Day 1: getting there

 Ventoux is not an easy place to get to.

The nearest airport is Marseille although that’s 50 miles away. Other “local” airports are between 75 and 125 miles away. It’s a 3 change stop on the train from Paris or, as I’m about to find out, it’s a 1,000km drive from Caen.

Driving through France was the easy bit. It was the Brits who threatened to throw a spanner in the works. With no prior warning, the powers that be decided to shut the M27 for 4 junctions. Cue confusion, gridlock, a suspected speeding ticket and a degree or two of stress. 

I finally arrived, very late, at Portsmouth but was permitted to board the ferry, albeit positioned in such a way to remind me not to do it again. 

The crossing was smooth and barring a 15 minute discussion with customs explaining that I was neither professionally racing or selling the 11 bicycles on / in my car, I made good progress through France. 

I remember as a child on a family holiday driving past Dijon in our Ford Escort. The rain was so loud I thought the roof was going to cave in. They’ve obviously not turned the tap off; I was treated to a repeat performance as I skipped past Dijon. 

After 800km I pulled off the motorway and headed up the Doux Valley to a quiet campsite in the hills. It’s got “bike ride” written all over it, and that’s my plan in the morning prior to the final shlep down to Provence. 

I armed myself with a beer & a pizza and sat on the (covered) terrace in another downpour, wandering a) how the bikes were enjoying their second soaking of the day and b) whether my tent was leaking. 

Guess I’ll find out soon enough.