Two Wheels on a Tin Road
the author on the embankment in Paris whilst writing Two Wheels on a Tin Road
INTRODUCTION

     Before I undertook the journey from Le Havre to Arles in the summer of 1993, several relevant questions had to be asked.

Why the TIN ROAD?

     Around the 5th century BC, things were changing very quickly. Prior to that time, life had always centred upon the “Fertile Crescent” which swept round from Egypt to Mesopotamia. The economy was somewhat self-contained, in that the area had virtually everything required for life. Places outside were regarded as uncivilised and remote, having little to offer in the way of trade. But with the coming of the Persians, all that changed. Cyrus, the first true king of the mighty Persian Empire, conquered Babylon in the year 539BC and ended centuries of Semitic rule of the Middle East. He was a tolerant man as was his son, Cambyses, who enclosed Egypt, and his grandson, Darius, who tried unsuccessfully to invade Greece. His great-grandson, Xerxes (Khshayarsha), is spoken of as ruling “from India to Ethiopia” – a huge empire indeed.
     The Persians had one big problem. Technically, the Iron Age had already begun, but this new metal was crude and heavy, as well as extremely difficult to forge and cast. It would be another 400 years before the Romans improved the smelting process to the extent that iron became an integral part every day life. Until then, bronze remained the most widely-used metal. Copper had been in use for millennia but had proved too soft for serious activity such as ploughing and fighting. However, it was found that by adding another element to the molten copper, a harder metal could be produced. Several substances were tried, such as arsenic and zinc, with varying effects, but the best all-round solution was found in the use of tin. A small portion of tin mixed with the copper could produce an alloy almost as hard as the primitive iron of the day but much lighter and thus easier to use.
     Tin was not, and is still not, an abundant metal. It is found in only small pockets and is difficult to extract from the base ore. Tin had been mined in the Taurus Mountains, among other places, and, when that source began to run out, the Phoenicians shipped it in from Northern Spain.
     By the end of the 6th century, the situation was becoming critical. Whoever could find a large quantity of tin and transport it safely to the Middle East could virtually name his price for his trouble, if he ever made it back. The Persians sent out their great explorer, Sataspes, to circumnavigate the continent of Africa in search of the precious ore and the Greeks and Phoenicians also set out to “corner the market”.
     Just who it was who discovered tin in Cornwall is uncertain. Up till recently, it was always thought that it was the Phoenicians in view of the fact that most Cornish festivities have pagan roots which can be traced back to the Lebanon area. The Greeks claim it was their astronomer and seafarer, Pytheus, who named Britain “Albion” (the White Land) after having seen the cliffs at Dover. But then the Greeks traditionally claimed credit for everything (just the good things, usually).
     Whoever it was soon found that negotiating the Bay of Biscay with a hold full of ore was about the dodgiest thing imaginable. As a consequence, an overland route was established. From Cornwall, they crossed the Channel and sailed up the Seine. Upon reaching Vix (Châtillon was not built until the Romans came 500 years later), they unloaded the boats and carried them, and the ore, over the flat Langres Plateau to the Saône Valley close to Dijon. There, they connected with the long-established Amber Road from the Baltic and shipped the ore downstream to the Med. Few britons today realise that England was, to all intents and purposes, the lifeline for the Middle East. Whoever got the tin won the battles.

Why TWO WHEELS?

     I had driven over several sections of the route previously and it seemed to me that it would make an ideal cycle journey. Starting and finishing at sea level, and with a maximum height of around 500 metres (1600 feet), meant that the average gradient was in the order of 1 in 3000. I studied maps and strained my memory but finally came to the conclusion that if I was going to do a decent job of describing the route for others to follow, I would have to cycle it myself.
     Now, I was in my 50th year, totally un-fit, and had hardly touched a bike in 30 years. Nevertheless, I had recently acquired a Marin mountain bike in lieu of a payment so I decided to give it a go. I work in the tourism industry and had a few weeks between contracts so I convinced myself that I would just get as far as I could in that time. My family thought me nuts and the owner of the local cycle shop where I bought the extra bits I needed was convinced that I was having a joke at his expense. One or two well-meaning friends tried to warn me of the dangers. I wasn’t worried - I looked neither rich enough to rob nor pretty enough to rape. For company I had my portable tape recorder into which I dictated all my notes, and my camera with which I took over 300 photos. For route-planning, I took the liberty of scanning into my PC small strips of the Michelin 1:200,000 Motoring Atlas of France and then enlarging them to about the size of this book so they would fit my handlebar-mounted clip-board. I numbered and encapsulated these to keep them dry but I needn’t have bothered, it never rained a drop.

