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In Which I Wonder If I'm Any Good At This
August 12, 2007 by Mike
Ger-Ger-Ger-Granville
Route: Cherbourg - Herqueville - Barneville-Carteret - Creances - Ger-Ger-Ger-Granville
Firstly, back in light rain to the Wild West where I noticed yesterday the site of a motorcycle event: the 13th running of the "Course de Cote", part of the "Championnat de France de la Montagne", and sure enough the time trials are run up the steepest road in the area. (I know because I walked down one side in the mud and up again.)
I need to crack this motorcycling thing. It's no use being strangely proud of the fact that I'm doing this trip without being "a real biker" and not knowing anything more mechanical than how to get the petrol cap off. These are my people - the ones who should understand better than anyone else why I'm riding such a ridiculously long way with enough space for only a couple of changes of underwear.
Only.. they're not. They don't notice the bike, the gear or the 'BesideTheSeaside.eu' stickers. Nobody asks (to my face) what an Englishman is doing here -- though I'm the only foreigner here. I have friendly-enough chats with the woman taking the entrance fee -- she lets me sit in her van while the heavens briefly open overhead and enjoys the fact that I work my passage by helping her take entrance money from less fortunate late arrivals, who are forced to stand out in the rain. A couple of stewards are entertained by my questions about where to stand and when anything happens.
Riders, mechanics and hangers-on mill around, tinkering with bikes and smoking Gitanes next to huge tanks of oil and petrol. Plenty of people are here to spectate. Judging by the number of cars parked outside, a lot of them have driven here then changed into biking leathers and boots in order to look the part. There are some extraordinary moustaches on display. But I don't find anyone to talk to and the truth is the motorbikes are interesting for a moment -- but only for a moment. It's fun listening to the massed ranks of competitors zoom down to the start line but then each bike rides up the course in turn, against the clock, and the slippery conditions mean they're all going about as fast as I would (on a sunny day.)
And so I left, heading south now down the peninsula, pondering as I rode, that I'm really not doing this very well at the moment. I'm seeing places but I'm not meeting people. I'm travelling roads but not -- dare I say? -- learning from them. It doesn't help that the rain reappears for a short while and I get to ride without sunglasses for the first time since the trip began again.
But you know what? The sun came out again. Ger-Ger-Ger-Granville is a cute town, and I rounded off the evening with a loooooong walk from the sea-front up to Christian Dior's childhood home, looping back across the centre to the 'High Town' where the oldest and grandest houses of Ger-Ger-Ger-Granville perch on cliffs overlooking the blue waters of the Bay of Mont St Michel.
I still didn't speak to anyone -- but then, I was perched on a clifftop at the time. It was a good place to be.
--
Actually, I did speak to a couple, briefly. There's a road winding up to this high point. I turned to watch a motorbike trundle up to the cliff top. It was a cruiser of some kind -- a Japanese version of a Harley -- with a couple on board wearing open-face crash helmets, summer shirts and lightweight trousers, trainers.
My two thoughts as they rode past me and onto a small roundabout:
1. They should be wearing better protection;
2. Isn't he taking the roundabout well? Really leaning over and using the weight and motion of the bike to best effect.
And... you've guessed already?... as he throttled away from the roundabout and leaned into the next turn, the bike just... fell over. A jarring SCRRRRRAPE of metal and plastic on tarmac and, from 50 metres away, a very distinct "Oh!" from his female pillion passenger.
I sprinted down to them. She had reached the pavement where she sat nursing her ankle. He had already righted the bike and was torn between concern for his friend.. and wanting to check the bike for damage. They acknowledged and were grateful for my concern: they were bruised but OK - passenger, rider and bike.
Leaving me to retreat, more aware than ever of the potential dangers of biking. He hadn't been going too fast - if anything, the spill was a result of leaning too far when he was riding too slowly. He wasn't showing off. He seemed perfectly sober. Maybe there'd been a bump in the road? But that can happen anywhere - and to anyone. They were lucky not to have had anything broken or crushed, I reckon. And they were lucky there hadn't been a lorry right behindthem. They fell. They were 'lucky'. Hmmmmm.
Every time I ride -- *every* time -- I go through my little list of precautions and admonitions to Myself The Bike Rider -- "Anticipate.. Ride appropriately.. Be alert..." etc. Perhaps I need to add to that list: "Be lucky"?
--
Nowhere to get a nightcap. Everything's closed by 9 o'clock. Ger-Ger-Ger-Granville is not Open All Hours.
Comments
By Mike With | August 19, 2007 9:58 AM
Oops. Sorry Birgitta. i've been too busy talking to people!
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By Birgitta | August 18, 2007 7:07 PM
You may not be talking to anyone, but we are still reading. Waiting for next installment. Stop writing that book and let us know, what is happening now.