Suicidal cyclists, it’s our job to stop them.

Over summer my local bike shop invited me along to their Tuesday evening ‘shop ride’. The shop owners are nice guys, smart, sensible, customer focused and great to deal with – easily the best shop I have ever experienced, anywhere.

This one ride had to be the single most disturbing bike ride I have ever had. Why?
Let me tell you about that night.

The guys who own the shop are famous head-bangers, big gear riding, half wheeling head bangers – but for all of that they never get too out of control.

This Tuesday evening was sunny and warm, 10 or so guys, a mix of experience and newbie’s gathered at the shop. The shop was obviously proud of its ride they even took a photo of the group before we left.

After a flat out start and a general re-grouping at the top of the first hill we start riding through the burbs - this is were it all starts to go horribly wrong.
Suddenly we are at race pace through peak hour suburban traffic. I’m at the back of the group and get a birds-eye view at what is unfolding.
The guys at the front were taking some risks, ducking and diving in and out of the slow moving traffic. The less experienced guys at the back of the bunch begin risking everything to stay in contact. I catch up every time we stop at a red light, we are getting some grief from motorists but then again this bunch are riding like complete idiots. The front guys go faster, the guys at the back take more risks, scary shit!

Up the next hill full gas and down the narrow twisty descent we go. The front guys aren’t waiting. I’m half way back in the bunch, we catch up to a slow moving car, there are no passing opportunities, no problem I think, and we follow the car down and catch the guys on the flat like we normally do.

But no, I now get to see some truly epic suicidal riding.

A couple of guys in front of me just pull into the other lane and pass – 200metres through complete blind bends downhill at 80kmph. This road at this time of night has a lot of traffic on it so I was sure that I would be helping pick up pieces of bodies and bikes. By some complete fluke no cars meet these guys head-on.

It was the scariest most stupid thing I have ever seen on a bike!

The road opens out a little and the rest of the group overtake the shocked driver. All through blind corners all of them risking their lives – for what?

After the finish of the descent and a few kms later I catch the group. I have a complete rant at these guys, there are some sheepish looks but most guys seem to not comprehend what I am talking about.
It is fair to say I am genuinely shocked, only a few minutes ago I was convinced I was going to see some dead cyclists!
I can’t ride with these guys they are too crazy for me, I take another road home, I don’t want to be a part of any further madness. But no, my previous companions catch me at the top of the last hill descent, I give it some gas to stay out of their way. Right at the bottom of the descent one of the same lunatics overtakes me on the outside through a blind right-hand bend, a car meets him head-on, it panic stops, he swerves around it and somehow he survives!!

I can’t believe what I am seeing for the second time that night. We stop at the lights at the bottom of the hill, I lose the plot completely with guy, who promptly threatens to punch me in the mouth for calling him a ‘stupid bastard’. The rest of the bunch are uneasy and don’t want to get involved.

So back to the shop owners, this was their ride. Because it is their ride whose responsibility is it to make the ride as safe as possible? Who thinks about the route, sets the speed, sets the safety tone and manner? –it is the shop owners. By not taking any responsibility for the ride chaos ensued and someone almost got killed.

My point is this, if you are riding in a group it is everyone’s responsibility to set the safety standards and police it, that is not about being heavy it is about being clear – “we don’t ride like that on this ride” tends to work. It is your duty to look after the guys you ride with, having a conversation like this when you need to might just be the most important conversation you can have with a mate – when they are dead it is a little to late. the job for anyone that leads a group ride. If someone is riding like a suicidal idiot tell them not to, for their own sake.

Bike riding is great but I don’t think I would risk my life for it.

That is why I seriously doubted the integrity of the shop owners. We talked about it afterwards. Their view was that they had no responsibility for others, it was not their place to say anything to anyone – in fact it was rude to do so. They take a different view now.

My view is it is entirely our responsibility to take control of a group ride and help shape for everyone’s safety and enjoyment – all of the time.

