Pilgrim Route Finders

Day 62 - La Storta - Rome - 15km

2007-09-10T06:57:00.000-07:00

Having ridden our horses into Rome and driven our car into Rome, I am dreading cycling into Rome, but actually it is far better than I expect. We locate the initial (though brief) flurry of VF signs that direct us onto the via Cassia running through La Storta, and from there use the AIVF map to guide us right up to the cycle path along the Tiber river - a journey of just under an hour. Ten minutes later we are in St Peter's Square and posing for the obligatory photograph - as easy as that - though even with the evidence in front of me, I find it difficult to believe that we have got here a second time without experiencing any major disasters.

From here we locate the pilgrim office, have our credentials stamped for the last time and receive our certificates. So now all we have to is find out about the trains home.

Of course, there has to be a hitch and it is even more frustrating, because it is entirely our own fault. We had assumed (as we assume so many things without taking the trouble to confirm them) that taking our bicycles on the train to Paris would not be a problem. Wrong. Local trains take bikes, main line ones don't. The only positive aspect in all of this is that we can now pass the information on so that future, equally unprepared pilgrims, need not make the same mistake. Anyway, we have resolved the problem by hiring a car to the Italian border and then hiring another to go on from there to France.

So now it is time for closure. We have thrown away our battered water bottles, finally given up on finding the other glove from the pair I used to have and pushed our cycling shorts down to the bottom of our panniers. The end, except for a resume from Paul on the state of our bikes, equipment and bodies after 2,000 kilometres.

Overall our bikes have done remarkably well despite the hammering they have received and the weight they have carried. In total we had 14 punctures and replaced 24 individual brake blocks. The Geant bike which we also used for the second half of last year's journey is still running well with some signs that the front (only) suspension is getting tired. The Decathlon bike far exceeded what we expected and is going well other than a slight slip in the gears which we think is the result of a twist to the chain when we broke the rear gear change mechanism, just before Fidenza.

Our panier bags remain water-tight, but unfortunately the fixings are shot. Our dog basket is showing the first signs of disintegration and I am afraid will be retired.

Our digital camera just held out for the last couple of photos, but the mechanical focus and lens cover mechanism has finally died - I think through getting wet in one of the many storms, although this does not explain the sugary goop that I found on the lens. It is now added to our collection of dead electronics.

The PDA and GPS unit are fine and the laptop survives despite various abuses. The worst was down to me when I rolled out of a bunk and collapsed in a heap on the floor with the computer breaking my fall.

We have gathered 4 gigbytes of data including: 1400 photographs, 2500 voice recorded directions, 2300 wayponts and 250,000 GPS trace points. Mercifully this is now stored in 3 places and so I can sleep a bit more easily.

It is difficult to consider this year's journey as a pilgrimage, it was much more a piece of work to gather the information we need for the guide. As a consequence the opportunities for reflection, were much reduced. The bikes were both useful and a burden depending on the situation. Although they certainly took the stress from the nightly issue of finding a bed and meal, they are no substitute for the companionship of our horses. We are probably crazy to take Vasco with us wherever we go, but he so often succeeds in taking the tension out of the more difficult moments and is always successful in winning us new friends.

I think we both feel physically much fitter for the experience and the scales say I have lost 5 kilos.

Our thanks go to everyone who was in touch with encouraging messages while we were travelling. A bigger thank you for those that contributed to the charities. Thanks to those that went the extra mile in helping us. Thanks also to the makers of the M & M's that gave us the energy to keep going and Messrs Maretti and Peroni for the elixir (beer) that blocked the pain and sent us to sleep.

There is a real sense that the route is coming to life with improvements in signing, better knowledge by the communities of the asset they are lucky to share and hopefully with a wider range of information and guide-books. In Italy low cost accommodation is widely available (unless you have a dog), although more still needs to be done in France. We hope you have the opportunity to try it.

Day 61 - Vico Matrino - La Storta - 58km

2007-09-10T06:56:00.000-07:00

BB
Today we follow the regular VF signed route all the way to Sutri (where we take time out to visit the Etruscan amphitheatre and pagan chapel, which we could not do with Lubie last year), but from here we strike off onto our own route in an attempt to stay away from the via Cassia entirely. Our memories of one particular dual carriageway section between here and Rome haunt us still, so we have decided we cannot recommend the same to other people who may follow us.

Our new route (which misses none of the important VF towns) takes us over the Sabatini mountain range and down to the Bracciano lake, which we find to be a highlight in itself. Overall the road is relatively quiet and the climb bearable, so we are very pleased with this first section. From here the traffic increases and makes the route less inviting for walkers and riders, but fortunately we are able to find a road that links back to an off-road section identified by the AIVF map (we used it ourselves last year), which does involve some climbing and extra distance, but leads pilgrims straight into La Storta, an ideal stopping off place (for those who want it) before the final 15km into Rome.

As a result of our new route we make up time and distance and arrive in La Storta a day earlier than anticipated, which is a pleasant surprise. We stay in the same hotel as last year, eat in the same restaurant and generally seem to repeat history, though notably without nearly as much stress - perhaps the result of simply being more experienced or possibly the knowledge that this year our horses are safe at home.

PP The hotel is the Albergo Il Tempio Di Apollo in neighbouring commune of Isola Farnese. It is not cheap at 75 euros for a double room, but the prices in the heart of Rome are generally higher. The public transport system in Rome is superb and very cheap - 1 euro from Isola Farnese to the heart of Rome using bus, train and metro.

Not surprisingly as you approach Rome the traffic becomes more dense and the diversions needed to avoid it become more extreme. I think we will be able to offer options for those that want to put the miles behind them as quickly as possible and also something for those that sensibly want to minimise contact with the traffic.

Day 60 - Viterbo - Vico Matrino - 37km

2007-09-10T06:51:00.000-07:00

BB
Another good and relatively Via Cassia free day. Our route is created from a mixture of AIVF, local VF signage and some masterful GPS work from Paul - of which more later. Having found our way out of Viterbo, using the fastest and least convoluted route possible, but nevertheless involving a degree of traffic dodging which will be unpleasant for riders, cyclists and walkers, we spend a fair amount of time and kilometres on pleasant minor roads.

After this, most of the route is off-road until we reach Vetralla and have a lunch break. Here the VF signers have a minor crisis and the signs lead us to an overgrown and totally impassable section, leaving us with the AIVF route, which involves a very short section on the Via Cassia and then a good distance on busy, but still fairly minor roads. Then we go off-road again and it is here that Paul manages to identify another option, which keeps us off the Via Cassia for much longer than either the AIVF or the local signers have managed.

Then some more confusion when the signs lead us into one of the hazel tree plantations (or Nutella groves as Paul calls them) that have taken over from the vines and cover every metre of spare space. We are doubtful that the owners would appreciate crowds of pilgrims crushing their nuts, but we persist with the route until it becomes clearly untenable. As an alternative we plot another, off road, but public route that does not trespass and ends on the starting point of the next section.

A good day all in all. No desperately steep climbs, a reasonable percentage off road, all of it perfectly acceptable for cyclists and better still minimal contact with the via Cassia - so very, very different from our experience with Lubie last year for which we have to thank both the VF signers and the knowledge gained from often all too painfully won experience.

Now we are really on the home stretch and I am two minds about how I feel. An end always brings a new beginning, which in our case will be a winter spent translating GPS traces and audio notes into guide book form, as well as gathering all the information we have not been able to acquire on route. In my head I have at least three possible designs for the layout, each with its own specific advantages, but no doubt the reality of the printed page will change all that. In the end I can only hope that we achieve our primary aim which is to provide a simple, easily identifiable route, with options to meet the needs of each specific group - riders, cyclists and walkers. Our secondary aim is to support this with all the supplementary information pilgrims need for a comfortable, safe, enjoyable and well informed journey - accommodation, historical background, local detail etc. Finally all of this must be presented in an easily accessible and durable guidebook format - easy!!

Vico Matrino is a small village with not much (other than Nutella) to offer the world. However, last year in the middle of a downpour we were grateful to find here another eccentric running the il Profeta B & B who was able to offer us a bed and a place to park our horse. With this memory, we are hopeful that this backwater will also be immune to the influence of DOODAH - well almost, "no problem with il cane" and the price? "65 euros including breakfast and yes a 10 euro premium for the dog" and this said with a poodle yapping at her feet.

We have done pretty well so far in avoiding the dread via Cassia without adding too many kilometres or mountains, but today we have to come up with a solution to that stretch of dual carriageway where the pilgrims (and their horses) are asked to walk the wrong way down the hard shoulder with the Roman commuters honking in amazement.

Day 59 - Bolsena - Viterbo - 35km

2007-09-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

Another good day. The sun is up, the tracks are clearly signed and we successfully amend one section to avoid an unnecessary climb. We are in good spirits and all goes well without hitch until the local VF-signers and our AIVF guide seem to have mutually agreed to leave us in the lurch. Paul and I find ourselves in a familiar piece of woodland where dim memories of getting horribly lost last year lurk in the shadows. Without signs our only option is to use these and find a way out, which surprisingly enough we do.

Next we travel along the old via Cassia, the original, clearly visible and highly evocative Roman road that took our predecessors to Rome, though with a great deal more hardship - no showers, beer stops or vast pizzas for those pilgrims. I do my best to imagine their privations and sensations as we bole along, but have great difficulty.

Just a few kilometres before Viterbo, we pass the mineral pools we saw last year, but had been unable to enjoy because there was nowhere shady to tether Lubie. This year we hope to try again, but this time it is the dog rule that confounds us, plus the fact that I do not have a swimming costume on and the pools are crowded with bathers.

Last year Viterbo was a black spot for us because we spent many hot kilometres getting lost round a military airport, and then had to skirt the centre via a number of frightening junctions and flyovers. This year everything is easy. We avoid the airport, we only see the flyover in the distance and discover that the ancient centre is really quite pleasant. And, guess what? It's party time again, this time in the form of a huge medieval pageant involving a sumptuous display of costumes and crowds of people quite simply enjoying themselves. Paul and I enjoy ourselves for as long as I can bear it, but then retire at some ridiculous time like 8.30 because I am even more tired than usual, though the day has not been exceptionally hard.

We had hoped to try out the hostel in Viterbo - Instituto Adoratici Sangue de Cristo - but having located it we find a rusted gate and grimy windows and no one home. I guess it has fallen into disuse. We thankfully meet the usual DOODAH block at a posh hotel in the old town and as a consequence stumble on the eccentric Albergo Roma which welcomes us and Vasco at a fraction of the cost.

On our way here we passed through the 100 km mark - that is 100 km from Rome. This falls in Montefiascone, a small town that we failed to appreciate last year and the frenetic traffic even on a Sunday morning has done nothing to improve our view.

100 km prompts thoughts that the end is in sight. This is always a time of mixed emotions. I think we are both (or all 3) inveterate nomads and the idea of stopping and returning to "normality" has an odd feel. We also know that the last 100 km will be tough in a different kind of way - our constant challenge will be to find ways to avoid the growing pressures of road traffic, the warmth of the welcome that we have found in the countryside will fade under the influence of the big city and Rome is quite clearly a bastion of DOODAH. On the upside we have our family and friends to return to and an even longer list of new projects that we (she) has conjured up over the last 2 months.

Day 58 Abbadia San Salvatore - Bolsena - 59km

2007-09-10T06:43:00.000-07:00

BB
An excellent start and finish for an excellent day. As we leave the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, just what we need after yesterday's soaking. Then we have easy downhill riding for the best part of the morning, also just what we need. Better still, the roads are quiet and the large off-road section takes us through breathtaking countryside that we can appreciate all the more because the cycling is so good. Today after an initial section where we have to find our way out of Abbadia San Salvatore independently, we find the cross country Pisoni route a great improvement over the Via Cassia hugging AIVF route, while the local VF-signers have searched out some alternatives that only enhance the route even more.

By the time we reach Acquapendente, a place we only slogged through in the rain last year, we have sufficient faith in the brown VF signs to follow them into the centre (something we definitely could not have dared to do last year) and are rewarded with a very pleasant Piazza that we would otherwise have missed. We stop here for lunch.

And so the story goes on - brief, but very brief encounters with the dreaded Via Cassia, though only on short and quiet sections, and then more off-road tracks with only a few hills that warrant getting off to push. Then Bolsena.

Last year we opted for the lakeside route because it was flatter and, we thought, better signed - a big mistake as we can now see. Much of our route had been along the via Cassia and even where it was not the roads were busy and the drivers horse unfriendly. For all these reasons Bolsena appeared as an unappealing tower high up on a ridge that we passed by without a pause. Now we know that it is in fact a hidden treasure that no one in their right mind would want to miss.

Bolsena's ancient centre is charming, the huge basilica is imposing and the people are perhaps the most welcoming we have encountered yet - an atmosphere further enhanced by a local triathlon competition and the inevitable celebrations. As far as we can tell, Italian is in permanent party mode.

But the best is yet to come. Brothers you should see how your Sisters of the Suore San Sacramento deal with pilgrims and their dogs. The convent door is opened by a tiny nun who makes me feel like Goliath. In response to my pathetically phrased question about a bed for the night, she smiles sweetly and pulls me inside, but I hold back and point at Vasco. She shakes her head and tells me that she is sorry - "Cane (dog) no."

Expecting as much, but pleased that the situation is made clear at the outset, I thank her and turn to go away, but my arm is held again and now another, equally tiny nun (Paul describes them as dormice) joins us and indicates that I should follow her inside.

I am taken to a large room with an exquisitely tended garden visible through a large a window at one end. The nun points to it - "Cane." They could not try harder for us and our problematic dog, but they do not know Vasco. He will howl and bring various houses down if we leave him outside for the night and through a variety of ludicrous gestures I tell them so, while also ensuring that they understand I appreciate their efforts. Now the two nuns have a rapid fire conversation between themselves and their next move is to grab an arm each and practically drag me up to room with two spotless white beds and a bathroom. "Le chien et vous." One of them tries her limited French out on me and suddenly everything becomes easier. I thank and thank them, saying how much I appreciate their dog dispensation and add that we will visit the basilica at 6.00 when I have gathered they will be saying Mass - if only they really knew what this means in terms of self-sacrifice. Enough said! I eat my words about ALL religious communities and reserve them for just SOME.

PP There are many routes around Abbadia San Salvadore and its twin mountain top partner Radicofani. Last year we stuck close by the SS2 (Via Cassia) which lead us between industrial complexes and seemingly unfriendly roadside café's, not helped by days of continuous rain. The route we travel today is so much better with freedom from traffic, gorgeous immense landscapes all enhanced by clear blue skies.

I, and I am sure the bank manager, are grateful to the dormice for saving us from another hotel bill. Unlike the fee demanding Benedictine monks the dormice need prompting on the subject of money and apologetically suggest 8 euros per head, they get more of course.

Day 57 - San Quirico d'Orcia - Abbadia San Salvatore - 40km

2007-09-10T06:38:00.000-07:00

BB
Paul's birthday and the only surprise I can offer is a reasonably clear sky, the promise that I will make it up to him when we get back and a challenging day - physically and spiritually.

Having set off with a cool wind behind us and the infinite expanse of the Tuscan landscape in front, we are in good form and quite excited because we have decided we will forge a new route from a combination of Pisoni's and the AIVF options, but with one principle and important aim - to avoid the via Cassia. Having tracked far too many kilometres of it last year and personally experienced just how dangerous and stressful even a short distance can be, we have vowed to find a viable, enjoyable alternative. Inevitably this involves a number of extremely stiff climbs that expose the term 'rolling hills' for the misnomer it really is. Hills don't 'roll, they only go up and down in varying degrees of gradient, which in this particular section of Tuscany is almost exclusively 1 in 5, or steeper. Nevertheless, we succeed in finding a route that will make great walking and riding, with a reasonable challenge for those mountain bikers who enjoy that kind of thing - better still we have not touched one centimetre of the via Cassia.

As ever, just when everything is going well someone has to throw a spanner in our wheels. We are enjoying a downhill stretch, when the rumbling thunder and ominous show of boiling grey clouds that has been threatening to burst for the last half hour, finally coagulates into a storm directly over our heads. The only positive aspect is that we are not far from Abbadia San Salvatore and so do not get desperately wet and frozen, but this is where the negative part comes in.

We locate the Foresteria monastery listed by Pisoni as offering accommodation and, encouragingly, the first monk we meet greets us enthusiastically and notifies one of his colleagues, via an intercom, that we and our dog are waiting outside. Then he leaves and about five minutes later another (notably less enthusiastic) member of the community arrives, makes sure we understand that we will have to pay for the accommodation (though this hostel is listed as accepting voluntary donations rather than a fixed fee), gives Vasco a sideways look, indicates through an array of sign language that dogs smell, but nevertheless takes us to a respectable room with en suite. On the way we meet an English monk who asks us a number of questions about our trip and Vasco (albeit in a rather 'eccentric' manner), which makes us feel slightly more welcome than our current guide monk.

