TRAINING: WW1 memorials and monuments

In the week of VE Day (celebrating the end of World War II in Europe), alongside cycling chums John and Steve, we visited France and Belgium to cycle around World War I cemeteries and memorials. 

There should have been five tourists, but post-Brexit passport issues meant we were a man, who shall be known as the unknown warrior, down before we left home.

Riding gravel bikes and carrying our luggage, cycling 250 miles over four days proved a great warm-up for our France End-to-End fundraising challenge for Phyllis Tuckwell Hospice. With John plotting the routes, Paul was especially pleased to be absolved of any blame, questions or moaning along the way.

Still reeling from the loss of one of our party before cars had even left driveways, more drama hit en route to Dover. While we enjoyed a Franglish athlete’s lunch of half baguettes filled with farm-fresh eggs and bacon, John and Steve experienced the perils of going tubeless – but in a car! A puncture on the motorway and no spare tyre led to experimenting with pressurised latex on the hard shoulder. Limping towards Dover, stopping to reinflate every few miles, making the ferry on time looked distinctly unlikely. But, in a rare case of advertising living up to the billing, the Folkestone Kwikfit fitters were very speedy indeed.

With minutes to spare the four of us cycled into the Port of Dover and after a quick, and somewhat pointless, security bag search we cycled up the ramp and onto DFDS’s finest to make a flat calm crossing to Dunkirk.

Now, unlike their pragmatic frenemies across the channel, the French celebrate their public holidays on whichever day they fall. Our day of arrival happened to be Labour Day. With our first hotel only a stone’s throw from the port we decided in-house dining would be our best bet, but with the restaurant already fully booked, a polite but firm “non” on arrival saw us remount the bikes in search of world-famous French cuisine. Cycling past many closed restaurants contemplating sacrificing ride snacks, we were grateful to see a kebab shop bucking the holiday trend. Not ideal, not cordon bleu, but very welcome.

DAY 1: Dunkirk to Arras

The first ride day proper, 80 miles to Arras, started in bright sunshine presaging soaring temperatures throughout the day.  John and Steve rolled their bikes out of their ground-floor room, whilst we wrestled ours down two flights of stairs: distance and climbing not included on the official routing.

Pleasant flat roads gave us an easy start. After a pleasant ride through the French countryside we arrived at the Australian cemetery at Fromelles and the nearby Cobbers’ Memorial to young men many thousands of miles away from home never to return – still a sobering thought today. The markers showing the German and Allied frontlines a few hundred metres apart really brought home the attritional and horrific nature of the warfare.

More pedalling brought us eventually to the beautiful memorial to fallen Indian soldiers and civilians. Even though a busy main road now runs past it, there was a peace and tranquillity inside the memorial which belied its location. Again, the impact of Empire on the lives of so many from around the world starkly demonstrated.

Routing along the busy main road we were glad to get to the supermarché for a belated lunch – food quality still not quite up to expectations. Re-fuelled we set off for Vimy Ridge, the gargantuan Canadian memorial that sits proudly overlooking the low countryside scattered with slagheaps from long-closed coal mines. A quite stunning monument to yet more of Empire’s fallen. Departing we noticed sheep grazing the fenced-off areas marked with potentially unexploded ordnance.

Arriving in the pretty town of Arras via a sombre German cemetery, rehydration was imperative after a very hot, but fascinating day’s riding.

DAY 2: Arras - Albert - Arras

With great delight the group remembered that day two was a loop ride, meaning luggage could be left at our hotel. As it turned out that was a blessing in more ways than one. Despite slightly iffy forecasts, the day started brightly enough, with an early stop along the way at a small cemetery filled with young men, many of whom tragically died in the last two months of the war. 

As we moved into the Somme darkening skies threatened, but in the drizzle John was able to find a family ancestor’s grave. Drizzle soon gave way to face stinging heavy rain. With shelter required we ducked into Albert for a very agreeable boulangerie stop, avoiding a torrential downpour by minutes. Refreshed and almost dry we set out for the Lochnagar Crater, the result of a tunnelled bomb attack on a German post. According to an eyewitness account, the earth column from the explosion went 4,000 feet up in the air.

