Simon Robinson

An Ibis breakfast (enough for a family of four) and a decision to a) go to Lausanne, b) stay two nights, c) take a direct route and d) book another Ibis in the city centre to continue our not quite glossy tour. Then a repack and 0945, the departure. But no, we needed food. And we were sent on our way by the patisseriere with a ‘bon dimanche’. Straight towards a hill.

[Read more…] about Day 12: Pontarlier to Lausanne

Great gardens to wander and watch kestrels hunting for breakfast as we awaited ours in The Royal Saltworks. Such ‘ambience’ just outside my room was ‘magnifique’.

We set off later than usual and with some trepidation. The easy part of the journey has ended. The hundred km yesterday took a lot out of us. Bow, the first day of vertiginous climbing was upon us.

[Read more…] about An Eleventh Day

Last May, I was persuaded to cycle the Beara Ring in Kerry with 4494 people I don’t know by 5 I did. I took all of the carriers and side stands and any excess weight off the bike and also took three kilos from me before the cycle. My total cycling weight was 90 kg carried over 110 km. I even put on slick tyres at 105 psi to reduce rolling resistance. A sportive event, there were food stops and friendly Gardai managing intersections, stopping traffic and pointing the way.

[Read more…] about Day Ten: Saltworks

I’ve become qualified in dejamboning the French vegetarian sandwich and I expect to master the depoulet soon. I’ve been surprised how dehamming creates disproportionate outrage in rural cafes and brasseries. I’ve concluded that since pigs and chickens are vegetarian, they may be locally considered a legitimate ingredient in a vegetarian sandwich. No wonder I’ve upset so many people.

[Read more…] about Day 9: Dehamming

A lot of yesterday was spent talking while cycling two abreast on wide asphalted paths beside the canals. The scale of everything is incredible if you come from the Hibernian Isles. It was hot cycling into the wind and talking isn’t always practical (or safe) so it was good to pass this time together.

[Read more…] about Day 8: Reminiscence

The mortification of our bodies continued on 80 km of canal paths. My mortification was intensified by having to wear ‘not quite dry’ clothes in the chilly early morning. I had made a misguided attempt at spiritual purification by ablution and the evening washing of lycra. I wondered if gel saddles and foam gussets nullified the indulgences achieved by sitting on a moving pole for hour after hour. Then I passed over some asphalt upheavals by tree roots at 22 km/h and was brutally reminded that asceticism is overrated.

[Read more…] about Day 7: Saddle Stylites