Didn't quite manage to get away at first light as I'd planned (I never learn!), but settled for morning tea time. Caught the train to Canterbury with a nifty Network Away Break ticket (return anytime within 5 days) which only cost £12 with my Network Railcard. Then I rode down to Dover, taking the A2 most of the way, and pleasant it was too. The white cliffs were quite impressive I must say. Seeing the sea was inspiring, and made it feel like a proper holiday.

I rushed down to the ferry terminal, bought a similar 5-day return ticket (£18 this time) and sped through the enormous car park to catch the ferry that was departing. Ticket lady had said I'd probably not make it; I did, and amply. Strapped up my bike in the onboard bike racks and proceeded up to the passenger decks. The ferry was enormous inside - much larger than I'd expected, never having been on a great big ship. I walked past a few dozen duty-free shops, restaurants and bureaux de change as I made my way to the rear of the ship to go up on deck. The captain warned of gales at the other end as we set sail but it was too late to do anything about it so I decided to put that out of mind. The cliffs of Dover had barely begun to recede before the French coastline shimmered into view.

(Crappy photos go here)

Once in Calais I sped into town to orientate myself. I found the Tourist Info centre first and avoir parler Français to the young woman there briefly. I lasted all of two sentences before uttering 'Parlez-vous Anglais?' (this is of course known as the 'Parler Anglais' index, and at this stage of the journey, mine was a modest 2 sentences). Turns out she was English. She gave me a couple of tourist brochures with maps, which were a little too basic to be of much use, but better than nothing. I still had no firm idea about where I was going. I decided to find a librairie and buy some maps. Funny enough there was another young cycle touring chap in the same store I went to, and he was buying maps also, but I didn't feel like company as I was keen to get on my way quickly towards the greener grass of the French countryside (plus, he smelt!). I was a little surprised to find out (duh!) that Calais is not actually in Normandy, the border of which was some 200 kilometres distant!

I followed my nose out of town, with the intention of heading toward... well, South - the wind was a fairly formidable Westerly. In a few minutes I was on a country lane playing leapfrog with a farmer on his tractor; we both thought it was the funniest thing. In fact there seemed to be a lot of tractors using the roads - more so than in the rural parts of England I've visited. Getting used to riding on the right-hand side wasn't difficult at all, to my surprise.

Campsites abound around Calais, so it was just a matter of deciding how far I wanted to ride before dusk. At this stage I still had no real idea where I was going but had taken a South-Westerly tack. I stopped at le marché in a small village and managed to buy some margarine, pasta, sauce, vegetables and chocolate and ask about nearby places to camp, which was quite impressive since the staff spoke no English. After that, I more or less just rolled down the hill and there was the local campsite, where I was sole guest. Made an enormous pot of pasta with the vegetables and sauce and then bedded down for a night of deepest resting oblivion.

I'd no sooner hit the road again the next morning when it started to rain. Waterproofs on, then. I'd kinda decided to head towards Rouen because it's said that it's quite a pretty town. The countryside rolled. Lots of broken-down farmhouses; la Boulangère rolled along too, honking her horn as she jumped from her van and ran into the less broken-down houses toting warm loaves.

Being my first time travelling on the roads of France, I found the minor (départmentale) roads I was using mostly pleasantly free of traffic, bar the odd tractor. The towns and villages had an appealing aesthetic about them which is hard to put a finger on, other than to say they looked authentically historic.

The weather deteriorated as the day went on, and by late afternoon I was riding in light rain and gale-strength cross- and occasionally head-winds. With panniers on the bike this made for some rather challenging riding. Cycle touring seems to bring out in me a certain attitude of perseverance, this 'never give up' mentality that has always seen me through. In a sense it's perhaps of necessity though, in that the alternative - that of calling it quits and pitching the tent wherever one happens to be - doesn't instill much confidence of a safe and good night's sleep. Of course there are other alternatives, such as asking to camp on someone's lawn, or catching the nearest train, but these options don't appeal either, for different reasons. Sometimes though, I guess one has to be prepared to swallow one's pride and risk being laughed at, and that can be one of the hardest things to do!

Well, I'd passed many chambres d'hôtes earlier in the day but by evening I'd not seen any for several hours, and I arrived in the city of Abbeville sometime around dusk. After making a few enquiries I managed to find the local Formule Un motel and get a room. Formule Un rooms are very cheap, and it shows! Almost everything that could possibly be made from plastic was, and as I recall there was no window. However, having heating, showers and space to hang up clothes was very welcome, and I settled down to watch French TV for a bit and see if I could understand anything - unfortunately very little. After a while I turned off the TV and fell asleep.

This is a work in progress...