Thursday 14th, Home to Dover, (350m).
We left Glen View early - K had to go to work. In Hereford for 8.30am, with K knowing there would be dire consequences if she wasn't out by 2.30 - we had a boat to catch, needed to be in Dover for 9.30 and it was getting on for 300 miles - we didn't want to be pushing The Rosabella too hard. In the event, after T had spent the morning kicking his heels (and buying a GB sticker, and inventing a cargo net out of bungees so that no-one would be decapitated by the contents of the Luton under severe acceleration!), K appeared at a run, on the dot, and we made it to Dover with an hour to spare.There weren't as many bikes as there had been on last year's Caen crossing but we did natter with a couple who were headed for Le Mans. We arrived at Calais at midnight and had our first Aire-experience on the carpark of Intermarché at Citté Europe. Slept well after a very long day.
Friday 15th - Sunday 17th, Calais to Le Mans (296m).
T was awake early, as usual, and decided to set off for the long drive to the circuit. We left Calais with K still in bed, not waking until our brekkie stop, some 120km on, at Baie de Somme, which turned out to be the back entrance to the motorway services (we were avoiding the Autoroutes). Lots of bikes heading south on the motorway.
Our journey seemed interminable and there were more and more bikes and more and more police checks as we got closer - we reckoned that some riders must have been stopped three or four times.
We eventually hit Le Mans at eightish and headed straight for the circuit, hoping to find a parking spot close to where we were last year, 5 minutes from the main entrance. Sure enough we stopped more or less in exactly the same place and decided to visit the track and have a drink before sorting out a campsite. When we returned to The Rosabella we decided to risk it and stay overnight on the side of the road. We dropped off amidst the noise of the big party on the official site, bikes being revved to, and beyond, their lives, and the motorway 6 feet on the other side of the hedge. We were amazed that we slept like logs, and weren't moved on. Lots of people were walking past on the way to view qualifying so we gulped down a quick brekkie and joined them! It was the same on Saturday night - we didn't move, we slept and by 6.00am the road was full of spectators making their way to the track. We were at our spot by 7.30 and watched the racing in freezing rain, K still cold despite full winter gear including thermals (T had scoffed at her, and then froze!). The big race was won by Jorge Lorenzo and we witnessed his trademark 'flag-plant' right in front of us. Valle fell off, pitted four times and still finished on the same lap as the winner. We made our usual brew in our three feet square of space, much to the amusement of the surrounding crowd, and after the race joined the procession away from the track, with the newly outfitted Teddy Rossi hanging out of the window, waved off by hundreds of local residents.
T had spotted a sign for a campsite as we approached Le Mans on Friday and we decided to head for that. Le Vieux Moulin was a beautiful, quiet (but expensive - the owner taking advantage of race weekend) spot and we had another good night, although K was grumpy that the shower was chilly, although T made up for it by washing her hair in Rosabella's sink!)
Monday 18th, Le Mans to Blois (112m).
The second phase of our journey, to get to Yve's 50th birthday party at Aveyron, via the Loire and the Dordogne. We spent the morning mooching in Le Mans - it's beautiful and the cathedral has some interesting sculptures and frescos. We'd had a lovely relaxed breakfast at Le Vieux Moulin but by the time we left the city T was hungry, and very grumpy, not helped by the fact that we couldn't find the road we wanted. Another loo stop where tripping up a kerb added to T's black mood, and then eventually a signpost for St Calais - the right direction!We decided to stop for lunch just outside Le Mans, in a clearing in the forest which seemed to have a few white vans parked in it. When we noticed the blacked-out windows and the scantily-clad women in the cabs we twigged that w had joined some kind of mobile brothel, sp beat a hasty retreat! We stopped for soup and sammos a few kilometres down the road but were still bothered by cars pulling in to our layby, the drivers peering in to The Rosabella before speeding off again. K was not impressed with T's idea for adding to our holiday dosh!
We'd decided to head for Blois in order to do a loop along the Loire, and when we arrived we caused a minor stir by pulling in to a bus station, via the wrong way down a one-way street. A very helpful woman directed us to a proper parking place and we set off to have a walk to the aire described in the book. It was on the riverside but pretty full, and we didn't fancy it. Over a beer, we had a look at the tourist map and decided to head for a site at Huisseau-sur-Cosson, not far from Chambord where there was a chateau we wanted to explore. We duly found the site, noone around, so T wandered in to the farmhouse only to find a very grumpy farmer, eating his dinner and complaining tat we should have rung the bell - which he pointed out was right next to where we'd parked. He took our money (12 Euros, compared to the 24 the previous night at Le Mans) and then his wife showed us to a pitch next to a very new Ducato. T wished her 'bon appetit' as she went to resume her interrupted supper - she smiled, thank goodness, and wished us the same!K had decided that tonight was the first experiment from 'The Bean Book' and, after covering herself and much of The Rosabella with flour, produced fabulous lentil croquettes with pasta. They were washed down with Vin de Table and two exhausted people hit the sack.
Tuesday 19th, Blois (Chambord) to Vertuil-sur-Charente (184m).
