Our Trip to France

By Ron Wylie

Setting the scene

Many years ago, too many for me to remember, I was a “mod”, you know, the scooter, (a Lambretta SX200) and a parka, complete with fur hood. About six years ago, just after my divorce, I decided to get back on the road. I bought a 1970 Lambretta GP 200 and added all the necessary chrome bits like mirrors, bars, racks etc. It was my pride and joy and I spent many happy hours in the garage bringing it to show condition. It looked lovely but the big drawback was it was too nice to risk riding on a regular basis and the very thought of going out in the rain was an absolute non-starter. So…

My first motorcycle

I have always admired Goldwings. They are, to me, the best touring bike available and they look good with lotsa chrome extra’s, just like my scooter. I had a full motorcycle driving licence and so was eligible to ride any size of machine but could I really handle a 1000cc plus bike?  One evening, whilst scanning the local newspaper, I spotted a Honda GL500 Silverwing Interstate for sale. What was a Silverwing, I thought?  I rang the seller who described the bike as a “baby Goldwing”. Within minutes I was at his house, and saw an immaculate Silverwing with only 7,000 miles on the clock. I bought it.

The first year

It was wonderful. I had a 500cc motorcycle that gleamed. It was beautiful. My girlfriend, Denise and me had many a happy hour cruising around the local sites including Skegness, York, Bridlington and others. However, it did have two important drawbacks. One, it was a little underpowered and affected by the wind and two, it was too nice to take out in the rain.  Regretfully, it had to go.

My first Wing

I was really looking for a car when I was reading the Motor Trader but my attention was drawn to a Honda Goldwing that was advertised for sale. It was a 1987, US import, Honda Goldwing GL1200A Aspencade and was being sold some 75 miles away. I telephoned the buyer and arranged to view the bike. On arrival I saw a rather dirty motorcycle. It was the type on motorcycle that I wanted but not in the condition that I was used to. However, after much haggling, it was mine. I paid a deposit and collected it the following weekend. I had many a sleepless night in-between, wondering if I had made the right decision but I had made a commitment and intended to honour it. Early Saturday morning we collected the Wing and I rode it home, very carefully. With the assistance of Denise, we spent all Sunday stripping and cleaning my new purchase. Much to my relief and after a lot of hard work, it came up like a new pin. It was fabulous and money very well spent. The Silverwing had to go. I now owned three “bikes” and there was not enough room in the garage. I advertised in the local press, and after a timewaster, I had a gent, of a similar age to me, fall in love with it and he bought it. I actually owned the Silverwing for almost a year and still made £100 profit.

The adventure begins

So, now I had a Goldwing. I serviced it, changing all the oils and filters checked the brakes and steering and we took it for a few test rides along the coasts. These rides revealed a slight wobble at low speeds but a new set of Bridgestone G702/703 Touring tyres and a Superbrace (www.SuperBrace.com) cured this. But I wanted more. Having not had a holiday for nearly 6 years I thought that I would like to go on an adventure on my Wing. But where to?  I thought about touring England but the weather in September can be somewhat unpredictable. I considered, very briefly, going to the USA but the freight costs soon turned me off that idea. Then it struck me. South of France can be very nice in September and is just a short boat trip away. I checked all the Internet sites I could find for help and advice and noted that the French people had all finished their holiday period (August) and that their children had returned to school. Although I live within 30 miles of the North Sea ferry crossing from Hull to Zeebrugge or Rotterdam, the cost of nearly £370 for the ferry crossing put me off this idea. Instead, I booked a Dover to Calais crossing with P&O Stenna at a cost of just £149. This had two main benefits. One, it was cheaper and two, it was quicker and more flexible. The downside was the trip to Dover, some 260 miles from home but this would give us a chance to test the Wing on a really long trip before being committed to a foreign land. Although I was fairly confident that the Wing would not let us down, I took the sensible precaution of taking out recovery/breakdown insurance in Europe, with the RAC for just £54, including medical cover. We decided to travel very light with a minimum of clothing, Track suits and jogging pants are very light, warm and easily packed so we took these together with tee shirts, changes of underwear, socks and the essential items, wet weather gear. All the items easily fitted into the panniers of the Wing and the top box was reserved for essential paperwork (maps, documents, etc.), the toolkit, a security chain and the helmets, when not in use. Spare bulbs and fuses were stashed into the fairing pockets.

