were parked three deep around us, but we managed to extract the STs and head back to the channel tunnel for our train – we’re old hands at it now.

Words and Photography: Dawn Swift