Paul and I start to unpack, breathe a sigh of relief because the rain has started hammering down with renewed force outside and then meet monk number 4. "You have my computer." Paul and I look around nervously, note that there is indeed a laptop on the sideboard and step back to let him retrieve it. "You have a dog." Yes, with Vasco sitting at my feet there is no point in denying the fact - we have a dog. "Dogs are not allowed." Now we start to protest that we have spoken to three previous monks, all of whom have seen Vasco and all of whom have agreed that we can stay. But this is not sufficient for Monk Number 4."I go see about this."

We are left in limbo for at least ten minutes before our adversary re-enters and tells us that the situation is impossible, but it is raining - a confusing announcement, perhaps an ultimatum, but either way we are left in no doubt that our presence is not welcome. I resolve any further confusion by letting him know that during 7 weeks of travel, and many nights of staying in religious hostels, this is the first time we have been treated quite so badly and therefore have no wish to remain.

People who have been reading this blog will already be familiar with my views with regard to religion - although they are always expressed with a large portion of tongue in cheek. A percentage of these views no doubt come from my unhappy experience of being a Church of England boarder in a Catholic convent school, but I am equally certain that time and maturity have ensured my current views are more balanced, objective and perhaps even more importantly, focused on a personal moral code that bears a strong resemblance to the 10 commandments.

Nevertheless, this occasion does nothing to dispel my conviction that religious intensity, Christian or otherwise, engenders selfish adherence to principles and rules without common human understanding. Pilgrims following in our wake, without dogs, will no doubt receive a reasonable welcome at Foresteria monastery, but the more perceptive cannot fail to notice the underlying frigidity of the atmosphere and frankly bizarre behaviour of some of the monks - a great shame.

So, all in all not a particularly Happy Birthday for Paul, but as the town seems otherwise pleasant and the rain has stopped, perhaps a good meal and a good bottle of wine will take the sting out of our smarting spirits.

PP
The route that we choose takes us passed enormous vistas of Tuscan scenery with even more dramatic hill-top settlements including Rocca d'Orcia. It seems that the more we travel through this part of the world the more beauty we discover. The hills mean that all routes are challenging in the region, but I am pleased that we have found something that does not waste too many kilometres and repays the effort with staggering views while saving people from the risks and fumes of the SS2.

After our experience with the monastery we took the easy, but no doubt expensive option of the Kappa 2 Hotel - dog welcome in room, but must be carried in public places - in case the other guests take offence?

Day 56 - Siena - San Quirico d'Orcia - 56km

2007-09-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

Out through Siena's streets and into a normal Italian workday - party forgotten and chaotic traffic packing the formerly car free streets. Paul and I battle our way through and try to withdraw from the throng long enough to take a photo. As we dither and fiddle, the group of students we had met the day before stop to ask us where we are heading today - I have no idea but Paul gives a passable answer.

We exchange news and views with their lecturer, with whom we had not managed to speak to the day before, promising also to send him a copy of our guide book. In return he offers to give us copies of reports by his students who have walked the St James Way and the Via Francigena - I sense this could be a mutually useful relationship.

Then it is out into the 'boonies' (where does that word come from?) as Paul calls them. I remember not liking this part of Tuscany last year and not just because it was raining. Unfortunately the natural landscape has nothing to do with the barren desert we are confronted with now. The rolling hills are still there (too many) as is the uniquely Tuscan blue haze on the horizon, but the earth has been stripped bare. Hectare after hectare of ploughed, decimated land, interspersed with the occasional large farmhouse and line of conifers along a no doubt impressive driveway, but nothing else. Then, just to add to the desolation, a crosswind blows across the tops of the ridges where we are riding, slicing off yet another layer of soil and threatening to lay us horizontal - bikes and all. Perhaps this is why real exhaustion sets in for me about two thirds of the way through. We have just had a lunch break and the sugar levels should be high, but I find myself breathless, thirsty and nearly paralysed by leaden legs.

Still, the VF signers have not let us down and tracing the route on and off-road is relatively easy. Our only concern is that some of it may be too much on the busy roads for horse riders and we will look for an alternative when we have access to more detailed maps.

As a child I always had dreams of travel and discovery and you would think after all these years and the increasing sameness of the world, I should have grown out of it, but Italy still has some very special things for me and Siena is one of them. Every street is beautiful not only with those tall ocre painted houses squeezed together, but how, why do they make the streets curve and swoop? The spontaneous warmth of the Italians remains present despite the stresses of city life and just everything has that extra ounce of style.

Our walking and riding day is physically hard with heat and nearly 1000 metres of climbing with much fewer descents. The hill top farms and fortified villages are still picture book as is the sunset we have just witnessed.

In San Quirico d'Orcia we are too tired to comparison shop for the cheapest hotel and having followed a sign for a 2 star, which inexplicably earns an extra star as we wind our way up the last hill and so I wait for the surprise of the 3 star bill in the morning.

Day 55 - San Gimignano - Siena - 41km

2007-09-10T06:31:00.000-07:00

More Tuscan countryside, more off-road tracks, but also some unpleasant, if short sections on major roads. Strangely, our difficulty now is that the VF signing is so good and dogmatic, that we are loath to confuse our followers by suggesting any, less obvious, but probably preferable routes. We have done our best to strike a balance, but there is clearly some kind of turf war going on in Tuscany - there have been occasions when we have seen 5 different VF signs on one post, all fighting for supremacy.

In this situation all we can try to do is suggest, as diplomatically as we can, that one route maybe preferable for cyclists, while another maybe be preferable for walkers and riders. Then, just to add to the confusion, but also interest for us, we meet and fall into discussion with a couple of people from a large group of walkers. Through this we find out that they are in fact completing a module of an architecture course run by Venice University, which requires them to walk 300km of the VF and write a report about the buildings they encounter on the way. When we ask them about their route, they tell us that they have just come from Monteriggioni, which does not even appear on the AIVF route, but has been identified by their lecturer who is also a VF expert. We are initially flummoxed and wonder how and if we should include this new entrant, but of course it is not really such a problem because in its day the VF was only ever an approximate route. Our desire to narrow the original network of approaches to Rome down to a single line for people to follow is more a reflection of today's lack of time and need for simplicity than anything else, so we will just indicate Monteriggioni and other similar examples as being of possible interest if people want to make the necessary detour.

In Siena we discover that the hostel we had hoped to stay in is 3km outside the town and the camping site has closed, but an information centre tracks down a reasonable room available for one night.

Earlier on we had noticed some festival preparations (acres of tables and chairs with Sangria and straws in a long line down the middle, a stage and a lot of milling people) and by the time we are showered and ready to hit the streets, Siena is already in full party mode. Once again we witness the Italian zest for quite simply having a good time and although we are both struggling after a long day, we do our best to join in.

We found our room at Camere Camollia through the information office. As we rode into the city I had noticed a number of similar names where apparently you can get a good clean and well equipped room for about 50 euros, but no other services. It fits us just fine.

Day 54 - Gambassi Terme - San Gimignano - 16km

2007-09-10T06:26:00.000-07:00

Paul has decreed that for his birthday treat we will take time out in San Gimignano (where we could only pass through with Lubie last year), a request I utterly support because we need the break after yesterday's heat and last year's frustratingly brief glimpse. So this means an easy, short day, mainly off road and through rolling vistas of the Tuscan countryside (it is hard not to drop into clichés when you are riding through the epitome of postcard land). Yes, there are some tough climbs, made slightly tougher by the continuing heat, but when you know you have only 16km to cover, even that is not so bad.

In spite of streets filled to bursting with tourists, San Gimignano does not disappoint us. We are still able to enjoy its famous towers, faded brick walls and the shade of narrow passageways that more often that not lead you back to where you started, but we are chilling out so don't care.

One day is not enough to visit all the attractions (some appropriately historical and others plain bizarre - what is an Oriental torture chamber doing there?), but sufficient to gain a sense of what it might have been for the pilgrim passing through.

My only disappointment is that I have been unable to find a decent present for Paul amongst the overpriced tourist dross, that in most cases has absolutely nothing at all to do with the region. But it is a perennial problem and I hope Paul will forgive me one more time if I do not manage to find anything of birthday present calibre. We always seem to be travelling on or around his birthday and I am never imaginative enough to find something small enough to take with me at the outset.

This part of Tuscany can't fail to grab your breath. It is almost too perfect, those rocket shaped conifers interspersed with the umbrella shaped Mediterranean ones and the hillsides combed into vineyards and olive groves, while every farmhouse stirs that 'I want one' feeling. Pancole just before St Gimignano has it all, views, vineyards and fresh made olive oil.

After some searching we find the Fosteria del Monastero San Girolamo ( if you are using Pistoni's guide relapce Porta San Giacomo by St Jacopo). After getting over the shock that the monk in charge of accommodation is a monkess we get a good room with all facilities for 20 euros per head a 7 euro discount on what is 'normally' charged to tourists, but bad news for Vaz, DOODAH have left their traces and he spends most of the night locked in the monastery garden.

Day 53 - Ponte a Cappiano - Gambassi Terme - 40km

2007-09-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

BB
Up early and the sun is already burning high in the sky, but the good news is that we manage to find an off-road and simple route where last year's map led us into a chaotic network of tracks with no clear end - except in the middle of nowhere.

We reach San Miniato without incident, mooch through the quiet streets, admire the amazing views, drink a gallon of fruit juice and then get back on our bikes - with the sun rising ever higher in the sky, the Tuscan ups becoming ever steeper and more frequent and the downs always less than needed to cool us off.

Meanwhile Paul is showing clear signs of heat distress, but admitting to nothing. I watch him and know something is seriously wrong when he does not protest to my saying I am going off to find some more water, in fact he just slumps down and lets me go without a word - a worrying sign.

One hill later and I insist we take a break, and sod it if the only shady place we can find is a cemetry. We crash on the cool wall (not on a gravestone), refill our bottles from the tap and wait for pulses to settle - Vasco's included. Half an hour later we slog the three remaining kms to Gambassi, every single one of them up hill, but we take it slowly and survive - perhaps a sign that we are learning at last.

PP
It is tough to admit that the heat got to me. I am the sun freak in the family, seeking every opportunity to get the rays, but yesterday I think it was a little too much even for me. We drink beer and even coke by the the gallon to get the liquid levels back to normal and then finally move onto the local wine that comes free with our special pilgrim meal. The host at the hotel is affable and we have a very acceptable room for 50 euros and a multi course meal with free booze for 12 euros per head.

Day 52 - Camaiore to Ponte a Cappiano - 60km

2007-09-10T04:24:00.000-07:00

BB
Back on the road and it is tough, not so much because of the terrain but because of the heat. The problem here is that we are entirely exposed with very little relief. I notice that Paul, usually by the far the stronger, is lagging behind and what he describes as a "little puffed". Nevertheless, we make good progress on an exceptionally well-signed route (what a change from last year!) through Lucca, (no less charming and interesting for this second visit) and then over the hills and off road to Ponte de Cappiano. Ponte a Cappiano is just as good as we remember it. The hostel and the hostelier have not changed, the grass along the riverside is just as green (Lubie would have enjoyed it all over again) and the people in the pizza place remember us, our horse and of course Vasco.

PP
Today we found ourselves working a bit against the tide. The signers wanted us to use the main roads when they were clearly too busy and too enclosed and then wanted to send us into the boonies when the side roads were quiet and allowed good progress.

The Ostel at Ponte a Cappiano is right on the old Medici bridge with great views up and down river. The facilities are basic, but fine and will cost 15 euros per head. The pizza place is some kind of of working men's club, but with a welcome for all. Don't be put off by the closed door it is about 50 metres beyond the bridge on the left side - mention the mad English with a dog and a horse!!

Day 48/51 - Pietrasanta - Camaiore - 12km

2007-09-10T04:21:00.000-07:00

BB
Just when everything is going right ... everywhere in Camaiore is full. We have negotiated the dizzy, seemingly endless height of Monteggiori, admired the view, found ourselves lost for words in exquisite St Lucia and dropped down into Camaiore via a far better route than last year's nightmare trudge with Lubie along the main highway. Now I want to find somewhere to stay and then give Lucy a big surprise by phoning and inviting her down for a drink in one of the local bars, but there is not a single room in a single inn and when, as a last resort, we cycle 5kms to Camaorie Lido even the camp site is full. So what now?

I am in utter despair and to make things worse I can't even get hold of Lucy to let her know that we are here and ask if, maybe, could we have a bed with Roberto (where she is working) one night earlier. At this point it is probably a good idea to explain our contact with Roberto and Camaiore. Last year we arrived here with Lubie exhausted, just as frustrated by finding nowhere to stay and worse still incapable of walking a step further up the hill we had found ourselves on, while following signs to a B&B called Casa del Sole. Then Roberto came round the corner on his scooter, arranged a place with Bruno (now also a close friend who we must visit) for Lubie and took us up to Casa del Sole (which he owns) in his car. An unforgettable experience, an unforgettable friend and now Lucy's employer for the summer.

So here we are again, in a mess as usual and with only the hostel in Pietrasanta available for accommodation. We cycle back along the coast road, ask a confused nun if we can stay another night and then meet two more pilgrims. This time they are French, much the same age as we are, but on foot. They tell us stories of how they were snowbound on the St Bernard Pass and we work out that they had been there just a few days after we had crossed over under bright sunshine - an unusual stroke of luck for us or perhaps a brief transfer of celestial wrath.

From this point on it is utter madness which does not add a great deal to the content of this blog. I eventually get hold of Lucy, we are told to get our backsides over to Camaiore where Roberto will pick us and the bikes up at the bottom of the hill - all of which happens, with the result that we stay 3 blissful, comfortable, heart-warming, inspiring and crazy days with Lucy, Roberto and an endless trail of friends and acquaintances who drop in out of Case del Sole as if they lived there - we love it.

Day 47 - Ponzano Superior - Pietrasanta -43km

2007-09-10T04:16:00.000-07:00

BB
Aching, sore but rested nonetheless, Paul and I slog back up the hill this morning and resume the authentic Club Alpino version of the VF route down to Sarzano via yet another cliff face. Next time those clever geneticists want to give an unsuspecting animal the attributes of a goat, they should try adding a cog or two from our bikes. By the time we reach the bottom, our bike brakes are as smooth as the proverbial baby's bum and we have two punctures. Then, just as we scrape ourselves together, the rain starts, again.

Does minor blaspheming and irreverence really deserve such a sustained display of celestial grievance? First a week of closed hotels, restaurants and cycle shops just when we need them most. Then days of intermittent splattering rain and today a storm to beat all storms. All this when in spite of our agnostic views I still do my best to respect the ten commandments, more or less. As an almost lifelong vegetarian, I have never, knowingly, killed a living thing (unless it was a mosquito, rat or ant). I have never committed adultery before my ex knew he was one and the divorce papers were on the way. Never coveted my neighbour's ox, only lied when my back was against the wall and never worshipped idols - apart from George Clooney (does he count?). So why this vendetta? Why rain on me when in terms of degrees of wrong-doing, people like Saddam Hussein and Hitler should have had a cloud burst over them at birth. Shut all the shops for Robert Mugabi. Break a major engine part in Bush's biggest and most important Bushmobile, but please fit the punishment to the crime for pathetic little sinners like me.

These are entirely internal thoughts, but perhaps someone is listening, because just as we enter Sarzana the rains eases and we meet Danieli, or il Maestro, whose bicycle repair shop is not listed in the yellow pages. In fact it does not even have a sign over the door.

Danieli takes one look at the broken gear mechanism, tells us it is a stupid design and then sets about making a new one out of a piece of metal he scavenges from of a pile in the corner. Meanwhile an unceasing flow of visitors of all ages drop in and out to exchange a word or two and take a look at what the Maestro is up to now, leaving us with the sense of being in a coffee house without the coffee but an overflow of conviviality. An hour and 20 euros later, we can ride the bike we have been pushing for the last seven days. It is impossible to convey just how wonderful this feels.

As we clip the panniers back on, Danieli nods at his handiwork and asks us to tell our friends back in France that it had been made in Italy. You bet Danieli, and the rest of the world! Then more rain, but also progress, right up into Pietrasanta, one town before Camaiore and Lucy and two days ahead of schedule - not bad going!

In Pietrasanta, everything that had won our hearts in Tuscany last year comes rushing out to knock us senseless all over again. Having negotiated a place in the hostel, Paul and I wander out into the square and drink in the atmosphere, washed down by some beer. What is it that makes this particular region so utterly right for us? Perhaps the saturation in art and culture, perhaps the sun, perhaps the people, perhaps it does not really matter - Paul and I are in no doubt about where we want our next home to be - here.

Later when we return to the hostel we find that two other pilgrims have arrived, the same, superhuman Italian couple we had met in Fidenza all those days before. We exchange the usual pilgrim news and through this discover that they had avoided the mountain route to Sarzana because it was too hard - shame the bush telegraph could not have got to us earlier. Still, in spite of our mistakes and and foolhardiness, it appears that even pushing bikes we have managed to cover the ground faster than they have, which must mean that we are superhuman too ... or something like that.

