An early start for the crew. 6.00am in the Hotel Reception after a very quiet night. The only sound heard before Midnight  was Wrightie fitting his new tyre with a crowd of Octo’s (80+ men) watching him. Lucky one knew enough about bikes to ask him why the chain was hanging off!

So off to the Dover ferry port and onto the boat. Not a lot of banter considering the previous day. An unadventurous crossing, pan flat in fact – a bot like our mood. Would we take to riding bikes in France? Had anyone ridden a French bike before? All would soon be revealed.

Rick decided that leaving from the Port area would be a risk so he decided to leave from Mr & Mrs Third Age front garden instead. Six blokes get out of the van and they think its some sort of raid! Needless to say John was at hand to calm them down with oxygen and Kenyan Lullabies.

On to the bikes and good progress for 5 miles. Then the Mother of steep hills. This one had a tower on top that seemed to move further away with every pedal stroke. Gaps appeared as they have every day but this time it was the Right Meister who got left behind by the peleton. Not to matter the Famous Five marched on.

And then the heavens opened. There had been a strong wind but when combined these two make cycling both unappetising and dangerous. Road conditions got worse and the wind freshened to gale force. And that was it! Everybody did their own thing! Some bravely battled through, others took to shelter under tree’s. And there was the Dick Ed at the back of course. Battling on believing the rest were all in front and despite looking like a drowned rat there was a group to catch up.

And that’s pretty much how the day went. Poor road surfaces made fillings and crowns drop out, luckily the roads were pretty traffic free but that didn’t help the feeling of isolation. Rain soaked steep climbs, followed by windswept open plateaus and nowhere open. Bars shut, Auberge closed and no people around. Cars every 5 minutes and that’s all. Some of the best roads we have been on and nothing, no traffic, people or towns. Just space.

And that’s when it hit us. We were on the way up to the Somme and Crecy. Two very different wars but the same outcome. Mayhem, tragedy and unecessary killing. One in the 14^thcentury and the other in the 20^th. As an Englishman it seemed like the weather and the silence were telling us something.

The celebrations in Abbeville were different to other nights. We are now a Band of Brothers. Not in the same ilk as those bowmen famous for their two fingered salute. Or the brave soldiers in their trenches. But a group of guys who are enjoying an adventure without the fatal consequences those other brave souls faced faced.

A meal, a pastis, we are now ready on our assault of Paris. Just 130 miles away, we can smell the River Seine really we can!

PS Sorry for the late posting. Its difficult keeping the bike clean, eating and drinking enough, tucking in 6 grown men and dealing with hotel mismanagement and writing a Blog! 

So this is a typical B2P classic. There are many I can’t report back because they are too lewd. But this one is just funny. For those who don’t recognise this French culinary dish its Steak Tartare. Prime beef that’s careful sliced and minced but not cooked and served with lemon juice. So which one of our crowd asked for it “Well done”!