Will's Wheels in France, May 2007.

The Loire region of mid west France provided the setting for some great cycling during the month of May. Our trips in the past have usually involved some sort of agenda going from one place to another or traversing a particular route. Whilst we've done some pretty phenomenal stuff, our trips have always been geared toward doing tough touring challenges and haven't always found wide appeal throughout the club. This trip was a series of rides and events from a fixed base designed to appeal to a broader cross section of our members. Touring, club runs and cafe stops, racing and plenty of socialising saw us crossing the channel by air and sea with fit athletes, hardened mile munchers, old crocks, wives and kids.

I have been to France cycling for many years now with tents, buses and coaches but this trip was to benefit from some inside help. Clive Humphry, who is a member of our club and well known for his exploits with the Atom Racing Team, now resides in Maligne, a small hamlet overlooking the Cote de Layon to the South of the Loire valley. I visited Clive last year and spent a week there. His property has a variety of vineyards attached to it and at one time was a well organised producer of rich, sun baked red wine. Whilst Clive doesn't actually produce any wine himself, the vines are leased and well tended. The east cave still houses a line of barrels containing many gallons of the local produce but other than this, the house, caves, sheds and related buildings are no longer used for the production of wines and Clive has been busy making some alterations to cater for cyclists and other groups visiting the area.

We arranged the trip with all of the group travelling by air, apart from myself that is. I travelled across the channel with a van carrying the bikes and luggage. Clive, Sally and I travelled to the airport to meet the group as they arrived in Nantes. Cycles at the ready and within half an hour of landing, we set of east and cycled to Maligne. 69 miles or 117 km later and everyone was made very welcome, fed a sozzled with copious quantities of wine from the local vines.

Wednesday was my birthday and Clive took us out on a stunning ride. The whole group of riders set off in blistering sunshine heading south east through the tiny village of St Georges sur Layon and on towards Montreuil Bellay. The stunning château in the town overlooks the Thouet River on its way to nearby Saumur where it meets the Loire. Lines of trees set out in that very French way run alongside the river whilst the smell of patisseries filled the warm air as we made our way through the sleepy town.

There are 12 of us riding and Clive's son Craig has come out on the scooter with young Jack. It's not long before some are chasing the scooter through the lovely quiet lanes through the Foret de Fontevraud. Fontevraud is famous for its Abbey which is a stunning piece of architecture but we pass it by very quickly as we turn North and drop down to the river at Montsoreau.

The cafe here is not yet open but by prior arrangement through Clive they welcome us with coffee, freshly baked cake and scones. The cafe sits at the foot of the natural cliffs that line the Loire and has some of it's rooms cut into the white rock. All along the river there are caves cut into the rock which make excellent wine stores with constant cool temperatures ideal for the fermenting grapes. I did particularly well at the cafe and had two pots of coffee, coke, cake and a scone smothered in jam and cream.

Following the flow of the mighty Loire westward we traced its south bank through Saumur and on to Gennes. We crossed the river to Les Rosiers sur Loire where you begin to appreciate the sheer size of the river. What you thought was the far bank turns out to be an island with a further huge channel to cross before reaching its north bank. Its sandy wide channels are over a kilometre wide in places and it is littered with the piles of old bridges destroyed during the second world war.

After an espresso we headed away from the river on the super smooth tarmac of the D69. The surrounding country on the road to Noyant la Plaine is green and lush. The group is picking up speed and Clive is putting the wheel two foot in front of Will's. The wise gentleman of the group ease themselves out of the back with some dignity whilst Dave, Mike, Neil and the youngsters hang on to the coat tails of the flying Harry Shaw. Martigne Briand is within 5km and five are in the race, through and off with the wind on our backs. Harry's little chainring is insufficient for the pace and he slides out of the back. There's a little hesitation before Chris Siepen and Will take a flyer. Too much domestic duty in Clive's wooden legs to go with the move but I manage to hang on. I'm struggling to find any more speed and I am forced to settle for third, on my birthday as well.

Sweaty and satisfied we are treated to another fine meal with the sun still beating down. There's some worry amongst the group as the thought of Riley's monster ride to the coast looms heavily in the warm night air. Everyone knows that it could well be 200 miles and a grueller at that. I had enjoyed the last couple of days and I wanted as many to enjoy the long ride as I could muster. It was common sense that led to a suggestion of something shorter and more sociable. Being one year closer to forty brought with it new responsibilities and I sure as hell didn't want to spend the latter half of the day driving around France picking up knackered bodies, baked and dried out like Californian raisins.

Clisson sits on a hill along side the Nantaise river some 12 miles south east of Nantes. The maize of narrow streets, gothic citadel and medieval castle make it natural place to stop and join the French for a long lunch. We eat pizza with sliced goat and horsemeat toppings that are truly delicious. the crunch comes after our main course. Only Chris Siepen and myself can manage a mouse au chocolat. I knew these guys hadn't been on a Riley ride for some time but I didn't realise they were in such bad shape.

