Bicycle Bouquet

Well we survived twenty hours in the bike bus amongst somnolent pensioners and hyperactive teenages to reach Verdun, register with the Semaine and find our hotel.

It is bang in the centre of the town and was built in the 17th century. Hence it is a minefield of sloping floors, low head hitting beams, dark corridors with hidden steps and stairs waiting for the unwary guest to trip up or down, and an ensuite toilet in our room, so small that it makes a telephone box seem huge and which you have to back into in order to close the door.

Nevertheless, this hotel is an icon in Verdun, and having seen the campsites that some of the other cyclists are staying in, we can consider ourselves fortunate.

The town itself is seething with cyclists of all shapes and forms. There are some whom you would never see on a bike in Britain, so large are they. Lycra never did take prisoners but it is still refreshing to see everyone on 2 wheels enjoyong themselves regardless of fleshy spare tyres and saddle bags.

The only cloud so far has been the loss of his Lordship's camera, which he left by mistake beside his chair at a restaurant and which has been spirited away by some lucky finder.
It could have been much worse he says philosophically had it been his wallet with cards, money and passport.

That makes me the official family photographer, although I do get instructions from time to time as to what to take.