La Ronde Picardy.

By Malcolm Davidson.

                                         

Its almost midnight on Thursday the 11th of September Fred and I are on our way from Wetherby to Carlisle to meet a motley crew named ‘CUCAKS’ ( Cumbrian cyclists, alers, and karaoke singers)  you have to have special qualifications to be accepted and to abide by strict rules. From Carlisle we are to travel by coach all 21of us to Folkestone to catch the shuttle to Coquelles, then onto Abbeville about 110kms. South of Calais, our aim is to ride a Cyclo Sportive called ‘La Ronde Picardy’.

The coach arrives about 2.00am. We are told by the driver the French have set fire to the tunnel, they have obviously heard of our reputation (on the bikes of course) they’ll do anything to avoid a hammering. But we have a cunning plan we have transferred to the Ferry and have been given a priority boarding that’s if we can get there (tailbacks on the roads leading to the Port of Dover) we suspect all French.

We start to put our bikes and luggage onto the coach we are not going to let the French intimidate us, after all we are the best of British. Everything on ready for off when Fred starts to panic Malcolm! He shouts’ have you seen my bag’, ‘Fred it’s on your back’. Oh dear at this stage I must mention there is a special award presented on the way home, cant print the name but you will all get the idea as you read on, Fred has already started to collect points.

Off we go stopping off at Penrith to pick up a couple of riders one aptly named Barry Hoban but not the famous one, another stop at Carnforth. On we go trying to catch some sleep; all you can hear is the drone of the engine or is it Fred snoring? After one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life we arrive at services on the new Birmingham motorway for a change of driver, our great leader Peter Priestly gathers us all together and says you have 45min. then we are moving on.

Our next stop is at South Mimms service station on the M25 for a leak and coffee, we are making very good progress, M25, M2, diversion to pick up 2 more riders, then onto the A2 straight to Dover, where’s all the tailbacks we where told about, suddenly we grind to a halt about 2miles from the port it takes us almost 2 hours how boring just sat looking at the ferries and we cant get to them. Eventually we get onto the dock and as we were told earlier we have priority on ‘Sea France’ are they going to take us all prisoner so we can’t ride?

We arrive in Calais it’s about 6.30pm now Friday 12th. We face another drive down to Abbeville our plan is to go to the race HQ to sign on before 8.00pm. Then book in our hotel Formula 1 about a mile out off the town, and then we have a slap up meal booked at a Restaurant just up the road. Eventually we get to Abbeville too late to sign on so straight to the hotel a quick change and onto the restaurant for our meal which was booked for 8.oopm. We are almost 2hrs. late but the French are very good and we are quickly served steak no choice due to the late arrival however it was a good meal with as much wine as you can drink What! They are at it again trying to get us all drunk before the event, and because we are all shattered 1 glass and we were all a bit tipsy.

We leave at 11.30pm. To a bed for the night after travelling 22hours Fred and I are on our knees and we have to be up at 6.00am for breakfast then down to the HQ to sign on, our preparation hasn’t been as we would have liked.

Saturday 13th. September the morning of the event we are all signed on got our race numbers and put into our start pens like a load of sheep going to the slaughter. The bands are playing something badly, the Mayor is making a speech and blaming the British for setting fire the tunnel, come on lets get off I’m crossing my legs, after an eternity the horn goes and so do we thank goodness, in no time at all the speed is up to 30mph. over the first crossroad and I have to stop for a leak already, my place lost in the peleton. I remount and pick up a good group the plan let them do all the work just sit in there Malcolm.

After about 10mls. Fred is at the side of the road he’s the first victim of a puncture little did I know it’s his second and no spares left, so Fred’s ride is over.

I’m feeling pretty good considering all the upset, I have to make an emergency stop again, losing my place remount going well, after another 2 stops I think time to make a decision at the deviation point I turn right and cut my losses doing the 135km ride.