The ride to Clisson was a little over 50 miles and we'd got 19's average on the clock. However, the afternoon was hot and what little of a headwind there was blew like a hairdryer, scorching your throat and burning you up from inside out. After a nice ride along the river side and a minor incident with a donkey, we opened up the throttle again and sailed along the straight roads to Les Herbiers.

The pace was good and everything seemed fine but the group was about to splinter like a walnut in a nutcracker. At Les Landes Genusson the fountain was the only refuge from the burning heat that was torturing the brows of those who had turned down the chocolate mouse. It did look appealing but I didn't set off that morning to be splashing around like a stranded penguin in a dessert.

After some more dithering at the supermarket we set of to the south of Cholet were the surrounding country begins to roll. The melting tar and dying cactus turned legs to jelly. Huge gaps appeared between riders and the discipline of the once fabled Will's Wheels marathon men was in tatters. We crawled across the lanes past the Lac du Verdon and through the beutiful Foret de Vezins. It wasn't all carnage and It was good to see Sam Burton completely unfazed by the distance or heat. Jumping about like a sunburnt grasshopper, Sam was as fresh as he had been at the start of the day.

We did the hide and jump out on Dave thing, laughed at the winking gargoyle in Neil's unpleasantly transparent shorts and enjoyed the last few miles of a what had been a great ride in baking sunshine. We'd covered 124 miles and more than ready for Clive's excellent barbecue when we got back. Mike's exhaustion vanished as quickly as his wine glass filled up and I took great pleasure from diving into the pool to cool off.

Helen and Georgia (my wife and stepdaughter) had arrived earlier that day to join us and it was nice to arrive back to be greeted by smiling faces. My friend John and his wife had also come on the trip. John is a member of the Buxton Cycling Club and I've known him for a long time now. We used to ride a tandem together in the late 80's and early 90's. Harry Shaw had come with his partner June and his eleven year old son, Jack. The broad range of people on the trip was something differnent to the past tours we had done and made for a good atmosphere. Every night the wine flowed and there was plenty of raucous laughter. However, being well disciplined cyclists ensured that everyone was in bed by 10.30pm and ready for more biking the day after.

Friday saw the group go their separate ways. Whilst some went out on their bikes, others relaxed or went for a walk. Will and myself decided to go fishing and cycled to a lake 5 miles up the road with Chris Schofield and Jack coming to see how it was done. Sat by the lake we rubbed factor 30 into our burning skin as the sun baked us like potatoes. As mid day approached the rumble of thunder became evident in the distance and soon the black thunder clouds began to roll in from the south. Like gnomes at a garden pond, will and myself ignored the quickly changing conditions in the quest for Moby Dick. The still waters of the lake changed in an instant as super cooled air raced in from the fast moving weather front now upon us. Still we waited. The thunder was louder and flashes of sheet lightening lit up the darkening skies above us. The inevitable drops of rain began to fall, sparesly at first but within minutes the deluge was upon us. We ran into the trees but they offered little protection. The dusty track through the woods began to flow like a river and jagged forks of lightening streaked across the sky. When finally the cold and constant soaking became too much to bear, we broke cover from the trees and made a run for it. Young Jacks legs whirred around like Lance Armstrong's whilst the sharp end of a fishing rod ensured he didn't let up at all. By the time we arrived back, we were in a poor dishevelled state. How stupid can you get?

Neither Will nor myself wanted to sit at the dinner table that evening without a catch to our name. After the storm had passed and the weather calmed down, the pair of us resumed our positions at the side of the lake in our quest for anything that might even resemble a fish. Will managed to hook a few but they just kept getting away. It wasn't looking good until the final 30 seconds of fishing when we managed to pull a handsome carp from the murky waters. We duly photographed our fish and returned as the victorious hunter gatherers.

Saturday saw the group doing different things again. Will, Chris Siepen, Chris Yates, Neil King, Clive, Craig and myself all headed north of the river to a village called Brette les Pins for the first of our road races. It was a small village with two races, each consisting of two groups. It was typically French. Music playing from the commentry box, a signing on tent and best of all, a crap in the woods before the race. The circuit was closed to traffic and each race probably feilded 100 riders split into two groups. The race for Clive, Chris Yates and myself was good with Yates dragging the rest of us around for lap after lap. We had a few digs over the climb but in the end we let a guy go clear who we didn't manage to bring back. Yates took a flyer at the finish which looked very impressive until he ground to a halt half way up the hill. My effort was not much better but I managed to finish 6th for which I won a nice bottle of wine.

