A rather uncomfortable night follows in a room without air-conditioning , three snoozing , farting blokes in a room with open windows , which let in the hourly sound of fast trains to and from Paris . Goodbye Bourg en Bresse , you won ’ t be missed .
It ’ s big miles and predominantly Autoroute from daybreak in the morning , forgoing breakfast , we ’ re on the road just after 7 , once again hoping to avoid the oppressive heat of the day . We press North at a steady 80 , the bikes settle into the now familiar routine of overtaking trucks while watching the mirrors for impatient French drivers , hell bent on getting past . A few fuel stops and we split off for yet more N-roads , presumably the romans built these , as Napoleon seemed to have more of a sense of theatre , mile after mile they roll through the countryside on their relentless way straight to the horizon . It ’ s good progress though and by mid-afternoon we ’ re pleasantly lost in the Ardennes countryside , up and down lanes with Grass in the middle , barely a car wide as the sat nav . fruitlessly seeks a postcode that evidently doesn ’ t exist . In the middle of a field , Ian declares , “ apparently we ’ re there ”… we look at grass in every direction we can see and admit it ’ s time to get the maps out .
Turns out we ’ re only 2 miles off target , we can see our destination village in the distance , so we head off on a new tangent and soon we ’ re in the very pretty little hamlet of Girondelle , at its sole b & b – “ Hirondelle ”. The Madame welcomes us warmly in French and offers to cook us an evening meal , in the absence of a better offer we readily agree . We settle in briefly , disrobing the bikes and ourselves , before heading out in search of victuals in our shirtsleeves . round it on his travels , so it was never tested . Barracks are now a school and officers quarters a bank . Though it was a garrison town for some 400 years , abandoned for those matters in the early part of the 20th century , ironically just before it would be needed most … After a beer and a fill up , we head back for eagerly anticipated dinner .
After briefly circumnavigating the hamlet with cameras to capture the quaint architecture and setting evening sun , we ’ re ready to sit . First we must have an aperitif with Madame ’ s friends who ’ ve dropped by . There followed an hour of stilted French and much interpreting by my Brother , while the French rattled off machine gun conversation like only they can , ie all at once and at ever increasing volume … Anyway , we finally dine on excellent homemade pate ’ s and cold meats , followed by a selection of home reared pork , served on crushed new potatoes and greens , ( as we later found out , all cooked in Pork fat , the French don ’ t do Cholesterol control )…. washed down with a couple of litres of red wine it was suitable feast to finish our trip . Glasses clink and with a final toast we prepare for a final blast to Calais .
Madame has insisted she ’ s up for brekky at 7 , it ’ s a country thing , we ’ re not interfering with her schedule . So with bikes packed and sitting ready , we have our last continental breakfast and hit the road .
It ’ s about 40 miles of N-roads to the inevitable Autoroute , but we ’ re left with a flavour of this part of France , primarily redbrick houses , agriculture , fields , tractors toiling in the early sun . Everyone ’ s asleep , we make good progress to Arras , centre of many a scrap , with memorial fields abounding and thence the autoroute to the tunnel .
The afternoon breeze in our armpits , we arrow off down once more linear roads to nearby Rocroi , a remarkable fortified little hamlet , built between 1555 and 1600 , when Henry the 8th was in full conquering mode in these parts . It describes a perfect 5 pointed star with walls all round , and roads radiating out from a pleasant market square . But Henry just went