I catch a French guy and decide to work with him to the finish, but he doesn’t know when you pull over to ease off and I can’t get past him is this another of the French plan? We catch a lady rider mmmmmm!!! tres bonne she can stay in front and do some work I think. We finally enter the outskirts of Eaucourt the finish is 2km shall I attack now, has he anything left (I have) does he realise this, a car pulls by carrying bikes I make a jump for it and catch the wheel ‘Frenchies’ gone out the back door. I cross the line quite pleased with my performance after all the turmoil of the last couple of days. I wait for my French friend and we shake hands and congratulate each other he took the defeat well, then we waited to greet our female companion. Well you have to don’t you! My time 4hrs.6min.43sec.av speed 45.47kph. For Brevet D’Or (gold) and the fastest of our group whom completed the 135kms. By 10min.

In to the finish area to pick up my award and I bump into Fred, he tells me of his misfortune and is totally gutted, I would be, the conditions were perfect. Well Fred come on it’s over now lets celebrate we find the bar and get some food down as well as a pint of the best. The rest of our colleagues start rolling in all winning gold in their age categories. We all gather in the bar taking over the place, Peter ‘P’ orders 21 beers and is passing by, the tray above Fred and my head, he says stay down Fred, at the same time Fred stands up oops 21 beers all over Malcolm, Fred will deny this but he’s just gained more points for the special award.

We start to make our way back to the Hotel, a quick shower change and down to the Supermarket where we all meet in the bar another 21 pints please. That evening we had a superb meal in the same restaurant as the previous night, and yes as much wine as you can drink and we did! From there we about 8 of us went into Abbeville to the aptly named Crofters Inn, poor Fred by this time is falling asleep stood up so decides enough is enough and retires. Meanwhile we are drinking Abbeville dry, at 2.00am we go back to the hotel.

Sunday we all get up bleary eyed ready for the traditional club run to Le Touquet a ride of about 65mls. Supposed to be ridden at the slowest riders pace somehow I think they got that wrong, Peter ‘P’ was our great leader and although he had a Garmin sat nav on his bike he took us the wrong way at every crossroad, now is he competing with Fred  for the award!!

We stop at a lovely village strangely named ‘Rue’ (street) in French, we all sat outside in lovely sunshine, The Patron rubbing his hands as we took our seats, Peter orders 21 beers and kept well away form Fred. We all made the mistake of ordering slap up meals and forgot about the race for the sign at Le Touquet.

On arrival at our hotel overlooking the beach, strip the bikes down and load onto the coach ready for our drive home on Monday morning, followed by a quick shower change and yes meet in the bar Peter orders 21 beers twice.

We are all to meet in a restaurant named ‘Café Leffe’ what a superb name serving the appropriately named beer 9% volume what a great finish to the weekend. We had a fantastic meal/wine/beer, time.

In the bar were a few rowdies making more noise than we were so, I went across and challenged them to a sing song after all we are the ‘CUCAKS’, one of them stood up and said ‘Do you know who you are speaking to’ ‘no do you’ I replied, he was Wayne Fontana, now only the over 60’s reading this epic will know off him.

We all parted amicably shaking hands and wishing each other good luck, now at this point Fred said I had jumped up the leader board for the award by shaking every hand in Le Touquet.

From Café Leffe we found a nice little bar up a side street where we had a great time with the bar staff we where trying to get the to pronounce the impossible ‘H’ in the French language. We also met a guy from Paris named Raoul who looked like a Triffid the hair from his chest was growing upwards.

It’s now 2.00am. and so to bed, Fred and I were walking along the Prom like lovers at 6.00am Lee (Foster) was already up and waiting for a Taxi to take him to the station he was going to Paris for work.

Monday morning after breakfast we pack our suitcases onto the coach for the long journey home. We are travelling up the M6 and Big Paul announces the winner of the special award guess who, Fred takes it by a sprint from Peter ‘P’ and during his speech he says he always knew he would be successful in cycling. ‘WELL DONE FRED’ it was the beer thing for me.

We arrive back in Carlisle and Mike Glaister whom organises the CUCAKS ( couldn’t go on this trip) first words who won the award when he finds out its Fred he says Not a Yorkshire man, but no Fred is from ‘ower t thill’ it went to Lancashire.

We then have to drive back from Carlisle home absolutely shattered but a superb weekend. Would we do it again NO! at least not this way.

We have no Photographs but if anyone reading is interested you can go onto Border City Wheelers web site click on events, then sportives and you will find a video/slide show.

                                                                                                  Malcolm.