Europe - The Lions on the Road: Cycling London to Cape Town - page 31

I arrived in Calais at 12:00 a.m. The French immigration and customs police were
amazing. As I cycled off the ferry, they ushered me through to the front of the cue of
vehicles and just waved me on without asking for documents or checking my bike. I was
soon to learn that travelling by road in France in the summer of 1992 would be difficult.
It was marred by striking French truck drivers and farmers who blockaded many national
roadstoprotesttheirgovernment'snewlegislation.ItwasablessingthatIwasonabicycle
(and not driving) for the blockades didn't apply to cyclists.
My first night was a great reality check for my ego. I had this misplaced fantasy
that I was to be treated as some sort of a celebrity- a do-gooder for the poor. This fantasy
saw me welcomed with open arms at every turn of the road with people lining the streets
and the mayors shaking my hand for a photo op. Well, my first night was spent along the
beach alone in a concrete bus shelter. Well, at least the shelter offered me protection from
the rain. I fell asleep with the sounds of waves crashing upon the midnight shore. It was
humbling and taught me not to cycle through France (or any other country for that matter)
with an air of arrogance/entitlement.
I awoke at 6 o'clock to a light drizzle. I liked to cycle a little before I ate breakfast,
soImademywaytoBoulogneS.Mer. IhadsomeFrenchfrancswithmeandwenttovisit
one of my favourite places in France: la patisserie (a bakery). I ate…actually, I devoured
their raison bread. After a stomach full of this stuff, I resumed cycling. I continued to Ab-
béville and onto Amies where I spent my last bit of money on a room.
Formy first full day in France, the weather was a constant drizzle with a few heavy
showers and wind mixed in. I always kept in mind the heat and sun of Africa as a deterrent
fromcomplaining.Infact,Ibegantoenjoythecoolnessoftherain.Sinceallmygearinthe
panniers was in garbage bags (an added measure of protection), I wasn't concerned about
getting wet. The bike performed wonderfully with an exception to a slight creaking noise
in the crank and my overall distance for my first day in France was 150 kilometres.
The next morning, I again woke up early and joined the most direct route to Paris,
the N1. When I reached Beavais, I called the Canadian Embassy to let them know that I
was on my way but that I wouldn't be able to make it by 5:30. Ms. Elaine Divernois was
mycontactandsherecommendedthatIgiveperiodicupdatestotheembassy.Shesaidthat
she would contact the local press in Paris (I was hoping that something would come out
of it but nothing really did.) One bright point was that she contacted the Embassy in Mad-
rid and the Minister of Foreign Affairs (The Honourable Barbara McDougal) in Ottawa,
Canadatotellthemthatthe“greenlight”wason.Asthetourunfolded,everyembassy/high
commission I visited did the same: they contacted Ottawa, the next embassy/high commis-
sionenrouteandnotifiedthepreviousonethatIarrivedsafely.IneachcountryIregistered