It was dawn on the morning of March 18th 1918. My fathers elder
brother (by some eighteen years) was a Serjeant (correct sp) in the
Royal Irish Regiment having fought with them since 1914. Through
attrition and good performance he had worked his way up to his rank
and now, with tens of thousands of other men attached to the Fifth
Army group he waited in a stinking trench outside St Quentin for the
opening rounds of the battle all the men knew was coming...The
Kaiser's Big Push. By now, with America's involvement in the war,
Germany knew they would lose so this was now a land grab to at least
achieve something. As the sun lightened the eastern sky, the German's
unleashed a bombardment that could be heard in Dover. It was at some
point then that the young Irishman, who had fought so bravely for
nearly four years, was immolated into nothingness along with three
thousand of his comrades.
The Poizieres memorial commemorates these men. Those whose bodies
could be found are buried there. The rest, some fourteen thousand
missing men, have their names etched in marble on the Walls which
surround the structure and that is where I found Patrick's name nearly
ninety three years after he died, the first person in the family to do
so.
The graveyard and memorial site is everything it should be. Quiet,
respectful and desperately sad. Nothing can give those young men back
the lives they could not live but at least here, they are remembered
and can truly rest in peace.

Yum. Parfait...!

Early morning in Amiens. I don't think we could manage to get the
bikes much closer to our table. I had an urge for Cafe au Lait avec
Croissant. "Pas problem" said Madame as she sent her son off to the
bakery for some fresh baked examples.

Saturday morning in the sleepy little village of Vignacourt. The
residents are sipping coffee and munching fresh croissants when the
stillness is broken as nearly 3 litres of the MoCo's finest iron rides
into town. Actually, my bike is a nice legal version but H, who should
know better, has retro-fitted a pair of shotguns. The result sounds
like a Lewis machine gun on full chat. An unfortunate similarity for
the flat acres of the Somme. H decided he could not remember where the
farmhouse of his youth was. Personally, having been told more detail
of his exchange visit last night with the addition of some snippets
about the farmers daughter, I think I frightened him with visions of
thirty year old offspring ready to shake him warmly by the throat.
So, without more ado, we headed to Amiens for breakfast.

Sent from my iPhone

So, here we are arriving at Abbeville. Straight into a police
roadblock for....a bicycle race. I guess these guys followed us from
Rotterdam. After 15 minutes or so Messeuir in the White car started to
give Le Flic an admirable amount of abuse which, it has to be said,
was taken stoically with a Gallic shug. In the UK, I fear he would
have been liberally sprayed with something pungent and hauled of to
the local nick. Abbéville not particularly interesting but good meal
in the Ibis. Tomorrow, Vingnacourt where H stayed on a school exchange
many years ago. "Have you kept in touch?" I asked. "Nope, haven't
spoken to them for forty years'. Well, that should be a warm and
emotional meeting then...
Following this dubious reunion, we'll make our way to the Poizieres
memorial where I'll try to find my step-uncles inscription.

The Brassiere...

A pleasant little Brassiere on the way to Abbeville. Somehow, a Ham
Omlette becomes Haute Cuisine when you eat it in Framce.

The Eurotunnel Motorcycle Club meeting. The sportsbikes were heading
for Chamonix to get some mountain riding in before the snows arrive.

The WW1 Somme Battlefield Tour

So, we have decided to head out to the Poizieres memorial and WW1 Somme battlefields this weekend. We will catch a morning Eurotunnel on Friday and then head for Abbeville to overnight. Saturday sees us in Poizieres and we also hope to view some major battlefields. Saturday night is in Lens and then a slow ride up to Calais for a Sunday afternoon train back. 226 miles plus another 150 in the UK. A good way for H and myself to sign off the 2010 touring season.

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WW1 War Graves Tour

Just a quick update on the above, our plan is to set off from Dover on the 17th September and make our way to the Somme battlefields for a 3-day trip. More on the actual route and map to follow.

WW1 Battlefields

In March of 1918, my fathers elder brother was killed in Amiens. A member of the Royal Irish rifles, Patrick was 22 years older than my father and had made the rank of Serjeant (correct sp) at the age of 26. My father was very proud of the brother he never really knew and had always wanted to visit the memorial, for no body was ever recovered and therfore there was no grave.. My father died in 2004 at the age of ninety without fulfilling his wish, so I would like to do it for him made by visiting the war graves and memorial at Pozieres.
H and I have therefore decided to do a short WW1 Battlefield tour in September.
Of all the journey's I have completed, I think this might be one of the most poignant.

Old Reliable takes a
rest near Bristol on the way to Bath.

The Holiday Inn Plymouth. Good rooms and nice meal in the Penthouse
restaurant.

The Lido in which the seawater is circulated through twice a day...
500,000 gallons apparently.

No sign of Armada's today...or Bowls playing...!

Looking across the Lido to Drakes Island

For American friends, here is a plaque by the Mayflower Steps to
commerate where it all started...

UK Run

Starting a one week trip tomorrow which will see me visit, Camberley in Surrey, Devon, Bath and St Albans. Not quite up to Southern California or Spain so I won't bore anyone by writing a trip report but if I have any extra special meals or see some interesting sights, I'll try to post.

All on board and the end of the trip. In summary, we set off on Friday morning and covered 445 miles with a total riding time of 12 hours. Both bikes came in with consumption of around 48-50MPG. Cost of the trip, including meals, ferry, hotels and Tunnel about £550 each or £140 per day. What are the memories? Chocolate box perfect town of Delft and its happy citizens celebrating a world cup quarter final as if they'd won the cup. Lovely, friendly people welcoming to their guests. Riding from Delft to Turnhout and hitting a thunderstorm which nearly drowned us as we ingested copious amounts of water through open helmets. Stopping in 27c to put on waterproofs as the rain poured down and having set off again, seeing the sun come out after a mile so therefore looking stupid (and hot)in heavy raingear.
A nice waitress in Turnhout introducing H to Duvel beer. A mere 8.5% proof bottle later, she helpfuly informed H that Duvel is Flemish for Devil.
Finally, noticing that every bike we passed or met had a rider with a friendly salute and every rider we spoke to on the ferry or tunnel was just as we'd expect...a brother.
H and I have decided that the next trip will be Northern France. Don't know when but before the end of this summer.
By the way, I've noticed a few people coming back to have a look at the site from time to time. I started off by keeping this blog as a record for myself but if you have the time, please do let me know through the comments facility whether you want me to carry on with the blog as a public site..critisism good or bad is welcome!
Blue skies
Juneau