Another lovely sunny morning, we watched our neighbours from the brand spanking new Ducato head off on their bikes for the Loire cycle track. T made a big 'Left-Over-Pasta-Fritata' for brekkie before we set off for a look at the Chateau at Chambord. We were already on the car park before we twigged it was going to cost us €10 to get out, or another €10 to look around the Chateau. We decided on the latter, even though we were now on a pretty tight budget to see us through to K's payday. The place was just a complete riot of extravagant architecture, huge, with hundreds of rooms, staircases, passages and corridors to explore. K did have a 'moment' on the roof, but all-in-all an interesting morning, AND The Rosabella's first cheesy sticker! A quick brew and bikkies before we set off on our journey west along the Loire to Tours.Views of another couple of beautiful chateaux (Bracieux, Cheverney, Chaumont) and then a stop for lunch beside the river at Amboise. A very pleasant half hour watching ducklings running on water to keep up with Mum!
We managed to bypass Tours, via a hypermarket for supplies, and turned south on the D910 to Poitiers, Ruffec and in the direction of Angouleme.
Time was getting on so we took a look in the Aires book and decided to head for the nearest one at the time, just off the N10 at Vertuil-sur-Charente. Following the directions in the book resulted in us being on the wrong side of the river but a bit of exploration led us to a lovely pitch on the edge of a little park. Elder trees were blooming, there were flowers along a little footbridge over the Charente which was itself edged with irises and nasturtiums. The public loo was spotless - it was all just perfect. Experiment 2 from the bean book resulted in chickpea curry - beautiful again, and another great night's sleep. Definitely our best stopover yet.
Wednesday 20th, Vertuil-sur-Charente to Tremolat (158m)
What a delightful place! Muesli and toast in the sun, locals walking their dogs and wishing us 'Bonjour!'. We had a walk in warm sunshine, coffee in the square and a mooch around a little gallery, where K bought big wooden earrings. then a visit to a working flour mill supplying the bakery next door which, in turn, provided bread for a beautiful cafe olongside the millrace. Just lovely - 'Clun with croissants' as T described it.
Reluctantly we left Vertuil on the back roads, heading, we hoped, south toward the valley of the Dordogne. We decided to go slightly more east than our original plan and aimed for Perigueux, via the Perigord-Limousin national park. A beautiful drive with a short detour for lunch beside a little private lake in the middle of 'fois gras' country.
A long push for Bergerac, we stopped for a cuppa just north of the city. K went astern to put the kettle on only to find that the ceiling had fallen down! The vibration must have fractured the fibre glass holding the insulation battens in place. Out with the tools for the first time as T drilled through the hi-top (something we'd hoped to avoid) and secured the battens with coach bolts - not too tight so that the holes wouldn't be enlarged. A bit of free climbing was needed to do the job - just like the old days for T!
We only got to see the industrial bit of Bergerac as we headed east along the Dordogne. Very tired now and aiming for the Aire at Tremolat - spectacular views of the river and a couple of bridges as we drove down to the valley floor.
Tremolat was a pretty place, although a little 'touristy' for us. We had a beer in a busy bistro, and a debate about whether w should buy a pizza - heart said 'yes', budget said 'no' - budget won! Another bean book special, red bean paella, made us glad that we'd decided to eat in.
Having effected the temporary repair on the roof, lo and behold, a thunderstorm and downpour meant that w had water dripping from the ceiling - typical! Nevertheless, another peaceful night in the Aire behind the village hall and, all-in-all, our best day yet.
Thursday 21st, Tremolat to La Bastide- l'Eveque (133m)
Leaks in the ceiling not too much of a problem as the rain hadn't lasted too long. We woke to find ourselves in the gathering area for a cycle race. T went to perform ablutions in the public loo up the road while K moved The Rosabella to the place where we should have actually been parked. As she was pulling aay she was hailed by one of the cyclists who pointed out the flat tyre at the rear, driver's side. T's first thought when he returned was that this was going to be the start of vehicle-angst - the ceiling, the leaky roof and now this. However, the jack worked (with help from the chocks), the wheel came off with no problem, the spare was OK and within 15 minutes we were sorted.
we decided to head ut of town for brekkie but needed a bit of air in the spare. The garage on the outskirts of Tremolat had an open door so T shouted to see if anyone was around. He explained in perfect French to the man who appeared, that we needed to blow our tyre up. The reply, in perfect English, was that we would have to come back tomorrow as today was a holiday (Ascension Day) and ther was no air!!
We drove a few kilometres up the road to a layby with a beautiful view, feeling a bit p'd off and hoping that this wasn't to be the start of a series of hassles, added to by the fact that both cameras were now out of action. While K sorted out boiled eggs and orange juice, T, whilst doing a fine impression of a bear with a sore head, repeated his gymnastics of the previous day to stick gaffer tape over the new ceiling bolts, hopefully making them temprarily waterproof.
We lingered over breakfast and felt loads better when we eventually moved on, south and east, towards the Lot, and then east again to Luzech where we stopped for a look at a bank holiday car-boot sale on the main street. Standard of goods for sale was about as good (bad!) as a typical Harry Tuffin's Sunday.
