'That little secret...'

This one is for my friend Yuri's canvas online...

It goes a little something like this;

Not many people know this, but a bicycle is like a book, you can take it anywhere, and vice-versa. Well, not 100% really, but almost. I would not take my bike with me to the toilet. Unless I had forgotten the lock.

For people who do not cycle; to work, for pleasure or sport, it's hard to explain what cycling is all about. Because it's like being born, or dying, or losing your virginity. It's something you have to experience for yourself. If you haven't yet, until you do so it will remain a little secret.
Cycling is not everyone's cup of tea. Like sex is not everyone's cup of tea. And here's another little secret, cycling is much better than sex. Or maybe I'm doing it wrong.

So, Friday the 31st of August, 2007, I stuffed a backpack with a couple of maps, compass, tooth brush, passport, credit card and some food. Then I left the office in Teddington, and cycled to Newhaven. That's a port town on the south coast of England, east of Brighton.

Next thing I was on the overnight ferry to Dieppe, France, and that is the truth.
I got there Saturday nice and early and my bike kept taking me along the coast to all these amazing places I had never been to and didn't even know existed. I was in Normandy by the way, and it became obvious to me that Britain was ruled for centuries by Norman kings. At times it all looked so familiar, the houses and gardens. I even found myself crossing over to the left hand lane every so often.

Now the river Seine is a well known river. Like the Thames snakes through London, it snakes through Paris then goes on to the sea, to separate Haute-Normandie from Basse-Normandie. At that point man built a suspension bridge, the architectural and engineering feat known as "Pont de Normandie", which has a cycle lane, and not many people know this.

By crossing the bridge I ended up in lovely Honfleur. It was as packed as Le Havre on the other side was empty, although Le Havre is a Unesco World Heritage Centre. I ended up in Honfleur but didn't stay there long, only long enough for a piss and I pissed like a horse, being badly in need since Le Havre but having to hold up for the lack of a suitable spot so it had to be there by the Total service station, in sight of giggling French femmes.

My bike then took me to Caen just as, if not more charming than Honfleur.
Caen has a big Harry Potter like castle, complete with moat, right in the middle of town. I stayed at the HI Hostel for the night even though I'm well past hostelling age. They didn't mind.
I splashed out a couple of euros extra on sheets and was shocked to discover that the sheets were disposable! I had never heard of such thing but in our day and age when things seem to come suitably carbon-footprinted, having read about the damaging environmental effects of intensive cotton farming, I figured that disposable sheets might be just as good as their predecessor, give or take some brownie points. As my boss said today, it's only a planet. And who am I to argue with the boss.

I ate and slept all I could and before I knew it the sheets were in the bin and I was on the saddle again. It was Sunday morning and I was riding along the D-Day landing beaches. There are five of them, from east to west - Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha and Utah.
A lot is said and known about these beaches and D-Day so I cannot add anything but I can tell you this; a couple of miles inland from the northern tip of Utah Beach there is a tiny village called Ravenoville, where the streets have no name. In the corner bar the only chocolate bar for sale is Twix. And that is the honest truth.

I had to top up the Twixes with some leftover cheese and ham - couldn't find any bread and by the time I did I was running out of time so had to keep on spinning fast till Cherbourg-Octeville to make my return ferry. That meant being ripped off on the ferry instead of buying lots of good cheap French food from the supermarket but if you believe in destiny, like me, you just have to accept it.

The high-speed ferry boat was destined to Portsmouth. It was very fast and took about five pukes to get there, not mine, a kid sat next to me.
Next thing I knew it was Monday morning and I was climbing into bed. Although it was several hours after the ferry arrived.
I cycled through lots of sleepy villages and some rain then I slept myself for a couple of hours. During my brief sleep I had a dream, a revelation. Light was cast into the dark corners and all became clear and made perfect sense. Then the alarm rang. I woke up, cycled to work and forgot the dream, so it remained a secret.