October 2009
60 posts
seventy of the best
First turn of the morning is wrong and Del sends us all down hill to hell - just another dead end port with no bridge to the other side. There’s a heap of swearing, the road will be long today. He shouldn’t feel too bad, as Hellybutt never throws his hand up for nothing and Bodean - well he loves this riding life and it’s spilt milk in the end anyways. Cruising into Guidel on an...
where are you Kerouac?
This guy, in a grey jumper and the wisest face, was playing boules in a dead end town. Del was shooting him on his black box camera as the gravel lightly flicked under the swirling silver balls.
“He’s the man!” whispered Hellybutt to Bodean, and as the words came out the ancient french rock blasted the enemy balls away.
“One in every town” replied Bodean.
The town...
forgeddibout-it
“Yeah - well they know it - they knew what they were goddamn doin” scowled Hellybutt, beer bottle rolling in his hands in the tv light. The caravan was celebrating that night, for the surf had been up and spirits was high, and it all went next door to a creperie and bar. But the lady delivered alcohol-free beer and so, Hellybutt disgusted with the whole mess slid the mint crepe to the...
“ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
– The complete bourgois caravan - yep, the waves are good
“I prefer my campsites ferme & free”
– Bodean after spending a second night in a row, in closed campsites.
“this 6’1 toothpick is NOT made for a big, 6’4, curley haired,...”
– Del - after swimming Bodean’s shortboard out to the lineup
shoot the windows out
Before pulling out of Quimper, we go to the town square and get some coffee from a cafe in the square. It’s exspensive. Next to us french Quimper ladies “hawww-hawww” and double kiss and they was beautiful and did that Eurocentric fashion-stare and glare at passing femmes and gents. We did not register a blip on a such a severe radar.
“They look down on us” said...
beef stroganoff
“Shee-it!” drawled Bodean, “We’d be dying on this one”. And it was true. Outside the click-clacking windows Brittany had thrust upwards some severe andulations.
The 5.13 train to Quimper chugs to a stop and that means everybody off. The tracks had run as the crow flies and moved Del, Harold and Jimmy to rethink maps, hills and T.I.M.E.
Del led the way through the...
“shoot more film, ride faster”
– Jimmy - thinking of ways to lighten the burden
Watchwasting time in brest
anchor tatts, bar room dancing and misplaced teeth
Sixty kilometres went by and by and by. France seemed to be caravan friendly, lovingly straight roads and respectful motorists give panting foreigners a wide berth. Bodean’s ride began to make the concerning ‘death of a wild animal’ sound midway, but there was nothing to be done with the little tools in the leather satchels.
The Intermarche is a swell place. All the beautiful...
+33685722885 →
The Boys have a new (french) phone number. Give them a call and shout encouragement in a bad french accent.
“Well, if you’re not having fun now… I think this is about as much fun as...”
– Harold, 3 hours into trangia beef strogonof
Del and lazy days
Del da Foster is showing us his 18 speed bicycle. It lies back on a sand dune in the town of Dossen, and the sun shines glorifying its beautiful yellow tone. All his belongings - skateboards, porcelain cats and three flying wall ducks - are arranged to defy physics over the back wheel. “It does instant wheelies if you pull up on the handle bars” he pulled upwards every so lightly. And...
the french just being french
The ferry wasn’t going all that fast - flocks of seagulls would fly on ahead, sit and watch me and Bodean float past in the dark, two heads in an endless row of port holes. Sitting up in there in ‘Le Bar’, a name which seemed to smoke of irony considering the surrounding English passengers, or maybe it was the French just being Frenchies. Then the boat pulls up in Roscoff, North...
3 tags
“It can’t possibly get any colder than this on the coast”
– Del da Foster, after waking to the second morning of ice on his tent
“I never eat jambon coz jambon’s a cop”
– Harold’s version of le house of pain classic
“Oh my God! I can’t believe this was self-inflicted”
– Harold - after pushing up yet another hill
farewell to calm
Off and away. But Braunton boasted little fan-fare for the Bourgeois Bicycle Caravan as she sailed southwards, along route 27, with bow grimly aiming at France. After deliberations in Weare Giffard and some timely advise from Grandpa Sid about the dangers of pissing into funnels at great altitudes, the troupe crossed the shoulder of mighty Dartmoor. Not before camping in a pikey stronghold that...