The D1 race was the highlight of the day. Will and Chris Siepen crossed to the early split and along with a dozen other riders stayed out front for the whole race. The most significant move came from a young rider who took off and got a good gap for himself. Will worked hard to get across to him but the determined rider was flying. From the road side it didn't look as though Will was going to get across to him but a lap later at the bell, he'd ran out of steam and it was all back together. Up the climb for the last time and Will dished out a slice of "Artists Lane Pie" to the raging French who'd coluded together to ensure that the English didn't win. Rubbing salt further into the wound, second man across the line was the ultra tanned Chris Siepen with third place going to the young man who'd desperatly tried to win the race with his earlier solo efforts. We went home with several bottles of wine and two trophys presented to Will and Chris on the podium at the finish. It was a good day out for all of us and to beat the French at their own game was a good buzz. Spare a thought for Neil King who did what he could to stay with the race but had to concede to the marauding Frenchmen who worked him over good and proper.

Sundays club run with Clive's French club went tits up when one of our riders got out of the saddle and dropped six feet back putting the French riders into a ditch. The man responsible on the Litespeed shall remain anynomous. The rain falling steadily didn't help and in dribs and drabs the riders all turned around and went home. The run in to Vihiers wasn't the same as I had found it last year and Yates and myself had drilled the few riders left before the sprint for the town sign came about. I think the Entent Cordiale was still intact when we left the group and despite the rain we made the best of the poor conditions.

Monday saw us all heading for St Macaire en Mauges, about 5 miles north west of Cholet. Mike led a group through the lanes via a steak dinner at Chemile whilst the rest of us travelled by car. The race headquarters were at a school and there were about 140 riders signed on. The course was a figure of eight on the outskirts of the small town. There were two small climbs and frequent showers saw some very slippery patches around the corners. Will and Chris Siepen went straight through and both made efforts to get away. Chris got pulled back and straight away Will was on the counter attack. That was the last Will would see of the race. A small group pursued Will with Chris Siepen policing the move. Once the chasers began to lose heart, Chris made his move and did a cracking ride to join will out in front of the race. They worked together steadily putting 1 minute 40 seconds into the chasers by the finish. Chris Siepen crossed the line a worthy victor with Will taking second.

The race behind was being lined out by a rampaging Chris Yates. Everytime I got a glimpse of the front as the long line of riders snaked around the corners it was Yates who was piling it on. For a while I was going backwards too fast and at the halfway mark I was probably 60 riders back. The rain made the course greasy and every time I took a cautios corner I lost another two or three places. As Yates piled it on I could see gaps beggining to appear and I thought I might end up in a group well down. Despite this mid race crisis I didn't want to put in a poor performance in front of my Wife and Stepdaughter and the sound of Neil Kings voice booming over the whole poulation of St Macuire spurred me on to get my act together. I began moving up on the climbs and taking the corners a lot faster. With seven to go I was back up to the front and feeling a lot better. I took a flyer with two to go and on the bell I rolled away with a small group of Frenchmen prepared to work together . They gesticulated that I should come through and do a turn to which I defiantly replied "NON, Je suis en vaccances". As we rounded the last corner they all looked at each other, hesitated and Riley was gone. I won the sprint for 10th and was pleased with my performance, even though my wife said afterwards thet I look peculiar on a bike. I rode back to Maligne with Dave, Sam, Leighton and Mike and it was the perfect end to a cracking day. It was a real buzz racing with family and friends cheering you on.

Our last night was awash with wine and merryment. Everyone had done plenty of bikeriding and seen plenty of the Loire region. Leighton had used his excellent French to chat up an extremely attractive young lady as well as entertaining the rest of the cave dwellers during the evenings. Dave Burton had that big smile on his face again and his son Sam was a credit to himself. Chris Yates found his racing legs and pummeled the French stupid. Neil King gave Harry and June a good run for their money during the evening wine drinking sessions and managed a podium finish, albeit in third place. Chris Schofield put in a good weeks bike riding and looked after the lads in the cave with regular cups of tea. John and Leighton rode well during the first half of the week and did a good ride over to Brissac to the Château for a slap up meal. Jack, Harry and June went to the magnificant zoo at Doue le Fontaine and Helen, Georgia, John and Lynda went to see the famous military horses at Saumur. Will and Chris Siepen most certainly put Will's Wheels on the French map with their excellent performances.

The biggest mention must surely go to Clive and Sally who looked after us all throughout the week. Sally cooked for us all every day and Clive did an excellent job at the kitchen sink. We got our clothes washed and had plenty of water in our bottles and wine on the table. Many thanks to Clive for sorting out the events and driving us out to them and especially for such a great ride on my birthday to Montsoreau. Thanks to Craig for the use of his rods and bringing Jack out on the ride by scooter. The trip was an overwhelming success despite some rain towards the end of the week and couldn't have been any better. Au revoir until next time.

Chris Riley.