Etape de Tour Experience. Part 2: Survival of the Fittest

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

Thought of the moment: should a Type 1 diabetic even be attempting this insane race?

I am a type 1 diabetic, running out of food and blowing up is something I have to avoid. For me it can be pretty dangerous, low blood sugar can mean lapsing into a coma, so I always take twice the food I need – but today I have gone through everything I have and I've only done 100km!

I’m from a rugby-playing nation, which comes in handy as I join the scrum for the food. I stuff gels and sportsbars into my pockets and I am away again - stopping in a ‘race’ I find mentally challenging.

L'Étape du Tour 2008

Share your bike routes @ Bikely.com

It is still really steep, the 34x27 is the gear of choice, it also happens to be the lowest I have! In truth I can’t believe I am using it.

Up here the Tourmalet is the same as the Aubisque, invisible cows, cow poo smells, cowbells and the mist so thick it is surreal.

No doubt this is a brute of a climb, easily one of the hardest I have ridden, 1875m that is way higher than any road in New Zealand.

Finally the top 2115m, there is the famous summit café, there are guys stopped everywhere putting on warm clothing, or putting newspapers up their fronts. I am wearing my warm clothing so I weave my way through and drop down the other side.

It is sub zero degrees C, the roads are soaked but the mist lifts enough to see what the road looks like at 100kmph. I pass so many riders it isn’t funny, but things aren’t good, my neck and shoulders are killing me. It gets so bad I have to stop and stretch. I get back on it but by now I am getting really cold, not normal cold but so cold I begin to shake uncontrollably, which makes the bike weave alarmingly at 80kmph.

Still the descent goes on and on, my hands are sore from braking and my neck has seized up I’m hating it now and wishing for it to end but I know full well that I am still only one third of the way down. My teeth begin to chatter and I can’t stop them, it is almost funny in a cartoon like way, there is nothing to do but to keep going.

The descent levels out for a minute through Bareges, I try my legs they won’t work, and then the road plunges into a gorge.

Finally I am on a flattish bit of road, flat enough that pedaling is required and the hope of getting warm is a reality. I struggle to follow a hairy-legged guy up a small rise! I start to thaw out, I am not the only one in this state, some guys around me look pale and ghostly. Fortunately the road is still going gently downhill this gives me the time to get my legs working.

The Hautacam is at the end of this valley, there are 10 kms before we hit the first ramps of the climb, I strangely feel really good but take it easy and save it for the climb. I am still going through food at an alarming rate. The sun breaks through the cloud for 5 minutes, then the rain returns.

We ride through the Ayros-Arbouix village at the base of the Hautacam, there are spectators lining the road, it almost feels like the Tour and bang and we are straight onto the climb, my bunch just explodes on the 12% gradient!

I’ve done 156km, Hautacam is 13km long and 1520m – 3x the height of the Rimutakas!

Hautacam has the same kilometre/gradient % markings as the Aubisque, the only difference is the Hautacam has a variable gradient. I quickly realise the truth, the gradient marking says 8% for the next kilometre and I’m riding on a flat section – oh, oh that means if I am on the flat then the rest of this kilometre will be 12% or more!

Things go well for the first 2–3km of the climb then I begin to feel the dreaded symptoms, strength ebbing away, light headed, shit I’m hitting the wall! I eat almost all the food I have left, which isn’t much, I work out later I have consumed 7000–8000 calories during the day, the majority of those calories were consumed just to keep warm.

With some degree of alarm I realise I still have 12kms to climb to the finish, I am blown to pieces and there is nothing I can do but get into the 34x27 and just grind it out – slowly, really slowly.

The mist closes in again and it gets much colder.

There are some seriously steep sections on this climb, it is mixed with flat parts and even some slightly downhill sections. EPO must be amazing shit, how Barnie Riis rode up this thing in the big ring to win a stage of the tour is amazing, I fantasize what a big dose of EPO would do for me right now!