PP
The maps we are using tell us that we should make our way from Sarzana to Pietrasanta along the foothills of the mountains. However, it is such a shame not to take in the opportunity to see the Mediterranean sea and use the broad paths that flank the sea and so despite the rain we choose to track the sea front from Sarzana to Lido de Pietrasanta. The convent in the main square in Pietrasanta gives us a warm welcome and shower for 10 euros per head. Our Italian friends manage to live up to all of the best and worst of our experiences on the St James Way - with the wind section in full voice over night and an hour of clanking and packing before leaving ahead of first light.

Day 46 - Villafranca - Ponzano Superior - 33km

2007-09-10T04:11:00.000-07:00

BB
Monday morning - the shop that should be open in the afternoon is in fact closed all day and the sky is leaden. How much more bad luck can we have? Paul and I discuss the options, look in the local yellow pages, decide that we will walk to Sarzana where there are two shops to choose from and resolve to do the trip in one go if the weather holds out. Oh for a crystal ball.

The first half of the journey is 100% uphill, but on tarmac and predominantly minor roads. It is tiring, but we manage it without too many intervals and once again we congratulate ourselves on our improved levels of fitness, which should have alerted me that something would go wrong shortly after.

In Bibola, a village perched on the pinnacle of a mountain higher than anything else around it, we admire the view, ooh and aah over the winding streets, take photographs and then look for the way down, as indicated by Pisoni. In the space of five minutes we find out that there are some vital gaps on his map (unusual for Pisoni) and when we ask a local resident for directions he says that the only VF he knows is absolutely impossible for cyclists and not much better for walkers. As an alternative, he suggests the main road, which we politely decline, so he directs us down a different route, which sounds tough but feasible. As we descend, everything he says seems to be supported and when we see a Club Alpino sign directing VF-ers back to Aulla, but saying nothing about Sarzana where we would like to be going, we feel marginally happier because we have clearly spoken to someone who knows what he is talking about.

When the going gets tough, the tough should have enough common sense to give up, but where Paul and I are concerned, common sense must have been removed in the womb, so we keep plodding on. The gravel track we have been directed towards winds up and up and up, without a single hint of the downs indicated on Pisoni's map after Bibola. Then, just as our doubts peak to panic, we meet a hunter who confirms that the track will, eventually, bring us down to Ponzano Superior, a village between us and Sarzana. Nevertheless, he warns us that it climbs steeply over the ridge we can see towering over head and is a long, long way. I wish people wouldn't say that kind of thing, it just makes me want to give up before I have even begun.

Two hours and many wrong turnings up unnecessary hills later, it is seven o'clock and we have only just found a Club Alpino sign down to Sarazano, which also tells us that it will take one and a half hours more. And, true to Club Alpino form, the track is straight down a perpendicular rock face. I am scared, tired and utterly determined that next time we I will ensure that we have detailed maps of the area with us. No doubt I will forget and will make the same mistakes all over again, but angry mutterings often provide energy where exhausted legs cannot not.

We stagger into Ponzano Superior at eight o'clock, with no other alternative but to go onto Sarzana (about 5kms more) for accommodation. Then, as start to freewheel miserably down the first reasonable hill we have seen since leaving Bibola, the rain sets in. But just as I am about to hurl abuse skywards, Paul spots an Albergo on the right and we roll in. A lucky find for everyone concerned.

PP
It is strange that often the pain of climbing and scrambling passes under the pleasure of the achievement or the atmosphere of the village that you suddenly discover. Conversely, when the maps don't work and the signs disappear or lead you over a wild cliff edge, the pain just gets worse.

We battled our way over the mountain between Aulla and Ponzano Superior to be able to offer walkers a safe and attractive alternative to the crowded main road below. Hopefully now we have a clear view of the right way or at least a known way, others won't suffer the same stresses. Frustratingly, a couple of days later, we meet up again with a super-fit Italian couple who tell us that they just stuck to the main road as the mountain was too difficult. The Albergo in Ponzano Superior was an Italian take off on Fawlty Towers. With Basil being played by a chubby and rather senile Italian gent, Manuel by an Oriental girl that had trouble with the concept of menu, a window that fell off its hinges, rain blowing in most corners, but none the less it served us well...although it was 60 euros including a breakfast that we pigged on.

Day 45 - Berceto - Villafranca - 46km

2007-09-10T04:09:00.000-07:00

BB
Still walking, but getting into the routine (push, free glide or walk) and learning how to ignore those testerone fuelled motorbikes. Anyway,we wouldn't miss this for the world - we are climbing up the Cisa Pass (1041 metres), peering over valleys and mountain peaks that we were leaning over backwards to see the top of only a day or so before. This takes some beating - villages perched on cliff edges and once we have crossed the summit, a downhill run on an endless,car free road snaking through every contour of the range. If it wasn't for the severe winters, Paul and I would be looking for a home here.

In Villafranca the bubble bursts, but only because it is such a drab place with so little to offer in the way of interest. We investigate nearby Filetto in our search for the hostel that does not seem to exist anymore and in the process find a few quaint streets along with a knight in armour up an alley, but on the whole it is a section I could pass over and I remember thinking much the same when we skirted it with Lubie last year. But, and this is a huge but, despite my frustrations and fears, we are still making good progress and our current hosts have just told us that there is a large bike shop here in Villafranca. We will go there tomorrow and hopefully sort out the bike once and for all. So watch out Camaiore and Lucy - here we come!

PP
We climbed the 300 meters between Berceto and the summit of the pass using a combination of tracks, again difficult underfoot, and the SS62. With the exception of the motor bikers traffic was light, but watch out if you choose the road at the weekend the bikers treat this stretch of road as their own TT course. Having failed to find the hostel in Villafranca we are in a pleasant B & B and enjoying being able to converse in French instead of our appalling Italian.

Day 44 - Fornovo di Taro - Berceto - 40km

2007-09-10T04:07:00.000-07:00

BB
Anything after Fornovo is uphill and our only option is to push our bikes and try not to notice those other bikes that pass us with a maddeningly sibilant sish and all too frequently a jaunty "bon giorgnio". I would feel happier if I could wear a placard explaining that we are walking because our bike is broken and not because we are wimps, but I don't suppose anyone would have time to read it. Anyway, as long as we stay on the quiet minor roads the climbs are within our range and I make the mistake of congratulating myself on getting fitter, but then we hit the off-road section after Terenzo. Suddenly we are on a perpendicular stone track that walkers in hiking boots would think twice about, let alone cyclists with 25 kilos in their panniers. Nevertheless, true to our purpose we slog on and create the GPS trace along the Pisoni recommended route, albeit sweating, cursing, falling over and in my case feeling closer to the end of my physical resources than ever before. On the way we pass an old man who is taking a brief excursion from his car down the stony track - he looks at us in utter amazement and asks why we are not taking the tarmac route with our bikes. We shrug and try to explain, but anything we says seem to only confuse him even further. Then he looks back at Paul and gives me a meaningful look before saying: "you must have iron courage". A comment that is obviously so well meant that I have neither the heart nor sufficient command of the Italian language to explain that in fact I bear as much blame as Paul for being here.

By the time we are back on the SS62, which runs parallel to the route from hell, every muscle has turned to jelly, but after that it is all downhill. Blissful kilometres requiring no more effort on our behalf than a few squeezes on the brakes. Alright, so maybe I have only one working brake, but who cares when the wind has dried all the sweat off and we are cruising into Berceto where there is something like a street party going on.

PP
The countryside here is stunning, rising above the Po valley, where green hills are topped with stone built villages. Much of the signing and pathway maintenance seems to be down to the Italian Alpine Walking Association. The Alpine bit gives you a clue and indeed it does what it says on the tin. This would be tremendous for a Sunday ramble, followed by a good meal, but 40 odd days and places to get to and beds to find, scrambling over broken shale is no fun when you are pushing this loaded bike and I suspect even hardened walker pilgrims would be scouring their maps for an easier option. In Berceto we are given a warm, dog friendly, welcome at the youth hostel, clearly something needs to be done about this DOODAH, pointed to a room with 2 creaky but acceptable beds and left to our own devices - good cheap pizza in a warm and friendly town.

Day 43 - Fidenza - Fornovo di Taro - 34km

2007-09-10T04:04:00.000-07:00

BB
Bad news - the shop that is open does not do mountain bikes and the shop that does will not be open until next week - so we are left with no other alternative than to walk, covering the distance at half the speed, but covering it nonetheless and hopefully finding a bike shop on the way, next week.

Cycling is bad for walkers, because it makes you realise just how excruciatingly slow walking is - a sensation that in our case is further exacerbated today by a head wind that makes even free-wheeling down hill hard work. But gradually Paul and I get into the routine, me pushing him from my bike where there is not enough downward incline to get his bike going by itself, or where there is no other option, simply walking. It is not an easy journey, we are hampered by vague and erroneous mapping with place names even the locals don't recognise, but in spite of this the peaks and troughs of the mountains we negotiate make the pain worthwhile. Paul and I agree that this is probably one of the most beautiful mountain ranges we have gone through. Better still, the process of getting lost brings us into contact with a family who not only put us on the right road, but also load us with fresh fruit and water straight from the fridge.

So moans and groans aside, we make surprisingly good process, arrive in Fornovo di Taro at about six and feel only slightly exhausted.

PP
I think it is called Armco, like vacuum cleaners are called hoovers, Armco is that galvanised crash barrier that started out on motor racing tracks but that has appeared to become the main tool of Italian road designers to bring down the accident statistics. Last year we saw gangs on all the motorways we travelled installing 2 tier Armco no doubt to prevent cars launching into the other carriageways - seems like a good idea. It is also an ever-present feature of the SS and SP roads. Here it is a mixed blessing - I hope it reduces the need for the shocking number of wayside shrines to teenage and 20 something boys, but it also acts as a funnel into which pedestrian, horse and bike rider are forced to share the limited tarmac with 2 lanes of traffic.

Our approach to Fornovo de Taro requires us to use the SS 357 in some parts which is encased in the stuff. The traffic is light, but there is just no escape if you are trapped between a juggernaut and the edge. The bridge over the Taro is no better with stone parapets and a gale blowing that tries to push us into the traffic. We had hoped to use a hostel in Fornovo di Taro, but reading the maps in more detail it seemed that this would cost use a 5 or 6 kilometer diversion, not too bad on the bike, but too much to ask after a long day on foot. So we opt for the Hotel Cavaliere close by the point where the VF leaves Fornovo. It is pleasant, but not 90 euros pleasant.

Day 41/42 - Piacenza - Fidenza - 54km

2007-09-10T03:55:00.000-07:00

BB
A difficult start, because this time we are quite literally trailblazing. Pisoni's recommended route takes pilgrims straight up the SS9 to Fidenza without a single deviation, impossible for horses and inadvisable for cyclists or walkers. The AIVF route offers an indistinct and (as we know from bad inexperience) difficult to locate route that meanders somehow or other to Fiorenzuola d'Arda and then improves, slightly, once it sets off for Fidenza. Now, we consult the AEVF maps and find that the section we need is missing and when we look at a GPS trace on their site, it is immediately obvious that the pilgrims who had made it must have taken a bus for the first and worst section or perhaps even missed it out altogether. So now we have no alternative but to find another, completely new option - the problem being that for this we will need to buy a detailed map and ... you've probably guessed it ... the only place we can get one is closed.

Back to the drawing board. We have one reasonable map that shows the SP6 as a possible alternative. We try it and find that it too is busy, but just about bearable for walkers and cyclists, though still inadvisable for horses - we will have to search out an alternative for them when we get back home. So, we manage to wend our relatively uncomfortable, completely unsigned way through to Fiorenzuola d'Arda after which the VF signs miraculously reappear in the middle of nowhere. Our spirits rise, our speed increases, we note the crop change from rice to tomatoes (with a welcome reduction in mosquitoes), enjoy some off-road riding and then disaster strikes.

We have just pushed our bikes through a muddy quagmire produced by an irrigation pump and started to pedal again on a stony track on the other side when there is an ominous grating and cracking from the rear of my bike. Two seconds later everything is clear, a stone has got stuck in the mud and sheered through the gear mechanism - no more riding.

Picture this - Paul and I in the middle of the Italian countryside, under the burning midday sun, about 8kms from Fiorenzuola d'Arda and 12km from Fidenza, with an unusable bike. We discuss the alternatives and decide that walking onto Fidenza is more productive. We arrive at about five, knackered, pissed off, hot and with a dog who has made it very clear that it is outright cruelty to expect him to walk another step, but here our fortunes begin to look up.

We search out the information centre to ask about hostels etc. and without knowing it stumble on what appears to be an AEVF headquarters. We are given smart new pilgrim passports, a pottery medallion for me to hang around my neck and lots of good advice, the most important being that there is a hostel just down the road.

The Sancutary of the Brothers of Francesco d' Assisi is everything we need. We are taken in, offered a room until Vasco is seen (an unexpected response in view of their patron saint), offered a place for our tent as an alternative, then a shower and food (and a Grappi top up for our coffee - homemade - there is more to the Brothers than meets the eye). Then, as if we had not already been given enough help, one of the Brothers sets about trying to locate a place for us to find the spare part we need for our bike, but of course everything is closed for the holiday.

Later we meet two Italian pilgrims who are also staying here for the night and find out that they have walked the same distance we walked/cycled that day. Any illusions that I have done quite well with my 12km are dispelled, but when they go on to say they usually get up at dawn and walk through to the evening - anything up to 12 hours - I simply decide that they must belong to another section of the human race.

Later still, Paul and I sample the delights of Fidenza. The centre focusses around a wide open square and the Cathedral theatre and medieval tower, all of which must feature highly on any pilgrim visitor's list. We are enchanted and spend the best part of three hours simply enjoying the atmosphere, also noticing that the bicycle is the main form of transport here, which makes everything so much quieter and more pleasant.

This is probably a good point to also mention that we have been repeatedly astounded by the generosity and help we have received since arriving in Italy. Nearly every time we stop to look at the map, someone will come over to us and ask if we need help. Then, even if we are not looking at a map, they will take the trouble to ask anyway. We have been given water, offered places to stay and are generally left with the feeling that we are welcome and people are interested in what we are doing. In England our stay was so brief that it is not fair to make any definitive comments, though the level of knowledge with regard to the VF and its starting point from Canterbury was sadly negligible. In France, we were occasionally offered help if we were looking at a map and people were on the whole friendly too. In Switzerland we experienced nothing negative and may not have been there long enough to test out the degree of help we might or might not have received, but still nothing can compare with Italy - an impression that comes from travelling along the VF twice and experiencing the same both times. Viva Italia!

Day 43

There is nothing worse than inactivity. Paul and I are driven crazy by the knowledge that there are at least three places where we could have bought the bicycle part we need, but they are all shut. We trail every supermarket in Fidenza, nothing, so we take a train to Parma, find out where the main sports stores, visit them all but again find nothing - they are either shut or do not have the range we need. An exhausting, frustrating and depressing process, but when we get back the Brothers are still there for us and in the afternoon Paul is taken out to a place that should be open, but isn't, but definitely will be tomorrow. Another day gone, another day less for us to get to Lucy in time. I am tearing my hair out and writing this blog when a Brother asks me if I want to use their internet. Suddenly I believe in miracles, Heaven and may be even God.

Day 40 – Pavia – Piacenza - 50km

2007-09-10T03:49:00.000-07:00

BB
Today starts mundanely enough with the usual process of finding our way through city streets to emerge on the other side (my least favourite part of VF travel) and hopefully back on the VF. Last year we spent a significant amount of time trying to understand where a clutch of seemingly contradictory signs wanted to take us on this particular section. This year is not so different, but with the use of some painfully gained hindsight we manage to find a single and relatively simple route.

From here we more or less continue to retrace last year’s steps through unexceptional countryside, though primarily on minor roads and tracks, which makes the travelling easy. The change comes when we break away to do what we could not do last year with Lubie – cross the Po with the Guado, in his little motor boat – a reduction in road kilometres and much more fun.

Pisoni’s instructions tell us we must contact the Guado, Danilo, a few hours before wanting to cross and we try to do this in Sta Cristina, the town that sits exactly on the intersection between the two available routes – boat or bridge. For some reason the phone number does not seem to connect. Decision time. Risk it and see what happens? Or do the sensible thing and take the road route.

After two coffees and some one-dimensional discussion (because in truth we are already decided) the boat wins. From here the travelling is much more interesting – small villages, cycling along the banks of various waterways, then the Po, then signs for the Guado, then a small jetty with a boat tethered to it, but no Guado. We go back to a small group of houses we had seen 50 metres back, the archway entrance encouragingly plastered with VF signs. This is a fairly dusty collection and the customers in the only bar stare at us as if they don’t see too many people outside their own family, but this is just proof that first impressions can be unreliable. After explaining who we are and what we want, the bar owner springs into action: phoning the Guado on our behalf, asking if we mind appearing on television and then phoning again to get this organised too. Paul and I can only nod in agreement to everything, drink our beers and wait for whatever is going to happen next. Vasco, meanwhile, is being swarmed over by a crowd of kids and apparently enjoying the experience.