We’re off

So early, in fact very early, 6am on Tuesday morning, we set off for Dover. It was misty for the first hour or so but then turned into a very nice sunny morning. As usual, in Britain, we encountered numerous road works (A46 and M11) and this reduced our speeds at times to 40mph and below, with the added threat of many speed camera’s. We stopped for petrol and breakfast but still made Dover for 1130am well in time for our 1215 sailing. Boarding the ferry was a doddle. Straight onto the boat, parking at the sharp end (bow?) and the Wing was secured by members of the crew. The ferry left on time and we ate a very nice Chicken Rogan Josh followed by a fresh fruit salad. Very reasonable at just £7-99. The crossing was smooth and without incident and having arrived some 1 hour 40 minutes later in Calais we left the ferry.

Watch out France we’re here

This is where Denise started her important task. I had briefed her to keep saying, “Ride on the Right” through the intercom at regular intervals and this worked a treat. Customs officers took a brief look at our passports before we left Calais behind. The A26 was well sign posted and we headed straight for our first hotel, just outside Reims. We had taken the precaution of booking our first hotel in advance and found the Mister Bed chain (www.MisterBed.fr ) on the Internet and booked the room via a fax on the previous day.  The first thing that I noticed was the quality of the roads in France. Wide, well maintained and very importantly for motorcyclists, NO cats eyes!. Shortly after we joined the A26 we came across a “Toll Booth” (Peage). Dutifully we pulled up at the tollbooth and fished in our pockets for some money to pay. To our shock, there was no one there to take our Euro’s. Whistling, we casually watched other motorists and then noticed a little paper ticket sticking out of a metal box on our LEFT hand side and a sign saying “Take Ticket”. So we took the ticket, stuffed it into a pocket, without any thought and the barrier rose to allow us through. Off we went. The motorway is fabulous with “Aires” very 20km or so. These are “stop” places for the motorist. Some have full motorway services including food, fuel and mechanics whilst some are just simple picnic area’s with toilet facilities. All are spotlessly clean. The speed limit is 130kph and traffic flows freely. Keeping to the right (Denise is still repeating this instruction), we make good progress. Just outside Reims a sign saying Peage appears and another row of toll booths. Mistake number one. We headed for an automatic pay booth, inserted the ticket, which luckily, we had retained, and the Credit Card for payment. In a flash the Credit card was returned and the barrier raised. So why was this a mistake, you may ask? Well, a motorcycle is a Class 5 vehicle, the lowest rate, and automatic payment assumes that you are in a car and so charges you a higher rate. We only made this mistake once. In no time we are at the Hotel. Tired, but happy, we book in, have a quick shower and find a local supermarket to buy our first meal in France. Having purchased cheese, bread, ham, fruit and some soft drinks we retired to the hotel for a well-earned meal and sleep.

Day Two (France)

Up like a lark. Shower, and Petite Dejouner (Breakfast to you), consisting of all the croissants you can eat (two in my case) and buckets full of coffee or chocolate. Not bad for just 4.5 Euros each. The route had been planned the night before, hence the trusty map was full of crumbs (from the meal) and having loaded our bags (very posh plastic variety from the local supermarket) into the panniers we set off. Quickly picking up the A4 and then south onto the A26, we made good progress until we had the idea of going on some local roads. We turned onto the A(?)19 and travelled through the Foret d’Orient. Mistake number two. Beautiful scenery but more like a snake than a road. Sharp bends, steep gradients and a lot of little villages and towns with ridiculous (50kph) speed limits. A quick right turn at Chamont and we back on the A5. Ah ! motorway. Having set our sights on reaching Lyon we motored south, stopping only for petrol, coffee and a quick stretch of the legs, plus of course, the obligatory Peage stations where the French government took more money from us. Looking at our Mister Bed guide to French hotels we headed for Bourgoin Jallieu, (hereafter called Beaujolais Nouveau, because that’s what we renamed it). A delightful place, just off the motorway and the hotel backs onto a lovely town square with traditional cafes and bars strewn along the pavements. As usual, shower, a quick change of clothes and then off to explore the scenery. Now this, Beaujolais Nouveau is something special. It has all the qualities of France. Good food, good wines and traditional French service and very nice people on which to try out our French. (Deux, vin blanc, si’l vous play !) . Having wondered through the square looking for the best restaurants, we noticed that one of them was doing twice as much business as the rest put together, including lots of French people. This must be the best we thought. And we were right. Absolutely fabulous. Enormous salads, well cooked and presented meat and pizza’s that you would die for. How they get that crispy thin base with a melted topping of your choice, I will never know if I live until I am fifty (ha!). The place, I think, was called Pizza Paradise (what else?) and was situated just off the main square. You can easily spot it because it’s the one with all the customers. It was worth the whole trip, just to dine at this place. Having wined and dined on the best we made our way back to the hotel for a well-earned rest. One of the bad things about touring is that I have to limit my alcohol intake to a couple of glasses because I will be riding the next morning, whilst Denise, being the non driver, can indulge herself on the quality wines in France. Mental note… teach Denise to ride the Goldwing… no second thoughts, just keep off the wine. Sleep…

