Back to France

The gear box is working well and we hit the road again this time more relaxed and with great tans, taking no chances we stop every 40 minutes and check the vehicle over trying to reestablish some confidence.
So far so good and we are pacified by the motorhomes performance. Debbie and Daniel are taking notes on the length of the tunnels we zip through. At last count we had gone through 74 tunnels before the French border measuring a total of around 30 kilometers underground. Daniel was very disappointed that they did not join the tunnels together to make just a few really long ones; this disappointment was certainly not shared with his mother who preferred it when they were less than 1 kilometer long. 2800 metres was the longest we passed through and she was glad we were not traveling the northern roads which have some much longer tunnels.
As we reached the French border, I think we were expecting a sense of familiarity having been here recently and survived the language difficulties, how wrong was I.
With all my French lessons and practice I was surprised that spending 2 and a half months in Italy greeting people in Italian, Dutch and German had confused my linguistic comprehension. Bon Journo, Gooten Morgen, bonjour, merci danke, gracie Now I don’t know if I am Arthur, Martha, Aldo Maria, Helga or Fritz. Back to square 1 on the language and hopefully my English wont suffer as well. The biggest problem with coming to France hoping to improve your French, is that most of the people you meet want to practice their English. I may have to pretend I am Chinese in future and dupe them into speaking French so I can improve my language skills.
We pull into a roadhouse over the French border and as I try to reverse out of the parking bay I can not find reverse gear, a bit of mumbling under my breath and jiggling the van forwards and it slips in and I am thinking this can’t be good. My mind races back to the roads and places where we have found ourselves in difficulty and have had to back our way out. I start imagining us wedged down in a tiny street in a village where we need to reverse but can’t causing a gridlock. Well we are safe while we are on the motorway so I push the van towards Cannes and plan a stop near a larger town to find the tools or a mechanic to make the necessary adjustment. We pull into a roadhouse just near Frejus and I find a place where I won’t need reverse, but wouldn’t you know it reverse is working again we decide to camp the night anyway, as I am about to shutdown the engine the battery light comes on, I’ve had a big day we will sort it out in the morning.
Deb brings me a coffee while my head is under the bonnet and asks do you think we will make it to Avignon before lunch, I reach into the engine bay and pull out the main pulley off the cam and say Maybe not quite lunch, poor Deb looked devastated, as we had not much food with us I unhooked the trusty bicycle and started on a new adventure.
1: Food
2: Mechanic
3: Cash from the bank.
Fortunately it was a good roadhouse with clean toilets a restaurant, park and playground for the kids.
The GPS put me 3 kilometers from a supermarket, but as we were on a toll road I had to find a way to a road first as it is highly illegal to ride bicycles on motorways, I found the special gate that the roadhouse employees use and set off, I managed the fist 2 hills fine and was traveling well I reached a village that had 2 supermarkets, auto wreckers lots of auto services, 3 motor home sales yards and 2 cheap motels, well you may think this is great unfortunately we have stumbled into another public holiday and everything is closed. I start at the motel and check there availability as I really don’t wish to leave my family stranded at a roadhouse good.
I push back towards the roadhouse, I need to go 3 kilometers in the opposite direction to the way I have travelled, about 2 kilometers past the roadhouse turn off I see a camping sign and decide that I will enquire about a bungalow When you are in a car and see a sign that says camping 300 meters and you turn then see another sign that says 400 meters you don’t mind so much but let me tell you this can be very inconvenient for a cyclist.
Now the signs just disappear and 2 kilometers later I am stopping and asking locals who have no idea where the campground is, so I back track and start heading for the supermarket that may be or may not be open, by this stage I have travelled 10 kilometers already and have marked nothing off my list. As I approach Puget Sur Argens I see another camping sign but I decide to ignore it and get back to my task, I ride through the industrial area and am heartened to find every manner of car dealership and spare parts dealer available, only they are closed for the public holiday, I reach the main road and turn towards Frejus, as I have not had breakfast yet I am drawn to (as much as I hate to say it) the big yellow M that is about a mile down the road as I know they would not close for a public holiday. I was right and as luck would have it there was a giant shopping centre beside it which was also open so Maccas was bypassed and I wandered in to discover that every one else in the district had found that this was the only place to buy groceries today.
If I had wanted to buy clothing or an evening dress this would not have been a problem as it seems that fashion stores allowed to open on Sundays and public holidays, but I feel had I returned to the van with no food in new evening dress Deb might not have been very impressed.
I gather enough food to see us through the day and stand in the huge line at the checkout, when finally I push my fruit and the girl asks me where the fruit barcode is. This is a problem in Europe that at a lot of supermarkets you have to weigh your own fruit and print stickers for it, so back I go and weigh my fruit then back to stand in a huge line again, I won’t fall for that trick again, not until next time anyway.
Loaded up with about 12 kilograms of groceries I set off up the hill back towards the roadhouse which is about 4 kilometers away now, I reach a fork in the road where again I find a camping sign which seems to be much clearer, 300 meters it reads and is towards the route I am taking, I follow the signs and they lead me down a hill which I am hoping will bring me on a route to the van otherwise I will have to climb it again. After another 1200 meters the road begins to rise again and I am starting to doubt my wisdom now that I am carrying all this extra weight. Finally reaching the campground I wonder how far I am going to have to back track to get back on the route to the van.
The girl on reception was able to give me some good advice but looked very blank when I tried to extract a shortcut out of her for my return journey. I rode back to the front gate and viewed the GPS, the major decision now is do I gamble and go cross country to reach my destination about 500 meters away or do I backtrack about 5 kilometers away.
I settle for cross country and ride down a road not marked on the GPS and 300 meters later I am back at the van and my legs give a great sigh of relief.
Packing up the family and enough provisions to last the night we wander like gypsies through the car park of the roadhouse with bags and cases and stroll to the campground, where a hot shower is waiting and we settle in beside the pool to enjoy the public holiday with the rest of France.