How long did it take?

     It took me thirteen days in all. However, I spent one day sightseeing in Paris and another day staying with friends at Châtillon-sur-Seine so that makes eleven days, averaging a mere 50 miles per day. I also spent many hours route-planning and doubling back to check for easier routes so I guess I could have made it fairly leisurely in nine or ten. A fit cyclist could probably do the whole 600 miles in less than a week but I didn’t intend for this to be part of the Tour de France. I wanted to establish a route which anyone would be able to ride, fit or not. If I could manage it okay, virtually anyone could.
     A shorter variation would be to do just the Seine part of the journey. The Source of the Seine lies within a kilometre of the railway line from Paris Gare de Lyon to Dijon. Montbard is the nearest main line station. After a short cross-country journey to Les Sources (not to be missed), it would then be all downhill back to Le Havre. Allow up to 48 hours for the cycles to arrive by parcel van as the Train Grand-Vitesse does not carry les vélos.

What should be taken?

     I took too much - far too much. With the uncertainties of Youth Hostels and camp sites, I had to be prepared for anything. I could easily have managed with less than half my luggage as the Youth Hostels all had space and, where no Youth Hostels were available, there were simply dozens of camp-sites along the route. There are Youth Hostels at Rouen, Vernon, Meulan, Paris, Athos Mons, Troyes, Dijon, Lyon, Vienne, Valence, Tarascon and Arles itself. If there are several in the party, a more viable alternative might be to consider a chain of motels named Formule 1 which, at the time of writing, charge 140F a night for 3 persons. Le Havre to Rouen in one day is not a problem and neither is Rouen to Vernon or Meulan. Paris by the end of the second day could be stretching it for some although I came within 10 miles. Troyes is too far from Paris for a single day and Troyes to Dijon is equally out of the question to all but a mad racer. As a consequence, you either have to camp out or find B&B near Bray-sur-Seine and then again close to Châtillon-sur-Seine. South of Dijon, it is usually so warm you can sleep under the stars. I did.
     As far as clothing was concerned, I was down to shorts and tee-shirt by the outskirts of Le Havre and down to just shorts soon after that. Washing out stuff was no problem either at hostels or camp sites, but drying it usually meant laying damp clothes out on the grass whenever I stopped for lunch - much to the amusement of locals. I changed probably more often than was really necessary to avoid saddle-rash and driving people away with BO.
     Despite the European Community, you still need a passport. If you are a member of YHA, you will need your membership card. It is advisable also to take an E111 in case of illness or accident. Sun tan lotion and sunglasses were essential as were soap, flannel and towel. I kept the most valuable items in a “bum-bag” and the rest in handlebar bag and panniers.

ENGLAND AND ALL THAT

Waterloo

    I won’t tell you everything about the journey I took from home to Portsmouth or it will put you off British Rail (and its modern privatised equivalents) for a very long time (if you were ever on it). Aware of the potential for problems when dealing with this kind of faceless organisation, I made sure I bought all my tickets in advance, French and British Railways, specifying precisely what I wanted to do and when I wanted to do it. I got my tickets via my local friendly travel agent after much deliberation and turned up at Oxenholme Station in Cumbria to commence my journey.
     ‘You can’t put your cycle on this train,’ the ticket office “Jobsworth” told me. ‘There’s no allocation.’
     Having not the faintest idea what on earth he was on about, I asked for directions in English (I was, after all, still in England) and was politely informed that I could catch the train on which I had booked a seat but my bike could not as there was no room. Despite protests, I was given no alternative. However, when the train arrived, the guard loaded my bike into a completely empty luggage compartment on the southbound Inter-City train with neither hesitation nor query.
     Just when I thought it was time to relax, I noticed that the train wasn’t following its usual route. Instead, it was diverted via Manchester and I arrived in Euston an hour and a half late. Fortunately, I had allowed a bit of spare time so I furiously pedalled across London Bridge to Waterloo for the train to Portsmouth. I had missed the intended one but caught a later one with minutes to spare.
     Ten minutes into my journey, which had again aroused no comment over the cycle in the guard’s van, the ticket collector advised me that there would be a delay as this train was being diverted via Southampton. I protested but there was little I could do but hope that the driver didn’t arrive late.
     At Portsmouth, I had seven minutes to get from the station to the International Port on the edge of town and I made it just as the ramp was being raised, cursing British Rail, thanking P & O Ferries, and wondering how I would fare with SNCF.

Two Wheels on a Tin Road

Day One - LeHavre to Rouen

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