We meet at Southfields Underground station at 9:00 and jump on the District Line to central London. Alighting at Westminster, the lifts are large enough to accommodate our bikes with their panniers attached. By the time we reach street level, it has just started to rain and the sheltered section of pavement is getting extremely busy.
While the poor weather forecast persuaded me to install a mudguard under my pannier rack last night and to invest in some waterproof shoe covers, Gareth is not so well prepared for rain and, instead, assembles a makeshift mudguard out of some discarded boxes.
We set off from Parliament Square as Big Ben chimes for ten o’clock, heading along the Mayor of London’s Cycle Superhighway 8, a blue strip of paint that leads us past the Houses of Parliament, across the river at Battersea Power Station and along the eastern edge of Battersea Park.
From Battersea, we branch off the Superhighway and head up to Clapham Common, then Tooting Common. Just half an hour in to the ride, a bolt detaches itself from my home-assembled rack-mount, causing my mudguard to get entangled in the cassette. Although I am able to fix this within minutes, confidence in my mechanical adjustments is somewhat harder to restore.
It’s still raining steadily as we head through Streatham, Norbury and in to Croydon. After spending a few minutes unsuccessfully looking for a bike shop (Gareth is now keen to purchase himself a real mudguard), we continue to Coulsdon, where some confusion ensues.
The problem, we later realise, is that Smitham station has recently been renamed Coulsdon Town, which is why our paper maps don’t correspond with the online version we’re consulting through our phones. In addition, we spot our first Avenue Verte signpost, which is unfortunately pointing the wrong way.
It took us until almost 15:30 to get out of Greater London five years ago but this time we’ve reached the M25 before 13:00. Our earlier start and detailed planning is beginning to pay off, although the TFL cycle maps and the GPS features of our phones have also greatly assisted us, neither of which were available to Mark and I five years ago.
Very shortly after crossing over the M25, we head under the M20 and out in to the countryside along National Cycle Network (NCN) route 21. There, we witness a frightening near-miss as a van screeches to a halt within centimetres of the car in front, whose driver had been giving way to us.
We’re now on the official Avenue Verte route, which takes in NCN 21, as indicated by the occasional “AV” signposts. Strangely, there are also some tiny “London-Paris” stickers at irregular intervals, although these are inconsistent and I believe they pre-date the official route signage.
NCN 21 is a far cry from the wide, fast and furious roads that took us out of London. The path is narrow, taking us through fields and forest, sometimes surfaced with gravel and sometimes barely more than a mud trail. At one point, conditions get so swampy that we’re forced to improvise a diversion along higher ground.
We initially had grand plans for a leisurely pub lunch in rural Surrey. However, by 13:30, we’ve covered less ground that hoped and, with poor weather likely to slow us down further, we end up tucking in to McDonalds on a bench beside a large roundabout in Redhill.
Our fast food lunch warrants a stop of just twenty minutes, and before 14:00, we’re already back on NCN 21 and heading out of Redhill, towards Gatwick Airport, via Horley.
From Horley, a series of small tunnels take us in to the heart of Gatwick Airport, where we cycle under the South Terminal, alongside the railway station and past the eastern end of the runway, as planes come in to land just metres above our heads.
After Gatwick, the Avenue Verte veers east towards East Grinstead and Heathfield on a very quiet and indirect route to Eastbourne. Although it’s a pleasant ride, the meandering nature of this segment of the route is frustrating and adds dozens of kilometres to the overall journey.
In any case, Eastbourne is further east than Newhaven, meaning that the Avenue Verte has to double-back on itself to reach the latter. Because of this, we find ourselves heading east from Gatwick, rather than south, as you might expect. At 16:00, near the small village of Crawley Down, we boldly decide to abandon the Avenue Verte track in favour of a more direct alternative, offered to us by Google Maps.
Through Google’s cycle-friendly option, we’re able to plan a fairly direct route along relatively quiet B-roads and country lanes, shaving an estimated 2.5 hours off the journey.