Pierluigi Cappelletti arrives shortly after, introduces himself as the manager of the sanctuary at Orio Litta, explains that he has been instructed to inform the local TV station if any pilgrims come through and asks if we know Jo Patterson. Yes, of course we do (fellow member of the UK VF confraternity and our first contact with the VF itself). The mutual acquaintance propels our conversation along even more familiar paths: pilgrims, signage in Italy etc etc.

Then the TV cameraman arrives shortly after and through a mixture of translation and tough intermediary work on the part of poor Pierluigi, we are filmed, interviewed and then filmed and interviewed all over again with Vasco, as usual being the star. From here it is time to get our bikes and luggage down the very steep and very narrow gangway, in preparation for the Gaudo, who, we are told, is on his way. The only fortunate aspect in all of this is that the cameraman and Pierluigi have left us to get on with it by ourselves, because the last thing we need is an audience for our slipping, sliding and swearing progress.

The small motor boat crests the horizon just as we dump the last pannier on the jetty and then everything goes quite simply smoothly. Within less than ten minutes, Danilo and Sergio, his mate, sort out the deck, arrange the bikes and then tell us to hold on tight. The Sigerac (the boat) may be small, but it can go unexpectedly fast. Vasco nearly loses his ears in the slipstream.

On the other side, at Soprariva, things just get better. Danilo and Sergio help us unload and then invite us up to the house for a beer. From here we exchange pilgrim gossip - people we know, guides we have used - and then we are given detailed instructions on how to to get to Piacenza, the parts to avoid, the routes to watch out for and so on and so on. An hour goes by before we leave, Vasco is fed and Danieli's wife phones through to the next hostel (San Lazzaro) to let them know that we expect to arrive somewhere between six and seven.

From here it is good travelling until we arrive in Piacenza. We already have bad memories of the place from last year, when we came in from the wrong side and had to negotiate a flyover with Lubie, but actually in hindsight this year is even worse. If you are planning to travel in Italy try to avoid the holiday period, because everything, and I mean everything, is closed.

We arrive late at the hostel and no one answers so our only alternative is to find a hotel - not a problem - but finding an open hotel most definitely is. After a slogging five kilometres we finally find a B&B on the outskirts where the holiday fever has not totally taken over. We are welcomed, offered a very comfortable room, but of course no food - needless to say we are starving.

No point in dragging out the agony, it is agonising enough. We have to walk another 3km back into Piacenza to find the only open restaurant, though in the end it is not all bad news because the food is excellent and Vasco shares a large portion of Paul's steak because we have not been able to buy any dog food that day.

Day 38/39 – Mortara – Pavia - 50km

2007-09-10T03:43:00.000-07:00

BB
More easy riding, more rice paddy fields, more memories. Today we ride comfortably into the Sanctuary of the Madonna of Bozzola where last year we staggered in and then begged for a bed for us and a place for Lubie. We were given both and Father Cesare, who we will never forget for his kindness and dual role as both monk and barman (the crucifix tucked neatly inside his T-shirt for the latter role), recognises us and treats to free lunch and beer that he absolutely refuses to accept payment for.

Once again we are asked about our horses, a point which launches a train of thought I pursue as we wend our easy way along flat, sandy tracks towards Pavia. What are the differences between horse and bike travelling? Speed is clearly the most obvious, as is ease with regard to finding accommodation – sticking a bike in a garage is infinitely easier than trying to persuade an hotelier that he really wants to have our horse in his garden. I also can’t deny that I feel generally far less stressed and exhausted than I did when we were riding, but as soon as I encounter the most pathetic hummock all of this is forgotten and I wish above everything else that we had our beloved horses to take the strain. But of course there is more than the simple mechanics to all of this and for me Eduardo expressed this most eloquently. He said that by travelling together horses and humans become a team, each and every member striving together to achieve a mutual aim – in our case getting from A to B. Gwen and Lubie faced the challenges with us and in many cases dealt with them much better than we did. In the mornings they shouted at us when we got up too late and in the evenings they whinnied softly to let us know that they were still there – magical, indescribable moments that only someone who has been there can really understand. I miss of all of that and their absence is now like a silent reproach Paul and I are determined to address for our next trip. But of course we still have our beloved Vasco without whom travel is simply unimaginable.

Just before Tremello, where the signing is particularly good and features hand painted pilgrim emblems, we meet Gian Carlo cycling in the opposite direction. With our minimal Italian, we understand that he is a passionate VF historian, the signs are his own handiwork and he wants to guide us through the next section. This is a chance encounter we would not miss for the world. In Tremello he takes us into the church he is currently restoring, the frescoes and statues startlingly rejuvenated where he has been, but others still only partially visible. The VF needs more people like him.

Our entry into Pavia is simple and straightforward, enlivened by an ice cream stop during which we meet two more pilgrims on their way to Rome, though on foot. Denni (Austrian) has walked all the way from Vienna and Marissa (Italian) has joined up with him in Italy. We swap stories and discover that they have also met Gian Carlo. Shortly after we are treated to an unforgettable view of the dome of Michel Maggiore emerging on the skyline (albeit covered in temporary scaffolding).

Tonight we are camping in Pavia and have decided to take a day out to catch up with our blogging and emails, while also doing some important bike maintenance. The pannier carrier on the black bike has snapped in one place, no doubt a stress factor after something like 2500 kms and nearly one and a half trips to Rome (this is the bike we bought to replace Gwen in Aosta last year), and the brake pads are wafer thin. Our recent progress makes this all possible as we can safely predict that we will be able to spend some time with our daughter Lucy in Camaiore where she has been working for the summer.

PP
I think B has babbled through everything that I had to say, except perhaps to echo that warm feeling that you get when someone you have met briefly and in times of stress recognises you and instantly offers you new friendship and gratitude that is out of keeping with the rat race – is this the essence of why we do this?

DOODAH can’t have found Camping Ticini as its owners/managers are clearly dog and cat lovers and Vasco is allowed everywhere among a small throng of pets that emerge from caravans and tents, each trying to establish their own temporary territory.

Day 40 - Chilling in Pavia

Before anything else - congratulations to Ben who arrived in Rome on May 9. Well done and enjoy your break before going onto Rome. Wish we had been able to move a little faster so that we could have swapped war stories, but your blog has given us a lot of detail anyway. In spite of still hating camping and the sleeping on rocks it requires, we are definitely chilled here Pavia. Holiday or no holiday, we have managed to find the one and only internet cafe still open and sampled enough of the local food and wine to be absolutely satisfied. Better still we have spent a few silly hours paddling in the Ticino with Vasco, something most Pavians seem to spend a lot of time doing - though not with Vasco. We have also bought our replacement pannier rack and a couple of new t-shirts to replace our severely threadbare options. While doing so I notice a new version that apparently self-washes for up to 5 or 6 times (suppose it depends on how filthy you are), something I would have bought 10 of in the past. But today I tell Paul that I can cope with the handwashing and don't even want to use the washing machine on offer at the campsite, so one way or another this pilgrim thing must have exerted a change - possibly for the better.

Day 37 – Santhia – Mortara - 75km

2007-09-10T03:41:00.000-07:00

BB
Easy riding, my kind of cycling. The hills are finally behind us and now we are well and truly into the plains and rice fields. Once again we are steering a course between two primary, well documented routes and trying to pick the best from both. Last year we spent sweltering and frustrating hours in search of VF signs. This year we find a great deal has been done to improve the marking of the route, nevertheless there are still a couple of blank areas where only Paul’s navigating nose can get us out. The good news is that every centimetre of our progress, sometimes circular, has been logged by the GPS and will be sorted out to become a clear road to Rome for pilgrims following in our footsteps (and of course using our guide).

In Nicorvo, our progress is delayed by a disappointing, but increasingly evident, display of anti-VF sentiments on the part of some landowners. At a cross-road we are offered two options: the original route (as documented by AIVF) and the alternative documented by Pisoni. Wanting to be as authentic as possible, we choose the original route and find that (in spite of some fairly clear signs) we are lost in a maze of impassable and no doubt carefully dug drainage ditches. Now all we can do is turn round and try the other route, which thankfully does deliver us safely into Montara without any further problems.

In Montara, we resolve to try out the St Albino hostel we had missed the year before because we only found out about it when, quite by chance, we walked past the hospitalier (Tino) on our way out the following day. On this occasion he could only tell us what we had missed, but today, in spite of omitting to phone the obligatory 24 hours beforehand, we are welcomed, given a bed and remembered when we tell him about our horses. After this, more encounters and more good memories. Last year we stayed in a hotel next to a railway crossing and Lubie was subjected to trains and mosquitoes in much the same number. She bore it well, though Paul and I were reduced to dancing dervishes, much to the amusement of the mosquito-immune owners and their other guests. This year we go back to the same hotel for a nostalgic pizza, are immediately recognised and asked the inevitable question - where’s the horse?

PP
The trip from Santhià, was a great improvement from our efforts last year avoiding all but the shortest sections of the main road to Vercelli. We must find more time to visit Vercelli. The centre has pleasant leafy avenues, with history on every corner. Tino’s welcome and that we receive from our old friends at the hotel/pizzeria make up for the short-comings of Mortara (another Crewe). We donated 15 euro per head at the Sanctuary of St Albino. This is perhaps just over the going rate, but you just can’t ask for change in those situations. And would you believe you can still get a served good quality pizza for 3.50 euros!

Day 36 – Hône – Santhia - 65km

2007-09-10T03:33:00.000-07:00

BB
So alright I take it all back, there is more to Hône than just the fortress. This morning we decided to try out Pisoni’s route, which seemed to go round the back and so avoid the tunnel and a reasonable section of the SS26. In fact, road works prevented us from getting right through (though we are fairly sure this is only a temporary state of affairs and will contact the appropriate authorities to confirm this), but we did at least see the best part – a single street that leads between frescoed houses cut directly into the cliff edge, literally dripping with well documented history (signs giving the detailed past of noteworthy houses appear virtually every 50 metres) and managing to squeeze in a couple of interesting B&B’s too. I am not sure I could live in a place that can only see the sun for about an hour a day, but the way people have adapted and created their homes in these restricted circumstances is fascinating and inspiring to see.

From here we are forced to revert to the road route that was so unpleasant for Lubie and the rest of us last year, but with so little space in the narrow valley bed one simply has to accept the inevitable. Still, we make good progress, passing through Pont St Martin and then negotiating a new route from that of last year, which does not involve the horrendous climbs and (we feel) extraneous effort with little gain. Basically we travel along the base of the valley, picking up smaller roads where we can and avoiding the dreaded SS26, except for a few brief occasions where there is no other alternative.

From here we hit Ivrea and I have to admit spend less time than we should – a symptom of traffic fatigue and memories of last year that involved meandering through endless streets with a horse and a dog. Nevertheless, we pat ourselves on the back because we find a clear route through and emerge on the other side approximately where we expect to. Now it's easy riding, flat and well away from the busy main roads. The bikes eat up the km’s on gravel tracks and better still we find out where we went wrong last year and so don’t get lost near Lake Viverone – perhaps we are getting good at this.

Next Santhia, where last year our saviour, Roberto, picked us up off the high street and offered Lubie and the rest of us free board and lodging for the night. We would like to see him again, but unfortunately his establishment is somewhere at the end of a sandy lane and without him we will never find it. Still, not all is lost, we discover parts of Santhia we didn’t even know existed and decided that far from being a dusty flea pit (our opinion last year) it is in fact a place worth visiting with a history worth discovering.

PP
Before we set off today we consulted 3 different map sets all recommending substantially different routes. The signs and stickers mercifully did not offer even more alternatives, there were few of either on display, but we are well pleased with our own contrived amalgam of the 3 maps plus a few good bits of guesswork of our own.

Inevitably we are forced to use main roads in the immediate vicinity of the large towns, but outside this we are able to find pleasant ways that do not require scaling the rocky slopes of the valley sides and some time-warp villages, where the tractor has not yet taken over all the tasks of the small farmer. Leaving the Aosta Valley is another milestone on our route and so I guess I am happy to see it pass. There are parts where its 2 main products of water and rock and their industrial derivatives begin to get you down, but when the sun is out the valley is beautiful, the houses with those green stone slated roofs and wooden frameworks are charming as are the tiny chapels. The people seem endlessly helpful and their patois of hybrid French and Italian allows us a reasonable amount of communication.

The vineyards have given way to acres or maize and kiwi fruit (frustratingly unripe just like last year) fed by more of the water from the valley. Tonight we get to relax in the Hotel Vittoria close by the railway station in Santhia. I am hoping that the vino rosso prices are also low here or it might be a long night listening to the passing trains.

We wake to car door slamming at 5.30 as the commuters set off for Turino or Milano and finally give up the effort to get back to sleep before 7.00. The hotel is as quiet as the grave and we spend time packing in the hope that someone will eventually show up soon to make the coffee. Vasco has kept his legs crossed for the whole night and by 8.00 we feel it is essential that we find him a quiet patch of grass. So off we go, only to discover that the door has shut behind us with no way back into the hotel. After 30 minutes sitting on the pavement, we finally get coffee and a sumptuous breakfast. This, however, turns out to be the sweetener for an 80 euro bill. It seems the Vittoria is the only open hotel in town and is making the most of it.

Day 35 – Nus – Hône - 45km

2007-09-10T03:31:00.000-07:00

BB
No storm and no rain – excellent. Better still, we manage to meet up with Isabelle and Eduardo with heart-warming hugs all round. Who says going back is not a good idea? Retracing our footsteps is bringing back all kinds of memories – some good, some bad. Last year this was the first day we travelled without Gwendolyn, but with Lubie and the bike – a difficult experience for all of us. This year we are in a position to learn from our mistakes and develop a single route from all the options proposed by the many, many VF mappers. Of course we think ours is the best, which is inevitably open to debate, but if nothing else we have managed to steer a steady, safe and predominantly traffic-free course along a valley where everyone is jostling for space and the SS26 and the A5 Autostrade seem to dominate the centre. In the process we have passed through Chatillon and St Vincent, two towns that have a great deal of history to boast about, while also climbing into remote villages where, in contrast, the churches are the size of shoe boxes though far more attractively decorated – I think we have photographed every single fresco we passed.

Tonight we are in Hône, staying in the same hotel where we stayed with Lubie last year and once again loomed over by the frankly bizarre Bard Castle. My sense of historical duty tells me I should mount its stark footpath and do the tourist thing, but the rest of my body is rebelling. Perhaps a photo from below will do.

PP
The wind and rain battered the shutters through the night and I had the fear of a day spent wrapped in our capes. However, though the morning was grey the rain generally stayed away, but as you look up on the valley sides there is now a neat divide between green and white. Yes, though it is August it snowed above 1000 metres last night and remember the Col is over 2400 metres high. I hope those that are following us have prepared well and kept an eye on the forecast. The brother of a friend of ours that farms high on the Col surprised us last year by saying that for him autumn begins with August. Well I guess we have the evidence here to prove it. It was wonderful meeting Isabelle and Eduardo again. Their equestrian centre seems to be doing fine and the welcome we received was well worth our reduced day and small diversion off the track.

We seem to have moved from the land of yellow stencilled F signs into rather posher, but much less frequent signposts with the little pilgrim figure that I associate with the European Association. The posts seem to only be erected on road sides, never pathways, and all too frequently point into the no-man’s land between 2 credible routes and so we revert to maps, guesswork and a judgement of which type of route our successors would like to follow.

Tonight we are in the Hotel del Mulino in Hône, where we were able to park our horse Lubie on the lawn last year. BB tells me it is going to cost us 60 Euros for the night and so we will aim for a big breakfast tomorrow, but the good news is that pizza and vino rosso prices have fallen and so we will sleep well.

Day 34 – Gignod – Nus 25km

2007-09-10T03:27:00.000-07:00

Rain all night and another short day again, but mainly because of our late (but very comfortable) start, a large amount of time spent sight-seeing and blogging in Aosta and then the storm that finally caught up with us after starting out in Switzerland. Nevertheless progress is good, though primarily on roads, the result of some careful route selection based on our desire to tread the narrow line between authenticity, safety and feasibility. Aosta charms us again and in spite of the rain we do our best to see as much as we can – a worthwhile effort. Then it is more or less solid climbing until we reach Nus where we are staying tonight in order to include a small diversion to Fenis (just across the SS26 from here) tomorrow.

Fenis is where we finally had to leave one of our horses, Gwendolyn (because of her injury), last year with the wonderful Isabelle and Edoardo. They run an equestrian centre and not only took in Gwendolyn, but also gave us the idea and the contacts we needed to buy the mountain bike we used as a substitute so that we could continue our journey to Rome. In retrospect, I am sure that this is what finally prompted us to decide to do the whole thing again on bikes – one of which is the one Isabelle helped us to buy.