10kms of fiercely steep uphill riding blown to hell is like nothing I have ever done before, I want to stop, I want it to stop and the only way I know that will happen is when I cross the finish line. I have only one energy gel left and that is for absolute emergencies. This shapes up to be the hardest 10kms I have ever done on a bike!

Loads of guys pass me I am well past caring and besides there is nothing I can do about it anyway. I ride in a trancelike state, the only thing I take notice of are the kilometre signs.
Finally the top is close, I am well past the tree line, it’s 14% – bloody sleep! There is the famous cattle grid and the familiar cow poo smell and cow bells, I wonder what the cows look like? – strange how your mind can be so lucid about odd things when you are physically buggered.










Finally the flame rouge, the last kilometre goes on forever, it is 7% so it feels flat!! I crawl across the finish line. I feel no happiness or joy just relief that the suffering has finished.

I have a good case of hypothermia and I am more than a little out of it, I get handed a freezing cold coke, shaking like a leaf I drink it, my blood sugar creeps back into the normal range – just. I queue up with a bunch of other guys to get down the mountain, we are sharing the road with the guys coming up, they let us down in small groups escorted by motorcycle gendarmes, I freeze all over again!

Down I go not really with it at all, all I have to do now is find Andrew and our ride back to Pau, which is 60km away. I stop at the bottom and pull out the phone to text him but I am shaking that badly I can’t hit the buttons, a French spectator takes pity on me and helps with the button pushing. It doesn’t occur to me later that I did the entire conversation in French.

Andrew and the car is only 50m away. I flop into the back seat shivering and soaking wet, all I feel like doing is sleeping. Andrew looks good but cold, we don’t talk much I’m too out of it. We get going at once.

Etape de Tour Experience. Part 1: Ride the etape – get hypothermia for free!

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.








A huge clap of thunder and torrential rain hammering on the roof wakes me at 2am. The alarm goes off at 4.30am and the thunder and lightning is still going hammer and tongs as we drive to the start.

We arrive at the start in Pau and unpack the car in the dark, its bloody cold and wet. There are hundreds of other riders doing the same, everyone is quiet the mood is very sombre. The big decision of the day is what to wear. My guess is it’s going to return to summer temperatures as the day unfolds so I settle on a gilet and arm warmers and hope for the best. Other guys around me are dressed for summer, others are dressed for mid winter.

This is quite weird, it’s pitch black and thousands of cyclists ride silently through a fully asleep Pau, it is like a secret gathering.

Andrew is in the 1000–2000 starters pen, I am in the 8000–9000 pen, with 5 minutes between each pen's start, I guess I won’t be seeing him again until the finish. I wait for an hour in the gloom and cold rain, dawn breaks and I am now freezing and my start is still some time away, this wasn’t exactly in the script.

There is an American on my left who tells me he has never ever ridden in the rain, he is from San Diego so that is entirely possible, it starts pissing down, he laughs nervously. There are 4 Irish guys on my right, they have bananas gaffer taped to their frames and a slowest times schedule taped to their bars, they want to make it before all the time cut-offs. They are dressed for summer, but they are Irish.

For 30 minutes the early start riders head off on their etape journey, we wait patiently, all I can think of is the huge amount of riders stretched out in front of us flooding the road gutter to gutter.

Finally we go, my legs are like blocks of ice and it takes a while to get going, well at least 800 metres anyway. I hook up with a few fast guys and in no time we are doing a 4-man team time trial down through the middle of Pau city. It is like playing dodgems with all the traffic islands, white lines and slow punters in our path. To be fair most people are pretty good they get out of the way quickly and my bunch really gets moving, the group gets bigger and bigger and faster and faster.