After a beer we decided to push on the last 60 miles to Yve's party. That's when the next problem reared its ugly head! We'd calculated that we had enough fuel to make it to La Bastide but the gauge was looking dodgy and all the garages were closed. We took it easy to Villefranche, by which time we were really biting our nails. A sign for a 24hr garage and we breathed again - until we discovered that it was self-service and card only, and K wasn't paid until tomorrow. Never mind, push on, only another 10 miles or so. Big uphill out of Villefranche, easy on the accelerator, being tooted at by kids in Novas, and then, the turning for La Bastide, thank goodness. Nice, steep downhill so we can roll - but where's the site? 2 miles on we stopped and asked two old boys who answered (with very strong accents) that the site wasn't actually in La Bastide and we needed to go back up the hill to the main road and carry on for about 5km where we would find the site on the right.
Back up the hill, hardly touching the throttle, limping back on the main road, surely running on fumes now, and there was Tim at the entrance to the site, Gasp!!
Friday 22nd, La Bastide l'Eveque
A lovely day - sunbathing, eating, drinking, swimming in the lake, generally relaxing.
Highlights: "Fancy a gin Kay?" "Mmm, yes please" - a litre later and Gill and K were definitely on a roll; Arnaud, with a very sexy 'Bonne Anniversaire' - for Cliff!; silly noises as we went in and out of Tim and Gill's caravan; community singing as T led the French ensemble in the English versio of 'Allouette', followed by 'Sunshine Mountain'. All in all a great party for Yve's 50th birthday.
Saturday 23rd, La Bastide l'Eveque to St Laurent de la Salanque (223m)
K, much the worse for wear, was still in bed as we bounced back up the track and to Villefranche, refuelled with a canful of diesel we'd bought on our shopping trip with Tim the previous day. Le Clerc was only just opening as we arrived so we hung around for a few minutes, giving K the chance to dress and look at the damage revealed in the mirror. Filled up, we set off on the final leg of the first half of our European adventure. We blew up our soft tyre after a few miles, and stopped for brekkie of croissants that we'd bought in Villefranche, at Pont Sarlat.
K was feeling a little better by now and when we reached the Tarn Viaduct was well enough to be excited and do the touristy bit by going to the viewing area for a spectacular perspective of this fantastic sight.
On we pushed to Bezieres, down the road that T had travelled a years earlier, with great scenery all the way down the hill. A trip around Bezieres' one way system before T realised that he was confusing the place with Narbonne, and on, stopping for lunch in a poppy field - again in the middle of a mobile brothel!
Barcares, the Mediterranean and more or less journey's end. A tidy-up of The Rosabella, and of ourselves, before dinner at the Paraguer in St Laurent and a pitch outside Tim's house.
Overall: 11 days, 1456 miles covered, 180.7 litres of diesel used.
It hadn't been a good week. T was worried about his dad and K had had confirmation that her job was to be made redundant - we decided to give ourselves Friday off. The Rosabella had sprung a couple of leaks where T had fixed the roof in France so after gaffer-taping over the bolts we set off at around 4pm, heading west and south for St Davids. We took a stunning route through the Cambrian Mountains, listening to Chris Evan's Beatles request show and feeling smug as we heard Sally Traffic announcing chaos on the nation's roads - we tried to send a gloating text but there was no signal in the hills. We promised ourselves a return to this gorgeous area as soon as possible.
A good night's sleep, a brief use of the facilities and we exited. 
We reluctantly left Abercastle and headed for St Davids, on the way taking in Porthgain, another quiet little harbour. The Shed seafood bistro had been recommended to us but unfortunately plans for an evening out had to be shelved as they were fully booked. We reserved a table for Sunday lunch instead. St Davids was wet and busy. We went in to the cathedral where the choir were practicing for Evensong, and spent twenty minutes in reverie, listening to the voices reverberating around the space. Back to the real world and after a cuppa and a cake in a cafe that seemed to be run by twelve year olds we set off to find an overnight site We had toyed with the idea of staying at Abercastle but weren't sure. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing we took one last turn into a lane which led us to Abereiddy, a small bay, bounded by rocks and with a good sized carpark. There was the usual 'Overnight Parking Prohibited' sign but noone was around apart from a small MH at the far end of the carpark so we decided to take a chance, hid ourselves in a corner and enjoyed a K special of tuna pasta with wine and soft music, the sound of the ocean in the background, and a lovely, peaceful, night.
The final day of the Bank Holiday and it was lashing down. Nevertheless the little beach was very busy with wetsuited families. We did see one couple going for a dip in their swimmies and when we went for a walk to the blue lagoon we bumped into them. They confirmed that it had been 'fresh!' and so, on our return to The Rosabella, we decided that it had to be done. We raced down the beach like ten year olds and splashed around in the cold, grey-green water. It was exhilarating to say the least and the source of some amusement to the onlookers. The couple parked next to The Rosabella said that they thought we were mad - T told them we were trying to save on soap!