So, for all these reasons, we are going to see them again and hopefully give them a pleasant surprise. At this point it is probably appropriate to note that we are about half way through our journey, which is also as good a time as any to mention our equipment. As always we are running on a very tight budget, meaning that everything we buy has to be best value at bargain basement prices – a policy that works sometimes and sometimes not. Our second bike, one rung up from the cheapest available (just over 300 euros), has served us extremely well and is showing no signs of strain other than needing replacement brake blocks (no surprise there). The panniers from Lidl (30 euros a pair) have done an excellent job in terms of protecting our gear and keeping it dry, but their one fundamental weakness, the detachable hooks, has caused problems simply because they were not sold with spares. This means that when they break or are lost we have no alternative (my regular running into the back of Paul may have been a contributory factor in this). Still, a modicum of ingenuity on Paul’s part and a lot of bungees (for which our thanks go to Alex and Elwira) seems to have produced a solution and we are doing fine. Sleeping bags – Lidl again – are the best and cheapest I have ever bought. Our clothes are similarly cheap and cheerful, but predominantly biker Lycra which makes for easy washing and drying (though their figure-hugging properties don’t do a lot for the cellulite). The most luxurious (but in hindsight possibly the most useful) item we allowed ourselves were a pair of specialist mountain bike shoes each. These are reinforced for a good pedal grip, but also adapted for walking and climbing, something we seem to be doing a great deal of. Then finally, and of course most importantly, there is Vasco’s basket, a wicker affair with a protective cage on top and bespoke metal framework fixed to the front forks underneath. With some additional padding provided by one of my discarded fleeces, Vasco has travelled something like 500 kms without a murmur of complaint or sign of a sore bum, so I think we can also say that this has been a good buy. Since starting out we have also added to our kit two pairs of handle bar extensions (which give us some relief from the permanently crouched position we seemed to have been forced into before), plus two wing mirrors. The latter were designed to enable us to see what the other one was up to behind without turning round and inevitably swerving wildly. They worked well, until I snapped both off on separate occasions by resting the bike against them – perhaps some robust and idiot-proof versions are the answer. In summary, I think we can say that we are (currently) living proof that it is possible to travel over 1000 kms with basic equipment and minimum fitness. Whether I will be able to say the same at the end of journey remains to be seen.

Just a quick note that there is an excellent, cheap and very helpful internet service centre a couple of blocks behind the Hotel de Ville in Aosta. Trying to find wifi connections and even basic internet facilities has been much harder than I had expected and as a result our blog and contacts with friends has been pretty jerky.

To complete the kit inventory that BB began, we consume a fair amount of our weight allowance with electronics – the Garmin 60 CSx GPS on which we record our every move, the HP PDA on which we dictate clarifying instructions and record accommodation and point of interest details, the inevitable digital camera and the hub, and therefore potentially weakest link, the lightweight but second-hand Compaq Evo laptop. Our last 2 trips killed a laptop each, but this time we had hopes that the laptop would survive. However, we are just beginning to see the first signs of the hardware getting crushed, with strange keyboard behaviour, so somewhere along this road I need to find another internet service centre with CD or DVD back-up facilities.

Tonight we are in the 2 star Hotel Dujarny. The sign on the back of our door says that the room rate is between 40 and 68 Euros. Would anyone like to guess which end of the scale it will turn out to be? The village also has a pleasant looking 1 star, but unfortunately the Italian chapter of DOODAH got there first. Well I was pleasantly surprised to find the price was in fact 55 euros with a substantial breakfast thrown in, but no dogs allowed in the dining room.

Day 33 – Grand St Bernard – Gignod - 22km

2007-09-10T03:24:00.000-07:00

BB
A short day, in terms of kilometres at least, but a trip down memory lane. Last year we took more or less the same route with our horses through the Italian border (no checks just a hearty bon giorgno – making me love the Italians all over again) and then straight down until we arrived in St Rhemy, some 850 metres below. This year the experience is no better and no worse than last – a scramble on sometimes very narrow tracks taking us the best part of two hours, but an unforgettable view of the Alps nonetheless. Real bikers, as opposed to pseudo walker-bikers like us, can enjoy possibly the longest and fastest downhill free-wheel they have had in their lives, though they will probably need to replace their brake blocks (and maybe their trousers) at the bottom.

St Rhemy is worth slowing down for. A pretty alpine village, Italian-style, with what looks like the beginnings of a pilgrim hostel. Last year we stayed in the hotel, but it is a tricky place for horses. This year we pass through and opt to take a different route, travelling down the left of the river (as opposed to the right), basically following Pisoni’s recommended route and finding it preferable and easier to find. I should add here that overall the route markings are vastly improved on last year, though even then they were much better and more consistent than anything we encountered in France or Switzerland.

From St Rhemy our memories of last year (when we led our poor horses along the edge of a treacherous aqueduct and were mislead by signs that had been turned round) loom large and we proceed very cautiously to ensure we log the route precisely, while also highlighting the dangers for cyclists and horse riders – an effort that reaps its rewards. We do not get lost, we identify the routes and the alternatives and we arrive in Gignod in one piece, just before the rain starts.

In Gignod, in spite of the weather, we have to camp. Why? Because this is where the wonderful Franco and Franca run the Europa campsite where we stayed last year and our horses were given a lush field and shelter and hay for the night. After some initial confusion, because Paul has shaved his beard off, we are welcomed like heroes and shown off to anyone who comes into the bar that we have taken over to do our technology stuff.

PP
While Franco and Franca offer typical Italian warmth Camping Europa struggles to earn its 3 stars. It seems to double as the summer home for snow moving and road mending equipment as well as stop over for tented and “becaravaned” tourists, but the plumbing works (just) and across the street is a pleasant café and OK restaurant. The budget didn’t do badly today – just 13 euros for the tent, people, bike and dog! I am sure that Franco, would give future horse riders the same warm and helpful welcome we had last year with ample grazing in an adjacent field.

I go along with Babette’s view that anyone on two wheels would be silly to take the pedestrian tracks. They should free-wheel all the way to Aosta and reap the reward of their climb on the Swiss side. In the Aosta valley the pedestrian routes are marked in yellow and have both from and to information, such as from Martigny to Aosta, but also a number or letter coding e.g. route 1, or 13B. At the top of the Col I noticed a rather crudely stencilled route F. Now having followed our various maps we are being lulled into the belief that F stands for Francigena. The signing has been frequent and well positioned although varying from the detail of our maps- generally to take walkers away from traffic. We wait to see when and if it peters out.

Day 32 – Orsiéres to THE TOP of the Grand St Bernard – 25km

2007-09-10T03:22:00.000-07:00

BB
1600 metres climbing, and every one of them agony. No, actually that is an exaggeration. In fact travelling is relatively easy on wide paths until we get to the end of the Lac des Toules, but then everything changes for the worse. To say that our journey is a pointlessly painful exercise is akin to saying World War 2 was a minor miscalculation on Hitler’s part.

For walkers the route is a tough, but worthwhile challenge, for two idiots dragging their bikes over boulders and up vertical inclines, this is pure folly. Needless to say, we will be offering other alternatives for riders and cyclists in our guide. But having said all that, we are here, 2,473 metres up in the Swiss Alps, the sun is shining and more incredibly still, we are alive. Now all we need is a few litres of beer, a shower and some food - after these we may appear to be marginally less mad and possibly even human. Roll on the next stage – downhill to Aosta.

PP
The climb is long and a continuous ascent with the air getting thinner as the climb gets steeper. Above the entrance to the tunnel the traffic level on the road reduces and it becomes a less painful choice, although beware the owners of powerful motor bikes and sports cars that live out their fantasies on this road. We try and stay at the Hospice, the home of the St Bernard rescue dogs, but Don’t Offer Owners of Dogs Accommodation in Hostels (DOODAH) have beaten us to it and again we have to dive into the bank balance to stay at the convenient Hotel de Hospice across the street. Here we go for demi-pension (the eating out choices are a bit limited on top of a mountain and the whole lot comes to 150 S.Fr for the 2 of us and dog – DOODAH have also invented the dog supplement – 10 S.Fr. Beware the ambiguous ads. suggesting rooms are much cheaper, they are not and they charge a weekend premium.

Day 31 – Martigny – Orsiéres - 24km

2007-09-10T03:17:00.000-07:00

BB
Bikes are not mountain goats and neither are the people who are foolhardy enough to pretend they might be. This is a tough, tough section with the route taking us up and down the narrowest of paths and over rocks – our only option being to carry the bikes.

No one in their right minds would do this, but anyone reading this blog will already know that we are not, which is probably the reason for my finding some kind of spurious satisfaction from having done it. In fact, at some points it is positively enjoyable and for walkers I am sure it will be an absolute highlight in this section. In spite of Paul’s morbid fear of heights we walk along the edge of a gorge, with a thundering river at its base, and then emerge onto the top of ridges where the view across the peaks is so breathtakingly infinite that it is actually possible to forget the pain of getting there. This section takes just over 5 hours and then we ride into Orsiéres where we meet my brother, Alex, and his wife, Elwira, for lunch – how civilised!

In fact, apart from the very real pleasure of seeing them, there are some ulterior motives. We have persuaded them to pick up our equipment from where we had left it in the hotel in Martigny (so that we could travel the last section unimpeded by the extra 25 kilos per bike) and we have also persuaded them to take us and the kit from Orsiéres to the top of Grand St Bernard today. But before you draw breath to shout CHEAT, this is only so that we can ‘do the Col’ tomorrow with our bikes, though without the baggage. As we drive up, we take the opportunity to stop off and look at the tracks we will be negotiating, which does nothing for my hopes that we will reach the top in one piece and with our bikes.

PP
The steep sides of the gorge into Orsiéres make for difficult choices. Either the pedestrian route Babette has described (expressly prohibited to horses and a route no sane person would take an unloaded, never mind loaded bike on the road) or the main road, which involves passing through an avalanche protection gallery, where the traffic sounds echo like kettle drums and there is little small protection from it. This is one of those places for riders where you need total confidence in your horse. Our recommendation would be to start from Martigny at first light and aim to reach Sembrancher before too much traffic hits the road. From Sembrancher there is a very pleasant, but steep off-road track to the east which will take you the rest of the way to Orsiéres.

In Osriéres we stopped in the Hotel des Alpes for 80 S.Fr; including a good breakfast. The restaurant here has quite a reputation and price list to match, but the rooms are reasonable and the staff pleasant.

Day 30 – Lausanne – Martigny – 82km

2007-09-10T03:15:00.000-07:00

BB
My kind of day – no hills. We ride round the shores of Lake Geneva, through Montreux, retracing our Festival memories, and then out the other side at Noville. Hey, I could get used to this. Then we join the Rhone and pedal along its gloriously flat banks – eating up the kilometres and suffering no more than a sore rear. And so it goes on.

On the way we remember last year’s journey with the horses and pick up the paths we used then, also noting some of our mistakes. Outside Martigny we pass the track leading to the bunker where, last year, we spent a very uncomfortable night, but today the sun is shining and for once being a pilgrim is quite simply a breeze.

PP
Well, I daren’t think what has happened to the budget, but we are in the 3 star Hotel de la Poste in Martigny tonight. I figure that a night in a tent and 140 kilometres in 2 days deserve a reward. Surprisingly the pricing cartel can’t be operating here we get a big breakfast included for only135 S.Fr.

Our AIVF maps suggest that after the lake we should have skirted the mountains to the East with what seems to be a series of climbs and descents among the vineyards. This seems great for a short excursion but unnecessary torture when we know there are wide straight and flat paths that follow the Rhone with easy access to the valley towns of Aigle and St Maurice.

Day 29 - Yverdon les Bains– Lausanne – 58km

2007-09-10T03:14:00.000-07:00

BB
Easy riding – or so we initially think. Yes, admittedly there are less vertical climbs, but these are replaced by endless steady slopes and what seems to be a cat-cradled route without end. On the positive side, are mainly off-road and riding through the skirts of the Alps – an experience that will stay with us for a long time. Then we drop into Lausanne – the contrast almost too harsh, but not quite. Rural riding is fun, but after a few days I am hungry for the colour and atmosphere of urban life, and Lausanne has it all in abundance. We opt to stay in a campsite that is teeming with every nationality and caters for our every need.

PP
At 27 Swiss Francs, this is a reasonably priced site, considering the location. The restaurant overlooks the lake and offers a view most 5-star hotels would charge a premium for. We are well satisfied.

Day 28 - Pontarliers – Yverdon les Bains - 46km (7 getting lost)

2007-09-10T03:08:00.000-07:00

BB
We are in Switzerland, though apart from the weird version of French they speak here, there is not yet a great deal of difference to France. The morning started with rain, unclear maps and perhaps the stiffest climb up a rough mountainside that we have had to date - an experience that has started us thinking very seriously about the choices we offer to people. As the vanguard for our followers, we have to suffer and take the consequences for the routes we reconnoitre, but our reason for doing this is to help others to avoid the same degree of pain, so we are discussing strategies to see how we can do this most effectively.

The mountains are well and truly here, pushing us up to 1150 metres and then giving us the longest down run we have ever had to Yverdon – yeeh hah! The only negative in all of this was the extreme cold caused by rain and low cloud cover, but now that we are in the valley and installed in a hotel, the sun has come out and the discomforts are (almost) forgotten. I never cease to be amazed at how quickly the body recovers and the brain manages to forget the pain, but then I suppose if this was not the case no one in their right mind to put themselves through these rigours.

Meanwhile Vasco remains Vasco and deserves his own space to define exactly what this means. Having learnt to ride our horses and share his space with two gargantuan monsters (who want nothing more than to tread on him and steal our affections), now our loyal canine has accepted (without complaint) that this time his place is in a bicycle, hanging off the handle bars of a bike. Actually, it is more like a sedan chair, or at least Vasco’s apparent ease makes it appear so.

Quite particular about which way he faces – nose forward for a good all round view – Vasco makes the best of his elevated position. Scents and sniffs are examined in great detail, passing dogs are sworn at from a safe distance and fast descents (definitely his favourite) are enjoyed with ear flapping ecstasy. Another aspect of Vasco, which can be trying at times, is his utter loyalty to the rubber toys we call ‘squeaks’, for obvious reasons.

Vasco needs his squeak, like a child needs that special, much sucked blanket, rabbit or tattered teddy bear. His squeak travels in the basket with him; usually with the result that he sits on it and passers-by probably think we have not only got a dog, but some kind of unfortunate other animal stashed away in our luggage. Initially, we started out with a canary version, with a corresponding canary-type squeak, but this was tragically left under a hotel bed somewhere and now we have its replacement – Captain Pugwash – a far larger and more raucous version, with a squeak reminiscent of a strangled cat. But perhaps it is in the hotels where Vasco really comes into his own. Bear in mind that we change location every single day and every single day Vasco is introduced to a new set of stairs, doors and I presume smells, but after the initial introduction he never forgets and never goes to the wrong room (probably smelling our socks at 50 paces) - a valuable attribute when I am too tired and befuddled to remember where I belong and useful (now that I have discovered his particular skill) for all those future occasions when I roam multi-storey car parks pretending to be taking a walk, when in fact I have lost my bloody car, again.

So here we are today, holed up in another hotel, the trio engaged in its usual post- excursion routine. Paul in the shower, me keyboard burbling and Vasco enjoying the relief of lying flat out on a bed after a hard day’s running and basket riding .

PP
This morning, after recovering from an early bad choice of unmarked forest paths (familiar?), we are rewarded with a 250 metre climb - drag, push, sweat and heave of the bikes up a forest path to cross the 1000 metre altitude point for the first and I know well not the last time on this trip.

We had chosen this route to get away from the often busy N57 and were rewarded with a spectacular view looking DOWN on Chateau Joux (the twin to the citadel in Besançon). We wonder if others would be as foolish or whether they would prefer to take their chances on the main road. If there are blog readers that would like to sway our choice of routes. Please speak up.
Our maps show that there are 2 traditional routes over the border (did Sergeric go one way and come back the other?). We have chosen to go via St Croix. It is a little longer, but allows us to use quiet roads instead of hopping between the N57 and the precipitous paths. Having reached Yverdon, we are staying in a 2 star. Think I already know that there will be a premium on the exchange rate of the 65 euros for your normal French 2 star, but we are both tired enough not to care, right now.

Day 27 - Etalans – Pontarliers - 58km (10 getting lost)

2007-09-10T03:02:00.000-07:00

BB
Climbing to 800 metres is going to be tough whichever you look at it, but in fact it could have been a great deal worse. Unbroken sunshine and persistently beautiful countryside takes a great deal of ignoring (however big the hills) and in spite of some frustrating route finding – involving going up and down one vertical mountainside twice – I feel that we have had a good day and done a good job.

Meanwhile Paul has been going through various phases of bucolia, culminating in complete bucophoria, which prompts me to comment on some of the more bizarre aspects of his behaviour, observed mainly as his follower from behind.