We get out of town, still on a wide road we head up a wooded valley at 55km/p/h. We get to Rebenac and turn sharp left into a narrow country road. Immediately there is a huge crash, I squeeze my way through and gas it up the first climb of the day, the climb is not too hard but the road is solid with riders creeping uphill, the road has traffic islands in the middle as well! I just have to wait for the gaps to appear before I go forward, it is like doing hill intervals.

The next 20kms is all up and down on small roads, I pass most riders on the descents, every now and then I see people pulling themselves out of a ditches from over-cooking it in the wet. I thank Michelin for making my special light blue rain tyres, they certainly have plenty of grip. I’m still with some of the same guys, down a 5km descent onto the flat and we get into the village of Nay. We get going again and crank it up, we pass huge groups of riders. I’m lapping it out with a small group of French guys they are all in good nick, 30+ and know how to ride, I wonder if I raced with any of them 20 years ago? It is like a New Zealand scratch bunch in a handicap race.

It pissing down, we are on wide roads so its relatively relaxed, every now and then we dive into a small village, the road drops down into one lane cobbles, there is a crash every time. We get to Benejacq and the first hill, Labatmale, it’s a 471m 3rd category .

A couple of hairpins kick it off, it’s really tough! Cadel Evan’s later says that he finds it so tough he almost gets dropped. My group blows to pieces, a couple of young skinny French climbers disappear up the road, I hang in there with the same 5–6 guys, I’m still cold, it is 8c and worryingly I am eating a lot. I don’t normally need to eat much – something to do with being older I guess. I wonder if I should back it off and let this bunch go – no that is definitely not an option, slogging away on my own would be harder.

We have now done 80km, we turn down a nasty rain soaked descent into Lourdes and there is the first food stop, there are hundreds of punters everywhere all shoveling food down their throats, it looks like a huge rugby match rather an bike race. I keep going.

My bunch keeps hammering along, we catch and pass groups but they are smaller and more spaced out. The starting numbers on the back of riders are now in the 2000–3000, it gives me the impression that I am getting close to the front of the ‘race’. This turns into a bit of an obsession I remember seeing someone with a number in the hundreds at the bottom of the Hautacam.









On to the scond climb of the day, Loucrap another 3rd category, this one would equate to a 1st category in a New Zealand race, it is long and steep. My bunch is down to just 5 of us, we pick guys up and then spit them out.









The 100km mark approaches and the beginning of the Tourmalet is not far away. Into Bagneres de Bigorre we go, out the other side and then into the Vallee de Campan. The top of the Tourmalet is still 40km away but we immediately start climbing, proper climbing as well, inside ring stuff, it dawns on me why the Tourmalet is considered to be so tough, you are buggered by the time you get to the base of the actual climb!

Profile of the stage courtesy of cyclingnews.com - read their TdF Stage 10 report here

The road just gets steeper and steeper, small steep pinches of gradient in and out of small towns kill your legs, we get to the village of Sainte Marie de Campan the official start of the Tourmalet climb. Out of the 5 guys who I have been with 2 guys stop for a pee, they pass me later at mach1, I pass them several more times as they stop for more pee stops - they should get their prostrate checked. Another couple disappear out of the back, another guy encourages me to ride with him on the climb, I do for a while, but he is riding 39x16 to my 39x21, his pace is slightly too fast for me and I let him go.

The road rears up in a long steep ramp, no corners just a long grind up the side of a mountain. And climb it does, it is bloody steep and there is still a whole 15km to go to the top! It is drizzling, cold and it’s misty all I can see is the 10m in front of me.

There are lots of riders around but every one of them is very quiet, no chatting just breathing. The mist closes in even more and it gets colder the higher I climb. I knock the effort back a bit and start riding conservatively. I ride 34x21 and then change into the 24 when it gets really steep. This is surprising because I am still 10km from the bloody top, from what I have read of the climb it doesn’t get properly steep until 7km to go.