Day three (France)

Rise and shine. Disaster. It’s raining chats et chiens (cats and dogs?). Defying all urges to stay in bed, we get up, shower (very clean people us), and go for breakfast. Usual. We had remembered to pack some wet weather gear, waterproof tops and leggings but mistake number three. No waterproof boots. Being close the main shopping centre we decided to buy some cheap (?) wellies. Two problems; we don’t know the words for Wellies in French and even if we did, France is not renowned for cheap footwear. Three shops, and a lot of mystified shop assistants later, we found some. Or at least Denise found some for her. My demand for a size 9 met with howls of laughter (maybe it was because we were in a ladies shoe shop?) so I stumped up the 19.50 Euros and off we went. It was almost lunchtime by the time we mounted the Wing. Togged up to the eyeballs in waterproofs we made steady progress south, towards our intended target of Marseilles. On one of our frequent stops and whilst munching our way through a French “Butty” (Cheese or Ham is the norm) we changed our plans and headed for Toulon. Arriving there we quickly discovered mistake number three (I do hope that you are keeping count!). London, like any major city, is a nightmare at rush hour and we arrived in the middle of Toulon, a very big city, just after 5pm. Four lanes of traffic, going no where and we are stuck in the middle of it. The Wing was getting hot and so were we. It was a unanimous decision (Denise, the Wing and me) to get the hell out of there. Following the signposts (the French are very good with their roadsigns) for the nearest Motorway (a blue sign) we did not care where it led us, we just had to get out of Toulon. By now it had stopped raining and we folded up our waterproof gear and stashed it away. With more luck than judgement we made theA570 motorway. Mistake number four. It is a very short motorway which suddenly turns into a B road, for want of a better description. The next reasonable town was St Tropez (famous for something, but I cannot remember what) so we agreed to head for that, via the coast road, thinking that there would be lots of little seaside hotels for us to book into. You’ve guessed it, mistake number five. Now to describe this coast road, as a road would be like saying a journey to the moon is just a short trip, this was NOT a road, it was not even a good footpath. It was a strip of crumbled up tarmac (or at least some black stuff), 6 foot wide that twisted and turned more times than a jar full of worms. At one point we came across a “local” coming in the opposite direction. He took one look at us and was last seen, driving his little French van away from us, laughing hysterically. No road, no hotels, no hope.

Day Three, The disaster continues

It was late, about 8pm and we were lost, tired and thoroughly fed up. Our next target was Nice (Nice the City, not Nice as in very Nice). Just one small problem. How do we get there?. The roads had improved and once again we were travelling on roads which twisted and turned up into the mountains and down the other side. On both sides were sheer drops and the road alternated between wet and dry making any form of speed impossible. Dejected we pressed on. Suddenly, out of no where I saw a sign saying “Hotel”. Hurray, we are saved. Turning into the car park it was obvious that this was not the Ritz. But it was somewhere to stay. Did they have a room ? (Avez vous un chambre por deuz persons ce soir ?).Of course they did. No one in their right mind would stop there. We were not in our right mind, we were almost out of our minds and we were desperate. I would like to call this a mistake, but it was not. It was somewhere to lay our heads for the night. By now you will have gathered that I like to rename the places we stay at. So what name did we give this place, Hell ? No, that’s not fair but having talked to the owner we christened him Norman Bates, from the film Psycho. Sorry Norm. The room was adequate. The food was nearly OK. Being tired we decided on a simple salad. Ever tasted a microwaved salad ? Warm prawns and warm ham. We ate the bread and the safe items before crashing out for the night. We had travelled over 460 miles (740 klm). Oh, and for this primitive bed we were charged 50 Euros and 20 Euros for the salad (?).

