Europe 2013: France Has it In For Me (Or Something)

September 14, 2013

In two days, I will get on the ferry to Ireland, which will mark the effective end of the trip. I'll still technically be in Europe, and a motorcycle will be near or transporting me for parts of it, but the trip will pretty much be over.

France today decided to make sure my final days are memorable. But let us start at the beginning. My campsite last night was decent, discounting the lack of laundry facilities, and I left it this morning with good feelings despite having to pack up a fairly wet tent. The sky was low and heavy, but no actual rain was falling. Yet.

The road I'd taken to get to the campsite was very narrow and interestingly windy, but the pavement was patchy and a bit washboard-y, which didn't give me the confidence to take it at any speed. So it was a very slow final dozen (or two-dozen, even) km to the night's resting spot. I had to take the same road out, so the day started slowly.

It wasn't long, however, until the road improved, and I was able to get up to speed. It wasn't long after that, less than an hour after leaving camp, that the rain started. It was light at first, just a playful mist, enough to get the faceshield wet and lightly dampen the suit, but not enough to really be "rain" in any practical sense of the word.

That didn't last. Within the next hour, it went from "playful mist" to "honest, hardworking rain." This rain didn't mess about with playfulness or any sort of coy shoulder-shrugging. It was just coming down. It wasn't the unholy downpour from Glenuig, but it was strong, and it was steady, and it never. stopped.

For hours and hours, I rode through rain. I'd set La Ferte-Mace as my destination in the GPS, figuring I'd get close, then find a campground to stay the night, continuing on to the village in the morning. So I was going the right direction, at least.

But the rain just kept coming down. Winding country roads. Rain. Freeway at 130 km/h. Rain. Roundabouts (so many roundabouts). Rain. Little villages at 50 km/h with agonizing 30 km/h zones. Rain.

It was less than an hour before I felt my first leak. The riding suit I have is good, but rain-fastness is one area where it could stand some definite improvement. The first place to leak is at the crotch (ha ha). If you're foolish enough to continue once the crotch is leaking, it's not long before there's a stream of water running down each leg. Pants entirely soaked. Pretty much everything waistline down soaked after another hour or two. It appears I completely failed to apply any waterproofing to the boots, so the leather simply soaks up water. It wasn't long before my socks were soaked. In fact, by the time I was finished for the day, I could have poured water out of my boots if I'd taken them off immediately. As it was, the water squelched out as I walked around before I could get them off.

This, then, is the picture of Ian rolling into Le Mans (of the world-famous 24 Hours of Le Mans race): soaked from the waist down; feet actually underwater inside boots; gloves acting more like sponges than anything else; shivering cold despite multiple layers. It was only 3:15 in the afternoon, but I didn't care any more. I was done. My cold-addled brain suggested, sluggishly (after the sight of several large hotels) that a big, touristy city like Le Mans is likely to have *lots* of hotels. Hotels are dry. Quit thinking about cost for once, and become warm and dry. Mmmm, warm and dry.

Lulled by the siren call of not being cold and wet for a little while, I stumbled into the Green 7 Hotel (no idea what the name means, but that's the name) and procured a room for a mere 60 euros. I'd actually been expecting to pay more, even the hotel's sign said "rooms starting from 66 euros!" But that was the total, including breakfast tomorrow.

This hotel is obviously not a hotbed of luxurious racecar driver suites. Indeed, I would more likely compare it to a nicely dressed up Motel 6 than anything else. But it contains the required elements: not wet, hot shower, dry towels, dry room, generally not rain-soaked. In approximately that order. The woman at the reception desk even knows English, so I didn't feel quite so lost as normal when getting myself checked in.

And now, hot shower done and laundromat trip finished, I am feeling much more sanguine about the world in general. Of course, around the time I arrived, it stopped raining, but that meant I was able to hoof it to the laundromat without getting soaked, so I'll take it. The woman at reception gave me directions to a nearby shopping center when I asked about laundry, and I got there only to realize that I'd said laundry, and she'd understood drycleaners. Fortunately, there was free wifi wherever I was sitting in the mall, and Google's local search voodoo got me headed in the right direction. I found exactly what I was looking for: a coin-op laundromat. To my utter amazement, I only had to run the dryer through one 16 minute cycle to get everything dry, too. It was a September 14th miracle. Or something.

So now, just past 8:15, I've got my laundry done, the various soaking-wet items are hanging up and should be dry by morning, and I am clean and much happier than I was earlier today. There was even a little bit of sunset light on the trees outside the window just now. At reception, she said that tomorrow is supposed to be sunny, so hopefully France was bringing me low just to send me out on a high note. After the weird, depressing events of the last few days, I'll take it.

Tomorrow, assuming all goes well, I should have a tour through La Ferte-Mace, a decent final night of camping somewhere not too far from Cherbourg, and a leisurely stroll to the ferry terminal for my 4:30 final boarding call the next day. Then it's a mad rush to get myself back to Motofeirme, get my stuff packed together, connect with my busses, and spend an uncomfortable night slumming at the Dublin airport until my flight leaves in the morning. I'll be bringing my little inflatable pillow, just in case.

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Created by Ian Johnston. Questions? Please mail me at reaper at obairlann dot net.