Day 42 — Saturday 11 June 2011

Pont Audemer / Toutainville – Le Havre

I was up at six o’clock and away by seven as I wanted to be at the port as early as possible to give me the best chance of catching the ferry to England. The road from the campsite was not actually on my map, so I trusted my nose and headed round the lake hoping that it would link up near Toutainville. It went under the A13 autoroute and then into the village where I stopped for a first coffee and croissant. I chose to take the D312, as small road leading round to the estuary and likely to give good views of the Pont de Normandie. It was a little hilly and the weather was overcast, so I stopped again for another coffee and croissant at Foulbec.

I got a good view of the bridge from one or two points on the road but it was mostly obscured by trees. I was expecting a dedicated cycle path alongside, rather like the Forth and Severn road bridges, but there was simply a thick white line separating cyclists from motor traffic, while pedestrians were on the other side of a physical concrete barrier. I thought it would be safer for pedestrians and cyclists to have shared use of the separate path, but I had to make do with buffeting slipstreams and keeping my eye on the white dividing line. On the approach to the bridge there was a large sign in English saying ‘Slow Down’. I didn’t realise English drivers had a reputation.

On the other side I immediately turned left along the Route de l’Estuaire which really I suppose I was not meant to use, as at the end a huge cantilever bridge was raised. I stopped wondering whether I would have to go all the way back, when a lorry came slowly past. I followed it. A red stop light turned green for the lorry and I nipped in behind and followed it through and over a smaller lifting bridge that I hadn’t spotted earlier.

I then followed signs for Centre Ville and picked up signs for ‘Car Ferry’ in English. At one point I lost the route until I spotted a sign hidden by the overhanging branches of a tree. I pulled up at the car ferry terminal gates and walked up some steps to a cabin high above the parking area. The man inside said he would sell me a ticket when the gates opened in an hour and a half, so I leant on the gates and made myself a sandwich.

As cars gathered at the gates several people came over for a chat asking where I had been. A French journalist with a huge ruck sack and wearing thin canvas pumps talked about his plans to walk to Stonehenge for his magazine and a father and son on powerful motorbikes reflected on their trip to Auschwitz, letting their bikes cruise at high speed on derestricted motorways, finding the point at which they hummed in perfect balance. Other cyclists came along and we swapped stories. I sent a text message to Liz giving her the sailing times and she sent a message back offering to come and get me from Portsmouth. I decided that I had done enough and accepted the offer, rather than spending two or three days cycling back to Birmingham.

The boat was huge with a double hull, multiple car decks only half occupied but just one passenger deck with lots of reclining seats and a couple of cafeterias. The crossing is 109 miles and took about three hours, so we must have been travelling at about 36 miles an hour. My bicycle was stored with the motorbikes and other bicycles at the front of the boat so we were first off. I pushed the bicycle carefully over the ridged ramp and then rode out of the port looking for the tower of the cathedral where I had arranged to meet Liz. I followed a circular route through the city following signs for the cathedral and as I cycled up I saw her walking towards me; she had only just arrived and had parked the car just round the corner. We hugged, locked my bicycle on top of the car and went off to find a restaurant for a well earned evening meal; the restaurant staff were intrigued by my trip. Liz drove me back to Birmingham and I think I fell asleep in the car. I relished climbing into my own bed, believe me it felt so good.