Day Four… Things can only get better!

Woke. Was we dreaming and had a nightmare. Sadly, no. Breakfast served by Norm. Warm and only just warm coffee and a croissant. Yes one whole croissant each. Quickly eaten, we ran to the bike, loaded up and got on the way again. Phew, that was close. Although we had decided to head back north with Beaujolais Nouveau as the target again as we knew we were guaranteed a room and a happy welcome but we were so close to Monaco that we just had to take a look. So west we went, this time taking no chances so we used the motorway. The scenery was fantastic. Beautiful mountains and forests. Breathtaking tunnels which seemed to go on forever and we were very impressed that the French Air Force put on a flypast just for us. Travelling down the hills into the port of Monaco we were able to watch the rich play with there boats in the harbour whilst all around us were very expensive motor cars. We needed to exchange some Stirling and we spotted a bank, in fact a branch of the same bank with which I have banking facilities. Ideal, or so I thought. You cannot walk into banks in France, you have to press the doorbell, and if they like the look of you, they will admit you. I passed this exam and entered the bank where I was “greeted” by a well-dressed lady. I had this feeling that I was not welcome, but cheerfully produced my bankcard, passport and explained that I banked with this bank and would like some Euros please. Not a chance. Although it was MY bank and MY money, because I did not have an account at THIS branch, in Monaco I could not have any. Back out on the streets, it was obvious that Monaco is a place for the VERY rich. The air reeks of expensive perfume and all the people wear designer clothes. Being mere mortals, it was obvious that we were not welcome so having seen enough we left them to it and headed back northwest.   It was a long way but the weather was good and the Wing got us there, quickly and safely. Having booked into the Mister Bed hotel, we decided to make it a two-night stay, giving both the Wing and me a rest. We wined and dined at our favourite restaurant and this time I could partake of the alcoholic beverages, as I had no driving to do the next day. I did and enjoyed.

Day Five

Woke bright and early and with the help of the receptionist/manager, decided to travel by train into Lyon. The train station was just 400 metres away and having made our way on foot we purchased two return tickets to Lyon. Price just 10 Euros for both of us. The train arrived, on time, was very clean, comfortable and fast, taking just 32 minutes to get to the centre of Lyon. On route we had our tickets examined by a good looking (according to Denise) French ticket inspector who started to try to tell us, in French that we should have validated our tickets at the station. However when we exclaimed that we were English he said, in fluent English “That’s OK, it does not matter for foreigners”. He then went down the train, with a big smile on his face and we watched as he caught and admonished 3 persons without tickets. Lyon is a nice city. We very much enjoyed our day there. At 16.36 hours we returned to the station and caught our train back to Beaujolais Nouveau and once again sampled the pleasures of this lovely French town.

