I woke early, packed, and chatted briefly with my host, before heading off at 7:30 slowly, but steadily, up a gently sloping forest road towards Rouen. I hoped to breakfast there, and have never been more pleased to spy a McDonalds ahead – exactly what was required after no supper the night before: quick, reliable calories and coffee. Of course, as this was France, it was not open until 10:30. Surprised? No – merely, wearily resigned.
The road out of the city was long and steep, so I got off and pushed. At the top was a boulangerie, where I was able to slate my hunger and thirst. Refreshed at last, I made my way along a long straight, undulating road. The elevation profile for the trip was shaped a bit like like Ayers Rock, with a few sawtooth chips along the top, and a large dip and rise midway along, so I was aware that the worst of the climbing would over by halfway, and then the going would be easier. At the midway point, the planned route sent me down and impassable track, I stopped to plan a way round, and promptly fell over, as I had unwisely left one of my shoes clipped in as the bike tipped over, taking me with it. Fortunately, the only injury was a bloody graze just below my patella – awww.
Further along I picked up the track again. The first few yards seemed passable, but then it began to steepen, before seemingly disappearing altogether and leading me into a field. I pushed the bike uphill across the pasture, and around a row of tree, before concluding there was no way out and so I freewheeled back down to the point where Google Maps suggested the path should have been. Sure enough, I could glimpse through about ten feet of chest-high foliage, the continuation of the track. Reluctant to double back and route around, I pushed on through and eventually returned to the road.
The remainder of the route was mostly downhill. One section, at the other end of this elevated plain was a steep, straight descent, which allowed the bike to hit a speed of just short of 40mph.
I encountered another obstacle a level crossing was barred with fencing, for reasons known only to the French. Fortunately, the fencing had also been erected by the French and I was able to relatively easily negotiate my way through it and across the train-line. After that, I made good speed towards Amiens – downhill and with a decent tailwind, arriving ahead of schedule, and pausing in the last few miles for some refreshing fruity beer.
Saturday night in Amiens was oddly quiet. After a decent meal at a local restaurant, I was shocked at how few people were out and about and how many businesses were closed. A similar sized town in the UK would have been heaving at this hour. There seems something seriously amiss in the French provincial economy if a regional capital like Amiens is so devoid of weekend night-life. I found one rather dingy bar open close to the house I was staying at courtesy of Air BnB, where I had a couple of beers and chatted to a young butcher – he had previously worked as a graphic designer, but had been unable to make a living and so had retrained in charcuterie. He gave me a little taste of some garlic sausage he had made, and of which he was rightly proud, as it was delicious.
The Trick Cyclist 