France 

The austere tarmac numbered lanes meander through the docks, passing queues of parked up trucks,  in the fading evening light. Huge hulks of ships lay alongside giving a harsh overshadowing starkness to the skyline. We navigate our loaded tandem through the labyrinth of commotion, guided by nondescript folk in high vis clothing.  

A sense of excitement fills our hearts. We are off on a journey.  

The sun is setting over Portsmouth harbour. The severe shape of naval ships silhouette against the crimson flushed sky. An occasional crane pierces high above the monochrome outlines.

The bright cavernous bow door of our ship lies ahead. We are devoured into the futuristic white light and greeted with a smile and “Bon Soir” from the deck hand. 

For some days we had been going through the familiar routine of getting our kit together for a journey. Researching the extremes of weather we are likely to encounter on a trip of a few months always takes a lot of time. Everything that is packed must be used. There is no scope for just in case items. Each piece of kit has its familiar place in our panniers so we know where it is in the dark, cold, hot, wind or rain. We need to be able to lay our hand on things in all conditions and when we are exhausted too. 

There is something reassuring about the simplicity of a few possessions that can protect us from all the elements and keep us going, happy and healthy. 

We were all set for a trip crossing the Gobi Desert and heading to remote corners of the Great Wall of China. We knew this was going to be extreme leaving in October, but from the comfort of a fabulous English summer we convinced ourselves we were tough enough, and we have good kit. A sudden panic a week before departure and it dawned on us that this was crazy and we were going to be miserable in the freezing conditions of Mongolia. 

All set to go, but where…. Where could we go at such short notice? There was no time to get visas for distant lands.  We had to leave from home and head to France. This would be the start of “Bike Ride to the Great Wall of China” Lets cycle to the Great Wall from home and make this our focus for our journeys over the next few years, hopefully completing the challenge before we are 65 years old. 

The church clock chimes, breaking the eerie silence. A rosey faced man makes his way across the cobbled square to the Tabac for his morning habitual glass of wine, a baguette under his arm. The start of a day in rural Brittany. There is a coolness and stillness, silence and emptiness. Such a contrast to the fast pace we have left behind. 

We love France, its relaxed welcoming approach to life. Things aren’t rushed. People have time. Towards the cyclist things are very curtious,  everyone gives way to us even if we don’t have right of way. Cars just stop to let us out, it’s special treatment!

Part of our daily routine is stopping at Tabacs for a coffee. We are always greeted with “Bonjour” from every other customer, usually sat drinking their very small glasses of wine.  The greetings from strangers along with the other kindly gestures like “Bon appetit” when we have stopped for a picnic lunch on the roadside, are so much part of the French experience. We are also constantly given words of encouragement like “Bon Courage”

Our route takes us through agrarian landscapes and picturesque vernacular stone villages, camping each night in the well run, good value French campsites. We cross the Loire and work our way to the Massif Central. We are heading to the Mediterranean Sea where we will island hop along Corsica, Sardinia, and Sicily, then across southern Italy, and a ferry to Albania where we will cycle onto Greece, finishing up at Athens on this leg of “Bike Ride to the Great Wall”. 

Impressive fairy tale chateaus dot the rolling landscape. Redundant stone built water mills cling to river banks with adjacent make shift wiers  made from huge boulders, and wild turbulent water cascading over them. 

The valleys close in. The rivers narrow and the water crashes over the rocky river beds. We are climbing up into the Massif Central. The road snakes its way high above the river and we are surrounded by glowing deep autumn palette of colours. 

The nights are cold and the days a very pleasant temperature. Our tent is soaked each night with extreme condensation and part of our daily routine at lunch stops in a village square we dry the tent and sometimes our washing. Spreading it all out over the pavement or on a fence and in no time it is lovely and dry in the warm sun. Evenings cool quick and it is always a dash to get a shower, pitch the tent, and cook supper as the temperature plummets. We are in a stunning breathtaking mountain environment.

We cross the watershed from the River Allier and  wind our way down the valleys leading to the Rhône. The rugged stone roof slates change to red curved terracotta clay tiles. The temperature warms, the slopes lessen, olive groves and vineyards appear, we are approaching the Mediterranean Sea. We pass substantial historic towns with Roman influences as we close in on the port of Marseille and our night ferry to Corsica. In just two weeks cycling we have crossed France leaving behind the autumnal feel of home, arriving in the warmer Mediterranean