As we branch away from the Avenue Verte and head due south, the Google route seems more than adequate. Until we reach the end of the road, quite literally, and are forced through some kissing gates and in to a field full of cattle and sheep. “Cycle-friendly” seems questionable at this point, given the difficulty of getting through the increasingly-tight gates, made almost impossible by our loaded panniers.
Having manoeuvred our way through several variants of these, the novelty begins to wear off and we decide to ditch the “cycle friendly” Google option in favour of our instincts, and an unmarked path through the town of Lewes.
As it turns out, Lewes must be one of the hilliest towns in England, offering pleasant scenery along its narrow roads and quiet passages, one of which is barely wide enough to accommodate our laden bikes. We’re clearly not from around here and a lady probably regrets offering to help when I ask her for directions to Paris.
From Lewes, we resume the Google route, of which fewer than 15km remains. This stretch of road is uneventful and, surprisingly, incorporates some segregated cycling facilities just south of Lewes. We pause to watch the sun set at 19:10 and finally pull in to Newhaven just twenty minutes later.
Mark and I had no time to spend in Newhaven five years ago, but Gareth instantly recommends the Hope Inn, where he dined on his previous trip to Paris. It’s a 5km roundtrip from the port, but worth the extra mileage compared to some unappealing eateries closer to the ferry terminal.
With no need to check-in until 21:00, we enjoy as many carbs as time will allow, in the shape of lasagne with a side of garlic bread, followed by apple crumble for dessert. But we’re staying off the beer tonight, in an effort not to hamper tomorrow’s epic ride of almost 200km.
After dinner, we head over to Sainsbury’s, determined to avoid the food and water shortages that plagued the French leg of our ride five years ago (there are few shops open in France on a Sunday and not many cafés along the Avenue Verte, which is quite rural by its nature).
Stocked-up with eight bananas, eight blueberry muffins and two meal deals, it’s a very short ride to the port, where we must queue up for fifteen minutes behind a line of cars and vans ahead of check-in (on a route so popular with cyclists, I’m amazed that there are not better facilities to accommodate bicycles).
Once in the waiting room, Gareth takes the opportunity to wash down his bike, which is coated in mud, while I find a power socket and finally charge up my BlackBerry, dead after the heavy data/GPS usage from our earlier reliance on Google Maps.
Only three other foot passengers join us in the building, one of whom is another cyclist, desperately on the phone to his mates, who have apparently taken the wrong train and may now miss the ferry. We feel smug, although I am reminded of my own predicament five years ago.
At 22:20, we’re allowed to board the vessel ahead of other vehicles, which is a pleasant surprise. We lock our bikes against some metal bars towards the front of the ship (the system is no less confusing than it was on DFDS in Harwich) and head straight upstairs, keen to shower and sleep.
After a rapid lap of the boat, we locate the reception counter and collect our cabin key. It’s a four berth cabin and I’m relieved to find that Gareth’s reservation does indeed cover us both (the booking is per cabin, not per bed, although that was not made totally clear on the website).
It’s a minimalistic setup, as expected, comprising of two made-up beds and another two which can fold out of the wall above, a tiny bathroom and a door-less wardrobe. My main concern is the solitary power socket, which will need to power up our two phones, two cameras and my GPS logger, all in just four hours.
My enquiries for a splitter plug are met by the traditional Gaelic shrug at reception, leaving us no choice but to rotate the device on charge throughout the night. How four people could share a room with just one socket is hard to comprehend.
Having showered, we each hop straight in to bed, for what will surely be one of the shortest nights of our lives. Almost simultaneously, the thinness of the walls is suddenly revealed, as two guys come crashing in to the adjacent cabin. They’re speaking Russian very loudly, almost shouting at each other. It’s going to be a challenging night.
Between the noisy neighbours, the distant and persistent ringing of a telephone and having to constantly check whether one gadget has charged sufficiently in order to swap it for another, relaxation is somewhat difficult to master.