In common with many men, and I know he will not object to me saying this, being engaged in more than one thing at a time can be problematical. This is particularly obvious when he is way-finding; his legendary nose radar excellently reading the position of the sun and every clue on the horizon, but his bike weaving wildly across centre lanes, into ditches and headfirst into oncoming traffic – a terrifying process to watch from behind. The worst is when he brakes suddenly, usually muttering something about a missed sign, with the inevitable result that I career top-speed into the back of him. More fun to observe, though probably even more hair-raisingly dangerous, are those moments of bucophoria when Paul launches into both an imaginary slalom race and song … well songs … extracts of ... at various pitches … caught as snippets in the wind … um something like this. Oh what a beautiful MORNING, Oh what a beautiful DAY … tum tee la la … If you need a friend, I’LL BE THERE …Brothers in ARMS … cause I’m feeling good and HEY here comes the sun little darlin’ …. What a wonderful WOORRRLLDD … OOOOOH … hmmmm hmmmm tum tee la LA. And if we are going particularly fast down a particularly good hill, there will be a YEE HAH thrown in for good measure – a sentiment I can absolutely share. Nothing beats the feeling of rushing down the other side of a hill you have just spent the last half hour slogging up.

At this point I suppose it is only fair that I point out some of my own idiosyncrasies, most of which are related to my various cycloped survival tactics. The first, and probably most annoying for Paul, is that if we are going up hill I plod snail-slow (either pedalling or on foot, it’s all the same speed), head down (looking up to see the hill ahead causes immediate failure), seeing absolutely nothing beyond my own feet. A position that can have two key, adverse outcomes: I am completely oblivious to any signs or indications of our direction - landscape, wildlife, historical buildings, in fact anything vaguely noteworthy, passing me by without even registering a glimpse on my part. If Paul stops to wait for me, which he invariably needs to do every hundred metres or so, I trudge blindly into the back of him without noticing until it is far too late. His panniers bear the scars.

All that aside, tonight we are in Pontarliers, a pretty town, but not to my view anything like as appealing or interesting as Besançon, though this may be a symptom of my tiredness – boy am I tired – and I am willing to be persuaded otherwise if anyone can provide sufficient evidence.

PP
Today the weather was great and the going tremendous, with huge vistas of dairy farms against a backdrop of forest and the Jura. We even came across a good section of track on which AIVF stickers had been frequently and sensibly placed. You would think after all these hundreds of kilometres, I would by now know better. You see the snag with the VF signing is that it stops with the same spontaneity with which it started and not necessarily keeping to any route map that I own.

So, having put too much faith into these things we end in the middle of a forest (it is usually a forest) with no idea where we are and not a hint of a sticker or other sign to be seen. So, you search the sky for the sun or take a look at the compass, listen for some traffic to give you an idea of where the nearest road ease, sniff the ground for pilgrim droppings and make a guess. Sometimes, you get lucky and sometimes not! Today was a not. Do you have that thing happen to you when you are in a strange town, trying to find your way to somewhere or other when a car pulls up and asks for directions? It is always in a place where I haven’t a clue. Well you guessed, at our most lost a Dutchman on a flash road bike pulls up and asks the way. We do our best, but I hope he has escaped the clutches of the forest by now.

In spite of these trials and tribulations, after a reviving beer and sandwich we manage to come up with a pretty good solution and we cruise into Pontarlier as planned. Now, finding a wifi link is giving us problems and we had thought staying at one of the plastic hotels that offer this as an inducement, but in the end we find the Hotel de France in the heart of the town that offered us a room for 32 euros and as a result we give wifi a miss for another day.

Day 26 - Besançon – Etalans - 45km

2007-09-10T03:00:00.000-07:00

BB
Besançon is a place to set time aside for. Although it hides its secret well behind a seemingly never-ending wall of industrial and commercial estates, it is well worth the persistence, because at the centre, and of course above – the Citadel – there is an absolute treasure trove to be discovered. And where to start? Of course there are the well highlighted museums and so on, but alongside all of these there is quite simply Besançon - large, open squares, street markets, alley ways weaving in and out of teetering houses and an indefinable atmosphere that leaves Paul and I feeling inexplicably elated – and on Paul’s part compelled to sing ‘and I’m feeling good’ at perhaps just that bit too much volume in a public place.

Good news for pilgrims – there is a clear route alongside the river. From here it is climb, climb, climb and for us (but hopefully not our followers) a frustrating interlude of route finding, but even here the surrounding countryside seems to make it an experience I would not miss for the world.

Besançon is surrounded by tumbling vistas of wooded highs and lows, speckled with villages, loudly clanging cows and people generously coming out to ask us if we need help in finding our way, which of course we always do. In short, we have had a good day, completed by the gem of a place to stay … over to Paul.

PP
The Citadel in Besançon is wonderfully positioned to protect France from the marauding Swiss gnomes. It sits high on a bluff that acts as a stopper in the throat of a bottle formed by the steep hills on either side. This leaves very little space into which to squeeze the river Soane and the highways to carry all the traffic. Our searches to find a safe and attractive route for the pilgrims that follow ends in the inevitable compromise between road and path, gentle slope and sheer climb. In the end we decide on a route following the river for a few kilometres before a long and quite steep climb up a quiet road. This takes us a little way away from our planned route, but we join the historic route again after le Petit Soane.

In the information that we have there is no mention of accommodation in Etalans, but there is an all purpose restaurant, tabac, bar and hotel. I decide that a bed in the hand is worth a couple of nights in the bush and suggest we call it quits for the day. We stay in the Bar Tabac Champ de Foire for the princely sum of 27 Euros, with a fair meal thrown in with a bottle of 6 etoiles rouge for a few euros.

The other bar patrons, local farmers with a clear thirst from a hot day in the fields, but are very welcoming, though maybe a bit too much towards BB. This is probably the first option we have found that comes within our idea of what pilgrim accommodation should be. Let’s hope we encourage the establishment of far more.

Day 25 - Gy – Besançon - 40km

2007-09-10T02:52:00.000-07:00

BB
Panic over, I’m fine and we have done the 40 km and some serious hills with only a minor puff on my part. So it’s uphill all the way now – heading for the Jura and trying to remember that there is a bunch of history we should be taking in here before we move on. Life is tough, but the rain that hammered down all night has stopped and the sun is out.

PP
Well I for once agree and she has passed the test with flying colours although her nose must have peeked over the burkha as it is a lovely shade of pink. Despite an underlying desire by both of us to press on we have stopped early in an anonymous industrial/commercial zone of Besançon to ensure that we do not undo the recovery that BB has made and also that we can finally reconnect with the world to upload this. There are ample modern low price hotels here and so why do we end up in a Kyriad that charges 20 Euro more than the normal rate?

As an update and reminder to anyone who is, hopefully, sponsoring us in order to support the Rotarian projects in Haiti, Madagascar and Togo-Benim, our total distance cycled to date is: 795 kms (not including all the kms accumulated while getting lost)http://www.rotaryd1650.org/actions_clubs/mayenne/mayenne.htm#2000

Days 22 – 24 Fresne le Chateau – Gy – 10km

2007-09-10T02:50:00.000-07:00

BB
From here Paul takes over and lays down the law - we have got to sort this out – and because, for once I am not in a fit state to argue, we cycle 9km to Gy where there is a hotel and a doctor who finds it hard to get his head round what I am telling him (this time it isn’t my crap French at fault, because he actually assumes from my accent that I am Belgian).

Doctor: So, let me get this clear, you are cycling to Rome.
Me: Yes.
Doctor: And you started to feel ill when?
Me: Erm, not sure, it might have been a few weeks ago, when we were in Montreux maybe …

Doctor: You cycled there?
Me: No, that was when we hired the car to drive down for the festival …
Doctor: Festival?
Me: Yeh, the jazz one , anyway I had some symptoms then, but by the time we were cycling again they had kind of gone away, so I assumed … and progress was so good so I thought … you know how it is.
Doctor: Not really, but what about an address for the results of the analysis? You will need to give them to your doctor if the infection is resistant to the antibiotics. Where can we send them? Me: Mmm … difficult … I suppose you could send them home, but then again I wouldn’t get them until I got back.
Doctor: Which is when?
Me: Phew, don’t know really. Mid-October, maybe.

Not an easy exchange,but ultimately we reach an agreement that I have a kidney infection, need a course of antibiotics and rest.

Now, after two days I can say that I am on the road to recovery (though still having difficulty equating two tiny pills a day with such a miraculous reversal) and should be literally on the road again tomorrow, so everything is back to normal. Well, almost, the only downside to the effect of the antibiotics is that they make my skin photosensitive, meaning I will have to wear the equivalent of a burkha for the next ten days – not an easy thing to do on a bicycle - but then again as it is currently pouring with rain, again, perhaps this will be the least of my problems.

PP
Gy (does anyone know another 2 letter town and not an abbreviation?) rests at the foot of les Monts de Gy and has the vital doctor, a hotel, campsite and all the basic amenities. With Babette confirmed as having a major infection we now have the tough decision of when it is safe to go on. The course of antibiotics last for 10 days and the doctor has advised immediate rest. After 2 days Babette is clearly on the mend (teeth unclenched, reading voraciously and worrying about washing clothes), but how do I judge it safe to proceed? The next few days lead us up and up climbing to 1000 metres before we reach the Swiss border. I have taken some of the slack time to explore the next section and have confirmed that there is a hotel just 20 km ahead and so we will take it gently tomorrow and bale-out if the babbling stops. We are staying in the lovely (dare I admit) 3 star Hotel Pinnocchio that has provided the nicest surroundings so far at just over 2 star pricing (69 Euros for a double) .

For the fourth time so far we are finding the VF is sharing territory with a tributary of the St James Way, the blue and yellow sign can be seen on all the street corners near the church. This not only brings into contrast again the absence of signs on the VF, but also raises the question of why the supporters of the VF and the St James Way can’t do a better job of teaming up in the areas of common interest.

Day 21 - Champlitte-et-le-Prelot - Fresne le Chateau – 54km

2007-09-10T02:46:00.000-07:00

Irritatingly or mercifully (I can’t decide which) we have another truly exceptional day’s cycling on a series of small country roads that are perfect for every kind of traveller- horse rider, walker or cyclist – but I feel like shit. Better still, we arrive in Fresne le Chateau and the Association of St Joseph Hostel administrator tells us that dogs are interdit. So can we camp in their grounds and use the facilities? No, because the hostel houses wayward boys and they are on the loose at night. And, by the way, have we locked up our bikes? But they’re only propped up on a fence some 20 metres away. The look she gives me says it all. I lock up the bikes while we negotiate a solution - a piece of grass, just outside the high walls of the institution (all too reminiscent of the Abbey Prison we had passed a few days before in Clairvaux), is found for us and we bed down, but a tent is probably not the best place to recover from ‘flu’.

In the morning I am a useless, miserable heap and Paul is left to take down the tent, pack up the bikes and somehow coax me into pedalling action – all of which he does without a murmur of complaint. I am not sure I would have been so charitable in his place.

The recommended route out of Champlitte was along an unadopted path and true to form as soon as we broke away from the used section in the township it became overgrown and indistinct. Luckily our map showed us a good series of minor roads that followed essentially the same route and so these quickly became our preferred option.

Dampierre sur Salon was a good way point with lots of facilities in a small market town. Incongruously its Hotel de la Tour is a glass block house that would not seem out of place in the Birmingham Bull-ring of the 60’s. As we had made good progress we were able to forego its appeal and press on. Again the pathways were a problem and despite 20 minutes hard searching we could not find a trace. However, the D36 worked out fine leading us to the lovely river Saone and a network of quiet country roads beyond. Babette is particularly tight lipped today and has her teeth clenched as we make 2 bad route choices out of la Chapelle St Quillain costing us a good hour and 6 or 7 kms of wasted effort. A night spent camping on the grass verge beside the Association St Joseph is just not what she needs. The saving grace is that the staff were kind enough to allow to use their showers and toilets.

Day 20 - Langres – Champlitte-et-le-Prelot – 58km

2007-09-10T02:41:00.000-07:00

BB
Last year, at approximately this stage of our first VF journey to Rome, it was poor Gwendolyn (one of our two horses) who suffered the injury that would finally force us to continue without her. Now it is me, though the options in terms of how we continue our journey are probably are not quite so clear.

At the risk of entering areas that are best left well alone, if only for my well known (for those who know me well) hypersensitivity with regard to anything involving bodily functions, I will admit that I have a kidney infection. Me, of all people. A broken leg with a heroic plaster or an obvious wound from a traumatic fall I can deal with, but the mention of anything internal and urinal sends me into total paralysis. And then, as if the irony were not already sufficient, I only begin to suspect that something might not be quite right after our two days rest and recuperation in Langres. If this is what resting does, I will keep on cycling through till midnight.

Morning, and as we prepare to leave, I tell Paul that I feel slightly feverish. Nevertheless, in spite of a mild ache in my back, we have a memorably good day’s cycling on small country roads with more downs than ups and, according to the GPS, an occasional average speed of 25kms per hour. It is only as we are entering Champlitte-et-le-Prelot (a pleasant town that features nothing more remarkable than a huge sculptor of green Wellington boots) that I begin to feel really ill. Still, in my usual state of denial where these kinds of things are concerned, I drink enough beer to ensure immediate sleep, ensure Paul that I am just suffering from a 24 hour flu, probably a consequence of getting soaked in the previous storm, and then try to convince myself that I am right.

Wrong! Malaria’s cousin has prepared a night of wild entertainment for me; a crashing ride at breakneck speed through a range of bodily temperatures that are off any scale I have ever experienced. In the morning I am wrecked and extend the 24-hour flu to 48.

PP
Of the two of us I guess I am better known for being the more taciturn, with the lifelong conviction that most of the thoughts that bang around in my head are of no interest to rest of the world. Occasionally a goodly dose of red wine will correct this misapprehension and the world has a fleeting opportunity to hear my wisdom. However, if I describe myself as tight lipped, Babette can be the veritable clam when things are going wrong and in particular where her health is concerned. As a consequence I judge her well-being or should it be ill-being by how hard it is to coax a response from her.

Today it was difficult and not only during the fewer, but still painful, ups. Babette has skated over a few details of the routing including being nearly 10 km off course after convincing ourselves that we had come across another mapping error. In this case the error was all mine. Our general dictum has been to try to follow the recommended route provided by the IAVF. This in general parallels the historic route, but endeavours to avoid the main highways using minor roads and a good number of chemins blancs (the communal farm tracks) and the formal (such as the GR) and informal pathways. Today we had repeated experience of the informal paths being absorbed into cultivated land, blocked by fencing or simply overgrown and not sensibly passable. Luckily the alternative routes that we were able to find were on quiet country roads having the added benefit of faster progress and the comforting back-up of signs telling you where you are and where you are heading. As we evolve our recommendations for those that follow in the future, we are both convinced that we must be very careful in recommending the use of unadopted paths as even if they are passable today, then there is no certainty that they will be there next year.

In Champlitte we stayed in the 2 star Hotel Donjon. They can’t have yet joined the 2 star cartel as their room prices start at just 38 Euros for a double. Just a few doors away an auberge is undergoing renovation with a suggestion that it too might offer accommodation in the future. Keep your windows shut as heavy lorries from all corners of the continent seem to use the road through Champlitte as they dodge the autoroute tolls.

Day 18-19 – Pont-la-Ville – Langres – 53 km

2007-09-10T02:37:00.000-07:00

BB
At the risk of sounding repetitive, I have to report that once again we have been caught by a storm to beat all records since records began. Just as before (and this degree of repetition is perhaps even more disconcerting), we wave a jaunty farewell to our friends and because we are feeling so up and optimistic, give the leaden sky only the briefest of glances. Big mistake.

Heavy showers are bearable and we bear them for a good section of the route, because it is through relatively sheltered woods and sufficiently distracting landscape, but thunder and lightening are something else. Still, we battle on because the only accommodation we know of is in Langres, some 50kms from our starting point, with not even a café in between. We are in open, totally exposed countryside, the rain is hammering down like fists in a fight and then a flash of lightening tears the sky apart somewhere far too close over our heads. It’s almost prayer time, but then a roadside hut suddenly emerges out of the spray and we literally cycle straight in. Now it really is prayer time. Thank you, thank you, I won’t forget you for this. Hey, I might even stop reading Richard Dawkin's 'God Delusion' if you manage a few more miracles just when we need them.

We are all soaking, frozen and scared, including Vasco, who has been riding in the basket, sheltered by Paul’s cape, but in a sorry state nonetheless. We can only wait in our little hut and watch the sky outside. Half an hour later, the rain has abated and not long after the sun has the audacity to show itself – where were you when we needed you?

For all these reasons, we are taking a day out in Langres (staying in a not-half-bad hotel), which is probably best described as St Malo without the sea (copyright – Philippe Bernard). A magnet for tourists like us and what appears to be most of Holland and Germany. Better still, the sun is still up there, so we can do our washing, sort out the bikes (one brake pad already worn down to the metal), drink one or two beers too many, mooch round the maze of streets and then delve through the aeon's of history threaded in between, for example the life of Diderot who was born here and later became the philosopher and writer of l’Encyclopaede.