Day Six, the Final Countdown

Sadly we leave Beaujolais Nouveau behind and make our way north again. This time the destination is Goussaineville, a small town just north east of Paris and adjacent to the Charles De Gualle airport. The attraction is two fold. Our plan is to travel by train on our final day in France and then return to the hotel, collect the Wing and travel to Berck for our last night. Berck is near to Calais and would give us a fighting chance of making our pre-booked ferry at 1015 hours. Arriving in Goussainville early evening we book into our third Mister Bed hotel. This is the cheapest at just “27 Euros per night. After booking in we find out why it’s so cheap. It almost directly on the flightpath for aircraft taking off from the airport and soon a constant stream of aircraft are flying, noisily, over our room making it impossible to have the window open. The room is clean but the bathroom facilities are poor. The sink leaks, into a well-placed waste bin, the shower cubicle is broken and when I raise the toilet seat to take a “call of nature”, the seat comes off in my hand. Denise laughed until tears streamed down her face. Finding only one small towel in the room, we ask the receptionist/manager for more towels. None available. Undaunted as it takes a lot to daunt us; we shower, which results in a flooded bathroom and venture in search of food. Goussainville centre is not nice (nice as in nice and not in Nice, the city). The streets are strewn with litter and empty beer cans and the natives don’t look too friendly. For the very first time in France we feel uneasy. However, we found a very good restaurant the "Buffalo Grill” and dined on steak. On returning back to the hotel we found it “teaming” with traders and I am worried for the safety of the Wing. We retired, somewhat nervously but could not get any sleep because of the constant noise from the aircraft and of the guests. At midnight we decided that we could not stand the situation any longer and a joint decision was made for us to travel home immediately. We packed the bike for the last time and at just after midnight we set off for Calais and home.

The Way Home

It was very misty with very poor visibility, which made the journey difficult, but we reached Calais at 0435 in the morning. The staff at P&O were brilliant, rushing us through check in and straight onto the boat which sailed at 5am. On the boat we were greeted by a cheery crew member who, for what had seemed like ages said, in a very broad cockney accent “put the bike there mate”. Oh joy. The sound of a true English accent. Wonderful. On the way home it was natural to have an English breakfast on the boat. Great, eggs and bacon with all the extra’s. As the mist, or to be more correct at sea, the fog, was fairly thick, the crossing was delayed by 30 minutes. Better safe than sorry. Now it was time for mistake number six (still counting?). In our rush to get out of the cold and into the warmth of the boat I, yes me, left the parking lights on. Upon arrival at Dover, the battery was too flat to turn over the engine. To the rescue came the crew who pushed me, and the bike, down the loading ramp which soon started the bike. Back on English soil we were cleared through customs and were on our way. “Drive on the right,” said Denise and I did. No more than 2 miles outside Calais I knew we were back in England. Roadwork’s, roadworks and guess what, more roadworks. Speed limits of 40mph all down the motorways. We met the Dartford crossing just at the wrong time and were confronted by heavy traffic, which continued onto the M25. The M11 was a nightmare. More roadwork’s. Why do the English insist on constantly digging up the roads? We stopped at Cambridge a little wary of stopping the engine, in lieu of our problems on the boat, fuelled up the bike and our bellies and having started the engine, set off home. It then rained, and boy did it rain. Waterproofs on and a slog towards home. The rain got worse and our speed was very low and movements deliberate. Just before midday we pulled into our drive, garaged the bike and had a warm shower and a deserved bowl of soup.

Conclusions

Our aim was to tour France. We did it and thoroughly enjoyed EVERY minute. We had problems, but no major disasters. The French are welcoming and the roads great. I recommend it to anyone. Don’t make extensive plans. Just make sure you and your bike is willing and able and go!

10 Essentials

1)                  Make sure your bike is well serviced before setting off. Check Brakes, steering, tyres and all bolts, etc.

2)                  Take out breakdown and recovery insurance. You can insure just for the time you are abroad and it is not expensive. Take replacement bulbs and fuses.

3)                  Travel light. You don’t need heavy clothes or travel irons, Take clothes which don’t need ironing and don’t crease. Track suits and tee shirts are ideal.

4)                  Take your documents with you. Licence, Insurance Certificate, Passport, E111 (medical cover abroad) and a good map. Pack them in a waterproof folder.

5)                  Don’t take Sterling. Buy Euros at the Post Office or Travel agent. Changing Sterling is difficult and expensive. Use a credit or debit card, it’s easier and cheaper.

6)                  Buy good, lightweight waterproofs.

7)                  In France use the motorways if you want to travel distances. They may cost but it’s well worth it. Don’t use automatic tolls, they will cost you the same as if you were in a car.

8)                  Stop regularly for a walk, drink and relax. The service areas (Aires) are brilliant.

9)                  Use cheap hotels such as Mister Bed, Formula 1. Book in advance if you know where you are going.

10)              Enjoy! Any questions. Ron@swopscomputers.co.uk

Actual mileage travelled 2645 miles

                                                                                                © Ron Wylie Sept 2002

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