Day 1 – Folkestone 🇬🇧 to Ypres đź‡§đź‡Ş

84km: United Kingdom, France and Belgium

There’s only so much research one can do into the relative advantages of one piece of gear over another, obsess over road surfaces thousands of kilometers from home or agonise over far off logistical arrangements. To go cycle touring, you simply need to leave home. Today is that day.

I’ve overspent on some gear, underinvested in others, but have ended up with a package I’m largely satisfied with. My 12-year old carbon road bike has saddled with bags and will be my companion and tourer for the next month or so. Should I have bought a steel tourer, should I have wider tyres? Will that fancy pannier system fail halfway up an Alp?! We’ll find out won’t we!

Waiting to board in Dover amid the lorries

I’m starting my trip in Folkestone, a nondescript town on England’s South Coast. From there it’s a hilly, but short hop across to Dover to board the ferry and start the trip proper. A brief test period to ensure everything is in working order before I’m an ocean away from the comforts of home. In the current Covid-climate I’m reticent and half expecting to be turned back. We’ve been told we’re OK to travel, but very few people are. With this in mind, I rock up to Dover, the only bike amid the haulers and take my position in the Ferry loading bay. Utterly out of place and baking in the hot sun.

Amid the current climate of mutual mistrust and virological fear, I’m surprised as an amiable man, either inspired by the sight of a solo man and loaded bike and the associated adventurous possibilities, or, more likely, taking pity on a sorry sight, crosses the busy lanes to hand me an apple and nectarine. From here, the positives continue to flow. A pair of chaps who, I later learn, are mountain biking to the Pyrenees in two weeks – an endeavour that’ll see them cover 200km a day, join me in my lane, and before we know it, we’re discussing kit, comparing gear and all having a rather merry time. We’re even handed free meal vouchers (lasagne – unexpectedly good) for the ferry and invited to board. The adventure begins!

Legitimately the only person in the whole cabin who didn’t opt for chips

The two-hour crossing passes quickly and we’re soon unlocking our bikes on French soil and rolling down the ramp. It’s a bluebird evening with the sun beating down. We say our goodbyes, wish each other luck, and I’m solo cycle touring!

Now I’d love to say I took to it like a duck to water, clipped off the kilometers and kicked back in Ypres. Isn’t this touring lark easy? The reality was that I was so nervous I couldn’t stop the handlebars from shaking. The reverberations were so strong I questioned my ability to make it to the next kilometer, the situation exacerbated by lorries constantly streaming past from the busy port of Dunkirk. Here I was – a man who has cycled, literally, tens of thousands of kilometers unable to handle this little bike. A quick system check revealed that the front quick release had flicked open and wasn’t securing the front wheel properly. The relief and horror came as a pair. Relieved that I had a fix for the uncontrollable vibration but horrified that I had just ridden down a 15% ramp with the QR open and probably shouldn’t have got away with it! I’ve still not booked accommodation and its 630PM so I should probably get a move on!

The joy of borderless travel

Anyone who is familiar with the region, (or has read Prisoners of Geography – excellent (Mason, I promise I’ll return your copy to you soon) will know that Northern France and Belgium is bloody flat. I’m also lucky to have a fantastic tailwind and make good progress to Ypres, enjoying the novelty of the border-free travel, quality cycle paths and smooth roads. I capture a couple of snaps of Ypres’ stunning Menin Gate, book the nearest (reasonably priced) hotel and call it a day.

Menin Gate, Ypres:  Commemorating British and Commonwealth soldiers who were killed in the Ypres Salient of World War I 

Day 1 down. So far so good, almost, I forgot to sort dinner in my haste to find accommodation and settle for (admittedly gargantuan) bowls of muesli. Hardly the frites and moules mariniĂ©re one would expect, but there will be plenty of time for that. Grateful to be on foreign soil and with a roof over my head, the tour has begun. Who know what adventures await?

Dinner of champions.. perhaps not, but it hit the spot!

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