PP
We travelled from Pont le Ville to Chateauvillain by pleasant minor roads, where our map told us to enter the forest via the Parc aux Daims. However, we were told by the Mairie that the Parc was now closed (we suspect it has been bought and “privatised”) and we would need to find a new route. This we did, picking some wonderful forest roads with wildlife all around (Philippe had told us the region was the richest in France for Sanglier, deer and wild orchids). The forest was truly huge with no signage and lots of opportunities to get dreadfully lost, but mercifully the GPS got us through. We had initially thought Langres too far to travel in one day, but perhaps thanks to the good forest roads and despite the torrential rain we made it and were assured of bed and liquid sustenance in the wide range of hotels. We are staying at the 2 star Hotel de Poste at the usual 2 star price - it is being refurbished and so I guess a price increase will follow. Nonetheless the owners are friendly and the accommodation fine, but we are in serious need of WiFi and so must go search elsewhere. I have also noted that there is an inexpensive Hotel Marmotte (40 Euro per room on the Dijon side of town, just outside the outer walls). It would be very difficult for walkers to cover the distance that we achieved from Pont la Ville, but we were unable to find any intermediate accommodation. However, if you are prepared to go “off-piste” there does seem to be a reasonable choice at Arc-en-Barrois.

Day 17 – Dienville - Pont-la-Ville – 57 km

2007-09-10T02:34:00.000-07:00

BB
The human body was not designed for sleeping on hard earth. Our bones stick out in all the wrong places and no matter how much cushioning fat we have, it is never enough to reduce the pain of sleeping on lumps and bumps. I am in agony, walking like an old crone. Paul doesn’t look much better, but the sun is more or less shining and we have got another 50kms to get through today. 50kms of sheer ascent. A trek up to 300 metres, our highest yet, but by no means the highest we will have to go. Why didn’t I insist on having an electric bike? The sort with the little engine on the back, just for hills. Still, when I am able, I do notice that we are skirting the worst of the peaks. In fact, this section of route, which takes us through forests and fields and alongside the occasional impressive abbey (particularly in Clairvaux – a spooky place, which is in fact a prison for long-term sentences), is probably one of the most interesting so far.

Everything is going suspiciously well, until we discover that the hotel is Clairvaux is booked up and all the other places on our list, have either closed down or didn’t exist in the first place. We add another 12kms to our journey, but by 6.00pm we are in Pont-la-Ville with our only prospect, a gite, also full.

Enter Philippe and Catherine BERNARD. I suppose after having stumbled on so many good people during our travels, I should not be surprised when they offer us a bed in their own house, but then again, outside of our travels we do not encounter anything like the same level of generosity. We are given a bed, a meal, special anti-allergy dog shampoo for Vasco and the kind of challenging conversation that sits just within our range of French. I didn’t want to stay in a hotel anyway. Being with people like this is infinitely better and more interesting, so naah to you Hotel l’Abbaye in Clairvaux.

PP

The stretch before Clairvaux involved crossing vineyards and a long stretch in the forest of Clairvaux, rarely near habitation and the few small villages we passed had no even the most basic facilities. Having discovered that the hotel at Clairvaux was full the apparently helpful owner told us the closest alternative was 25 kilometres in entirely the wrong direction for us. This wasn’t a prospect that we warmed to and our TOPOFRANCIGENA showed bed symbols in each of the next 4 villages with a 5th mentioned in the Vademecum. The score was as follows: Outré-Aube (chambre d’hôte) – locked up and no one home; Longchamp-sur-Aujon – “we stopped doing that years ago”, Maranville, no one had heard of the street it was on or admitted the existence of a chambre d'hôtes; Cirfontaine-en-Azols – phone number had a digit missing and the locals insisted there was no accommodation there; Pont-la-Ville – pleasant chambre d’hôte with helpful owner, but full and finally we stumble on Catherine and Philippe. It always seems that when we are at our lowest we find the greatest rewards.

Day 16 - le Meix-Tiercelin – Dienville – 54 km

2007-09-10T02:32:00.000-07:00

Some women reading this will recognise the particular facet of male behaviour I call the Hoover Syndrome. The desire/compulsion to start up conversations when you have either started the hoover up, are talking on the phone or have just gone to the bathroom. And now I can add another item to this list – cycling up hills. Something about this particular situation inspires Paul to point out the flowers on the wayside (needlessly – I have seen them before, lots of them) or worse still choose this very instant to ask for my in-depth view on something or other. Hasn’t he noticed that I am gasping like a stranded fish and am completely incapable and utterly unwilling to reply? When we are at the top of one of these hills I tell him so and add that burbling on the ascents is a dangerous past time, because next time I will ensure I reserve just enough energy to knock him off his bike.

Grumps and sulks aside, the landscape here comes as a great relief after the cereal deserts. There are some uncomfortable ups, but in general we are cycling through verdant valleys and villages with half-timbered houses and clapboard sheds that we cannot pass without taking at least one photo. The route takes us on a mixture of paths and small roads and with our increasing fitness it’s quite simply good fun, until our VF map takes us onto a Grande Randonnée no one else is foolhardy enough to use. We spend the best part of two hours beating our way through the undergrowth and finally ending up more or less where we started, so we give up and camp in the village of Dienville, which we already know pretty well because we have been through it twice.

We have been taking our basic route from the TOPOFRANCIGENA and have tried very hard to be faithful to its “recommended” route. Of course there is no complete definition of the route and certainly no complete or consistent signing then we variously follow the Grand Randonnée paths, locally signed pathways, farm tracks or roads. In this case the recommended route took us along a Grand Randonée which is normally clearly marked and fairly well trodden. Alas, not in this case, we had to beat our way through overgrown bushes while slithering in the mud and all to avoid 3 kilometres of quiet byway. Needless to say our final map will stick to the byway.

Dienville is a pleasant little town and popular with tourists, probably because of the nearby Lac Amance. We camped for 14 Euros at La Colombier a 3 star camp site by the riverside, with all the basic amenities, but neither food shop nor restaurant. La Colombier also has chambre d'hôte, but all were taken when we asked. So far we have managed to avoid booking our accommodation ahead as this ties us to a schedule when we are subject to all the influences of weather, route, and fitness both physical and mental, but a lesson is emerging that when the choices are restricted and the French holiday season is in full swing it may be becoming a necessary constraint.

Day 15 - Chalons-en-Champagne – le Meix-Tiercelin – 51km

2007-09-10T02:28:00.000-07:00

BB
On occasion, it is difficult not to believe in divine retribution and even more difficult not to take it very personally. Why is it that on the very day/night we decide to camp, (and discover that in spite of being more expensive our new tent still does not have a fly sheet) the worst storm (probably since records began) in the region launches itself directly over Chalons-en-Champagne where we are staying? Could all this be connected to our decision to avoid the religious refuge in favour of a somewhere/anywhere we could drink more beer than we really should?

All this aside, the rain seems takes a break by early morning and we wave a jaunty farewell to an English couple we had met the night before and stop off to buy some breakfast – then the celestial sluice gates open and the sky closes over to darker than midnight. We battle on for all of five minutes then give up and retreat to a café, where we spend the best part of an hour dripping and waiting for some change.

By 10.00am, the deluge has reduced to a heavy shower and we launch ourselves back out onto the streets again. By 10.30 we are well away from the town and into a completely different landscape to that of the previous day. From vineyards to vast open prairies – cereal land - with minimal tree cover and for us a single track running across the middle of it – the Voie Romane. Impressive, but also depressive in terms of what is being done to the landscape.

Undulating and rolling are such ambiguous words, used only by poets and painters who describe hills, but never get off their butts to actually cycle up and down them. Up and down and up and up again and always with either a head wind or cross wind. Still, the good news is that the excess midriffs Paul and I have acquired over the winter are rapidly disappearing, and my previously chicken-like legs (the part below the feathers) are turning into drumsticks from the thigh up.

Tonight, just when we thought we were doomed to camping "au sauvage", we find Aliette, an 80-year old dynamo, who feeds us more than we have ever eaten in one sitting before and tells us that her last guests were the two girls on horses we had met two days previously.

Then to bed, and for me a night of waking up with cramps that send me hopping round the room, whereas Paul, the fit one, has already got over this particularly unpleasant by-product of taking too much exercise all at once.

Aliette is at 7 Grand Rue. Watch out there are no signs and this whole stretch is bereft of accommodation. Had we not ventured to ask, it would be another 20 km before the next possibility. Note also that these plains, much like the Spanish "meseta", leave pilgrims exposed to all the extremes of weather and so plan for the worst and you may be lucky.

Day 14 - St Leonard - Chalons-en-Champagne – 54km

2007-09-10T02:27:00.000-07:00

BB
Wake up to pouring rain – now there’s a change - and ride in pouring rain until midday when the sun decides to come out. Good progress, other than the hill climbing which I could definitely give a miss. Still, we are climbing through the champagne region and that is not easily overlooked. Hillsides filled with bubble-inducing grapes, though as usual in France every village is closed - no bars, no shops, so we have to exist on one ice-cream all day.

Chalons en Champagne itself comes as a great relief. The twin spires of Notre Dame and the Cathedral, dominating the skyline for some kilometres before we arrive and then bursting into view as we drop down to ride the last section along the canal. Tonight we are slumming it in a 4-star campsite in Chalons en Champagne. PP Lots of hotels and 3 campsites to chose from. We stayed at the Municipal for 12 Euros, however it is about 3km off the walking route.

Day 13 – Berry au Bac – St Leonard – 52km

2007-09-10T02:24:00.000-07:00

BB
This morning the first 15 kms is spent in getting lost – we have to retrace our steps to our starting point, but having found it we also find the second set of VF signs we have seen since starting out. Easy navigation after that – so congratulations to the commune and may there be more, equally keen VF-ers in the next one.

PP

The whole process of following these routes gets so much easier and gives so much more opportunity to reflect and to enjoy the moment when the signing is good. While it is great to see the emergence of signs on the VF, did they have to choose the same colours as used by every commune for its circular walks. The 15 km we lost was when we started following the new VF signs which immediately intersected with a walk around a charming little town that turned out to be in entirely the wrong direction. Hint – double everything and if you aren’t going south then something is fishy.

Most of the day is off road and along the canal de l’Aisne tow path where we see a lot of very active, working barges from all over Europe – Belgium, Holland, Germany and France, among others, which is encouraging. I, as always, briefly toy with idea of becoming a bargee, but as Paul points out, I would need six lives to do everything I want.

From there the route takes us into the woods and some serious off-road biking, marginally softened by the fact that we are in Champagne land. Vast vistas of vines producing all kinds of champagne, some of which I recognise. That is the good part, the bad is that all of this is on mountains, involving a great deal of climbing and puffing on my part, and whinging on Paul’s because he has been in champagne country for all of five kms and still not tasted a drop.

Route finding is difficult enough, without farmers who plough over ancient routes, but in spite of this we find our way back onto the canal to Reims – an experience all good pilgrims and anyone else, for that matter, should not miss.

In the evening we find a newly opened chambre d’hote in St Leonard, with dog-doting owners, and a micro waved meal in some place marginally better than the Buffalo Grill.

The Bar de St Leonard is just off to the right of the canal as you begin to quit the industrial zone to the south of Reims. Look out for a communal car park. A double cost 40 Euros without breakfast. Unfortunately there is no evening meal or even drinks available at the bar or at the other hotel in St Leonard. They have totally given in to the lunch trade from the factories.

Day 12 – Laon to Berry au Bac – 50kms

2007-09-10T02:21:00.000-07:00

BB
After mooching round the medieval part of Laon, which is currently undergoing some impressive renovation, but still well worth a visit, we are back on the bikes and the sun is shining!

The route predominantly takes us over tracks and minor roads through forest and farmland – the kind of travelling I enjoy most. The two days off seems to have helped both of us and for the first half of the day, even I am powering up the hills. On the way we meet two girls riding horses in the opposite direction to us, but on the via Francigena nevertheless. They (one Swiss, the other Italian), have been riding for 40 days from somewhere we guess must have been just this side of the Great St Bernard Pass. We spend a good five minutes exchanging woes and experiences, particularly with regard to the poor VF signage – yet more proof that our guide really is needed.

Our next highlight is coming across two boxing hares, something I have only ever seen via David Attenborough, and then the discovery of a hotel that gives a discount to pilgrims travelling along the via Francigena. On the St James Way this was customary, but it is the first time we have found one here.

PP
Discounted Hotel details: Hotel du Chemin des Dames in Corbeny – discounted price 32 Euros, regular 55 Euros. BB Tonight we are staying in the only accommodation available in Berry au Bac, Hotel des Nations – a 2 star travel lodge, though at 44 Euros, reasonably priced. The Hotel is run by the folks from the Restaurant de la Mairie and we guess has superseded the Hotel de la Mairie. They hope to have WiFi available soon, but it was having teething problems while we were there. Despite the appearance of Stalagluft 17, the rooms were just what we needed and a good choice of food in the restaurant.

The other alternative, identified by our map, would have been to camp, but when we investigate this option, we are told that the only campsite is kilometres away from here. We later discover that the campsite referred to is an unofficial option run by Emmaus – remember it? The charity run for the homeless? Vagabonds we may be, but I don’t think we are entirely homeless, yet.

Day 9/10/11 – Montreux

2007-09-10T02:17:00.000-07:00

BB
I have shaved my legs and Paul has shaved his beard - off! (PP Look, I am 59 next month and hate it. Having decided to make this trip as another kick against age I am not going around with a bunch of white hair under my nose advertising my decline.)

It’s tough here, bed at midnight, after too many beers and sitting outside to listen to free concerts. Montreux is an experience no one should miss.

Back in Laon and if there is an all seeing and all hearing God, he must have been listening to my thoughts and reading my blog, because he sure as hell is making me pay for my sins. Two days of brilliant sunshine while we are using the car and then a storm to end all storms the minute we get out of it and back onto our bikes. Paul and I are holed up in a cheap and well situated hotel (a small show of mercy) on the outskirts of Laon, listening to the rain hammer down outside and wondering what clothes we should put out tomorrow.

PP Hotel details: Premier Classe, in suburban complex of hotels on the eastern edge of the ville bas of Laon. 34 Euros for a double/triple room with free WiFi. There is a wide range of hotels in Laon. Typically the cheaper are in the low town and the pricier in the medieval area. Note well that the impressive abbey and surrounding medieval town are built on a promontory which will take the wind from the sails of any human walker or biker. However, there is a contraption that looks like a potting shed on wheels that can take the strain from the station to the hotel de ville.

Day 8 – Tergnier – Laon – 35km

2007-09-10T02:15:00.000-07:00

BB
Typical! The sun finally, finally decides to emerge on the very day that we only need to cycle in the morning. Actually, I am not really complaining, because after an easy stretch on the bikes, we are now in a hire car on our way to Switzerland and two days at the Montreux Jazz Festival (tickets for Rickie Lee Jones and Jeff Beck – having birthdays and getting older sometimes has its compensations).

I’m feeling guilty about burning carbon, but not very. After 400kms on a bike, I think we have earned the right to a few carbon miles. Anyway, using a car engine to get up all those sodding hills is a uniquely satisfying feeling, the only negative being that you first have to go through the pain to get it.

PP
Navigating into Laon was pretty easy, although it did again need the olfactory skills of bloodhound or some other divine power to find the right tracks out of Tergneir. A number of the more obvious trails lead into the backyards of major industries or gravel pits and now without the canal or railway as guide.

In passing, the uninitiated in the wiles of French local government should know that that the national authorities who pay for the maintenance of the N roads (and generally do a good job) are also pretty adept at passing responsibility down to the departments (counties). And so what? You ask, well it just means that the road numbers keep on changing. This happens in many ways but if you can’t find the NXX, try looking for the D9XX or more recently the D10XX. They are probably the same thing.

Day 7 - Pérrone – Tergnier – 67km

2007-09-10T02:14:00.000-07:00

BB
Rain and more bloody rain. An occasional shower is tolerable, but this is July and our July clothes don’t include waterproof thermal underwear. If we had been able to see it, I suspect the countryside would have been spectacular, hills and woods and long tow paths, but actually I don’t care because I am wet and cold and we have arrived in a town the rest of France is doing its best to forget. I know I should feel sorry for people abandoned by the railway and any other kind of industry, but when every hotel we stop at has just closed and the only three open give us very good reasons for not wanting to stay there, I have only enough sympathy left for myself.

The first hotel we try obviously only rents rooms by the hour, the second is closed, or at least that is what the woman behind the bar tells us, and the third has no off-street space for bikes, which in a place where they would stolen from under our bums if we hung around too long at the traffic lights, is not an option. But for once the grey clouds looming over us do have a silver lining. In the end, after trailing round the town twice, Maria, of Le Rallye, takes pity on us and finds a friend who will let us leave our bikes in his garage. Life is looking up.