I finally get to the steepest part of the climb, the snow shelter, it is so steep I am out of the seat climbing in the 34x27! The ski station of La Mongie emerges out of the mist, even in the murk La Mongie is hellish ugly, it is also the site of the second food stop. I hate stopping but I have to, I am almost out of food…

The best kiwi BBQ in France.

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

More brilliant BBQ’s by Jay and Manu, thanks guys your hospitality was incredible!

We spend the day wasting time before the etape, a trip into Orthez for a coffee, which was crap – we didn’t manage to find good coffee anywhere in France.

That is one of the upsides and downsides of living in Wellington, the local coffee and cafes are world class so generally anywhere else in the world is very disappointing – except for Italy of course.

We get bored so take another look at the expo, Andrew buys some Assos clothing at very reasonable prices - for Assos!








With some concern Manu tells us that tomorrow’s weather will be bad, apparently the weather in the mountains can be bloody terrible, snow, hail – in the middle of summer – yeh right! It has been 30c for the last few days, how bad can it get? It’s the middle of summer in France and I am from Wellington after all…

Compact chainsets are for wimps.

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

Only 2 days before the etape, so we decided that a wee ride up one of the Pyrenean mountains would be a good look, practise makes perfect huh?

We settle on a ride up the Col d’Aubisque, we had heard that it was a beautiful climb and quite easy. Why not? it was a beautiful day, no wind and 30c.

We drive to Rebenac, unload bikes and down the valley we go, with a tailwind at our backs, it could be a grovel coming back – we’ll worry about that later. We hit the bottom of the Aubisque, the sign says only 14km to the top! It is a beautiful climb, up through a forest, every kilometre is marked with the %gradient of the kilometre ahead of you, all between 8-10% which is actually quite steep.

Slim rode off into the distance, I figured saving some energy for the etape would be a better option.

I had made the brave decision some months ago to fit a compact chainset. Riding big gears has always been a badge of honour with the guys I ride with so having a compact on your bike is generally considered to be limp wristed behaviour. The expected ridicule from my mates didn’t occur – the upcoming etape climbs made the compact acceptable – just! Having access to lower gears really works for the climbing. Riding up the climb in 34 x 24 made for a bloody nice ride, I had good cadence, good speed and most importantly I wasn’t killing myself. I don’t like Mr Lance Armstrong much but he does have something with that climbing cadence thing.

After 40 or so minutes I ride through a crap looking ski village and onto the last 5km of the climb. The last few kms are decidedly cooler, it is too high for trees to grow, just meadows and cows. The smell of cow poo and the sound of cowbells that is my overwhelmingly memory of the Aubisque.

After the obligatory 1850m summit photo opps, we discuss the idea of descending down to Argeles-Gazost and doing a loop back to Rebenac. For once we take the sensible option and go back the way we have come – good job we did, it would have been a 6 hour ride otherwise!

It was an incredible descent, fast and open and worth every minute of the climb up.

Back up the valley and to the car, 110km and 3.5 hours, not ideal race preparation but a brilliant ride.

We agree the Aubisque was easy, all of this talk of the Tourmalet and Hautacam being monsters is obviously over-done. We now feel pretty confident that the 167km Pau to Hautacam Tour de France stage in 2 days time will be a bit of a doddle…

We stop at the etape expo site on the way back, get registered, collect the goodies bag and get that ‘oh my god’ feeling - we are actually doing the etape! The riders are a complete mix of punters and very recent ex-pros, you can tell the Brits by their pink skin and waistlines.

Predictably there are loads of Yanks standing around talking loudly about what is the best triple chainring combination for the Tourmalet, nothing changes.

The etape expo was full of bike and clothing stands all doing a roaring trade. Of course there was a beer tent, we muscled our way in past all of the Brits and ordered a couple of Heinekens. The day after tomorrow we will be back here starting the event. Oh shit!

Mouscardes - a one bullring town!

