We left Geneva, realising that we only passed this way yesterday to grab a coffee in the harbour. Catherine hadn't seen the fountain (which was turned off anyway due to bad weather) and we had about 2 coffees worth of Swiss francs left over in loose change. Failing on both counts, we left only with bad memories and whiplash.
As we rode north towards Besançon, we passed a nice looking café by the roadside so did a quick U-turn and pulled in to refuel. The waitress was delightful and although Catherine couldn’t get her croquet-monsiuer, we did get a delicious warm quiche salad with some exceptional coffee. Suitably refreshed, we continued towards Besançon to find the road that we turned back on had now been closed by the Gendarmerie for the Tour de France.
Bit of a sticking point but we decided to carve a path east and hopefully find a way across the tour route. After much guess work we emerged at Baume-Les-Dames and a huge group of supporters, locals and roadblocks.
You could honestly never appreciate the atmosphere of the Tour de France from TV. The televised footage always makes it appear quite a serious affair. You see some riders, some supporters and maybe a camera man on a motorbike.
What you don’t see are the procession floats driving past and throwing sweets and hats into the crowd. The constant helicopters overhead. The officials with loud hailers hanging out of bars bellowing encouragement at the crowds. The locals going mad every time a camera goes past then running straight back into the bar to watch themselves on TV. You don’t appreciate how fast those damn bikes fly past. Or the noise and excitement of the whole spectacle. You don’t see the Gendarmerie caning it through the streets on motorbikes, punching the air and sounding their sirens to fire up the crowd. I never saw any of them pop a wheelie, but it really wouldn’t have surprised me in the slightest.
Thinking we’d never make the ferry, we resorted to a little local knowledge. A lovely young woman called Isabella was happy to practice her excellent English and spent ages drawing us a little map with directions to a bridge that would take us over the tour route. Dad – it even put your holiday maps to shame! She missed most of the action because she’d turned her back on the road to face us and explain. We kinda felt bad that she missed so much, but her little daughter caught all of the actions and was bubbling over with excitement.
Pretty much as soon as we had our directions, Isabella turned round to see the riders gone, the roadblocks been cleared and the road getting reopened! If you ever read this Isabella, we’re really sorry! Oh, and Catherine really liked your frock.
Approaching Metz, we once again resorted to our backup crew (thanks again Jon!) who tracked down some great digs in the Kyriad Hotel. It’s a chain, very much like Holiday Inn Express. We paid €69 for a twin room with breakfast. The guy on reception moved the furniture off the veranda so we could dump the bike right outside. We parked it by a window in the corner so reception could see it from inside. It was safe as houses.
We took a walk into Metz and thought it was rather nice by night. There’s quite a few restaurants but we ended up in a bar eating unspectacular pub food. We were too tired and hungry to try and translate anything more. I had moules frites, which weren’t a patch on those I had in Montpellier last year. Catherine had a greasy burger, which she really enjoyed.
277 miles
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