PP
Navigating into Tergnier was for once easy with canals and railways to guide the way, even though some had been long ago torn up. The town itself is reminiscent of Crewe after Dr Beeching had wielded his axe. There are many places calling themselves hotels. Some still open, but only le Rallye offering beds that you would wish to use. Le Rallye has no official stars, but it has all that the traveller needs for under 30 euros for a double room and an OK restaurant and bar below.

Day 6 - Arras – Pérrone – 50km

2007-09-10T02:12:00.000-07:00

BB
Just when I think we are doing well, an inebriated octogenarian overtakes us on a 3-gear cyclosaurus. Nevertheless, the hills have either got smaller or my thigh muscles bigger, because I manage to stay on and pedal for the entire day.

We are riding along the edge of the Somme and though Paul and I have been through Utah beach and all the other well known theatres of war in Northern France, this is probably the most evocative of all. Perhaps it is the isolation of the small groups of graves we come across without any prior announcement, or perhaps it is in the detail on the graves (like the unknown soldier, only identified as belonging to the Manchesters), but both of us are left feeling fairly bleak by the time we have passed the last cemetery before riding into Pérrone. Politicians and Dictators have a lot to answer for.

Pérrone is a pleasant town, lined with bars and cafes and most famous for its Castle and Sommes history, which the commune is exploiting to the full – the museum is in a newly converted castle and every bar (if it is not an Irish bar) has a name that has got something to do with one of the Wars. The good news is that for once Paul and I aren’t too knackered to walk, meaning we can choose a bar more than 10 metres beyond are hotel. Better still, we manage to find one in a rare spot of sunshine, so we drink a couple of buckets of beer and then stagger back for a meal.

PP
This evening we stayed at the Hotel les Rémparts. It is built into the ramparts that surround the town, though you might not know it from the front aspect. It seems the ramparts have helped the town earn its reputation as never being defeated. I am still trying to square this with the German army setting up their HQ during the 1st world war in the castle which is now the centre piece for the war history experience. Perhaps it is who wins in the end that matters, gosh I feel philosophy coming on.. Les Rémparts served us well enough although tired legs do not fully appreciate being billeted on the 3rd floor. Les Rémparts are apparently worth a small premium over your regular 2 star at 70 euro per night for a double, but we managed to slip away before being cajoled into breakfast.

Day 5 – Bruay en Artois – Arras 51km

2007-09-10T02:10:00.000-07:00

BB
Four years ago, shortly after seeing an unfortunate woman pushing her bike up a very steep Spanish hill behind her pneumatically peddling (male) partner, I remember telling Lucy that “If I ever express an interest in cycling, shoot me.”. Well, get the guns out, because Paul and I have just completed 250 bike kms and are enthusiastically planning our route for tomorrow, regardless of my newly acquired knowledge that the cartoon image of an exhausted athlete with his or her tongue lolling out like a scarf, is actually based on fact. Mine has hit the tarmac on at least two occasions and in extremis I could challenge Vasco to a lick your own rear contest.

More positively, the landscape seems to be dropping into cycle-friendly contours, and just in time - one more hill and I would have launched into spontaneous self-combustion, leaving only my feet behind to prove that I had ever existed. All that aside, verdant and intermittently dry countryside has taken over from the depressing ex-mining townships of the day before. We spend a large amount of time in losing the route, which, though intensely frustrating, also helps to remind us that we are actually fulfilling our primary purpose for being here – to personally travel and map every last centimetre of the via Francigena.

Cycling invariably involves bursts of excruciating effort (at least on my part), interspersed with large amounts of musing time when the mind wanders to the more peripheral questions of life – for example: why would anyone (in their right mind) go to a Buffalo Grill. I have never been in one before, let alone eaten in one, but left with no alternative last night, Paul and I did - a dire education in either culinary deceit or wizardry, I have yet to decide which. Since when has the flesh of the Coquilles St Jacques come in perfect spheres with a uniform taste of floor sweepings? What kind of cow produces square steaks? And which pernicious chemical in this stuff compels one to go on and eat the lurid Mexican Sundae. These are the kinds of questions I mull over until a frantic ratcheting of gears ahead tells me that we are about to hit another hill … five, four, three, two, one, one, one … that’s it … time to get off and push again.

Arras comes as a complete, but not unpleasant surprise. Paul and I have noticed that the town and village names are more Flemish than French and now here is the Flemish architecture. Two huge squares in the centre of the town, both surrounded by the typically tall, narrow houses and each finished off with a Flemish flourish at the top. At the bottom there is one bar after another, interspersed with restaurants and hotels - our spirits are up, until we try to check into the hostel with Vasco – no dogs – but just next door there is an hotelier who can’t understand the problem. He charges a lot more, but our bikes are put in the back and our room has all the right equipment for drying washing - a fundamental feature when you are travelling on bikes and it has rained everyday so far.
“Would you like to see the room first, Madam?”
“No, just tell me how many hooks and hangars you’ve got in there.”

Arras is an interesting place and well worth giving a day or two, though we don’t have them to spare. It has some connection with rats, though as a ratophobe, this particular feature has no interest for me, but in addition it is famous for a vast network of catacombs running under the town, which includes a recently discovered hospital built for service in the War.

PP
Here we try for the youth hostel, but are refused, not on the grounds of incapacity, incontinence or age, but because of the dog. It seems that Youth Hostels International who run most of these places believe that the young and impoverished are more likely to suffer from dog phobia than the elderly that frequent les deux etoiles. This time the 3 Luppars is our resting place in the standard price range with the customary welcome and ability to keep the bikes safe. In passing, don’t get sucked into signing up for breakfast or dinner unless you are in the most remote areas. These are the places where the hotels make their margins. A pain au raisin and coffee on the hoof will cost 3 euros, while in the hotel the emerging euro standard is 8.

Day 4 - St Omer – Bruay en Artois – 70km

2007-09-10T02:07:00.000-07:00

BB
No, this is the day I have never been so tired before. How can there be more ups than downs? Why is it raining and freezing in July? Where is the other sock to the pair I wanted to put on this morning?

In spite of all this, we have cycled through some truly beautiful countryside, predominantly rolling hills and picture postcard towns, prompting another, worrying attack of bucolia on Paul’s part. We also found our first via Francigena signs, along with a mad Scandinavian couple riding vintage electric-powered bikes and carrying a very bad attitude on his part – he seemed more intent on berating his wife than finding the VF.

Interestingly and rather depressingly, we are now in the Artois region, previously the centre of France’s coal mining industry, but now all too obviously suffering from the decline. I think this is the first time we have encountered really badly made roads, no hotels and a population displaying many of our own UK ‘problems’.

PP
I guess the lovely wooden via Francigena signs have been provided by the regional tourist authority in Artois en Lys that have recently joined the Front for the Liberation of Judea (aka the European Association of the via Francigena - EAVF). In much of the spirit of the St James Way, the signs lead you away from the trail you thought you were going to follow, past the small villages and their vestiges of commerce. This is good news for everyone as it means we get to eat and the villages get a small, but much needed input of business. But all good things come to end leaving us kilometres from our planned route and with no option, but to follow the “historical route” along the tarmac of the D341.

There are chamber d’hôtes in Auchy au Bois and Amettes and a steadfastly shut “Pilgrim Shelter” also in Amettes. After this there is nothing until Bruay and here, to pile on the agony, the hotels are in the industrial far, far west of the town, a good 4 kilometres from the D341. We stayed in the Cottage hotel for the standard 2 star price and were pleased with the welcome and facilities.

Day 3 - Licques - St Omer - 60km

2007-09-10T02:04:00.000-07:00

BB
We spend a miserable night, wake up soaking wet, realise that we have been sleeping with our heads the wrong end and vow to chuck the tent in the next bin. In compensation we enjoy a great morning cycling without the packs, while retracing a cross country route that we had managed to miss the day before, and then we return, load up and do another gruelling 60km to St Omer.

I don’t think either of us has ever been so tired before (at least not since the last time we had never been so tired before). We fall into a hotel and sleep for 3 hours before even having a beer. The Tour de France and all its peripheral crowds are blaring around us, but we hear nothing. Then we eat enough for six and sleep again.

PP
Our base guide for the French section of the route is the Topoguide A from the Association Internationale Via Francigena (AIVF) backed up by the Vademecum, GPS and local maps where we can get hold of them. Wherever possible we are trying to follow the recommended route given by the AIVF. However, there is no associated marking on the ground and the route uses (often for good reasons) combinations of roads, Grand Randonnée paths and signed and unsigned local pathways. The map itself typically compresses 35km of terrain into about 15cm of paper, with consequent challenges for the navigator. However, our reason for being here is to try to shed more light on the route and so though the morning was frustrating in repeating ground we felt we had achieved something.

As BB has said the long day took its toll, we road straight past the Abbaye of St Paul in Wisques, seeking the kind of inner nourishment that only a really good pizza can provide. Our hotel (Les Frangins) was in the centre of Arras. A typical 2 star at what seems like standard rate of 65 euro for a double room.

Day 2 - Dover - Licques - 51km

2007-09-10T01:53:00.000-07:00

In Calais, we travel along the Caps and in particular the Cap Blanche Nez, a truly stunning area, but whoever said that Northern France is flat should try it out on a bicycle. Hill after sodding hill that two unfit old farts with baggage weighing at least 25 kilos per bike, plus a 9 kilo dog, have to go up. I have no pride and get off to push as soon as the going gets tough. Paul steams ahead, without even puffing, but is kind enough to pretend he prefers walking.

The good news is that we do not get lost, manage to do about 50km without dying and arrive in Licques, for our first night of camping.

Up to this point, admittedly not a very distant point, the equipment bought from Lidl has not let us down. The panniers are carrying their load, the saddle pads are carrying theirs, the sleeping bags are surpassing (in every respect) the obscenely expensive ones I had bought from Blacks a few years ago, but the tent must have been designed by a premenstrual pygmy. We put the thing up and laugh - no fly sheet, vertically challenged poles and only just enough space for one pannier.

PP
In the area close by the coast there are ample options for accommodation, but as you move inland the options become fewer. In Licques we found a gîte rural, but as with most of these, the proprietor was not prepared to have visitors for just one night, but we found 2 well equipped camp sites nearby. We chose the one further from the town centre as the signage seemed to imply it had a more substantial brasserrie. Prices, food and facilities were fine as was the welcome.

Day 1 - Canterbury - Dover - 44km

2007-09-10T01:51:00.001-07:00

Before anything else - our thanks to everyone who helped to get us here, in particularly Eddie who drove us and our bikes over to Canterbury from home in France - all done without spending an extra kilo of carbon as we were able to beg a lift on his already planned journey.

Good news – The Rotary Club has elevated our fundraising efforts to District Level, which should treble the number of people available to sponsor us. We also came up with the idea of asking Euromayenne (a local society for foreigners settling in France) members to join in. Anyone reading this who has no idea what I am talking about can go to: http://www.rotaryd1650.org/actions_clubs/mayenne/mayenne.htm#2000 but basically it involves 3 projects: an orphanage in Togo-Benin, school books in Madagascar and medical assistance in Haiti. PP We regrettably only thought of this fund raising angle 2 weeks before we left and so have not been able to raise anywhere near enough interest. If any of you have the ability to help, even if only by sharing a link to the site then we and more importantly others would be eternally grateful. Contact us or Rotary with your ideas.

BB
We are here and more or less ready for the off. Spent a comfortable and surprisingly cheap (15.00 per person) night in a B&B, with a breakfast that will last us for days - for anyone who knows me - I ate 2 sausages.

A good start - lost outside Canterbury Cathedral and unable to find the North Downs Way, where the VF is supposed to be well sign posted, but after all our travelling we should expect nothing else. No signs and no one who has even heard of either route.

We spend half the day on a tarmac cycle route and then finally stumble on the last section of the North Downs Way, which we follow, over stiles and other similar obstacles that have been put across the path to discourage cyclists. We agree that we will have to go back later in the year to find the real route, then arrive in Dover, too late to take the next boat, but lucky enough to find a hotel on the sea front and Victoria who welcomes dogs, tells us to leave our bikes in the reception area and then offers us a hearty Hungarian meal of fish and potatoes – someone, somewhere possibly up there, must have taken pity on us.

In the morning we get up at 4.00am to catch the 5.30am boat, and find Victoria waiting for us with washed and ironed clothes and breakfast. I am a believer!

We left our first hostel (called Let us Stay and situated on 26, New Dover Road) on Friday the July 6th. Unfortunately our belated efforts to get the UK press interested in the journey and hence help boost the charity coffers have come to nought so far, and so we are alone as we battle through the market day crowds to win free entry to the grounds of the cathedral and have our credentials (pilgrim passport) stamped at the information office.

As Babette and Lao Tsu often remind me, “the first step is the hardest”. In this case no one in the information office has any idea of the direction onto the route, just giving hand gestures that Rome is somewhere to the south, but not letting us know that the cathedral grounds are enclosed with the only route out being through the tourist shop. 2 circuits of the grounds later we find ourselves back in the midst of the Friday market.

I know from the Confraternity of Pilgrims to Rome (CPR) that the route along the North Downs way has been recently marked, but if it has, then we must be pretty blind or they were all obscured by the market stalls. We couldn’t find a single sign in the town centre and the locals we speak to seem to have no idea about the North Downs Way, much less the via Francigena (VF). It seems that the North Downs Way, like parts of the VF, are simultaneously a car route, a cycle track and a hiking trail, each making their own way in the direction of Dover. Eventually we track down the car route, which leads us to cycle route 16, which in turn leads us to the hiking trail.

BB has mentioned our decision to stay overnight in Dover, which despite the early start worked out really well. Victoria’s place is unmissable (the East Cliff Hotel), the very last hotel on the promenade before reaching the roundabout that precede the Eastern docks. We had a shot at negotiating a pilgrim discount with Sea France – no chance – “we don’t do discounts here sir” only through our call centre. “You mean I have to book ahead? But I had no idea what time we would arrive. Well can we have 2 regular singles for ourselves, our bikes and our chipped, stamped and passported dog?” …In best customer serviceeze “I am very sorry we don’t allow dogs with foot passengers etc”. P &O got the business.

BB The channel crossing is smooth, though less pleasant for Vasco who has to stay below the passenger deck with the cars, in his basket. We break the news as gently as we can, but he quickly understands and gives us one of his “I’ll get you for this later” looks. I worry for the entire 75 minutes, but when we are finally allowed down, he seems calm and asks to be put back in the basket even before we have got on the bikes. When there is a choice between walking and riding, Vaz knows which he prefers.

Day 0 - Introduction

2007-09-10T01:24:00.000-07:00

Babette
First things first - who are we and why are we riding our bikes from Canterbury to Rome?

The introduction at the top of this blog provides a brief overview of our motives:
1. To raise money for our local Rotary club projects in the Mayenne region of France where we live.
2. To map the entire via Francigena route, using GPS and detailed descriptions, for the benefit of future pilgrims.

Beyond this, we should also add (because it is a question we are so often asked) that though we try to live according to our own moral code, we are not religious and our journey to Rome is not a religious pilgrimage in the Christian sense. I (as the main writer) may express some personal, irreverent and possibly critical views with regard to religion in this blog, but they will be predominantly humorous and never aimed to offend - even the most serious subject must be capable of taking the occasional jibe.

Nevertheless, with or without religion, the experience of travelling, as pilgrims, to Santiago de Compostela (2005) and Rome (2006) has changed our priorities and ultimately our lives - an outcome we would like to make accessible to more people. In 2006, our enjoyment and appreciation of the via Francigena was overshadowed by the difficulties of travelling along a route that was poorly marked, dangerous when it ran along major highways and (outside Italy) barely developed in terms of the pilgrim support found on the St James Way.

While part of the charm and challenge lies in precisely this undeveloped nature, we also recognise that not everyone has either the time (afforded to us because we have taken early retirement) or the masochistic desire to endure unnecessary hardship during what may be their annual holiday. But with sufficient support and information the practicalities of being 'on the road' need not subsume the rewards of stepping out of the daily routine to meet new people, learn about different cultures and quite simply find the space and peace we all need to think.

For these reasons, Paul and I have decided to travel the length of via Francigena again, but this time with the express aim of mapping every centimetre of it and gathering the information future pilgrims will need for a truly fulfilling journey - whether it is for 2 or 2,000 kilometres. Anyone who knows us either personally or through our previous books, will be aware that nothing ever goes quite according to plan and, true to form, we have no idea how this particular journey will end. Still, Paul's determination is legendary and he has said that come hell or high water we will produce a guide book for the via Francigena, so watch this space!

Paul
New to blogging we are finding our feet in this medium. In the vein of Sergeric the Serious (SS), the 10th century Archbishop of Canterbury and first known scribe of the route to Rome, we have decided to adopt suitably impressive names, thus we have become Paul the Peddler (PP) and Babette the Babbler (BB). We are going to try and make the blog a 2 handed affair with PP providing the boring, but necessary data to those that follow in our wake, with BB babbling over what goes on inside and often on the outside of this pair of ageing, biker pilgrims.