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

We get to the Pyrenees mountains and after some seriously good map reading we find our ‘place to stay’ now this is a uniquely kiwi term, in fact the whole ‘staying’ situation is oddly kiwi, so loose and informal. No other country does the informal hospitality like us. We are staying with Jay, neither Andrew or I know Jay and he doesn’t know us. Jay is a friend of Glen’s, who is a friend of Nigel’s who is a friend of mine! We are hoping that he is a nice bloke, and I guess he is hoping we are nice blokes too!

It sort of always works out, when we kiwis travel the world we tend to look out for one another, besides when there is only 4 million of us it is not too onerous, like I said it is a kiwi thing, as kiwis we don’t do 7 degrees of separation, we’re lucky if we do 2 degrees! 

Jay has lived in France for the last 15 years, he is from Petone, I am from Wainuiomata, we probably drank at the same pub as young men, he came to France to play rugby I came to France to ride bikes.

Mouscardes is Jay’s village it is made up of 6 houses and a bullring! Now you have to admit that is cool, having your own bullring.

The satnav had long since given up but we find Jay’s ‘house’ eventually. Actually it isn’t Jay’s house it’s Manu’s (Emmanuel’s) and it isn’t a house it’s a bloody great mansion. The house is extraordinary, beautifully restored, we meet Jay, he is an ex-Petone rugby player who made his way to the UK, then France to play rugby, he is Manu’s flatmate. Manu is a farmer whose family have owned the farm and house for generations. Manu farms dairy and kiwifruit, he spent some time in New Zealand learning the kiwifruit trade. Manu’s girlfriend and her son as well as a huge pitbull dog complete the household.

So here we are in deepest rural France and we get down to a classic kiwi BBQ – half a 44-gallon drum is the actual BBQ - not 1 hour after arriving.

Andrew owns a company that makes the worlds best domestic coffee machines www.rocket-espresso.it so good coffee is his thing, Jay offers Andrew a ‘special’ coffee which he accepts, only to receive a large mug of the instant stuff, the look on Andrew’s face was priceless!

Stuff Reviewed: San Marco Magma Titanox 245

Beautiful seat, probably not for clydesdales
By Nigel Dalton


Most people seem to find a seat that fits their bum and stick with it for life. If there were seat tribes, I am a Selle Italia Flite Titanium tribal elder, having had one of the very first of these aerospace looking devices in New Zealand in the 1990s. So it was with trepidation that I mounted the San Marco Magma to my Cannondale. This could mean serious pain in the arse, despite its obvious beauty.

I had already tried the world's saddle du jour - the Fizik Arione. No luck - as much as I yearned to have this new projectile design on my bike, there was no denying the sit bones. Being 100kg probably was the fatal flaw - putting the 'flex' in wingflex like the designers never anticipated.

The beautiful white leather Magma saddle arrived by post with a note from the R+R Director Sportif saying 'that blue piece of shit on your bike must go - happy birthday!' I'd recently submitted a polite request to the Style Council at R+R for some fettling of the new Cannondale System 6, already lurid in Team Liquigas's phosphorescent green and black.

Delighted to join the ranks of europhiles with their white seats, it was quickly fitted. San Marco holds great reverence for me in the history of cycling. When Slim once sold me his red Guercuiotti it came with his trademark San Marco Rolls, an impossibly uncomfortable platform that only 50,000km of hard riding would break in properly. Rolls feature on 2 of my restored bikes - a Merckx and a Bianchi.

I noted the Magma to be quite a sophisticated piece of engineering - the '2-4-5' after the name refers to the width of the sit-bones and general scale of the seat. It goes up to 255, but in all my time I've not seen one of those actually for sale. And to my delight the flat platform was at least as good as the long-used Flites.

And so I was happy camper #1, until about 500km worth of Melburnian flat-land later there was the hugest cracking sound accompanied by a distinct sagging feeling, and assuming I'd managed to do the unthinkable (break a Campy Record carbon seat post) Glen and I ground to a halt in West Williamstown.