In still soggy conditions we pressed on to visit the Thiepval memorial, as well as a very poignant memorial to lost but not forgotten Ulstermen. Forging ahead we arrived at a substantial memorial dedicated to the fallen of Newfoundland, which also had preserved many trenches. Nearby we viewed the memorial to fallen Scots.

Now at this point we had options: a) return to the road and continue or b) take a track to link up with the route. Who made the decision to proceed down the track has been lost in the fog of battle, but the result saw bikes and riders caked in Somme mud. Paul floated down the grassy centre of the track but another of our number fell seeking similar safety. We all arrived back on the road in a mild state of shock: wheels would not turn, gears would not change, brakes clogged. Hard to imagine having to live in such conditions for months on end.

Managing to get our pedals and wheels to turn we invoked Operation Jet Wash. In continuing rain, we pushed on through various settlements looking for somewhere to clean the bicycles. Finally, on the edge of Arras, we found a jet wash and spent a very worthwhile €10 hosing down both bikes and us. Now clean enough to grace our rather charming hotel we returned to base.

DAY 3: Arras to Ypres

With full packs reinstated we set off for Ypres (known locally as Ieper). Rain lost the toss to wind, so we were confronted by our third prevailing element in three days. An early return up to the still magnificent Vimy Ridge bolstered us for the day’s riding, and just a well it did. Learning the lesson of previous days, we stocked up on les sandwichs on encountering the first open boulangerie: a task that stretched Richard’s French to the max. Baguettes secured in pockets or under bungies we headed towards Belgium and Flanders. The wind meant pedalling downhill and slogging uphill, but spirits remained high. Arriving at the memorial to the famous, but questioned, Christmas Day truce we found that the fat cats of UEFA had sadly appropriated the site for their own memorial.

Climbing into the next town Richard stopped briefly at the Irish memorial, before we were met with red and white tape barricades. As well as stopping our routed progress the tape also indicated the start of several miles of shenanigans or uitgelaten as the Flemish would have it. Navigating around the town we found our way back to the route to Ypres repeatedly blocked by red and white tape and intransigent Flemings. A car rally was due through at some point that afternoon and the roads were being kept clear for just under eternity. Our entreaties were met with a combination of insouciance and intransigence, which might have been quite handy in resisting invasion 110 years ago or so.

Blocked and seemingly facing a headwind at every turn, we soldiered on, finally breaking through the lines some miles out of our way. Ruling Passchendaele out of our itinerary, we made a quick stop at Hill 60, where Paul’s alma mater Kings Lynn College had made historical studies, before riding into Ypres in time to stash the bikes and clean up before heading to the Menin Gate where the Last Post has been played at 8pm daily since July 1928. Joining a sizable crowd, we watched wreaths laid and listened as buglers honoured the fallen of the allied forces who died in Ypres Salient between 1914 and 1918. A moment of great solemnity and moving tribute.

DAY 4: Ypres to Dover

Our final, homeward-bound journey consisted of pleasant riding beside river, canal and sea. At a coffee stop we were pleased to reduce the average customer age by about 15 years. Richard decided to liven things up by almost running Paul into the canal, but Paul’s superior balance and riding skill kept him dry. Steve, aided by top-quality cold remedies, put the pedal down. Crossing back into France at a negligible border, we were soon running along the coastal route, even picking up a helpful breeze. Baguettes were taken a few miles from Dunkirk, sheltering from the blowing sand.

A final leg through old Dunkirk was surprisingly pleasant, although we encountered the cycling equivalent of Ben Gunn on our run into the ferry port. Chuntering and muttering he had clearly been alone for too long.

Unlike our outward journey many cyclists were waiting for the ferry back to Dover, making for good company and nerdy chat. After an uneventful crossing, we made our slightly chilly and weary way back uphill to the cars for a thankfully uneventful trip home.

Tune in again for more of our tales, and from Thursday 29^th May follow live tracking of each stage as it happens! And don't forget to sponsor us via our JustGiving page.