Well and truly on the back foot from a 280km cycle in day 3, I woke up at about 6am, obviously far to excited to sleep I burst into a fit of laughter at how crazy this trip is and that I was just so buzzed to be finally doing it.
Soooooo off the back of 3/4 hours of broken sleep I had 4 hours and 90kms to get my arse to Abbeville if I wanted to see the tour (of course I fucking did it). It doesn’t sound like it would be hard but it was with all my baggage (both physical and mental baggage). I made it with about half an hour to spare and found a nice spot to watch them whizz past in a matter of seconds (was it worth it?)
I haven’t managed to keep up with who is doing what in the tour as I’ve been doing my own thang (Although it did look like Tony Martin of etixx was donning le Mallot jeane).
I was trying to ask an old frenchman who was wearing yellow. But either he doesn’t have a clue about it or my French is shit….. Hmmmm
Next up was the long slog to Dieppe. I’ve never wanted to get off the bike as much as I did then. Whoever though that Normandy was going to be flat easy cycling is a grade-A moron (IT WAS MEEEEEE)
Eventually I got there pissed off calling the sign post guy the biggest shit head in France because it was 2km further than the signs were saying.
I decided to treat myself to some pizza on the beach and then setup camp for the night.
“If you have never put yourself in the red, how can you know what your limits are”
– Kieron Ramsay