The incident wasn't without precedent - riding with Glen on one visit to Melbourne we'd been far up the Maribyrnong River when I'd injudiciously forgotten to lift off the saddle for a speed hump and snapped the brand new Giant hire bike's Taiwanese carbon post. Long ride home standing up, and some explaining to do to the good people at Bike Now.

You don't really appreciate how much your seat contributes to your riding until you have to do 20km home with no platform to support you. The Magma had busted right through the middle.

The Wellington LBS did the decent thing and sought a warranty replacement, which was duly despatched. Scuttlebut on the net suggests I'm not the only rider to suffer a Magma meltdown, and I'll be philosophical when it inevitably happens again. The replacement sadly was black, so has to go ... though, I do wonder what the R+R Style Council would say about some white lever hoods over black tape?

Review Score:

Function: 5+ (8 while it works, 0 when it doesn't)
Form: 10 (sexy, plus bonus points for not hanging with the crowds of Fizik Freds either)
Price: 3 North of $240 RRP is a shocking amount of money to pay for a saddle, but I may be being over-harsh here as you don't see anything much under $200 in the desirable classes of Fizik or Selle Italia these days.

The Gallic Shrug – the essence of France

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

It’s been 25 years since I last lived in France, back then I got to know and love the place and after 6 months I had mastered the most important French cultural lesson of all - the ‘Gallic shrug’. This can only be learnt properly if you are living in the country, as a tourist you can have a Gallic shrug experience such as – “…non monsieur, the hotel room you booked from New Zealand is no longer available (Gallic shrug), we have no other rooms (Gallic shrug), non there are no other rooms in the town (Gallic shrug), and I cannot help you further (Gallic shrug), please leave (Gallic shrug)…”

This experience is what France is famous for, but to deploy the shrug you have to live there. A couple of kiwis have explained it quite well in a video on Lonely Planet's travel site.

Once the shrug is learned, the situation changes completely, the shrugger knows that the shruggee will not be put off and so miraculously finds your room reservation. So I dusted off the shrug but the language was lost in my brain somewhere, this was somewhat of a concern for me as we drove into France, Andrew had taken care of the Italian language (after a fashion), it was now my turn to take care of the French language – remembering more than a word or two would help – I was hoping the language would magically pop back into my head but every last vowel and syllable had disappeared.

Driving across the south of France was spectacular for sure, bloody awful cities like Nice stuffed into narrow valleys between huge gnarly mountains.

We needed lunch and rather than stopping in one of the autoroute café’s we went for the real deal, lunch in a small French village. Les Baux was the smallest town we could find on the map, no-one was likely to speak English, Andrew was confident I could manage any language issues - it would be the real deal. We got off the autoroute and quickly found our small and peaceful Provencal village. It was peaceful alright, just the one café open, full of workmen and locals having their 3 hour lunch, perfect!

The café owner was big sweaty and hairy and the husband was much the same, I ordered lunch using my best sign language, my actual French language still non-existent. The food was great in the most basic French working class way, Jambon sandwich (ham roll) for me, steak and chips for Andrew. A glass of local red wine for effect.

An aged English speaking French biker and his 14 year old girlfriend were summoned to assist with our next food/wine ordering efforts, more food and more wine arrived - things could not get any better.

My friend Nigel works for Lonely Planet. We often talk about travel – what is travel really all about? Why travel at all nowadays? You can Google Street-view anywhere, find reviews on any venue in the world, YouTube a video of everything, so why go to the trouble and discomfort of actually traveling yourself?

In my view travel is less about visiting ruins or old castles (although that is still good) but it’s about having the chance to experience how your fellow man lives in a completely different country. That is the ‘real’ travel experience, you get to compare and contrast his life with your own.

That afternoon at the café in the small town of Les Baux, eating the simple food, talking to the local people, all done slowly in ‘local’ time, it was brilliant, it was one of my favourite travel experiences ever.